Posts tagged ‘writing’

Alexis Goring: The intersection of the arts and faith

Christian author Alexis Goring is here today, sharing her faith, her heart, and her novella, A Second Chance. (I have a review of A Second Chance here.)

Voni: Thanks so much for coming on my blog, Alexis! I’ve been excited for you to show off your new novella. The cover is just all-out fun…what can you tell us about the story itself?

Alexis A. Goring, April 2017

Alexis A. Goring is a passionate writer with a degree in Print Journalism and an MFA in Creative Writing. She loves the art of storytelling and hopes that her stories will connect readers with the enduring, forever love of Jesus Christ.

Alexis: Thanks, Voni! I’m happy to be here. A Second Chance is an inspirational, standalone novella. It’s a contemporary romance about characters that are in need of a second chance in life and at love.

The story features Marc (the hero), Traci (the heroine) and Gina (Marc’s sister). Marc is a newspaper journalist who keeps getting burned by women. So before he meets Traci, he’s ready to give up on love. Traci is also a newspaper journalist. Her fiancé left her at the altar on their Wedding Day and ran off with her Maid of Honor who she thought was her best friend. Needless to say, when readers first meet Traci, she is knee-deep in debt from the wedding that didn’t happen and her heart feels wounded beyond repair. Gina becomes quite the matchmaker in this story. But you’ll have to read it to find out why and how.

Book cover

Voni: How do Traci and Marc meet up in your story? What connects them?

Alexis: Traci and Marc’s meet-cute takes place inside a fancy restaurant. They connect later on when their best friends prompt them to give love a second chance. Working as newspaper journalists gives Traci and Marc immediate common ground. It also gives them a competitive edge because they both know when they’re “on to something”. You’ll have to read the story to find out what I mean by that phrase.

Voni: Common ground…just what people need when they’re on to something! On your Facebook page, you say “I’m a storyteller with a passion for the Arts & Entertainment industry and a heart for Jesus Christ!” What drew you to the arts and entertainment industry?

Alexis: Movies and music! Together along with amazing acting, these elements make movies memorable. I still listen to movie soundtracks when I’m writing a new fictional story. Movies always felt like home to me. Music has soothed my soul and inspired me on so many occasions. It was only natural for me to want to work in the Arts and Entertainment as a career professional. So I pursued it and graduated from college with a B.A. in Print Journalism and grad school with an MFA in Creative Writing. Waiting on the Lord to see what He wants me to do next.

Voni: Movies and music are a natural pairing, for sure, tied together with passion. How does your heart for Jesus intersect with this passion for the arts?

Alexis: My faith informs my viewpoint on life. As a believer in God and a follower of Jesus Christ, I consult them first before I make a career move. I go to God for every issue, praise, problem and concern for whatever happens in life because He is the only One with the answers that I need. It’s amazing how He places people in your life to connect with and help you in your time of need. I love how God works through people to accomplish His kingdom purposes. Since faith informs my viewpoint on life, it’s easier for me to stay motivated and bubbly because I’ve got Heaven on my mind. I know that Earth is not our home so that helps me to choose my battles wisely. When it comes to writing fictional stories, I always pray about it first and I ask God to guide me in every aspect of the creative writing process. He never fails me. As a writer of faith-based stories, my hope and prayer is that God will speak through my stories to help my readers find Him. I hope that each story is like an altar call, leading people closer to the heart of Jesus Christ who loves them with His Life.

Voni: Absolutely! How could your faith not be a part of all the stories you create? Thanks for letting us get to know you, Alexis. Congratulations on your book! Blessings!

(Alexis and I are having fun trading places today. Check out my turkey story on Alexis’ blog!)

When Dad was Wrong

Most of the time, my father was right …

Even if I didn’t realize it till later. Or much later.

Even if he took whatever it was more seriously than I thought it was worth.

FullSizeRender (2)

But there was one time when he was just plain old wrong.

I was a teenager, and my job was to work in the family rental property over the summer. Didn’t get paid in money, but I got a boatload of new clothes come school time. At any rate, my friend was having a party at her place (her dad was an ATF agent, so there was just clean fun). I went to Dad a couple weeks ahead of time and got permission to go, and to drive two of my friends. They had been giving me free rides all over the place, so Dad complimented my desire not to be a mooch friend. Yes, he used the word mooch. He told me I could have the car for the night.

However, when the day arrived, it was also carpet-laying day in the rentals.

Dad had never laid carpet before, but he was confident.

Would we be done in time for me to still take my friends to the party?

He was sure we’d be done by early afternoon. Absolutely positive. Absolutely, absolutely positive.

This was summer, so it had been several weeks since we’d had any friend time like this. I was excited and talked Dad’s ear off about it all day. Probably drove him nuts, but he was a good sport.

