ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BETSY ST. AMANT lives in Louisiana and is a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers group. Betsy is multi-published through Steeple Hill and has been published in Christian Communicator magazine and Praise Reports: Inspiring Real Life Stories of How God Answers Prayer. One of her short stories, ‘Kickboxing or Chocolate’, appears in a Tyndale compilation book, and she is also multi-published through The Wild Rose Press. She has a BA in Christian Communications and regularly freelances for her local newspaper. Betsy is a fireman’s wife, a mommy to a busy toddler, a chocolate-loving author and an avid reader who enjoys sharing the wonders of God’s grace through her stories.
ADDISON BLAKELY: CONFESSIONS OF A PK
by Betsy St. Amant
Published by Barbour
ABOUT THE BOOK
Sixteen-year-old Addison Blakely has tirelessly played the role of PK—preacher’s kid—her entire life. But after Wes Keegan revs his motorcycle into town and into her heart, Addison begins to wonder how much of her faith is her own and how much has been handed to her. She isn’t so sure she wants to be the good girl anymore. Join Addison Blakely as she attempts to separate love from lust, facts from faith, and keep her head above water in her murky, fishbowl existence.
Readers, buy your copy of ADDISON BLAKELY: CONFESSIONS OF A PK today!
AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR FEATURE AUTHOR
I think people often have a misconceived perception of authors. They hear the word “author” and they either automatically assume we are all Stephanie Meyers and J.K. Rowlings of the world, and ask to borrow money since we have so much, or they assume we have the cushiest job out there—that we sit back and eat bon-bons in front of our computers all day as we write to our heart’s content, every word we ever jot down publishing-worthy and epic.
The only true part of the above is the chocolate, but trust me, it’s discount ::wink::
I’m here to reveal a REAL glimpse into an author’s life.
I don’t get bon-bons, I get stale goldfish crackers that my toddler hasn’t polished off. I don’t write to my heart’s content, because well, then I’d never stop. I don’t sit in a pool of golden sunshine, delicately pondering life’s poetic experiences and writing as my muse sprinkles fairy dust over my keyboard. No, I sit among piles of laundry and dishes, and write in snippets during the day, or with red swollen eyes late at night, usually to the tune of a toddler hollering “Mama, I’ve got to poo-poo!” or the phone ringing or Nick JR blaring from the TV. I don’t get fairy dust sprinkles, I write with the dropping-anvil weight of other part-time job duties hanging over my head, job duties that actually pay the bills. And as for the publishing-worthy, epic words? Ha! Rejection letters still pile in, as do the bad reviews and the reader complaints.
But you know what? It might not be the cushiest job in the world, but for me, it’s the best.
Because those stale goldfish and toilet flushes and cartoon jingles just remind me that I have a precious toddler, who is a blessing to my heart and loves me unconditionally. The laundry and dishes prove that I have a home and husband to take care of and a life that gives me hope and joy to put into my writing to share with readers. Those rejection letters show me that I’m trying and not giving up on the dream God placed in my heart, while the bad reviews and reader complaints prove that I’m a published author, living that dream out in real color.
There are good reviews, too. There are handwritten messages from readers who were touched or affected in some way. There are fan emails and Facebook messages from people eager to read my next book. There are pictures of people reading my novel or pointing to it a bookstore. There are book-signings and royalty checks and advances and heartfelt notes that speak of a life changed.
And you know what all of THAT reminds me of?
How holy God is, and how unworthy I am.
And really, that’s the only reason why I write in the first place.
* * * * *
Thank you, Betsy, for sharing with us today.
Guest Question: If you're a writer, why do you write? If you're a reader, why do you read?
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