Book Club!

What a treat to be invited to the book club at Colonial Baptist Church in Cary yesterday!


Not only was the table filled with food from my novel, and a cake with my novel's title, but the discussion about How Sweet It Is was insightful. That's right; I wrote the novel, but these women who read it provided me with new thoughts and their ideas about the motivations of my characters.

The refreshment table was prepared by Joan (in the picture above). She even had chips and salsa which Deena makes for her cooking class. The lemon is from Grandpa Ernest's childhood story about always keeping a lemon in the fridge. Joan liked his words in his letter to Deena, his granddaughter, and so Joan added the quote to her lovely table as well.

What a fun time I had!

And the times they are a changin'

I write to inspire.

Lately, with our changing markets, I need some inspiration.

I set out on this publishing venture with high hopes and a smile in my heart. My first novel, Rain Song, came out in October 2008. Offered only as a trade paperback for $13.99, sales did well. A new author, first novel, a small publishing house and yet Rain Song sold 25,000 copies within 18 months of publication.

I was not on Facebook then. I didn't have a Facebook Fan Club Page. Tweeter had not been created. I was not a member of the American Christian Fiction Writer. My website needed a make-over. I did not attend writers' conferences. In fact, I did not really know but one inspirational fiction author on a personal level.

But I arranged book events at bookstores, and marketed my novel and the next one---How Sweet It Is--when it arrived on bookshelves the following spring. I sent out newsletters and emails and slipped promotional postcards into everyone's hands. I blogged. My publicist was impressed with my efforts.

Now things are changing. Seems it doesn't matter about that number of 25,000 or that it is now at 28,500. Rain Song is going out of print. Immediately.

So is How Sweet It Is.

Oh, they will still be available in e-book format. People won't be able to dog-ear the pages, or underline sections with a pen, but they can download my novels onto their electronic devices.

When discussing sales at Penguin, Penguin Group CEO John Makinson said, ". . . We all recognize that the ebook is a fundamentally more profitable book with cost benefits for consumer, author and publisher alike."

My husband is not a CEO, but he's told me what Makinson stresses. Yet, I still wonder how the author benefits more with e-book sales over trade paperbacks? E-books cost less, yes, and authors get a higher royalty rate, but it all balances out that I get nearly the same amount whether it be 18 or 20 percent from a print book sale of $13.99 or 25 percent from an e-book sale of $9.99.

Are print books dying? Are e-books here to stay?

For five months, paperback How Sweet It Is has been in the TOP 100 categories on Amazon for Christian Fiction and Christian Romance. The novel ranges from #40 to #90 on these charts. I used to keep track of where it stood, now I realize that doesn't seem to matter. Paperback How Sweet It Is is not selling enough to make room for it anymore in the warehouse.

The times are changin' and I'm not liking it.

I need a good cup of inspiration.

Characters in Grief

[I wrote this about a year ago, and just found it again to post here.]

An elderly missionary was asked to sum up his life which had been filled with sorrow and anguish. His words shocked many, especially those who were expecting something more profound. “Jesus loves me, this I know,” he said. Then he sat down.

Once upon a time, I wrote happy. As a little girl of ten, I wanted everything to turn out well. I thought that if you ate your vegetables and said your prayers life would be grand. I conveyed this in my writing. I also planned to save the world, although that was a bit later in life.

When my four-year-old son died, I could not write happy. Like the words in many of the Psalms, my tears were my food; despair filled every ounce of me. Writing helped to get the sad out, and pretty soon, I wanted to live again and had hopes for my fiction.

There is no surprise now that my novels depict both happy and sad, joy, light-heartedness, distraught, and confusion. My goal is to write real.

When I created Monet, the three-year-old in my first novel, Rain Song, some questions arose. Why was this child so loud and naughty? Was it the case of poor parenting? Her mother took her to many doctors to try to find out why she was the way she was, and while there was some conversation about autism, I never said that was Monet’s diagnosis. Yet, some readers were quick to label her with that and their reviews showed it.

