It is October 1st, time for the FIRST Day Blog Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day of every month we will feature an author and his/her latest book’s FIRST chapter!
This month’s feature author is:
I was surveying the other tables, looking for inspiration — chicken or steak, gyro or salad — when he beckoned. I hesitated, wondering if I should recognize him, this man sitting by himself — but no, I did not know him. He impatiently waved again, and I glanced over my shoulder, but there was no one standing in the entryway but me. And then the man at the table stood up and strode directly to me. “You’re late,” he said, clasping my shoulder and smiling. He was tall, tanned, with curling hair and a slightly hooked nose that did nothing to detract from his enviable Mediterranean looks. His eyes glittered beneath well-formed brows. His teeth were very white. “I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong person,” I said. He chuckled. “Not at all! I’ve been waiting for you for quite some time. An eternity, you might say. Please, come sit down. I took the liberty of ordering for you.” His voice reminded me of fine cognac, the Hors d’Age men drink aboard their yachts as they cut their Cohíbas. “You have the wrong person. I don’t know you,” I insisted, even as he steered me toward the table. I didn’t want to embarrass him; he already seemed elegantly out of place here in what, for all practical purposes, was a joint. But he would feel like an elegant fool in another minute, especially if his real appointment — interview, date, whatever — walked in and saw him sitting here with me. “But I know you, Clay.” I started at the sound of my name, spoken by him with a mixture of familiarity and strange interest, and then I studied him more closely — the squareness of his jaw, the smoothness of his cheek, his utter self-possession — wondering if I had indeed met him before. But I hadn’t, I was certain of it now. One of Esad’s nephews arrived with a chicken sandwich and two cups of coffee. “Please,” the stranger said, motioning to a vinyl-covered chair. Numbly, stupidly, I sat. “You work down the street at Brooks and Hanover,” he said when the younger man had gone. He seated himself adjacent to me, his chair angled toward mine. He crossed his legs, plucked invisible lint off the fine wool of his trousers. “You’re an editor.” Several thoughts went through my head in that moment, none of them savory: first, that this was some finance or insurance rep who — just like the pile of loan offers on my counter at home — was trying to capitalize on my recent divorce. Or, that this was some aggressive literary agent trying to play suave. Most likely, though, he was a writer. Every editor has stories to tell: zealous writers pushing manuscripts on them during their kid’s softball game, passing sheaves of italicized print across pews at church, or trying to pick them up in bars, casually mentioning between lubricated flirtations that they write stories on the side and just happen to have a manuscript in the car. I had lost count of the dry cleaners, dental hygienists, and plumbers who, upon hearing what I did for a living, had felt compelled to gift me with their short stories and children’s books, their novels-in-progress and rhyming poetry. “Look, whoever you are — ” “Lucian.” I meant to tell him that I was sure we didn’t publish whatever it was he wanted me to read, that there were industryaccepted ways to get his work to us if we did, that he could visit the website and check out the guidelines. I also meant to get up and walk away, to look for Esad or his nephew and put an order in — to go. But I didn’t say or do any of these things, because what he said next stopped me cold. “I know you’re searching, Clay. I know you’re wondering what these late, dark nights are for. You have that seasonal disease, that modern ailment, don’t you? SAD, they call it. But it isn’t the disorder — you should know that. It isn’t even your divorce. That’s not what’s bothering you. Not really.” I was no longer hungry. I pushed away the chicken sandwich he had ordered and said with quiet warning, “I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t funny.” He went on as though he hadn’t heard me, saying with what seemed great feeling, “It’s that you don’t know what it’s all for: the hours and days, working on the weekends, the belief that you’ll eventually get caught up and on that ultimate day something will happen. That everything will make sense or you’ll at least have time to figure it out. You’re a good man, Clay, but what has