Tuesday’s Teaser with Kathleen Neely

Tuesday’s Teaser with Kathleen Neely

I have Kathleen Neely here today sharing her new release In Search of True North and giving us a glimpse at her characters. Welcome, Kathleen!


I’m pleased to introduce you to Mallory Rose Carter. Actually, please skip the middle name Rose. Although her mother insisted on the full name, Mallory deplored it.

If I had to describe Mallory in three words, they would be bitter, passive-aggressive, and insecure. I know that sounds like a downer, but please don’t stop reading. It’s a starting place with room to grow. After all, who wants to be remembered for attributes from their teenage years?

As layers of bitterness begin to unfold, Mallory finds hope. When circumstances allow her to be a mother to the child she gave up in her teen years, Mallory discovers a fiercely protective maternal nature. It’s not easy for her to trust. Too many people have failed her. The question Mallory must answer is this—can Brady Donaldson be trusted? Will she allow him to pierce the self-protective armor that she’s worn for a dozen years?

Mallory begins to trade her bitterness for hope. She begins taking responsibility for the past after years of shifting blame. Then the unthinkable happens. Will she lose her son again? You will find the answer in the pages of my novel, In Search of True North.

Secondary characters add so much to a novel. You will meet Samuel, the child Mallory gave up twelve years ago; Brady Donaldson, Samuel’s paternal uncle; Savannah Joy, the sister who continually challenges Mallory; Elliott Moore, Samuel’s biological father and political pundit for a national cable network; Chloe, Mallory’s free-spirited friend; and Liam, whom some might call a beach bum.

I loved writing Liam’s part in Mallory’s story. His role is small but significant. Liam offers a contrast to the life that the Carter family embraced. While Mallory was raised to be goal-driven, Liam embraced living day to day. No competition. No ladder climbing. Just enough industry to support his surfing lifestyle. Samuel thought Liam was way cool!

This story has something for everyone. The overriding themes include overcoming a victim mentality, taking responsibility, and a mother’s love. Added to that, readers will find a sub-theme of astronomy. Mallory teaches Samuel to love the wonders of the heavens through the lens of her homemade telescope. While they take a peek at the stars and planets, here’s a sneak peek for readers.


Excerpt

Excerpt from Chapter 12

Jolene had taken a picture of Samuel on the first day of school each year since kindergarten. Mallory downloaded them from Facebook and kept them in her picture album. That tradition wouldn’t die with Jolene. Her sister probably had a high-end camera, but Mallory’s cell phone would have to do.

She snapped a picture of Samuel with his backpack and another as he entered the school bus. He paused to say something to the driver. Then with a brief wave of his hand, he disappeared from sight. Mallory scanned the seats for one more glimpse. The blinking lights of the school bus stopped as it started in motion, leaving a scent of diesel behind.

What would Elliott think of their son? Would his heart swell with love as Mallory’s did? Would he agree that she had made the right decision? A cold chill sent shivers down her arms. What if she had done as he’d asked? That thought was too horrific to entertain.

Samuel had been in school for a week, long enough for Mallory to realize she needed something to fill those hours. Why not research career options so she could plot out a schedule for her coursework before the spring semester? But today, she’d tackle the laundry. She went upstairs to gather Samuel’s clothes.

As she came down with a laundry basket perched on her hip, the doorbell sounded. The front door got very little use. She peeked out the window to see a man carrying a portfolio. A salesman? Soliciting was prohibited in this neighborhood. Mallory eased the door open a few inches. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, are you Mallory Rose Carter?”

“Yes, I am.” He looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place him.

“Legal guardian of Samuel Donaldson?”

“Yes.” This must be someone from Social Services. She opened the door wider. “How can I help you?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

He seemed perfectly safe, but Mallory hesitated inviting him in. She was ready to ask for ID when he motioned toward the porch chairs.

“This would be fine.”

She stepped out and closed the door behind her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jeremy. Jeremy Edwards. I believe you know my wife, Lauren.”

All defenses went on high alert. Mallory fought the urge to run back inside and lock the door between them. She sat straight up in her chair. “Yes, I know Lauren.”

He slowly unzipped the portfolio and removed a burgundy file folder. Then he pulled out a digital recorder from its Velcro holder. “May I record?”

Mallory stood up. “No, you may not. What’s the purpose of your visit?”

“Please have a seat. I’m working on a story and would like to give you an opportunity to confirm or refute the information that I’ve uncovered.” He turned a copy of Samuel’s birth certificate so she could see it.