Whether you like Monet in the novel or not, to me, she is the symbol that things are not always neatly-labeled in life. Everything is not black or white. My son was not immediately diagnosed with cancer. The doctors gave him other labels first and eventually he had to go through a surgery and a biopsy. A lot of waiting was involved.

I believe life in novels should mimic life in reality. I don’t have all the answers, and neither do my characters. They don’t get over grief, they heal a little. They might overcome some adversity, but they still have wounds. Mentally-challenged Jonas, in How Sweet It Is, will never be a scientist or a professor, yet he has the qualities of a humble man that surpass most scholars. We don’t know why God made Jonas the way he did, but we like him.

Can we live with not knowing everything? In our lives and in our novels? Is grappling with our faith okay? Is it acceptable to some days barely hang onto the hand of the God? I believe that creative ways to show our characters have not yet arrived are necessary in our stories.

Just like in my life. And in yours.

Sometimes when our days are a blur of uncertainty, when the future looks dismal, when our spirits have been crushed, what comes from our feeble lips is both simple and profound, “Jesus loves me, this I know.” It is a sacrifice to say it, and yet, it rings true.

~ Alice J. Wisler

The Long Corridor

"How can I remember his life without the impact of his death?"


This is not like hitting a large pothole on a dark road and being caught off guard. It cannot sneak up on you because every year the familiar dates do not change. When I get a new desk calendar in January, I mark his dates. My son Daniel was born August 25th. And he died February 2nd. Both of those days have a heart drawn around them.

What continues to surprise many bereaved parents is the long corridor that leads up to the anniversary day of a child. How do our bodies and minds know that the date is approaching? I often tell people that I could be on a deserted island without my calendar, but my mind would still know.

The anniversary date of a child's death wreaks havoc with all our senses as we remember. The date of his death is not like his birthday, where as painful as it is without him, we can celebrate that he was born. The anniversary date is the flipside, reminding us that it all ended. Anniversary dates mean saying good-bye. No more memories. Gone. Finished here on earth. It's over.

We try not to let it take its toll. After all, most of us do not seek to dwell on every detail that killed our child. We hear the world say, "Still? It's been ten years." Or twelve, or like me, fourteen. Even so we wonder why we get this knot in our stomach as flashbacks snap before us on our memory's picture screen.

"The days leading up to Ethan's death anniversary date of January 19th are like this long corridor I have to walk alone. I even sometimes forget the dates leading up to the 19th are going to be hard," my friend Brina wrote to me recently about her infant son.

How well she described it! We replay those events that lead up to our child's death. Even years later, we still think that if we could have changed one or two of those circumstances, we would continue to have our son or daughter. Could have, should have, would have. Those are the phrases we learn early on not to say. But we still say them. If only. Why didn't I?

The days leading up to that marked date on the calendar can be lonely, painful, agonizing, irreverant. Yet each year we have to walk through them, until, at last, the day passes, and we are on the other side of the long hallway. For now. Until next year.

The first years without a child are all gut-wrenching, and when the anniversary day looms, parents wonder if they can survive another year. As time goes on, the harshness softens to some extent. Yet I've heard parents say that certain years were harder than others. My friends Gene and Linda just experienced fifteen years since Steve, their only child's, death. Because Steve was fifteen when he died, this particular year marked fifteen years with him, and fifteen years without.

I think of Stephen King's The Green Mile and what walking along it signified to the inmates. They plodded along that long corridor until they reached a chair. By being strapped to that chair, they would be removed from this world.

We parents re-walk that mile every year. Yet it is not we who sit in the chair, it is those memories of our child who died. The call is given, the act is done, and breath stops. There was nothing we could have done to prevent that action. Nothing, no loophole, that we can find, to bring our precious child back to us.

And so we walk. Scenes from years ago grab us like horrific nightmares, only we know we will not wake up and find our child safely in bed. We are still bereaved and that is why, year after year, we must make that lonely walk.