that won you? You’re alone, growing no younger, drifting toward some unknown but inevitable end in this life. And where is the meaning in that?” I sat very still. I felt exposed, laid open, as though I had emptied my mind onto the table like the contents of a pocket. I could not meet his gaze. Nearby, a couple — both of their heads dripping dirty blond dreadlocks — mulled over menus as the woman dandled an infant on her lap. Beyond them, a thickset woman paged through People, and a young man in scrubs plodded in a sleep-deprived daze through an anemic salad. I wondered if any of them had noticed my uncanny situation, the strange hijacking taking place here. But they were mired in their menus, distractions, and stupor. At the back counter, a student tapped at the keypad of his phone, sending messages into the ether. “I realize how this feels, and I apologize,” Lucian said, folding long fingers together on his knee. His nails were smooth and neatly manicured. He wore an expensivelooking watch, the second hand of which seemed to hesitate before hiccupping on, as though time had somehow slowed in the sallow light of the diner. “I could have done this differently, but I don’t think I would have had your attention.” “What are you, some kind of Jehovah’s Witness?” I said. It was the only thing that made sense. His spiel could have hit close to anyone. I felt conned, angry, but most of all embarrassed by my emotional response. His laughter was abrupt and, I thought, slightly manic. “Oh my,” he said, wiping the corners of his eyes. I pushed back my chair. His merriment died so suddenly that were it not for the sound of it still echoing in my ears, I might have thought I had imagined it. “I’m going to tell you everything,” he said, leaning toward me so that I could see the tiny furrows around the corners of his mouth, the creases beneath his narrowed eyes. A strange glow emanated from the edge of his irises like the halo of a solar eclipse. “I’m going to tell you my story. I’ve great hope for you, in whom I will create the repository of my tale — my memoir, if you will. I believe it will be of great interest to you. And you’re going to write it down and publish it.” Now I barked a stunted laugh. “No, I’m not. I don’t care if you’re J. D. Salinger.” Again he went on as though I’d said nothing. “I understand they’re all the rage these days, memoirs. Publishing houses pay huge sums for the ghostwritten, self-revelatory accounts of celebrities all the time. But trust me; they’ve never acquired a story like mine.” “Look,” I said, a new edge in my voice, “You’re no celebrity I recognize, and I’m no ghostwriter. So I’m going to get myself some dinner and be nice enough to forget this ever happened.” But as I started to rise, he grabbed me by the arm. His fingers, biting through the sleeve of my coat, were exceedingly strong, unnaturally warm, and far too intimate. “But you won’t forget,” he said, the strange light of fanaticism in his eyes. His mouth seemed to work independently of their stare, as though it came from another face altogether. “You will recall everything — every word I say. Long after you have forgotten, in fact, the name of this café, the way I summoned you to this table, the first prick of your mortal curiosity about me. Long after you have forgotten, in fact, the most basic details of your life. You will remember, and you will curse or bless this day.” I felt ill. Something about the way he said mortal . . . In that instant, reality, strung out like an elastic band, snapped. This was no writer. “Yes. You see,” he said quietly. “You know. We can share now, between us, the secret of what I am.” And the words came, unbidden, to my mind: Fallen. Dark Spirit. Demon. The trembling that began in my stomach threatened to seize up my diaphragm. But then he released me and sat back. “Now. Here is Mr. Esad, wondering why you haven’t touched your sandwich.” And indeed, here came the bald man, coffeepot in hand, smiling at the stranger as though he were more of a regular than I. I stared between them as they made their pleasantries, the sound of their banter at sick odds with what my visceral sense told me was true, what no one else seemed to notice: that I was sitting here with something incomprehensively evil. When Esad left, Lucian took a thin napkin from the dispenser and set it beside my coffee cup. The gesture struck me as aberrantly mundane. He sighed.
Sample from Demon / ISBN 1-60006-123-0 Copyright © 2006 NavPress Publishing. All rights reserved. To order copies of this resource, come back to www.navpress.com.