A pounding drum beat in her ears. Her knees weakened and she eased herself into the chair.

He shuffled through the other pages. “It seems that the signature on this birth certificate has been forged.” He turned two copies of Jolene’s signature for her to see. A marriage certificate and a high school term paper.

Mallory gave him the same response she had given to Samuel. “She had just given birth. Of course, her signature would be sloppier.”

Wordlessly, he turned a photocopy of the information that she had given Lauren at lunch, the bed and breakfast, Airlie Gardens, and Bellamy Mansion. Jeremy held them side by side along with a copy of Mallory’s GED application.

“Where did you get these documents?”

“Journalists always have sources. Everything you say is on the record. This report is from a forensic handwriting expert.” He retrieved a document with columns of data. You can read over his findings, but this…” He pointed toward the closing paragraph. “…shows his summation. The confidence level is 99.04% that this was signed by the same person who signed your GED application.”

Rage built up inside of Mallory. With one quick movement, she swiped the folder from his hands.

His lips turned up in a smirk. “You can keep those. They’re your copies.”

“You’re making inferences that you know nothing about. Even if they had any merit, which they don’t, there’s no story here. No one would care enough for a newspaper to print it.”

He reached into his portfolio and retrieved another paper. As he turned it over, the faces of Samuel and Elliott sat side-by-side. “I think they’ll care.”

Mallory felt the blood rush from her head, certain that it left her pallor white. “The Charlotte Post would never print that.”

“Oh, you’re correct on that. I have a source in Washington that will print it.”

Washington? Not the Washington Post. Suddenly it came to her. “A scandal magazine.” She spit the words out through tight lips.

“Well, that’s not a very complimentary term. Let’s say, a magazine that prints what people love to read.”

Mallory stood. “This meeting’s over.”

“Can you confirm that you falsified the birth certificate of a son you had with Elliott Moore?”

She turned toward the door. “No comment.”

Mallory reached for the doorknob, but stopped short at his next words. “Thank you. I’ll see Elliott Moore tomorrow. We’ll see if he has a comment.”

She would plead and beg, if it would help. But a man who could do this would have no compassion. Her shaking hand barely managed to turn the doorknob. She opened it and stepped inside without looking back. Once the door closed, she locked the deadbolt, then leaned against the wall for support. Mallory took deep breaths trying to regain her composure.

Elliott. She had imagined the scene so many times. Imagined looking into his face and telling him they had a son. In her fairytale imagination, he’d pull her into his arms and thank her for not listening to him. He’d profess his love and they’d ride off into some happily-ever-after world.

She never imagined he’d find out from a low-life reporter looking to make a name and a few bucks by spreading gossip. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to tell him.

Mallory paced in circles trying to form a plan. She could call him, but this kind of news needed a face-to-face encounter. She couldn’t take Samuel, but where could she leave him? Certainly not with Savannah. Was it feasible to drive to Washington and back in a day? And how in the world would she arrange a meeting?

Twelve years ago, her dad pressed her to tell him the father’s name. Mallory had remained silent, determined not to tell anyone it was Elliott. Now her parents would find out. They’d never read that type of magazine, but if the story gained momentum, if it hit the news, Dad would know. All that secrecy twelve years ago and now it had the potential to become nationwide news. Would Alzheimer’s protect her mother from understanding?

Brady. Perhaps he would come and stay overnight. She couldn’t tell him why. But then, if it became news, he’d find out. Everyone would. Mallory lowered herself to the sofa in the family room and cried.

When she calmed her panic, Mallory took a moment to look at the documents. A professional letterhead had the company name of the handwriting expert. With great detail, the report analyzed size, spacing, slant, and pressure. Columns of letters were graphed to compare the letters that were connected and disconnected, wide and narrow loops, and pointed tops. It was irrefutable.

She lifted the photocopy of her scribbled information about Wilmington attractions. Lauren. Her best friend for years. Did she harbor that much bitterness over Mallory’s departure? Enough to ruin three lives? The lunch had been a set-up. An intentional ruse to get her handwriting. Mallory and Elliott may deserve that, but Samuel didn’t. He was the victim of Lauren’s revenge. She surely knew the havoc that she’d set in motion.

Her hands shook as she picked up the receiver of the landline. “Brady, it’s Mallory.”

“Hi, Mallory. Something wrong? You sound upset.”

Mallory attempted to laugh it off. “No, just trying to make some plans. Hey, I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I need someone to stay with Samuel, hopefully tonight. I have to make a short trip and don’t want to ask my parents.”

