Be Vulnerable

When I was a girl, I would stand at the open window of our farmhouse and look up at the stars. I believed God was there and that he heard the prayers I whispered into the night.

My novel, Anchorless, was birthed from those memories. An excerpt is below.

Dark clouds floated low over the ocean and distorted the silver beams that swayed on the water. Goosebumps trickled along her skin as she listened to the waves crash against the rocks below.

How often, as a teenager home for the summer, Olivia stood in these shadows and allowed herself to dream of a love that would one day rescue her from aloneness. Lostness.

He had to be out there. Somewhere. Her prince. Her deliverer.

She bit her lips to stop herself from crying out. A knot formed in her throat.

How sophomoric she had been!

Her dreams had been nothing more than silly fantasies. The prayers she whispered into the night sky did nothing more than tumble unheard into the thrashing black waters of the sea below.

Yet, part of her still wanted to believe.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “I feel so lost, so . . . anchorless. Show me what to do.”

My prayer for you is that you will use the experiences of your life to enrich your writing. Be vulnerable. Let nothing be wasted.