“I feel your trepidation, that sense that you ought to get up and leave immediately. And under normal circumstances, I would say that you are right. But listen to me now when I tell you you’re safe. Be at ease. Here. I’ll lean forward like this, in your human way. When that couple over there sees my little smile, this conspiratorial look, they’ll think we’re sharing a succulent bit of gossip.” I wasn’t at ease. Not at all. My heart had become a pounding liability in my chest. “Why?” I managed, wishing I were even now in the emptiness of my apartment, staring at the world through the bleak window of my TV. Lucian leaned even closer, his hand splayed across the top of the table so that I could see the blue veins along the back of it. His voice dropped below a whisper, but I had no difficulty hearing him. “Because my story is very closely connected to yours. We’re not so different after all, you and I. We both want purpose, meaning, to see the bigger picture. I can give you that.” “You don’t even know me!” “On the contrary,” he said, sliding the napkin dispenser away, as though it were a barrier between us. “I know everything about you. Your childhood house on Ridgeview Drive. The tackle box you kept your football cards in. The night you tried to sneak out after homecoming to meet Lindsey Bennett. You broke your wrist climbing out of the window.” I stared. “I know of your father’s passing — you were fifteen. About the merlot you miss since giving up drinking, the way you dip your hamburgers in blue cheese dressing — your friend Piotr taught you that in college. That you’ve been telling yourself you ought to get away somewhere — Mexico, perhaps. That you think it’s the seasonal disorder bothering you, though it’s not — ” “Stop!” I threw up my hands, wanting him to leave at once, equally afraid that he might and that I would be stuck knowing that there was this person — this thing — watching me. Knowing everything. His voice gentled. “Let me assure you you’re not the only one; I could list myriad facts about anyone. Name someone. How about Sheila?” He smirked. “Let’s just say she didn’t return your essage from home, and her husband thinks she’s working late. Esad? Living in war-torn Bosnia was no small feat. He — ” He cocked his head, and there came now a faint buzzing like an invisible swarm of mosquitoes. I instinctively jerked away. “What was that?” I demanded, unable to pinpoint where the sound had come from. “Ah. A concentration camp!” He looked surprised. “I didn’t know that. Did you know that? And as for your ex — ” He tilted his head again. “No! Please, don’t.” I lowered my head into my hand, dug my fingers into my scalp. Five months after the divorce, the wound still split open at the mere mention of her. “You see?” he whispered, his head ducked down so that he stared intently up into my face. “I can tell you everything.” “I don’t understand.” “I’ve made a pastime of studying case histories, of following them through from beginning to end. You fascinate me in the same way that beetles with their uncanny instinct for dung rolling used to fascinate you. I know more about you than your family. Than your ex. Than you know about yourself, I daresay.” Something — some by-product of fear — rose up within me as anger at last. “If you are what you say, aren’t you here to make some kind of deal for my soul? To tempt me? Why did you order me coffee, then? Why not a glass of merlot or a Crown and Coke?” My voice had risen, but I didn’t care; I felt my anger with relief. Lucian regarded me calmly. “Please. How trite. Besides, they don’t serve liquor here.” But then his calm fell away, and he was staring — not at me but past me, toward the clock on the wall. “But there,” he pointed. His finger seemed exceedingly long. “See how the hour advances without us!” He leapt to his feet, and I realized with alarm that he meant to leave. “What — you can’t just go now that you’ve — ” “I’ve come to you at great risk,” he hissed, the sound sibilant, as though he had whispered in my ear though he stood three feet away. And then he strode to the glass door and pushed out into the darkness, disappearing beyond the reflected interior of the café like a shadow into a mirror. The strap of bells fell against the door with a flat metal clink, and my own stunned reflection stared back. Rain pelted my eyes, slipped in wet tracks through my hair against my scalp, ran in rivulets down my nape to mingle with the sweat against my back. It had gotten colder, almost freezing, but I was sweating inside the sodden collar of my shirt as I hurried down Norfolk, my bag slapping against my hip, my legs cramped and wooden, nightmare slow. The abrupt warmth inside my apartment building threatened to suffocate me as I stumbled up the stairs. My ears pintingled to painful life as I fumbled with my keys. Inside my apartment at last, I fell back against the door, head throbbing and lungs heaving in the still air. I stayed like that, my coat dripping onto the carpet, for several long moments. Then a mad whim struck me. With numb fingers, I retrieved the laptop from my bag and set it up on the kitchen table. With my coat still on, I dropped down onto a wooden chair, staring at the screen as it yawned to life. I logged into the company server, opened my calendar. There — my six-thirty appointment. It was simply noted: L.