As Christians, we believe in life after death. This brings much comfort. Yet, I must emphasize that walking the mile is still treacherous, at times scary, and sorrowful, despite the promise that our child is experiencing the magnitude of Heaven. For those who want to say, "Be glad he is in Heaven," I would like to add, "Yes, but I want him here. Just like your child is here with you, living each day as part of your family."

For the corridor is not about life after death or that we will again be reunited with our child, it is about the truth that death, plain and vast, occurred, and every year we are impacted by this horrendous truth we cannot escape. Some of us have more events along their corridor, especially those of us whose child was hospitalized, had medical procedures, or suffered before his last breath.

Is there a way to make the approaching days easier? My friend Brina called a friend and planned to attend a chapter of a grief support group in her area. In December, Pam sent out an email message letting others know that the anniversary date of the death of her daughter Paula was around the corner.

Pushing aside the pain and need to be heard is not wise. Reach out, and hopefully, those you reach out to will help to shoulder the monumental walk. Cliches don't substitute for comfort. Loving the broken-hearted is always a good practice.

This year I plan to invision God holding one of my hands and Daniel holding the other as I make my way through the flashbacks from January 22 leading up to February 2, 1997.

And I will continue to follow the advice of my four-year-old Daniel during his own demise: "Deep breaths, deep breaths. That will help me."

Half a Century Reflections

On this birthday, I reflect. Isn't that what birthdays are for these days? When I was younger, it was all about cake and presents, and hoping everyone would remember. Now I have lived long enough to have that wonderful thing called perspective. With perspective, comes gratitude. So here's a list of some of the many things I've come to be grateful for. And, oh, I still hope for cake, presents, and wishes from friends!

* It's really not all about me.

* Scented candles do enhance moods from sour to sweet.

* Saying "I'm sorry" are two of the most freeing words in my vocabulary.

* Taking time to watch a sunset is not a waste of time.

* I've learned to stop trying to get people to like me. They either will or they won't, and that's not up to me to determine.

* The longer I live, the more I realize we live in a broken world.

* The longer I live, the more I'm thankful for a God who shows His mercy and grace to broken people.

* Fifty actually is NOT old!

* Sending kisses up to Heaven does wonders for a bereaved mom's heart

* True friends are treasures and come in all shapes and sizes.

* As long as their is breath, there is hope for our children. They might seem on wayward paths, but hope remains.

* Being forgiven is wonderful!

* The capacity to love is life-giving.

* The more I know, the more I realize that I don't know much at all. (And that's okay because I never knew it all----even when I was younger and thought I did.)

* The race is not always to the swift, but to those who keep on running.

* Make love your aim.

* Writing out my feelings does provide peace.

* The more I discover about God, the more mystery I see. I have stopped putting God in a box or in my pocket. I do not understand His ways; my faith remains.

* The sun might come out tomorrow, or it might wait a few days, but it will come out.

* The smallest of gestures, done with self-less-ness, can bring the most meaning.

* Patience is one of the highests forms of art.

* Knowing when to end a list is also an art. :-)

Christmas Blah Revisited

Christmas 2010
~ Alice J. Wisler

Another Christmas. Here I go again . . .

Gearing up to this season, there were the nuisances from living (basically, things not going how I wished they would) that many of us face. I’ve learned to adapt to most of those because I’ve had lots of years of living to adapt!

Yet, what got to me was that feeling of apathy as I set out to do the inevitable—fight the crowds at Christmas shopping. I felt lifeless. Joyless.

What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel so ho-hum this Christmas?

The songs on the radio didn’t help. I couldn’t get excited over hoping for a white Christmas of wondering what Santa would bring me from his sleigh of goodies. And that was even after I realized he had to bring me something; I’ve been pretty good this year.

I decided that I needed to combat this mood with gratitude, so I counted my blessings. I have so many, including five kinds of tea in the pantry and a computer that works, and is currently, virus-free. With kids and a husband who love me, what was the problem?