“Actually, I’m on the road right now headed in your direction. I have to meet with the project manager. I’ll be happy to stay there tonight.”

“Thanks, Brady. I can have Samuel go to the neighbor’s until you’re finished.”

“No need. My meeting’s tomorrow. I’m headed in today to check things out before the meeting. I had planned to call you later.”

“I’m leaving in about an hour. I’ll leave the door unlocked from the garage. Do you have the garage keycode?”

“Yep. I’m all set.”

Mallory sat down to write a note to Samuel explaining that she needed to see a friend about something important.

I’m so sorry I couldn’t wait until after school. I’m sure you won’t be too disappointed to find your Uncle Brady here.

She left the note with his name on it, written in her sloppy left-handed back slant. She hated her handwriting more each day.


Where to get your copy

You can purchase your copy of In Search of True North at:

https://www.amazon.com/Search-True-North

About Kathleen

Kathleen Neely is a retired elementary principal, and enjoys time with family, visiting her two grandsons, traveling, and reading.

She is the author of The Street Singer, Beauty for Ashes, The Least of These, and In Search of True North. Kathleen won second place in a short story contest through ACFW-VA for her short story “The Missing Piece” and an honorable mention for her story “The Dance”. Both were published in a Christmas anthology. Her novel, The Least of These, was awarded first place in the 2015 Fresh Voices contest through Almost an Author. She has numerous devotions published through Christian Devotions.

Kathleen continues to speak to students about writing and publication processes. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers.

Where to find Kathleen online

Website – www.KathleenNeely.com

Facebook – www.facebook.com/kathy.neely.98

Twitter – https://twitter.com/NeelyKneely3628

Instagram – www.Instagram.com/KathleenNeelyAuthor

Friday’s Feature with Kathleen Neely

The Least of These

It’s Release Day for The Least of These! I have Kathleen Neely back to promote another new release. Welcome Kathleen!

How would you describe your main characters?

I’m pleased to introduce you to Scott Harrington and Claire Bassett.

Scott broke the family tradition of a long line of attorneys when he opted for a career in journalism. This met with his father’s disappointment, just another in a string of them. His brother had been the favored child, in line to be valedictorian and headed to Yale, another family tradition. Those plans shattered when he died of an overdose.

Scott struggles with identify. He has no desire for the affluent lifestyle of his youth, and has distanced himself from his father. Yet he craves an accomplishment that will earn his father’s respect. His documentary on the homeless may win him an award that would accomplish that.

Claire Bassett has always wanted one thing—to be a wife and a mother. She married Andrew, her college sweetheart, and became just that. Until tragedy struck and her husband went missing. Claire is a loyal wife, searching and waiting. How long can she continue to hope?

What problems do your characters face?

Scott goes undercover, living among the homeless, seeking three men whose stories he can tell. The problem is, as he learns their history, he finds himself wanting to help them. That might be a good humanitarian act, but it does nothing for the documentary. Delving into their lives causes Scott to deal with his own guilty secret from the past, one with devastating consequences. He had failed his brother. Would he fail these men for the chance at a Pulitzer?

Claire cannot hold on financially. She’s raising two children on her own with no income. The savings that she and Andrew had is gone. She can’t sell her home without his signature and that’s impossible. She moves in with her parents and rents her home to strangers. Claire struggles daily not knowing if her husband is dead or alive. Jonathan, a friend she meets at her new job, tempts her to move forward. It’s been a year and she may never see Andrew again. Should she move on, start a new life?

Scott and Claire are strangers—until their stories intersect.

What would you like your readers to know about your characters?

Scott has never come to terms with his brother’s death, and carries mis-placed guilt. Stella, his neighbor and friend, tries to help him accept this truth. He can’t deny the compassion that causes him to open his heart and his home. Stella wishes he would open his eyes to her. She tells him that sometimes what you’re searching for is right before your eyes.

Claire compares herself to Hans Brinker, the boy who put his finger in the dike to keep everything from crashing in. She also lived through the trauma that sent Andrew running away, but she couldn’t run. She had to hold things together for her children.


Read an excerpt from The Least of These:

Scott Harrington

Recognition lit the kid’s eyes as I approached his table. I set my plate down across from him. “Hi. I’m Scott. I think we stayed at the same hotel a few nights ago.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. The Bridge Resort. A real one-star facility. I’m Tyler.”

