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When those irrepressible angels - Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy - set out for the City of Angels to grant three rush Christmas prayers, they soon find it will take more than one miracle to teach their precious lessons of love - as well as make three special holiday dreams come true.
More Reviews and RecommendationsWhen Debbie Macomber started out, she was a young, dyslexic mother of four who wrote in her kitchen on a rented typewriter. Years later, she's the blockbuster bestselling author of dozens of heartwarming novels that celebrate love, laughter, and the bonds of family and friendship.
More About the AuthorName:
Debbie Macomber
Current Home:
Port Orchard, Washington
Date of Birth:
October 22, 1948
Place of Birth:
Yakima, Washington
Education:
Graduated from high school in 1966; attended community college
Publishing did not come easy to self-described "creative speller" Debbie Macomber. When Macomber decided to follow her dreams of becoming a bestselling novelist, she had a lot of obstacles in her path. For starters, Macomber is dyslexic. On top of this, she had only a high school degree, four young children at home, and absolutely no connections in the publishing world. If there's one thing you can say about Debbie Macomber, however, it is that she does not give up. She rented a typewriter and started writing, determined to break into the world of romance fiction.
The years went on and the rejection letters piled up. Her family was living on a shoestring budget, and Debbie was beginning to think that her dreams of being a novelist might never be fulfilled. She began writing for magazines to earn some extra money, and she eventually saved up enough to attend a romance writer's conference with three hundred other aspiring novelists. The organizers of the conference picked ten manuscripts to review in a group critique session. Debbie was thrilled to learn that her manuscript would be one of the novels discussed.
Her excitement quickly faded when an editor from Harlequin tore her manuscript to pieces in front of the crowded room, evoking peals of laughter from the assembled writers. Afterwards, Macomber approached the editor and asked her what she could do to improve her novel. "Throw it away," the editor suggested.
Many writers would have given up right then and there, but not Macomber. The deeply religious Macomber took a lesson from Job and gathered strength from adversity. She returned home and mailed one last manuscript to Silhouette, a publisher of romance novels. "It cost $10 to mail it off," Macomber told the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel in 2000. "My husband was out of work at this time, in Alaska, trying to find a job. The children and I were living on his $250-a-week unemployment, and I can't tell you what $10 was to us at that time."
It turned out to be the best $10 Macomber ever spent. In 1984, Silhouette published her novel, Heartsong. (Incidentally, although Heartsong was Macomber's first sale, she actually published another book, Starlight, before Heartsong went to print.) Heartsong went on to become the first romance novel to ever be reviewed in Publishers Weekly, and Macomber was finally on her way.
Today, Macomber is one of the most widely read authors in America. A regular on the New York Times bestseller charts, she is best known for her Cedar Cove novels, a heartwarming story sequence set in a small town in Washington state, and for her Knitting Books series, featuring a group of women who patronize a Seattle yarn store. In addition, her backlist of early romances, including several contemporary Westerns, has been reissued with great success.
Macomber has made a successful transition from conventional romance to the somewhat more flexible genre known as "women's fiction." "I was at a point in my life where I found it difficult to identify with a 25-year-old heroine," Macomber said in an interview with ContemporaryRomanceWriters.com. "I found that I wanted to write more about the friendships women share with each other." To judge from her avid, ever-increasing fan base, Debbie's readers heartily approve.
Some outtakes from our interview with Macomber:
"I'm dyslexic, although they didn't have a word for it when I was in grade school. The teachers said I had 'word blindness.' I've always been a creative speller and never achieved good grades in school. I graduated from high school but didn't have the opportunity to attend college, so I did what young women my age did at the time -- I married. I was a teenager, and Wayne and I (now married nearly 37 years) had four children in five years."
"I'm a yarnaholic. That means I have more yarn stashed away than any one person could possibly use in three or four lifetimes. There's something inspiring about yarn that makes me feel I could never have enough. Often I'll go into my yarn room (yes, room!) and just hold skeins of yarn and dream about projects. It's a comforting thing to do."
"My office walls are covered with autographs of famous writers -- it's what my children call my ‘dead author wall.' I have signatures from Mark Twain, Earnest Hemingway, Jack London, Harriett Beecher Stowe, Pearl Buck, Charles Dickens, Rudyard Kipling, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, to name a few."