When Mariah Carey sang, "All I want for Christmas is you," the words stuck, lodging in my heart.

Of course. I was missing my son, Daniel, and the desire to have him here, was heavy. Without his mother’s permission, Daniel would spend another Christmas in Heaven.

Putting on a pair of earrings and a scarf I love in hopes that they would make me feel festive, I set out to shop. With so many decisions to make, I took my time, the lump of blahness still filling my heart like the lumps of coal the naughty kids are threatened with.

It was while standing at the boxed chocolate that one word came to me. Write. I teach writing through grief and what amazes me, is that even after all these years since my son’s death, I sometimes forget that I need writing to help me cope.

Just knowing how helpful and healing writing is for my soul, I smiled, grateful that once this shopping ordeal ended, I could slip behind my computer and pour out my sadness.

Yes, I was missing Daniel. Yes, it has been thirteen years since he breathed his last. And, no, Christmas will never be complete without him here.

However. I typed that word really big. In spite of it all, or because of my loss, perhaps, I have learned. If Christmas is just a feel-good occasion with a romantical (this is a word, I know, my husband used it once and I told him it doesn’t exist, but some old Oxford dictionary agrees with him that it does) side, then no wonder I feel empty. If it’s about feeling warm and cozy or about being excited over a tree with presents underneath, then I feel cheated.

Because I don’t feel warm and cozy. And, compared to the rest of the world, I live in an affluent society; I don’t need more things.

Except for the gifts that cannot be purchased by humans. Peace. Self-less-ness. Humility. Grace. Forgiveness. The ability to forgive others. Over and over.

These lavish gifts were given. They came on a night halfway around the world thousands of years ago. These are the treasures that do more than sparkle and dazzle. These are what my aching heart need.

Christmas again. A season where so many promises are made on TV, telling me that all will be merry if I just bake the right cookie or buy the silver sedan for my loved ones. Of course I don’t buy into those notions. Yet, I would like to feel at least a little Christmas cheer.

And, lo and behold, I do! Because I’ve taken the gift of writing and used it to guide me into a peaceful realization! The conclusion has been the same every year since Daniel’s death: I am broken, frail, and wounded. There are days I’m tired of being me and wish some gracious, loving, carefree woman would take over.

There was a time when I was able to focus less on the Christmas story and the hope it brings, and more on the fleeting exhilaration of decking the halls and having a cup of eggnog. But no more. My son’s demise and death made me appreciate the birth of Jesus Christ more. I know what it is like to struggle, to suffer, to sink into sorrow.

For in the birth comes God with us: Emmanuel. Love Incarnate stooping down to meet us in our nasty conditions, in our pain, our shame, and blahness, so that we can have those valuable intangible presents he bestows. These are the priceless gifts the world with all its fortune can never master. Great blessings of His Heaven!


"How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heaven
No ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin
Where meek souls will receive him still, the dear Christ enters in.

Oh holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in, be born in us today
We hear the Christmas angels, the great glad tidings tell
O come to us, abide with us, our lord Emanuel." ~ From “O Little Town of Bethlehem”




To read more about writing through grief, check out this article: How to Use the Tool of Grief-Writing to Healhttp://www.associatedcontent.com/article/115539/how_to_use_the_tools_of_griefwriting.html?#comments

Christmas at Harrington's: Review by Alice J. Wisler

Fresh out of prison, Lena Markham is on her way to New Haven, Minnesota to start a new venture. It takes some time for the reader to learn exactly why she was sentenced, thus providing some mystery to this story. (I always like mystery in my novels, no matter what the genre, so this was a plus for me.) Lena's money is running low, she has rent to pay, and her job prospects dwindle. Yet in the midst of her struggles she meets many who become helpful and supportive friends. At last, Lena lands a job as Mrs. Santa at the Harrington Department Store.

Christmas at Harrington's by Melody Carlson provides an easy-to-read tale that will warm hearts at Christmas. The pages turn quickly and the story shines with hope. This is a book that can be read and enjoyed by women (and men) of all ages.