I tested my coffee. Strong, black, and slightly warm. “I can’t say I slept much under the overpass. This is the first night I’ve made it through these doors. Tonight, I made sure I arrived early enough. How about you? Have you been back under the bridge?”

“No. I stayed here last night. Can’t say it’s much better.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How could it not be better than hard concrete and traffic whizzing overhead?”

“Wait ’til tonight. You’ll see. It’s filled with hacking coughs and body odor. I’ve got to get a job and get out of here.” He took a bite of his mac and cheese. “Artificial cheese. Probably powdered. And the ham’s almost too salty to eat. I guess I shouldn’t complain. It’s free.” He picked up his water and drank.

I looked at my coffee and wished I’d opted for the water. “It’s a hard life. Some of these fellas look like they’ve been at it a while.”

He nodded. “Well, I don’t plan to be one of them. I’m trying to get a job.”

“Good for you. It’s tough without an address.”

“I give my e-mail and check it every day at the library. It’s a good place to hang out. I can sit there and read if I have time to kill.”

We were interrupted when a man spoke to the whole group. We ate while he provided a reminder about restrooms, showers, cots, and the time for breakfast. Anyone who remained sleeping past eight thirty would be woken. Breakfast would be served until nine, and everyone had to be out by nine-thirty.

When he’d finished speaking, I picked up the conversation. “How old are you? How’d you end up here?”

“I’m eighteen. How’d I end up here? I keep asking myself that question. I guess it’s part of a long story.”

I pushed my empty plate away and leaned back. “I like stories.”

Tyler crushed his napkin and placed it on his empty plate. “You want the long or the short?”

I glanced at the clock that read six thirty. “Looks like we have nothing but time.” This would definitely be one of the three biographies. I couldn’t take notes, so I’d have to listen carefully, remembering details until I could commit them to paper.

Clare Bassett

The kids went with my parents, and my brothers had taken my things away, leaving me alone and vulnerable. I picked up a plate that had somehow escaped packing. How is it that this set of stoneware, glazed in a dusty rose pattern, had once been so important?

The day Andrew and I completed our bridal registry, I saw the set of earthenware dishes. Nothing else would do. Andrew picked up a masculine design of brown stoneware with a tan border. I’d scrunched my face in distaste and he’d laughed. We added the rose pattern to our registry. I found the perfect placemats to match, complete with linen napkins and rose napkin holders. I’d set a flawless table.

I enfolded the loose plate in a remnant of bubble wrap and placed it in a box with mismatched, haphazard pieces, hoping someday to reunite it with the rest of the set. I went upstairs, pulled back the bedspread on one side of my king-sized bed, and sat down. In a few weeks, it would be Isabella’s sixth birthday. How would it be possible for me to celebrate? Bella’s birthday marked a year since my nightmare began. But for her sake, I’d put on my smile, hand her colorful packages with pink ribbons, and pretend I wasn’t falling apart.

With experienced movements, I reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the wedding picture I couldn’t bear to be without. As I did every night, I touched a gentle finger to the cold glass that covered my husband’s face and wished him a good night. I said a prayer for his safety and placed it on the spot where he had once lain beside me. Reaching for the pillow where his scent had long since been laundered away, I held him close to my heart. I couldn’t hate him. Even after all this time. I thought of all of the things he missed—Drew’s first steps, Isabella’s first day of school, Maxwell’s death when he’d curled up in his dog bed and died of a broken heart. If not for the children, I might have done the same.

I slid from the bed to kneel beside it, holding fast to his pillow, feeling tiny and insignificant.

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” Tears threatened, but I held them at bay. “Forgive me, Lord. I know You’re my strength in weakness, but right now, I can’t feel Your strength. Help me to understand how You’re working in my life. I can’t see it, Lord.”

I gave in to the tears that would saturate this pillow case for the last time before it joined my other belongings in a storage shed.


Get your copy:

Amazon.com


About Kathleen

Kathleen Neely is the author of The Street Singer, Beauty for Ashes, and The Least of These. She is a former elementary teacher. Following her years in the classroom, she moved into administration, serving as an elementary principal. Kathleen is an alumnus of Slippery Rock University in Pennsylvania and Regent University in Virginia.

Among her writing accomplishments, Kathleen won second place in a short story contest through ACFW-VA for her short story “The Missing Piece” and an honorable mention for her story “The Dance”. Both were published in a Christmas anthology. Her novel, The Least of These, was awarded first place in the 2015 Fresh Voices contest through Almost an Author. She has numerous devotions published through Christian Devotions. She continues to speak to students about writing. Kathleen is a member of Association of Christian Fiction Writers.