"I'm morning person, and rip into the day with a half-mile swim (FYI: a half mile is a whole lot farther in the water than it is on land) at the local pool before I head into the office, arriving before eight. It takes me until nine or ten to read through all of the guest book entries from my web site and the mail before I go upstairs to the turret where I do my writing. Yes, I write in a turret -- is that romantic, or what? I started blogging last September and really enjoy sharing bits and pieces of my life with my readers. Once I'm home for the day, I cook dinner, trying out new recipes. Along with cooking, I also enjoy eating, especially when the meal is accompanied by a glass of good wine. Wayne and I take particular pleasure in sampling eastern Washington State wines (since we were both born and raised in that part of the state).
What was the book that most influenced your life or your career as a writer?
The one book that has had the strongest influence on my life, without question, is the Bible. God's Word has been the guiding force behind all I do. I read the Bible each and every day and gain inspiration, encouragement, and joy.
What are your ten favorite books, and what makes them special to you?
Before I answer this, I feel it's necessary to mention that I read widely, across the board. In compiling this list I discovered several of my favorite books are nonfiction. I have not noted the Bible a second time, although as I indicated above, it is the most influential book in my life.
What are some of your favorite films, and what makes them unforgettable to you?
I'm a big film buff, although I'm not fond of movies with excessive violence. I've always enjoyed musicals. My first exposure was with West Side Story. I memorized all the songs and belted them out for months afterward. I almost entered the convent after watching The Sound of Music. Thankfully, I didn't; it wouldn't have been a good fit for either of us. In recent years I've enjoyed The Princess Bride and the Star Wars series. I like movies with what I call a zinger -- Collateral and The Replacement Killers are good examples. And comedies, too. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard as when I watched The Gods Must Be Crazy, It's a Mad, Mad, Mad World, and The Hallelujah Trail.
What types of music do you like? Is there any particular kind you like to listen to when you're writing?
I don't listen to music while writing. It's not that I need silence in order to create. I started out writing when our four children were small and I needed to keep my ears tuned to them in case one of them decided to play Superman and fly out a window or start a campfire in the middle of the living room. When it comes to listening to the radio, I prefer the oldies stations. When I'm on the treadmill, I play Christian CDs and make a joyful noise. Correction: It's a joyful noise to me, but I doubt others would think so.
What are your favorite kinds of books to give -- and get -- as gifts?
There's a bookstore directly below my office. It's hard to believe but I write above a bookstore and an ice cream parlor. This, my friends, is a writer's nirvana. On average I buy a book a day, and that's no exaggeration. Mostly I purchase nonfiction for gifts. One of my favorites is Gifts from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindberg. For my writer friends I've bought Goals by Brian Tracy, and for friends who are animal lovers I've bought The Dog Who Rescues Cats by Gonzalez & Fleischer.
Do you have any special writing rituals? For example, what do you have on your desk when you're writing?
I have a cherrywood desk with a glass top to protect the wood. Over the years a number of things have made their way under the glass. There's a picture of my dad and his brother, who looked so much alike that they were often mistaken for identical twins -- only my dad was a full foot shorter than his brother. Then there are pictures of my grandchildren (by far the cutest grandkids in the universe), and there's a slip of paper on which I've written four words. They are: "provocative," "relevant," "creative," and "honest." When I decide on a plot for one of my big hardcover stories, I weigh the story against each of these words. I want to provoke my readers to think. I want the story to be relevant to them and to our times. My goal is to tell this story in as creative a way as possible and to be honest with my readers and with myself. As you might have guessed, I'm a lover of words. As for rituals, I really don't have any.
Many writers are hardly "overnight success" stories. How long did it take for you to get where you are today? Any rejection-slip horror stories or inspirational anecdotes?
In my humble opinion, there are a lot of writers out there who haven't suffered enough. I suffered plenty. When I first started writing, I didn't know another writer in the world. This was back in the late 1970s before Romance Writers of America was formed. For nearly five years I wrote and submitted my manuscripts. My work was rejected so fast it practically hit me in the back of the head on my way home from the post office. At one point in my lonely sojourn, an editor read and reviewed my manuscript, and with the utmost sincerity told me there was no use in revising it and the best thing I could do was throw it away. Thankfully, I didn't take her advice, because that same manuscript sold to a rival publishing house and launched my writing career.
What tips or advice do you have for writers still looking to be discovered?
I would suggest that writers pay close attention to the market -- read the bestsellers, analyze each story and look for the key element that is drawing an audience. Who would ever have imagined that Life of Pi by Yann Martel would command the audience it has? Or The Da Vinci Code? As writers, it's important we not follow trends but observe and understand life -- and start our own. It was when I saw a lot of angel figurines turning up in catalogs that I wrote the first Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy Christmas book.
When those irrepressible angels - Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy - set out for the City of Angels to grant three rush Christmas prayers, they soon find it will take more than one miracle to teach their precious lessons of love - as well as make three special holiday dreams come true.
