Blog Tour: Donuts in an Empty Field


Today I’d like to welcome a guest to my blog~ her name is Rachel Barnard and she’s a friend of mine! Take a look at her book! Here’s an interview with the author:


So Rachel, tell me about yourself, by that I mean, give me an author bio?


As you can see from this answer, her book is due to come out soon- June 3rd, to be exact or as the occasion is also known, National Donut Day!! Here’s some links, please check them out:

Important links:

Big Donuts Giveaway ):

June 3rd Online Release Party:

Donuts Goodreads link:

Donuts Amazon Order link:

Thunderclap marketing signup link:

Rachel Barnard Newsletter Signup:

Last but not least, I’m to make sure and tell everyone what my favorite donut is. That’s easy, just a plain glazed donut is best! Umm Ummmm!

glazed donut



Wildflowers On the Road Less-traveled


So get in your little MG, in a candy-colored line of other MGs and drive around spots of Eastern Washington. Not in August though, which is when I usually see these broken-step hills and rills, but in May. Perhaps the tulips are all gone during the tulip rally. Perhaps the cherry blossoms are done in Seattle. But here in the empty landscape, if you’ll take the time to focus, are the little wild flowers.


Oh, and in the background you might finally notice the Grand Coulee Dam…


I had to leave the cars in the parking lot and venture into the damp grasses.


I found the more delicate hues…


Simpering Snippet


From a romance I started, but apparently never got beyond a half a chapter. Do you guys think I should ever try to finish it?

*                       *                         *

‘Dramatic, simpering female seeks ruggedly handsome, arrogant jerk.’


Dorsey McClellan paused over the keyboard and an evil grin spread over her face. If she were being forced to place an ad for a man to guide her through territory she could navigate herself, she might as well have fun with it. Bijou would see that hiring a superfluous male was a bad idea as soon as the respondents to this ad showed up. One glance at the line of smarmy, unwashed, demented-eyed commandos picking their teeth with the blade of their well-used, nicknamed, hunting knives would send Bijou running for the hills. Once her stepmother removed the fellows from the front hall the woman would be back to hire out the carpet cleaning.

And then perhaps she’d leave Dorsey alone. She grinned again and resumed her typing.


‘Must be patient with a tender girl who needs to talk about her inner feelings and gently weep while expressing her hopes and dreams.’


Dorsey didn’t worry about the amount of letters in the ad; after all, Bijou insisted she was paying for it.


‘Must be able to wrestle wildlife, plot a course from the stars, and carry a large, cream-colored trunk on his shoulders should the ground become too difficult for the pushcart. Then must be able to carry the pushcart.’


Dorsey paused again wondering if Bijou intended to try and discover where she’d placed the ad.’

Work In Progress Snippet


‘Deirdre was unaware of all of the nuances passing between her carriage mates. She’d always been quite talkative, Magnet remembered.

“I wasn’t expecting we’d get the king’s chief bodyguard accompanying us on this trip!” Deirdre said. “He’s easy on my eyes, he is!”

Magnet noted that Mr. Sykes wasn’t near the open window when this opinion about him floated out. The carriage had pulled around to the back of the royal enclosure, where the guards slept, trained and ate. She watched as he disappeared inside the building for a moment and after a while came out with two guards. They had horses prepared and waiting for them, tied to a nearby railing. Magnet opened the carriage door as the guards approached, leading their horses.

“Hey, Miss!” said Deirdre, but Magnet was already trying to get her boot to fit on the step.

“Allow me,” said a deep male voice. Mr. Sykes certainly moved quickly. She took his hand and he helped her out. Then he was obliged to help Maridoe out too. Deirdre stayed in the carriage and gaped with big eyes.

“Miss Magnet and Miss Boumer,” said Rufus, bowing a bit. “May I present our two guards? This is Mr. Thom Tumlin and this is Mr. Benedict Stoor.”

“How do you do,” both she and Maridoe said. After a few pleasantries Deirdre backed out of the way. Rufus helped Magnet in and Tumlin helped Maridoe. Magnet liked the look of all four of the men sent to accompany them. Tumlin was about thirty, tall and square with brown hair and brown eyes. Stoor was a stocky, sandy-haired man with a crooked-tooth smile. Jersey turned around from the driver’s seat.

“Good cheer,” he beamed upon the company.

In a few minutes they were settled, Maridoe and Deirdre sharing a seat and Magnet in the unaccustomed best- being the daughter of a minor courtier and her mother carrying the title Lady Renato. Rufus gave the driver a short wave and at last they set off. Magnet felt pleasure settling inside her at the thought of seeing new places and journeying to a new kingdom and especially seeing her old friend Alishia again. She’d been worried all morning about her mother’s anger, but there was nothing she could do to fix that now. She may as well, since in God’s mercy she wasn’t to be saddled with the terrifying Miss Slyndig, enjoy every moment of the adventure. She was young and unlikely to be taken on such a trip again. She took a deep breath and smiled full into the faces of her two carriage mates. Maridoe seemed to catch a whiff of the delicate breeze of freedom that wafted in and grinned back. Deirdre just took up her opinions where she’d left off with them.