But come about 3:00, it was clear we were not even going to be done in time for me to give my friends a ride to the party.

Could I go call my friends and tell them I couldn’t give them a ride? (Dating myself, here. It was days long before cell phones…I would have had to drive to the diner two blocks away and use a pay phone.)

Nope. He wouldn’t let me even do that.

I realize now, even more than I realized then, that it wasn’t really the sort of job you could leave in the middle. And I realize that Dad had overestimated himself on a job he’d never done before (and no YouTube to learn from).

And I realize now that he was (internally) frightened about what the failure of the rentals would do to the family finances.

However, he was in the wrong. When we FINALLY finished and got home, Mom told me my friends had called an hour earlier, and she told them they should go ahead to the party without me. I was so furious over ditching my friends that, in my self-righteousness, I stomped around the house like a crazy woman as I showered and got ready for the party.

He didn’t didn’t punish me for my attitude. He didn’t even say a word.

Don’t get me wrong, my Dad was a good man, a strong man.

But there was a reason why, even before this, if he said something would take a certain amount of time, I would double the time and add an hour. He was no good at time.

And there is a reason why now, at the age of 50, I want to have a writing career, yet I am afraid. If I get a contract, there will be a deadline on that contract. A legal deadline on that contract.

What if I misjudge my capabilities and agree to a deadline I can’t meet? I already mostly don’t meet—self-imposed deadlines. I am like my Dad in this way.

Yet, I am also like my Dad in another way. I will not make a decision out of fear. As he did when he purchased the rental property, I will follow my dreams.

I will learn the art of fiction writing, as he learned to lay carpet.

As Dad moved from idea to landlord, I am moving from hobbyist to “real” writer.

I will write. And, eventually, I will sign a writing contract. (traditional or self-published)

And … hopefully … I will meet said deadline.

Blessings,
Voni

PS … Also like my father, I will make—and be forgiven for—parenting mistakes.
Because LOVE. Right, Leah?

FLASH FICTION: Christmas at Ground Control

Mission_control_center

He tapped the steering wheel in frustration at the slowing traffic.

Astronaut Shelly Fender had been in space for 461 days, fifteen hours, seven minutes—he glanced at his watch—and thirty-four seconds.

They’d miss the window to get her back to earth for Christmas with her little boy if he didn’t get into mission control posthaste. He was the flight director, and today was the last window of opportunity before Christmas.

Just ahead, a cow was walking nonchalantly down the freeway. He screeched his tires to avoid it, swerving a bit before coming to a stop in the shoulder.

Not one cow. A herd.

Ah … an overturned cattle truck up ahead.

Traffic would be a mess for hours. He punched numbers into his phone.

Ten minutes later, he heard a helicopter approaching.

It would be an unconventional commute, but that kid would not miss another Christmas with his mama.

Merry Christmas Blessings,

Voni

Picture credit:  https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mission_control_center.jpg

The Gathered Waters

The Gathered Waters He Called Sea

Waves_in_pacifica_1

The pounding of the ocean waves, pummeling the shore…

The deafening whoosh of the waterfall…

The rush of the mighty river…

The babbling of the brook…

The stillness of the gentle lake on a summer day…

The laughing splash of the swimming pool…

The “Ahhhh” of a cool draught of water…

The quiet of the trembling drop clinging to the limb…

The plop as it lands on my nose.

Kenhardt

 

Picture credits: 
Waves: “Waves in pacifica 1” by Brocken Inaglory – Own work. Licensed under GFDL via Commons – https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Waves_in_pacifica_1.jpg#/media/File:Waves_in_pacifica_1.jpg
Water Drop: By Lourie Pieterse (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Flash Fiction: Misbegotten

Detective Jensen nearly slammed his notebook to the forest floor. The forensic tech would take hours combing the misbegotten turquoise van for the merest possibility of clues.

Brain spinning, he thought of the grisly murder at the townhouse. What woman did such a thing?

Where was she? Not here.

But she obviously knew enough to distract them with the stupid van.

Wait! The van didn’t have clues. It was the clue.

…And someone close by restored vintage vehicles. Always had a slew of them hanging around his property.

“Charley!” The forensic tech jogged over. “Where’s your wife?”

He blanched. “I don’t know.”

Jensen quirked an eyebrow, looking steadily at the man.

I’m a little bit famous

…Okay, just kidding. But my friend and writing critique partner, Kelly Liberto, did interview me on her blog today.

Stop by here to check it out, then see what else she’s up to.

While you’re here, please check out what’s under my flash fiction tab! I’ve been writing and not blogging lately, but I’ve not been too much of a slacker. 😉

Blessings,

Voni

Flash Fiction Friday: That’s All It Took?