She resides in Greenville, SC with her husband, two cats, and one dog. She enjoys time with family, visiting her two grandsons, traveling, and reading.

 

Tuesday’s Teaser with Kathleen Neely

Beauty for Ashes

by Kathleen Neely

I have Kathleen Neely here today talking about her new release, Beauty for Ashes. She’s been so gracious to talk with us about her characters, leave us with an excerpt, and allow you a chance to win a FREE digital copy of her new book!

Welcome, Kathleen. Let’s get started.

How would you describe your main characters?

I’m pleased to introduce you to Nathan Drummond and Angelina Hernandez.

If you’re a reader of mysteries, you may recognize Nathan from his book covers. He has seven novels to his credit and has been on the NY Times Best Seller List. Readers see his picture and his bio, but they never see the mystery that his life holds. Nathan’s kept that secret close for many years. That is, until he met Angie. She changed everything.

Joyful is probably the best adjective to describe Angie Hernandez. Her father says she was appropriately named Angelina, an angel of grace. She helps to run The Herald Center, an urban after-school ministry for teens. Her heart of compassion earns her the respect of even the toughest of those kids. The immediate attraction between Angie and Nathan gives her hope for the future. But it comes to a screeching halt. And all she knows is that Nathan keeps a secret from his past. A secret that he claims will not allow them a future together.

What problems do your characters face?

Nathan thought he had overcome the problems that plagued him, causing panic attacks through his college years. Counseling helped, but his counselor never knew the real root of the problem. Everyone thought it was the stress of college. Those problems have a resurgence when he returns to his hometown, coming face to face with reminders.

Nathan thinks that writing may help. He begins a new novel that parallels the events from years ago. As it nears completion, a new concern surfaces. Is it too close to the truth? Will it expose his secret?

Angie is a gifted violinist who put aside her dreams of playing professionally when her family needed her to help at The Herald Center. Nathan encourages her to pursue those dreams. She follows her heart by seeking a musical career and a future with Nathan. But that suddenly ends. What brought about the change in him?

What would you like your readers to know about your characters?

Nathan is determined to never forget the past. He journals about it daily, but must destroy each entry so no one ever sees. The jar filled with ashes is a ready reminder of the consequences of his sin.

Angie’s nature is to always see the good in people. Her Uncle Ramón taught her to look deeper. He said that people have a lot of hurt inside.


Read an excerpt of Beauty for Ashes

Angie couldn’t get past the feeling that she knew this man. She planned to ask, but first the situation with Carlos had to be addressed. “Why don’t we walk through the area where tutoring occurs. You can see the set up, and we’ll find a spot to talk with Carlos.”

Nathan hurriedly tossed the pinnies and balls into their proper space. Angie led him into a long hall with doors on each side. “These are our tutoring rooms. We’re blessed to be able to separate the groups. It helps with the noise, and all doors have windows for safety purposes. Either Jonas or I will be in the hallway walking back and forth, checking in.”

Nathan stretched his neck to peer into the occupied rooms. “You have some larger groups and a few with only three?”

“Yes, eight students are maximum for any tutor, but we try to group them according to their academic needs. Some are significantly delayed while others just need motivation.”

Nathan nodded his understanding. “Where would you place Del?”

“Significant.” Angie answered without hesitation. “I’m sure there are learning disabilities that were never addressed, but that’s not our call. We don’t diagnose.”

“They have snacks while they work. Do you supply them or do they bring their own?”

“Oh, we supply an afterschool snack. If they brought their own, most wouldn’t have anything. It’s a big line item for our budget, but we get some help from a few venders.” Angie slowed her steps. “Carlos is in here.” She stepped into the doorway. “I apologize for the interruption, but may I see Carlos for a moment?”

The teen walked into the hallway without a glance in Nathan’s direction. Angie motioned them away from the classroom door. “Carlos, I told Mr. Nathan that you wish to talk with him.”

He looked instead at Angie. “Me disculparé, pero le has dicho que no me tocara?”

She nodded her head and responded. “We will discuss that, but you must remember that Nathan is a volunteer. His time is a gift to you.”

Carlos turned toward Nathan. “Me disculparé …”

Angie shook her head. “English, please.”

He began again. “I’m sorry I pushed you. I don’t like to be touched.”

He looked like a small child in an oversized body. She glanced at Nathan and saw the same understanding, a gentleness in his expression.

“I’ll try to remember that, Carlos. And I’ll learn everyone’s names. If I had remembered your name, I wouldn’t have touched your shoulder. I’ll try to do better.”