A hardback copy of Christmas at Harrington's was sent to me by the publisher so that I could read and review.

On Lookin' Good and Wondering Why: Stories of Book Signings Far From Ideal

Dressed for the occasion with my dangling umbrella earrings that match my first novel’s cover, I’m ready. Gas is in the car, bookmarks in the glove compartment, and the GPS is programmed to get me where I’m headed. It all seems good until arriving at the location---the bookstore, the conference, or the church. A squirmy feeling in my stomach tells me: This is not at all what I‘d hoped for!

The sun was invisible that day in mid-November when my friend Beth and I drove to the coastal town of Elizabeth City, NC. The independent bookstore was quaint and cozy. Although there was no poster on the door or wall announcing my event and I’d understood it was to be a book reading, instead of a signing, I was not discouraged. My novels were there, their covers ready for me to open and autograph for potential buyers.

I suppose my optimism waned when there came a warning from an author who was packing up his table. Yet even so, just because his luck was not good, did not mean mine would follow suit. I’d contacted churches and groups in this area, Twittered and Facebooked, and believed those who said they’d show up to meet me this morning.

“The streets are blocked off for the Thanksgiving Parade,” said the author before leaving the shop. “There is no way for anyone to get here.”

Yet the manager had told me that this was a high-traffic area with vendors on the grassy harbor front across the street, vendors that would help to draw a crowd. Seated at the wobbly wooden table, I waited for customers to enter the bookstore.

The rain drizzled. Vendors took their tents down and loaded their vehicles to go home.

Beth and I went outside, beckoning people to come inside, enticing them with my bookmarks. The manager waved good-bye and left.

An elderly man entered the store and I cheerfully told him about my book. He interrupted with his thoughts on the smut in today’s novels and how his wife refused to read them. I told this man that my novels were rated G, and encouraged him to get one for his wife who was home sick in bed. Ignoring my suggestion, he ventured into some tale about his cat, his brother’s girlfriend’s trip to Walmart, and a few other topics I wasn’t sure of----I had tuned him out by then.

Misery loves company, and I suppose having a story of my own about a book signing gone bad makes me actively listen to other authors and their accounts.

Kim Sawyer, author of dozens of novels including the recent release, In Every Heartbeat, always wears her “hope” pin and something purple. She also makes sure to have chocolate on hand. Of course, none of this helped when a bookstore in Kansas forgot she was to be there and placed her at an undecorated table in the back corner of the store with only two novels. Kim spent the day directing women to the restroom.

Last summer, a bookstore wasn’t ready for authors Jim Rubart (Rooms), Tosca Lee (Havah: The Story of Eve, among others), Robin Carroll (her latest work, Fear No Evil) or Brandilyn Collins (her most recent, Deceit) either. After purchasing their own cloth to cover the drab plastic table, the four sat in front of stacks of their books only to sit some more.

Obviously, even decorated tables are not enough to sell books. Angie Breidenbach, author of Creative Cooking for Simple Elegance, always wears her Gems of Wisdom jewelry and non-fatigue-showing clothing to her book events. At one store where she was scheduled to be, she was greeted with a lovely table displaying her cookbooks, complete with a gorgeous prize basket. Although she was told that the day before the shop had been booming with customers, the day Angie was there, the store was practically vacant.

Perhaps as we sit or stand in the cold and wonder why the event is not as we expected, we can see beyond our disappointment. It is in that moment that we realize the day can be redeemed.

In Elizabeth City, I started talking to the young employees, answering their questions on novel writing. Later, my friend Beth treated me to lunch at a restaurant in town. The crab cakes filled my stomach with happiness in spite of my earlier feelings of doom. She commented that at least the staff had learned something from me.