Karen Woods woke with a scream. Bolting upright in bed, she pressed her hand over her chest as she breathed deep and hard. Her pajamas were drenched with sweat, and her heart was pounding so fast that it felt as if it were about to race straight through her.
"Karen, Karen, what is it?" Grandma Shields flipped on the light and hurried into the guest bedroom.
The twelve year old sobbed once and held out her arms, needing comfort.
It was a dream she'd had before. Lots of times.
Her grandmother sat on the edge of the mattress, gathered Karen in her arms, and held her close. Karen knew she was too old to be cuddled this way, but just then she needed someone's arms around her.
"What is it, child?" Beverly Shields asked her softly, smoothing the damp hair away from Karen's brow. You're trembling something terrible."
"I had a bad dream," Karen managed to say.
"The same bad dream you had the last time you stayed overnight?"
Karen nodded.
"Do you want to tell your grandma about this dream that frightens you so much?"
Karen shook her head. The nightmare was bad enough without having to tell anyone else about it. Some parts of it she didn't even remember, and one main part she did and wished she didn't. Every time she thought about the dream, she wanted to crawl under the blankets and not come out for a long time.
Dreams can be real scary sometimes," her grandmother said gently, continuing to stroke Karen's brow.
"Don't leave, okay?" Karen asked. She felt like a wimp, needing her grandmother in bed with her, but she didn't care. She didn't want to be alone. In a few minutes she'd he okay,but not just yet.
Since her mom and dad's divorce, Karen had spent a lot of time by herself, She didn't mind that as much as she had when her parents used to fight. Before her father moved out of the house they'd done that almost all the time.
"Do you miss your mother?" Beverly asked. "Is that the trouble?"
Karen shrugged. Her mother's job as an auditor for one of the big Los Angeles banks often took her out of town. Karen didn't mind staying with her grandparents on the nights her mother was away. It was kinda fun.
"When I was a girl I sometimes had nightmares," Beverly told her.
Karen twisted around so she could see her grand mother's kind face. Even when she was only a little kid. she had liked her grandma Shields better than anyone.
"I dreamed a man with an ax was running after me, and no matter how fast I ran, he ran faster," Beverly Shields said, -and when he finally caught up with me, the ax would be rubber, and the murderer was my older brother. Then he'd laugh and laugh and laugh because it had been so easy to frighten me. That's when I'd wake up, shaking and afraid, and really mad."
"Did ... did you go back to sleep?"
"Sometimes. I learned that if I closed my eyes and talked to God, I felt a whole lot better. I found talking to God works in a lot of situations."
"Do you do it often?" Karen asked.
"Oh, sure, all the time. Any time of the day or night I feel like it."
Karen studied her mother's mother once more. "No one suggested you see a counselor or anything like that?"
Her grandmother laughed outright. 'Why would they suggest that?"
"Grandma, think about it. People don't exactly go around conversing with God, you know."
"Sure they do, but generally it's called prayer."
"Oh." Karen had pictured her grandmother carrying on a one-sided conversation with people listening in and thinking weird things about her. It was bad enough that Beverly put that fake hairpiece in her hair sometimes and stuck it there with bobby pins.
"I was thinking we might say a prayer together now, just the two of us," Beverly said softly.
"Mom and me used to go to church," Karen said, her voice dropping a bit, "but that was before the divorce and for a little while afterward. Then one Sunday Mom said she didn't want to go anymore."
Yes, I know, but don't fret about that you don't need to be a regular church attendee to pray."
Karen felt a little better knowing that. "Will you say the words, Grandma?"
"Some of them," Beverly Shields agreed. "But then you should say some of your own, too.
"Do we have to speak them out loud?"
"No, you can whisper them in your heart, too."
Karen closed her eyes and bowed her head. Then, remembering the pictures she'd seen in religious books, she gravely folded her hands. She wasn't entirely sure why people laced their fingers together when they prayed, probably so they wouldn't get distracted and wind their hair around their fingers or that kind of thing.
Her grandmother whispered a prayer, but Karen couldn't understand all the words. She did hear the part about asking God to "comfort Karen" and "calm Karen's fears." Grandma Shields went on for what seemed like a long time. After a while, Karen opened one eye and peeked and noticed her grandmother's lips were still moving.
Karen closed her eye again and waited. When the time seemed right she decided to pray, but she didn't trust God to hear her if she said the words inside her beheart.
"Dear God," she prayed, whispering like her grandma had done, only louder. It's me, Karen Woods. How are you? I'm fine. Well, sort of. I have bad dreams. Actually I don't mind the dreams so much...
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