I Wrote a Book!

I had originally hoped to finish Shipwreckd before the birth of my daughter. September came and went, the baby was born, and there I was still knee-deep in my unfinished manuscript. Fortunately, my publisher was very reasonable (one of the many perks of self-publishing) and we pushed the deadline back a little.

So here we are a few months later, and at last the book is finished, published, and available! You can buy Shipwreckd for $7 ON AMAZON HERE.

I hope you like it, but if you don’t that’s okay too.

And now, to hook you, here’s chapter 1. Enjoy!


CHAPTER 1: AS WILD AS THE SEA

A long time agoโ€”before the invention of electricity, before the discovery of the automobile, yes, even before air conditioning and indoor plumbingโ€”in the little port town of Ellesmere, lived a boy named Wildr, and his name suited him quite well. You see, Wildr was best known for his unpredictable temper. โ€œThere goes Wildr,โ€ you might hear someone from Ellesmere say, โ€œthe boy as wild as the sea,โ€ and they would shake their head and sigh a heavy sigh. 

Wildr never felt that he could control his swelling anger. If he could put words to it, he would describe it like fire in the belly of a dragon; he simply opened his mouth and flames came spewing out. His mother said he got it from his father; his sister said it was because he was always hungry. Regardless, Wildrโ€™s hot streak had cost him more than a few times in his life, and it didnโ€™t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Wildr lived with his mother and sister in a small farmhouse on a hilltop overlooking Ellesmere Harbor. The farm sat at the very edge of town, and if you were to keep on going past the house, you would end up in open fields and wild lands. This suited his mother and sister wellโ€”they loved animals and enjoyed the ample space that the countryside gave themโ€”but Wildr had always been more interested in the sea. 

โ€œYouโ€™ve got salt water in your veins, just like your father,โ€ his mother often told him.

โ€œTell me more about Father,โ€ Wildr said one evening before he began to notice how sad Mother always looked when she talked about him. Her voice got dreamy and somehow felt further away, and her eyes fogged up as if she would cry.

โ€œJulep was fearless and full of fire,โ€ she began. โ€œI think he loved the ocean because it matched his passion. He dreamed of sailing across the world, of finding places never before touched by man, of seeking out dangerous adventures and returning home a hero.โ€ 

โ€œI want to be a sailor too! The world is so big and I havenโ€™t seen any of it!โ€ Wildr said, his eyes almost as wide as his imagination.

โ€œI know you do,โ€ Mother said ruefully, โ€œbut you must be careful to not get swept up in the romance of adventure. It was the greed for lifeโ€”a life that wasnโ€™t his to liveโ€”that was your fatherโ€™s undoing.โ€

โ€œWhat happened to him? Where is he now?โ€ Wildr asked.

โ€œI never saw him again after we separated,โ€ said Mother. โ€œI took you and Coriander, and we left Thalassa and began a new life here in Ellesmere. That was when you were both very young.โ€

โ€œOh, but Mother!โ€ Wildr cried, โ€œYou must know more than youโ€™re telling me! Why did we have to move to Ellesmere? What was Thalassa like?โ€

โ€œSome things are best left in the past, my son,โ€ replied Mother. โ€œWe have a life to live, and we canโ€™t change history.โ€

It was clear to Wildr that that was the end of the conversation, even though he had a thousand more questions. But he would have to waitโ€”just as you do, Iโ€™m afraidโ€”for the answers.

In those days, a boy typically worked alongside his father as his apprentice from the ripe age of twelve, until he became competent and trustworthy enough to take over his fatherโ€™s trade or business. When Wildr turned twelve, a well-known and respected Ellesmerian named Andrs Bagsby agreed to take him in as his apprentice. Andrs was a shipbuilder and repairer and owned a little shipyard down on the harbor. Wildr was ecstatic, for this apprenticeship meant two things: first, he got to be by the sea all day and watch ships come and go from harbor; and second, he earned a small salaryโ€”nine pieces of silver per week! 

It couldnโ€™t have come a moment too soon either, for that summer, Adrienne (thatโ€™s his mother) grew ill and began to require all sorts of doctors and medicines and potions and remedies, and those things cost money. At first, she did improve, and everyone thought she would make a full recovery, but then she began to have relapses, and for weeks at a time, she could hardly eat or drink or leave bed. This went on for many yearsโ€”healthy and active for a time, then suddenly bedridden and in need of constant care. As Iโ€™m sure you can imagine, this brought a great deal of stress and worry to the whole family, especially Wildr.

This story begins when Wildr was fifteen years old and his mother was going through an especially bad bout of illness. Wildr was at the shipyard one morning in early Septemberโ€”the breeze coming off the sea was cool, which was a pleasant change after a hot summerโ€”but his mind was preoccupied with Mother. So preoccupied, in fact, that he wasnโ€™t paying much attention to the ship in front of him, which had a damaged hull. 