Oh my goodness…..well, I think SOMEONE has been eavesdropping at my house! Just listen to what Anita Renfroe has to say (or rather sing as the case may be).
This week, theChristian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
REMEMBERED(Fountain Creek Chronicles, Book 3)(Bethany House, 2007)by
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Tamera Alexander is a bestselling novelist whose deeply drawn characters, thought provoking plots, and poignant prose resonate with readers. Alexander’s books have won multiple awards, including Romance Writers of America’s 2007 RITA® for Best Inspirational Romance, the 2007 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, 2007 Bookseller’s Best, and Library Journal’s Top Christian Fiction of 2006.
Her books have received acclaim from Library Journal, True West Magazine and Historical Novels Review, and Rekindled debuted on the CBA fiction bestseller list. She has a professional background in business management and conference coordination. A leader of women’s ministries for over twelve years, she is currently active in music ministry, facilitating small groups, and mentoring other women. A graduate of Harding University, Tamera lives with her husband and their two teenagers in Greeley, Colorado.
Her other two books in the Fountain Creek Chronicles are Rekindled (Book 1) and Revealed (Book 2)
To celebrate the release of Remembered, as well as the 3-volume boxed set of Fountain Creek Chronicles (Rekindled, Revealed, and Remembered), Tamera is currently giving away boxed sets in a contest on her website. Check out the contest at http://www.tameraalexander.com/ .
From a Distance, the first book in Tamera’s next historical series (Timber Ridge Reflections) releases in spring 2008.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
Though loss is often marked
in a single moment,
letting go of someone you love
can take a lifetime…
The threat of war–and a final request–send Véronique Girard from France to a distant and uninviting country. In the Colorado Territory, she searches for the man who has held her heart since childhood–her father. Pierre Girard left Paris for the Americas to seek his fortune in fur trading, vowing to send for his wife and daughter. But twenty-five years have passed and his vow remains unfulfilled. Sifting through shards of broken promises, Véronique embarks on a dangerous search for a man she scarcely remembers.
His grief finally healed, Jack Brennan is moving on with life. After years of guiding families west, he is now working as a freighter to the mining towns surrounding Willow Springs. What he doesn’t count on is an unexpected traveling companion on his trips up into the mountains, and how one woman’s search will cause havoc with his plans… and his life.
"Alexander again delivers a most amazing story. The characters are more than words on the page; they become real people. Though there are French words sprinkled throughout the story, they enhance the emotions rather than distract the reader." –Romantic Times
"…a rich historical romance by possibly the best new writer in this subgenre." –Library Journal
"Alexander has done it again with Remembered, third in the FOUNTAIN CREEK CHRONICLES. She’s fashioned characters that are as rich and deep as the mountains and valleys they explore throughout the pages, coloring the story as adeptly as the heroine does her canvas. I was drawn immediately into the ages-old heartaches of both of the main characters, understanding at once Veronique’s reticence to make a place for herself in the unknown wilds of America and Jack’s uncompromising love for this land that he’s cut a swath through time and again. They both have a series of mountains to overcome in the search for Veronique’s father, but I enjoyed watching their faith and appreciation grow with each turn of the page. And woven adeptly through it all is the encompassing truth of the Lord’s sovereignty—that sometimes He takes away, and sometimes He gives us what we need, not what we’re looking for.