During our third book signing together, Marybeth Whalen considered leaving early. The store had only a few copies of her novel, The Mailbox. Yet so many of her friends came out to see her, that she stayed to talk with them. “It was not the optimum way to do a book signing,” she later wrote to me, “but I am moving forward and figuring that there was some reason I was supposed to be there that didn't involve selling books."

The art of peddling our wares to the public can be daunting, especially when we are an unknown name among shelves of bestselling books. However, Angie, along with my marketing and sales husband, Carl, would agree that establishing a rapport with book store employees is a brilliant business practice. When these employees are asked in the future to recommend a book, it just might be your book they select because you have taken the time to get to know them. Angie says, "The most precious things come out of the hard ones.” In the empty store, she spent time with store employees, building relationships with them. She concluded, "The beauty for me is in the new friends."

"Words can never adequately convey the incredible impact of our attitudes toward life,” writes Charles Swindoll, pastor and author. “The longer I live the more convinced I become that life is 10% what happens to us and 90% how we respond to it.”

Here’s hoping we’ll respond well, through the good events, as well as through those that invite us to build character.

~ Alice J. Wisler

Want to share your story about a book signing gone bad with me? Email at info@alicewisler.com

The Famous Bailey House Lemon Cookies

You have to try these lemon cookies. Yes, they are famous! In my novel, Hatteras Girl, Jackie and Minnie need the recipe for the famous Bailey House Lemon Cookies, and when they find it, they know that they can carry on the cookie tradition at the bed and breakfast in Nags Head, North Carolina.

At a recent craft fair, I sold these cookies and received many wonderful comments.

Enjoy making these cookies today! Easy to make, and so yummy! The recipe is from the back of the novel. If your eyes are like mine, you'll need to click on the photo of the recipe to enlarge so it is readable.

Happy baking!

Saturday at Cornerstone Bookstore in Boone

I enjoyed an afternoon at Cornerstone Bookstore in Boone this past Saturday. This beautiful bookstore is one of the most inspirational shops I have ever been in, so what a nice gift to be able to sign copies of all my novels there, along with author Marybeth Whalen (The Mailbox).

One of the highlights for me was to see my childhood friend, Jo Moore Haynes. My novel, Hatteras Girl, is about friendships and childhood dreams coming true, and Jo is connected in a round-about way to that. When she and I were at Kyoto International School in Japan, we used to spend our Saturdays writing love stories. Jo seemed to love mine and her encouragement has played a part in my own story of becoming a published novelist. So, to see Jo, her husband, and the many friends she invited to the bookstore, was a fabulous treat!

The store had a pen engraved with my name and one for Marybeth. They also served refreshments to the customers while we signed. The Russian tea was delicious!

Marybeth and I will be in Wilmington on Saturday at the Salt Shaker Bookstore and Cafe from 2 to 4 PM and at Family Christian Stores on 301 Crossroads Blvd. from 11 AM to 1 PM on the 30th. Hope to see you there!

Hatteras Girl comes alive!

Today, October 1, marks the debut of my third novel, Hatteras Girl. While the heavens have yet to light up and a plane with a banner reading Hatteras Girl skirting across the sky has not been spotted, nevertheless, I am grafeful.

There have been postings on Facebook (a.k.a. the 21st century's town crier) and emails from readers, singing sweet songs of recognition.

Tonight, I will have the privilege of reading from and signing copies of Hatteras Girl at The Regulator Bookshop in Durham, NC. (Jimmy Carter was unable to make his book date there earlier this week, but I'll be there.)

So, here's to readers, family and friends, who offer support and encouragement. And here's to the wonderful region of the Outer Banks, my inspiration for writing about Jackie Donovan, the young woman eager to run a bed and breakfast on North Carolina's coast.

Hatteras Girl goes to Hatteras, NC!

We took our friend, Rick (visiting us from England) to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. What a fun time I had making sure Hatteras Girl (release date 10/1/10) got into nearly every photo. Stopping at the Orange Blossom Bakery and Cafe was a sweet treat. The bakery is mentioned in Hatteras Girl, so the staff there gave us the sweet royal treatment!