Angie waited, but no further conversation occurred.

“You better return to tutoring now.” Carlos made his way back to the room. “Thank you, Nathan. We both know his action was unacceptable, but you allowed him to save face by accepting some responsibility regarding his name. That was very kind.”

Nathan smiled, the first real smile that Angie had seen.

“So, what was his question before that? I don’t speak Spanish.”

“He asked me to tell you that he doesn’t like to be touched.” Angie always had a protectiveness regarding Carlos. “He’s not a bad kid.”

“Has he been abused?”

He looked into her upturned face, and she quickly became aware of the nearness. She stepped back, creating space between them. “Why do you ask that?”

“Training sessions on how to recognize signs of abuse. Fear of touch is characteristic.”

“Probably. If I saw physical signs, I’d have to report it, but I just see fragile emotions. His father has two domestic violence charges for injuring his mother, and now she has a restraining order against him. I have no way to know if he physically harmed Carlos as well. I feel certain that social services would have questioned him.” Angie touched Nathan’s arm to indicate that they’d walk back to the multi-purpose room, away from the tutoring area. “You look so familiar to me. You said this is your first time volunteering?”

“Yes. I’ve never been here before this week.” He answered while they walked but glanced her way while he spoke.

Angie caught an amused light in his eyes. She stopped walking and looked up at him. “So where do I know you from?”

“I don’t know.” His amusement grew.

Her head tilted to one side, squinting an eye. “I think you’re teasing me.”

Nathan laughed out loud. “Sorry. Do you enjoy mystery novels?”

She gave him a confused look. “Yes, what does that…” Then it came to her. “Nathan Drummond? I should have known.”

A grin spread across his face. “I never know who’s a reader. Some people wouldn’t know my name or picture. Others recognize me immediately.”

“I should have been one of the latter. I’ve read most of your writings. I’m very pleased that you’ve come to our center. Perhaps we could have you speak about writing to those who are interested.”

“I’d be happy to. Anytime.” They continued walking and entered the foyer. Nathan’s eyes turned toward the portrait of Ramón Garcia, his expression growing somber. He quickly looked away.

“What days will you be here?”

“I’ve signed up for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Does that work?”

“We’re blessed to have any time you can spare. Some volunteers can only give us one day a week, so three is very generous. I look forward to seeing you on Wednesday.” Angie stood by the scuffed glass of the front door and watched him walk to his car.

*

The tip of the pen rested on the journal as Nathan sat thinking. A cold sweat gathered on his forehead as he relived the scene. Somehow it had more clarity ten years later than it had that night. Setting the pen aside, he paced circles around the room. A burn rose in the back of his throat. Sometimes there weren’t sufficient words to capture all that needed to be communicated.

Returning to his desk, he picked up the pen and stared at the thin blue lines where sentences should be. Then he began moving the pen, writing just a single word—If. Nathan stared at the emptiness. Finally, he began filling the space between parallel lines. Reaching the bottom of the paper, he read what he had written. But if was an act of futility. He ripped it from the threaded seam, and crinkled it into a ball, flinging it across the room. Then he ran to retrieve it so no one would ever read his words. He took a lighter to the paper and watched as it was reduced to ashes.

While he had fought for adequate journal entry words, the discipline prepared him for the story in progress. When he opened the file, his fingers flew over the keys. Thoughts came faster than he could capture them. It would require some serious editing, but words flowed.


Comment below to win a free digital copy of Beauty for Ashes! A lucky winner will be picked next week!

Or

Get your copy today!  

Amazon.com


About Kathleen

Kathleen Neely is the author of The Street Singer, Beauty for Ashes (4-26-19), and The Least of These (5-30-19). She is a former elementary teacher. Following her years in the classroom, she moved into administration, serving as an elementary principal. Kathleen is an alumnus of Slippery Rock University in Pennsylvania and Regent University in Virginia.

Among her writing accomplishments, Kathleen won second place in a short story contest through ACFW-VA for her short story “The Missing Piece” and an honorable mention for her story “The Dance”. Both were published in a Christmas anthology. Her novel, The Least of These, was awarded first place in the 2015 Fresh Voices contest through Almost an Author. She has numerous devotions published through Christian Devotions. She continues to speak to students about writing. Kathleen is a member of Association of Christian Fiction Writers.

She resides in Greenville, SC with her husband, two cats, and one dog. She enjoys time with family, visiting her two grandsons, traveling, and reading.