“Did you really have to get all the way out of the carriage just to meet a few guards?” said Deirdre, her voice loud enough to be overheard. “But one of those guards doesn’t look so bad, I guess! Maybe I should’ve gotten out so he could hold my hand too!”

Magnet noted Deirdre’s voice did indeed float out clearly to the men riding beside the carriage, for she could see their expressions change. But none of them seemed bothered by it. They could be reassured Deirdre thought one of the guards good looking enough to hold her hand, although the girl hadn’t indicated which one was so fortunate to gain her good opinion.’

Spider Poem

From one of my early manuscripts. Very much the dancing slave girl, the red-headed minstrel with the Peter Pan grin, and the drama. She’s a spinster with a spider locket of poison that’s released if ever a man gets too intimate. Only problem is, what happens if she falls in love with said minstrel? How can The Spinster’s Code be broken?


Eight legs adorn the golden pendant

Eight purposes to fill a heart,

Eight times to prove that he is worthy

Before a new life can start.


Some feats are difficult, some pass with ease

Like life the path winds down,

A man can smile with days of peace

Or woes can make him frown.


But love’s true test will have its way

Eight times a man proclaim,

That he will wait, his hand outstretched

Hoping she will choose his name.

The code of an ancient spinster

Rock Man


There’s a wonderful blog I follow and today she posted a picture of her dad and told us how he prays for his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren every night. It touched me so much and made me think of other strong and quiet men of God I’ve known who support us in ways we can’t imagine.

James 5:16b- The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.

I committed my life fully to Jesus in 1979, the summer before I turned 18. It was like going from black and white movies to color. I went with my sister to this little Assembly of God church in our neighborhood. We rocked the worship time and the pastor would get impassioned and yell ‘Praise the Lord’ a lot during his sermons. People would stand up and speak in tongues, and someone else would stand up with the interpretation. It was a unique experience of early fellowship!

But there’s one thing I really remember about my time worshiping there. At the door, every Sunday morning, an old gentleman in a comfortable suit would greet every visitor and shake their hands.

Funny how the feel of his firm, dry handshake stuck with me in memory when most of the other details about the people there faded. I can still feel his handshake in my memory to this day. I realized years later this handshake was that dear old man’s ministry. I felt the  blessing of God in that handshake. The Lord honored his servant’s heart and passed on love to every visitor that came in the door, young or old, mean or nice, fake or true-hearted.

I wonder how much time on his knees it took to earn the privilege of giving out that handshake.

Today’s Snippet- Blue Howler-y

(From a fantasy I wrote a few years ago, about a mute girl trying to survive being dropped into an underground world. She has the ability to paint pictures on the air.)


‘The noisy crowds near to them stilled as she raised her sensitive fingers and began to spread colors like liquid paint out over the tops of their heads.

Greens, like a carpet spread on the ground at the bottom of the picture, and blue spread along the top, stretching up painted space in between, making the inner world of her drawing vast. Here was freedom, and little black flecks began to appear in the blue, soaring and skipping along wind currents.

“Ahh,” the audience sighed, for although there were no birds in the caverns, still the legend of them was passed down. The painted picture soared too, lowering to the green, appearing now as plant life and trees and bouncing creeks and rock beds. Lightness and beauty captivated the eye, for a moment.

But then, a shadow glinted in front of the sunlight, and a sudden mass of gray stone arrested the other colors. Xerai felt in his instincts that here was a lock to possibilities. This large stone castle, not pretty like the Citadel in Istish, dominated her painting now. It rose, solid and unbending, and the free flight of the birds sheered off to the sides. The painting changed and the viewers were brought inside the castle, to see tapestries on the walls, rooms of books lined in tidy precision on the shelves, long skinny chambers with dormitories of little beds, and at last, sedate adults wearing ornate hats on their heads and pacing out somberness as they walked.

And finally, a large room filled with children. Some were curly-haired and tiny, some slim and quick, and all wore the flowing bright colored clothes that Zephyr chose. A few toys, which looked dull and flat, sat on tables. And the children sitting at them, each one so stifled that it seemed that even Istish was silent behind them, held up their small hands.

Xerai felt his heart beating. It was incredible that Zephyr could paint this scene in such detail and with so many colors. For in her Thought Energy drawing each little child in the scene began to paint pictures like Zephyr was doing. And each child’s personality was reflected in the drawing they painted. Some colors were feminine, pinks and lemon yellows and lavenders. Some children’s colors were dark and brusque. Some of the tiny pictures reflected simple things like food and beds and books. But some were more ethereal, filled with yearnings and aching, and half-formed pictures of nothing discernible.

Zephyr’s painting began to change direction, to focus, one by one, on each little child’s face. Eyes, empty, sad, she pummeled her audience from young person to young person, demanding Istish see. As if she were searching for something in their gazes, as if hope were a quantity that had to be captured there and laid out for each one to share.

Suddenly in a wealth of emotion, the TE picture burst and flared in intensity, the distinctive elements of the picture fading, and it all rolling into a ball of flashing colors. Frustration, defiance, Zephyr let them know that she was demanding life, and to be heard; that these children mattered, even though individual faces would soon be forgotten.’