Anyone’s who’s read the other Fountain Creek books won’t want to miss this one, but it easily stands alone. The characters will take you by the hand and lead you heart-first into their stories, and by the time they release you at the end, you’ll feel as though you’ve taken up residence just across the Creek from them, as surely as they have in your heart." –Roseanna White, christianreviewofbooks.com
"Remembered, the third book in the FOUNTAIN CREEK CHRONICLES, takes us back to Willow Creek and revisits beloved characters from the previous two books in the series, Rekindled and Revealed. Tamera Alexander has the remarkable ability to create places, and characters who endear themselves to us, even those just briefly mentioned. If I had lived in the late 1800s, I would love to have met these people and would surely have been inspired by the way they lived out their faith.
Remembered is a delightful read, well-researched and well-written. I expect to see great things from this author in the future." –Lindsey Freitas, bookloons.com
"Remembered is an absolutely wonderful continuation of the FOUNTAIN CREEK CHRONICLES." –Amanda Schafer, armchairinterviews.com
Wow ~ I had no idea there were so many other ladies out there who really need/want help getting organized for the holidays! My 12-Week Holiday Planner for the Christian Family has been a HUGE hit with the ladies at my church and homeschool co-op, not to mention all of you lovely ladies out there in bloggityville who have sent me emails asking about it.
Having attacked the holiday organization monster, I’ve decided to take a step further into the world of organized living. I’m going all out here ~ I’ve made a menu plan! This is a huge deal for me, because, truth be told, I’m really a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda gal. I’ve known for years I needed to make up a menu ~ I just haven’t wanted to do it. Too much work. But I’m feeling pretty good about this one.
I’ve made a 5-week menu plan, with room for flexibility incase Roger decides he REALLY wants steak on Saturday night, or if we have company. And it hasn’t been as hard as I thought it would be. It’s definitely going to make grocery shopping easier. As you may know, I dislike grocery shopping, and Roger is such a dear to brave the world of the commissary for me, but armed with my trusty bi-weekly grocery list I may be able to manage the commissary on my own.
This week, theChristian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
BLESSED ASSURANCEAvon Inspire (October 1, 2007)by
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lyn Cote’s journey to becoming a published author was a long one – she started her first book when her daughter was 13 months old and her first novel was published when her daughter was about to enter high school. But Lyn was writing for a market that hadn’t taken shape yet – the inspirational fiction market.
In 1996, Lyn Cote’s first inspirational historical manuscript was a finalist in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Contest. This became her first historical novel, Whispers Of Love, in her BLESSED ASSURANCE series.
Most recently, Chloe, the first novel in Lyn’s "Women of Ivy Manor" historical series was a 2006 RWA Rita Award finalist for Best Inspirational, as well as a finalist for the Holt Medallion and the National REaders Choice Contest.
Lyn also writes contemporary romance and romantic suspense. She lives in the lovely northwoods of Wisconsin with her husband and three cats. Aside from writing, she also likes to knit, crochet, read, and do lunch with friends.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
Now available for the first time in one edition–All three novels from Lyn Cote’s beloved Blessed Assurance series
In Whispers of Love, Civil War widow Jessie Wagstaff must fend for herself and her son. When a stranger, Lee Smith, befriends Jessie’s son, even though she recognizes nine-year-old Linc’s need for a father figure, she’s reluctant to let a new man into their life. When the Great Chicago Fire blazes, every heart is pushed to its limits.
In Lost In His Love, Jessie’s son Linc, a social activist and reporter, charms his way through the upper class of San Francisco to build much-needed support for his fight against child labor. His main target is Cecilia Jackson, a beautiful heiress who doesn’t recognize the crucial part she plays in this dangerous exploitation. As the secrets of her family’s dark past are exposed, Cecilia must revive her own wounded spirit and find the strength to lean on the never-failing love of Christ. But when the 1906 earthquake hits, everyone’s faith will be put to the test.