She was a beautiful galleonโ€”the largest ever to enter Andrsโ€™s shipyard (a fact he would eagerly share with anyone who had ears)โ€”and by far the greatest financial triumph of his career. She belonged to a prestigious sea captain from Catalina, who was staying in Ellesmere while repairs were being made. That Andrs trusted Wildr to work on the ship alone while he was away spoke to the trust Wildr had built with him. Recently, Andrs had even talked with Wildr about the possibility of a promotionโ€”to โ€œMaster Builder,โ€ which would come with a much-needed pay raise! 

Wildr was inside the shipโ€™s hold, working to replace an emergency patch job, which had been performed by the shipโ€™s crew after drifting into shallow water and dragging the hull across a sharp reef. Their patch job had served its purpose, but it was time for a long-term fix. But a job like that required skill and focus.

Snap! Fssshhhhh! Cree-eeakk!

Wildr froze. What had he done? Did he accidentally push the brace beam too far to the side? Did the plug pop out on its own, or was it his fault? He wasnโ€™t sure, but water rushed into the hold at an astonishing rate. Wildr threw down the hammer that was in his right hand dramatically as if to say โ€œI didnโ€™t do it,โ€ but nobody was there to incriminate him. At first he was relieved that nobody saw his blunder, but then the realization of what was happening dawned on him, and he really wished somebody else was there to help. The ship is sinking!

Wildr frantically tried to hold up a timber to the hole, but the pressure coming from the spewing fountain was too great. He tried to push the wooden plug and brace beam back in place, but that didnโ€™t work either. In a panic, he leapt up the steps to the main deck to look for help. 

โ€œWhatโ€™s wrong, boy?โ€ shouted a gruff-looking man from the edge of the dock, seeing Wildrโ€™s desperate face. Wildr was horrified, for the man was none other than Captain Hornsby, the very owner of the galleon, coming to check on her progress. He was the very last man in the world Wildr wished to see. Wildrโ€™s tongue felt like a block of ice in his mouth.

โ€œUh, the shipโ€ฆ itโ€™sโ€ฆ everything isโ€ฆ I donโ€™t know howโ€ฆโ€ Wildr sputtered.

โ€œWhat is it, boy?โ€ Hornsby demanded, โ€œSpit it out! I have no patience for this nonsense!โ€

โ€œITโ€™S SINKING!โ€ Wildr exclaimed at last, much more dramatically than he had hoped. As he said those fateful words, the ship rocked violently and a deep groan resounded from below his feet. Wildr struggled to keep his balance as the ship moved and slid in the water. She was going under!

Wildr scrambled ashore like a rabbit fleeing a manic dog, and there he lay panting as the ship in his care sank lower and lower until, with a groan and a final splash (her last cry for help), she slipped beneath the harbor.

The silence that followed was more than Wildr could bear. He stammered through apologies and excuses, trying to explain his absentmindedness, but Hornsby would hear none of it. He was furiousโ€”swearing up and down that Wildr would never again set foot on another ship.

โ€œWhatโ€™s this? Whatโ€™s happened?โ€ It was the voice of Andrs, stumbling upon the ill-fated scene. Hornsby yelled and screamed until he collapsed to the ground in a coughing fit. The scene drew several curious passersby. In the end (the affair took all of an exhausting hour to resolve), Andrs compensated Hornsby generously for his trouble and sent him on his way. Once the captain had left, Andrs turned on Wildr.

โ€œDo you have any idea what youโ€™ve done? Iโ€™ve lost my largest clientโ€”no, more than that! Once word gets out about this, my business will be ruinedโ€”RUINED, do you hear!โ€ Wildr was in tears. His apologies were drowned out by the cries of a man who had lost everything. โ€œI trusted you, Wildr, and this is how you repay my generosity? How many years have I mentored you? I took a risk bringing you onโ€”even offering a salary!โ€

โ€œAndrs, Iโ€”โ€

โ€œSilence! You will listen and do as youโ€™re told! You will work for me without pay until that ship is paid off in full!โ€ 

โ€œAndrs, you know I canโ€™tโ€”โ€ 

โ€œNot only that,โ€ Andrs continued, his voice growing louder and more confident, spittle flying from his mouth. โ€œYouโ€™ll come live with me as a slave and take on the house chores for meโ€”so I can keep a closer eye on you. And donโ€™t you dare let me hear you complain! Yes, thatโ€™s itโ€”oh, how forgiving I am!โ€”this is your reckoning, boy! I pray it teaches you to be more careful. Now, go gather your things and say your goodbyes. Iโ€™ll come collect you shortly.โ€ 

