There are some taboo subjects in the Christian writing world—some that just don’t get discussed as if they don’t exist. Honestly, if you look at the inspirational book section at Wal-Mart, you might think we’ve all turned Amish. Women in the church today get boob jobs. Men struggle with porn addictions. Abortions are kept secret. And ministers have been known to cheat. It’s the truth. So I wrote about it. But, as my former agent would say, I wrote it in a way that “makes the tragic entertaining.” Yeah, Bethany is struggling with forgiving her father for running off with his church secretary. And yeah, she starts to fall in love with her own pastor who is counseling her to forgive him. But instead of focus on her own issues, she gets into an assortment of embarrassing experiences while trying to fix others—splitting her pants at a cosmic bowling alley and exposing her white underwear beneath the black lights, running into her crush when trying on maternity clothes over a fake baby belly, and overdosing on fruit punch when fasting with the results of acting drunk. It’s a humorous look at the lengths Christians can go to in the effort…

I researched the novel on Jezebel’s life, REIGN, for two years. Then I had to throw the first draft in the trash. When I threw that in the trash, after two years of research and writing, I thought I was getting a fresh start. This next attempt to tell her story, I thought, would be so much better. I was wrong. That draft ended up in the trash, as did the next. Three times I started fresh, and three times I had to admit that the final product stank. I had not yet figured out why the story was so hard to write, and I needed a faithful friend and editor to point out my blind spot. So why does bad writing happen to good writers? (If I may be so bold to include myself!) There are perhaps a thousand reasons, but I ultimately what I know is this: writers need community. We need other people to show us our blind spots and push us past our comfort zones. A great editor can do this, but I can never assume that I will be assigned a great editor. For me, a critique group has become a major saving grace, an…

My husband and I have owned our house for about four and half years and in those four and a half years, we have redone our backyard approximately 92 times. We have ripped up xeriscaping and added grass. We have pulled out trees and added flowers. We have scraped back rock and laid down pavers. And every time we declare the yard “DONE”, we have no sooner gone back inside before we’re planning the next addition to the yard. I have no idea what is wrong with us. This year, we’ve decided to build a raised garden bed. And as my poor husband has slaved under my Pinterest board inspirations for what this garden should look like, my two-year-old son and I have been planning what vegetables to plant. “How about green beans?” I asked him the other day. He thought for a minute and said, “I don’t like green beans. I think we should plant an ice cream garden, Mom.” My eighth novel, PAIGE TORN, just released May 1st and friends, I have decided that writing is exactly like owning an ice cream garden. It takes months — sometimes years — of hard work. Even just the preparation that…

Have you ever seen the wonderful Danny Kaye movie, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty? Danny plays a man with a very ordinary life. Actually, it’s a very dull life. To cope with the endless drudgery, Walter simply imagines adventures, and they often intrude in his everyday life at the worst moments. In his imagination, he’s a gifted surgeon, or a combat pilot flying off into heroic danger. Of course, his family and friends just think he’s odd, nervous and distracted. But then Walter gets involved in a real adventure, and his life changes. He becomes the hero he imagines he is. It’s one of my favorite movies, partly because as a writer, I do tend to live my own imaginary life, a lot like Walter does. Well, I’ve never imagined myself as a pilot, but here’s what I mean. My first secret: I never go to the bathroom alone, not even now my children are grown, or even when my nosy cats are distracted. There are a thousand characters in my head, all telling stories, and clamoring for me to write ‘em down, even in delicate moments. (No, there is no schizophrenia in my family. Why do you ask?…