In Echoes of Mercy, Meg Wagstaff challenges the racial barriers of 1920s New Orleans in order to prove that her childhood friend did not commit murder. The stubborn lawyer prosecuting the case, Gabriel St. Clair, is an authentic Southern gentleman who makes the mistake of underestimating Meg, both her tenacity and her charm. Despite their many differences, sparks begin to fly. But when Meg discovers the truth, will Gabe be able to protect her from those who can’t afford to have justice prevail?
"A beautiful tale of love, forgiveness, and acceptance."
~CBA Marketplace
Well, it’s that time again. Time to put together a list of books I hope to be able to read this fall. Katrina’s (Callapidder Days) Fall Into Reading 2007 challenge has begun. (If you want to play along, click here or on the image above.)
Taking a cue from a few other bloggers who have participated in past challenges, I’ve decided to make my list a little more varied than my summer reading list. My summer list was all Christian fiction. Of course, my reading taste is much wider than just Christian fiction ~ the summer list was actually made easy for me because of all of the books I agreed to read and review for a couple of different blog alliances/tours. I am still committing to read some books for these groups, but I think for the fall reading list I’m going to leave myself some room to throw in other types of books as well.
My list is not in any particular order ~ I’ll just pick up whatever book looks the most interesting at the time I need new to read! 
The first book on my list is a no-brainer if you know me or have read my blog for any length of time at all. My Bible is always first on my list! 
Fiction
Informed Consent by Sandi Glahn
Scarlet by Stephen Lawhead
Boo Humbug! by Rene Gutteridge
The Hand That Bears The Sword by George Bryan Polivka (I loved the first book in this trilogy, The Legend of the Firefish!)
The Minor Protection Act by Jodi Cowles
Finding Father Christmas by Robin Jones Gunn
Family/Parenting
The Mom Walk by Sally Clarkson
Age of Opportunity by Paul Tripp (re-read)
Health
Fibromyalgia & Chronic Myofascial Pain: A Survival Manual by Devin Starlanyl (re-read)
Living with Chronic Pain by Jennifer P. Schneider
Nonfiction
Mosaicby Amy Grant
Living Simply by Joanne Heim
I know that’s a pitiful start, but it’s all I have right now. As other interesting reads come along I’ll add them to the list. One thing I’m taking into account is that the holidays are fast approaching, and as much as I love to read, there are other commitments I need to attend (sadly, I won’t have as much time to read with getting ready for the holidays, but I WILL be organized!).
I have had several people ask me about the 12-Week Holiday Planner for the Christian Family. I just bought it about a week and a half ago, but I have already printed it out, put it in a 3-ring binder, looked the whole thing over, and even added a couple of baking and freezer meal making days!
I saw today that Marilyn Moll has a new ebook out that compliments The 12-Week Holiday Planner ~ and they’re offering the two ebooks together as a package deal. Marilyn is an awesome Titus 2 woman with a fantastic website ~ The Urban Homemaker. I love her bread recipies.
If you want to check out the combination of The 12-Week Planner and Marilyn’s new ebook The Holiday Open House click here.
Our assignment this week is to use the letters of the alphabet to describe ourselves or things that are important to us. So, here goes:
Apprentice
Beliver
Capable
Disciple
Evangelism
Fun
Gratitude
Helpmeet
Inquisitive
Jewel
Kindness
Loving
Mom
Neighbor
Observant
Parent
Quiet(!)0
Reader
Student
Teacher
Understanding
Vivacious
Willing
Xuberant (I know, but it’s the best I could do!)
Youth
Zest
As I made this list, I only put down the first word that popped into my mind for each letter. Many of the letters had several words that I thought applied, but I went with the first word I thought of.
This week’s scripture:
Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them: “Rulers and elders of the people! If we are being called to account today for an act of kindness shown to a cripple and are asked how he was healed, then know this, you and all the people of Israel: It is by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified but whom God raised from the dead, that this man stands before you healed. He is
” ‘the stone you builders rejected,
which has become the capstone.’
Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.
When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus.
Acts 4: 8-13
I have had several people ask me about the 12-Week Holiday Planner for the Christian Family. I just bought it about a week and a half ago, but I have already printed it out, put it in a 3-ring binder, looked the whole thing over, and even added a couple of baking and freezer meal making days!
I saw today that Marilyn Moll has a new ebook out that compliments The 12-Week Holiday Planner ~ and they’re offering the two ebooks together as a package deal. Marilyn is an awesome Titus 2 woman with a fantastic website ~ The Urban Homemaker. I love her bread recipies.
If you want to check out the combination of The 12-Week Planner and Marilyn’s new ebook The Holiday Open House click here.
This week, theChristian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
The Ex Files(Touchstone June 19, 2007)by
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Victoria Christopher Murray always knew she would become an author, even as she was taking quite an unlikely path to that destination. A native of Queens, New York, Victoria first left New York to attend Hampton Institute in Virginia where she majored in Communication Disorders. After graduating from Hampton, Victoria attended New York University where she received her MBA.
Victoria spent ten years in Corporate America before she decided to test her entrepreneurial spirit. She opened a Financial Services Agency for Aegon, USA where she managed the number one division for nine consecutive years. However, Victoria never lost the dream to write and when the “bug” hit her again in 1997, she answered the call.
Victoria originally self published Temptation. “I wanted to write a book as entertaining and compelling as any of the books on the market, put God in the middle, and have the book still be a page-turner. I wasn’t writing to any particular genre – I didn’t even know Christian fiction existed. I just wanted to write about people I knew and characters I could relate to.”
In 2000, Time Warner published Temptation. Temptation made numerous best sellers list across the nation and remained on the Essence bestsellers list for nine consecutive months. In 2001, Temptation was nominated for an NAACP Image Award in Outstanding Literature.
Since Temptation, Victoria has written four other novels: JOY, Truth Be Told, Grown Folks Business, and A Sin and a Shame. All of her novels have continued to be Essence bestsellers; her last three each reaching #1. In addition, Victoria has received numerous awards including the Golden Pen Award for Best Inspirational Fiction and in 2006, she was awarded the Phyllis Wheatley Trailblazer Award for being the pioneer in African American Christian Fiction.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
A Novel About Four Women and Faith…The Ex Files:
There are four ways a woman can handle heartbreak. She can fall apart, seek revenge, turn cold, or move on. The Ex Files is the story of these four women:
When Kendall Stewart finds her husband and her sister in bed together, she vows to never let anyone get that close again. But when she is faced with saving the life of the woman who destroyed hers, will she be able to forgive?
When an NBA superstar tells his mistress, Asia Ingrum, that he’s decided to honor his marriage vows, her shock quickly gives way to revenge…but her decision may come back to haunt their five-year-old daughter.
Every night Vanessa Martin wonders why her husband committed suicide. Even worse, she contemplates joining him in eternity. Will Vanessa be able to gather the strength to live again?
Sheridan Hart is finally finding her way after a lie destroyed her seventeen-year marriage. Her new love is ready to get married, but will she commit to this younger man or is her ex-husband taking up too much space in her heart?
When their pastor asks Kendall, Asia, Vanessa, and Sheridan to meet weekly for prayer, they can’t imagine they will have anything in common. But then a devastating tragedy strikes and these strangers are forced to reexamine their choices. Will they find true friendship, or will prayer — and their union — fail them?
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Tamera Alexander is a bestselling novelist whose deeply drawn characters, thought provoking plots, and poignant prose resonate with readers. Alexander’s books have won multiple awards, including Romance Writers of America’s 2007 RITA® for Best Inspirational Romance, the 2007 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, 2007 Bookseller’s Best, and Library Journal’s Top Christian Fiction of 2006. 
Though loss is often marked