โ€œAndrs, please!โ€ wailed Wildr desperately. โ€œMother isnโ€™t well; I canโ€™t leave her while sheโ€™s ill! Iโ€™ll pay you back for the shipโ€”with interest even!โ€”but donโ€™t take away my salary or force me to live with you! Please! Sheโ€™s going to die, Andrs!โ€

โ€œYou shouldโ€™ve given that some thought before you sank Hornsbyโ€™s galleon! If you try to refuse my generous offer, Iโ€™ll see you rot in jail!โ€ Andrs turned on his heel to walk away, then suddenly swung back. โ€œAnd be assured of this, boy: they donโ€™t let prisoners out to attend funerals!โ€  

With that final word, Andrs spun around and left the shipyard, and the ensuing silence swallowed Wildr whole.


Wanna know what happens next? Buy the book HERE!

Weakness


GOD IS GOOD AND NOT ALWAYS NICE

I used to believe that God is good, meaning that he gives me what I want. Maybe not right away, of course โ€” I was taught that at a young age โ€” but certainly in time, he will give me what I want. I suppose really, I thought God was nice. 

I used to think that pain and suffering must be a result of sin, somehow. I wouldnโ€™t have verbally affirmed that notion, but somewhere deep in my heart, I believed it.

I was, and surely in some ways still am, an โ€œAmerican Christian.โ€ God bless America, and if he doesnโ€™t, well, then I guess we did something wrong.

My dad died when I was a teenager. Death didnโ€™t fit into my faith framework, especially since my dad was a godly man. My family prayed for healing, and we believed he would live, but God didnโ€™t give us what we wanted.

Somehow, I had missed all the parts in the Bible where people โ€” even righteous people โ€” endured great pain and loss. Job, Abraham, Moses, David, Esther, Paul, and, oh yeah, Jesus!

Suddenly, I had to wrestle with God, or straight-up dump him. I chose the former, which can only be explained supernaturally. It took several years to get answers. Heck, it took several years before I found the right questions to ask! But in my pursuit, and through pain, God began to reveal more of himself to me.

I still believe that God is good, but Iโ€™ve learned that goodness is not the same thing as niceness. Iโ€™m glad I donโ€™t believe in a nice god anymore; I believe in a good one.

Where he smokes a pipe and enjoys Springtime

The morning air: crisp and refreshing, a welcome sign that Spring was finally descending. He found himself lingering, entranced, though he had intended to step outside for only a moment before returning to the couch and an open-faced book, which threatened to flip a few pages and lose its place. But he couldnโ€™t leave; he stood mesmerized, a statue frozen by the full warmth of the morning sun.ย 

Finally, he melted back to consciousness and with the first decision of the day, brought out his smoking pipe. As a puff of smoke escaped his mouth, he settled in, taking in his surroundings with the utmost attentiveness. He noticed the little leaves of his wifeโ€™s mint plant, green in shadow but transparent-yellow where the sun met the tops of the curling blades. He noticed the droplets of water that refused to fall from the underside of the porch railing: evidence of last nightโ€™s downpour. He heard the distant calls of jays, the nearby shouts of blackbirds, and the shrill songs of sparrows. He felt the gentle rustle of the breeze as it touched his skin, and caught a waft of someone’s nearby breakfast.ย 

As he took in the beauty around him, he thought no more of the stories others had written, where he was a mere onlooker. Instead, he dreamed of his own story, the one he hadnโ€™t written yet. His mind was filled with awe as he considered the scurrying squirrels and the budding trees, the deepening blues of the sky and the disappearing shadows beneath the trees. He couldnโ€™t help but recreate the world he perceived, and so he pulled out pen and paper and wrote: “The morning air: crisp and refreshing, a welcome sign that Spring was finally descending.”

Light & Shadow

I love morning light; how it filters through the window, touching faux bamboo leaves, somehow adding life where there was none, bringing depth to the slightly crooked lampshade. I can’t say I understand it, but I feel something when I gaze at the light and shadow. Funny how a little thing like sunlight…a touch of God perhaps…can make an otherwise insignificant corner of the room captivating.

Sheba the Lion-Dog

Sheba greeted me joyfully, golden clumps of matted fur tousling as she lumbered toward me. It struck me then how much like a lion she looked, though she couldn’t hide her goofy and lovable doggish charm. I reached out my hand for a nuzzle as I jogged down the farm road, and she danced beside me to match my pace, longing for a good scratch behind the ear. She and I ran together for a short way before she stopped to return to her guard-post. I knew she’d be waiting for me when I returned, though, and that brought me a little bit of joy.