Balloon ride

THAT’S ALL IT TOOK?

Flash Fiction by Voni Harris

He was nervous.

That’s why he slopped the dollop of mustard down the front of his shirt. Went perfectly with the already stinking baby spit-up from his last client’s baby.

He’d shouldn’t have stopped at the sidewalk vendor on his way out to his car, even if it was destined to be a late dinner. Now there was no time to change before he met her.

Fortunately, there was an extra shirt in his car.

Unfortunately, it was his yellow shirt with large dots of many shades of green. Perfect for alumni events, with jeans. Not so perfect with his blue pin-striped suit pants.

Better than smelly baby spit-up and a mustard blotch. He quickly switched shirts at the side of the road. Glancing at his watch, he saw he was cutting it close, and he needed to impress tonight. She was looking for romance tonight; she’d made that clear.

He pulled up outside her office. She gave his clothes a quizzical look through the window, then waved and came lightly running out to the car with a smile, full skirt flowing behind her. He got out and walked around to open the door for her…

…just in time to knock her off the curb and send her rolling onto the lawn.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching to help her up.

She dusted the grass off her backside.

“Perfectly fine,” she answered, then frowned. “However, my shoe is not.” She held it up for his inspection. The heel of the left shoe was rolling in the gutter.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“That’s okay.” She opened her voluminous purse and pulled out a pair of flats. “I came prepared.” She slid onto the car seat and slipped on the flats, tossing the heels in the back seat.

Great. Just great. This date was supposed to knock her socks off, not break her shoes!

He closed her door for her, then walked around and started the car. She teased about his clothes, chattered about her day, and there had never been a faster 45-minute drive. With her in the car, even the pot holes after they turned onto the dirt road didn’t annoy him.

This was a woman he intended to impress and keep impressed.

 

They pulled up in front of a barn and parked. She took one look at the sign and squealed. “A hot-air balloon ride? Seriously? I can’t wait.”

Score!

She dug a ponytail holder from the depths of her purse and pulled her hair back to combat the wind while he walked around the car and opened the door for her.

The balloonist came walking over. The man rocked back and forth on his heels as he greeted them. “Sorry to give you bad news. I was hoping this wind was going to die down by the time you got here, but it increased instead. It’s too heavy for us to go up tonight. We’ll have to reschedule.”

He looked up to see her face fall, and his stomach fell to his feet.

“I’m sorry.” he told her, grinding his toe into the dirt.

“Not your fault.” She deliberately put a smile on her face. “Nor yours,” she told the balloonist, who smiled back in relief.

She turned to look at him. “Now what?” she asked.

He hoped she didn’t just write off the whole date. “We could go on to the restaurant. I was a little worried we wouldn’t make our reservation, anyway, and it’s quite a drive.”

“Let’s do it!” They waved to the balloonist as he drove away and slid into their seats.

That’s when the car refused to start. It wouldn’t even turn over. He got out, muttering a prayer, and looked under the hood. He saw the problem and hooked the loose wire back up.

The car still wouldn’t start.

He got out of the car again. That is when he noticed the pool of liquid under the gas tank; one of the pot holes must have caused the obvious hole in the tank.

At least they came across a field of wild flowers as they walked around, waiting on the tow truck. A girl seeking romance had to have flowers, right? He picked her a mess of them and hoped she’d not notice that he’d forgotten to order a bouquet for the night.

Sitting between him and the tow truck driver on their way back into town, she rubbed her arm where she’d been stung by the bee he’d unwittingly picked along with the flowers. Loud and twangy country music on the radio kept them from any conversation, but she did he reach over and take his hand.

They left the car at a repair shop near the restaurant and walked down the street, still holding hands.

That’s when they were deluged by the storm the wind had been blowing in. They took off jogging and pushed into the restaurant soaking wet.

The maitre d’ inside looked them up and down and gave a self-satisfied smile as he tapped his notebook. They’d missed their reservation time after all.

They ran to the restaurant next door. The wait was over ninety minutes. She tapped his arm, “It’s getting late at this point. McDonald’s is across the street.”

McDonald's

McDonald’s. I am such a clod.

But he couldn’t take her home hungry after all he put her through. He sighed in agreement, and they ran through the rain once more.

McDonald’s. So this is where our perfect date ends up.

Fifteen minutes later, she took a huge bite of her burger as she ran her fries through a pile of ketchup.

She threw her head back in laughter. “This has been the most perfect date night!”

His jaw dropped.

“I love being married to you,” she said, her sky-blue eyes sparkling.

With no idea what to say, he just grabbed her hand. And held on.

 

The end

 

Blessings,

Voni