nienie

A long, long time ago I decided I was going to get married.

A few days before the wedding I took a drive with my fiance.

I still remember the direction we were driving: north.
I don't remember what we were talking about,
in fact I think there was a lull in the conversation.
I remember looking over at a duck pond.

Then something hit me.

Not a thought.
Not an emotion.

A fist.

The punch came out of nowhere
and connected with my left cheek and nose.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
In horror I looked over at the man I was going to marry.

He laughed.

Almost five years and a divorce later I felt ashamed.
And stupid.
And ugly.

It took me a long time to recover.
In many ways I still am . . . and will be for a long time.
Maybe that's one of the reasons I've
followed Stephanie Nielson's story with interest.
I've long admired her as a blogger and mother,
longed to be part of a family like hers.

But it's her courage I envy.

Physically and emotionally she'll spend the rest of her life recovering
from the plane crash that burned over 80 percent of her body.

But she's not letting that stop her from living.

Really living.

Haley

Haley is my hero...

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I'll Know You by Heart: A Novel by Kimberly Job

Stephanie Roberts is a victim of abuse, but making the decision to leave her abuser--her husband Mark--isn’t easy. Time and again she forgives his emotional and physical cruelty; she loves him and wants the marriage to work. However, when Mark lashes out at their teenage son, hitting him repeatedly, Stephanie decides she must act to save her children.

I’ll Know You by Heart, the debut novel of author Kimberly Job, struck a nerve with me because I once found myself in the same situation. My husband of five years was domineering and manipulative. He frequently beat me and I feared for my life. I didn’t leave him because I didn’t think I deserved anything better. It was only when I began to fear for the life of our daughter that I found the courage to depart. That was only the beginning of a turbulent ordeal. My ex-husband was good at showing remorse, he wanted me back under his control. But his good intentions were repeatedly washed away on tides of anger. In some ways similar to that of Stephanie Roberts, my passage to healing was long and painful.

I’ve read that this novel is based on Kim’s own experience—my heart goes out to her. Enduring spousal abuse, being trodden into submission by the man who is supposed to love you, is heart wrenching and demeaning; one of the deepest betrayals of trust. To relive abuse through committing it to paper is something I haven’t yet attempted. I admire Kim for her willingness to journey through turmoil and pain as she constructs the lives of Stephanie Roberts and Jared Wakefield, the man Stephanie falls in love with. Jared has endured his share of heartache as well. After losing his wife in a car accident he struggles to find himself again and to define his role as father to his young daughter.

Kim deftly shows the inner struggles both Stephanie and Jared experience as they strive to maintain emotional equilibrium. And she has penned a cast of well-crafted family members, from children to in-laws, whose lives are also impacted by the inherent anguish and scars of violence, divorce, and loss. The story is testament of the power of love and the strength of the human spirit.

I appreciate the invitation of Kimberly Job's publisher to read and review I'll Know You by Heart. I look forward to reading more of Kim's work.

From the back cover:

The day Stephanie Roberts met Jared Wakefield, she didn’t realize they’d met before. Running from an abusive marriage and trying to safeguard her children, she turns to Jared for support, but he needs more from her than she might be capable of giving. With her abusive husband looming in her past, the difficulties they must overcome to be together seem insurmountable.

Is it possible for love to conquer all? I’ll Know You By Heart is a timeless romance that explores the possibility that relationships span the entire realm of eternity. A story about abuse, hardship, and betrayal, it is ultimately a story about the healing power of everlasting true love.



Price: $16.95
Publisher: Valor Publishing Group, LLC
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Binding: Trade Paperback
Pages: 275
Language: English
ISBN-13: 978-1-935546-13-9

Kimberly Job's Website

Fly: A Story of Adventure

Sometimes we stumble upon who we are by accident, and what we want to do--or feel we should do--with our lives is thrust before us when we least expect it. Generally, however, it takes a great deal of hard work to find out what really makes us tick. For some people self-discovery is a combination of luck, divine providence, and introspect; something occurs in our lives that triggers a thought that leads to taking action.

My grandfather, H.L., was a person who experienced a mix of factors that ultimately led him to his destiny.

A self-made man he spent his life pursuing a dream: flying. Growing up he yearned to attend flight school, but his father clipped his wings. Being the eldest son of a poor farmer did not align him with those who could afford such luxuries. One day circumstance aligned itself with fate and he saw a magazine in an Idaho drugstore. In that magazine was a photo--a photo of a craft that hovered over the ice. It sent his mind soaring. If he couldn't take to the skies, perhaps, he thought, it might be possible for him to fly just above the earth . . .

. . .or the snow.

What ensued is legend in my family. Tales that have been told and retold: Grandpa's bold adventures in the snow bound vistas of western Wyoming and eastern Idaho, his travels to Alaska to sell his inventions--Sno-Planes--to Eskimos, and his desire for speed that led him to win the races that were eventually created to showcase his dream turned reality.

Over the years I thought it wasn't my right to tell Grandpa's story. My father and his brothers knew my grandfather much better, and for much longer, than I. They were the little boys who were right there with him, along for the ride as he flew over both snow and ice. But of late I've realized that there's part of the story only I can tell. The part of adoring granddaughter whose imagination was captured by tales of the past, whose mind took flight when the man she revered as a hero spoke of his life and dreams, his blue eyes dancing in delight with each reminisce.

And so, with two of my general fiction novels in the hands of publishers and two in the hands of agents, I've decided not to sit by the phone and wait for what I hope will be good news. I've decided to start my second young adult novel--the story of my life with my grandfather. Because even though what I've written so far is near and dear to my heart, Grandpa's story and how it impacted me is the novel of a lifetime I must write. I'm still doing the course work for life's class on who I am and telling this tale is part of what I need to do.

Joy and Celebration: The Best Days of My Life

Can I back up a minute?

Can I post something else today?

Here's what I want to tell you: two weeks ago my youngest had a very important audition. The fact that it even came about was nothing less than a miracle. It wasn't something she asked for or even anticipated.

It fell into her life like a star shooting from heaven.

She held it in her hands with wonder. And a good deal of fear. This stuff only happens to other people, doesn't it? Like in the movies? Her questions caught me off guard.

I am a master of self-doubt, prone to view the miracles in my life as accidents--meant for someone else because I'm not deserving enough to receive them. Why? Back when I was not much older than my daughter I remember having one of the best days of my life. Everything was going well. I enjoyed a run of success in my schoolwork--things I hadn't before understood that finally came into view--and I'd recently made friends with several kids who enriched my life immeasurably. I asked my mother, "Why is this happening to me--all this good stuff?" Her response was simple and to the point: I don't know. She shrugged her shoulders and walked away.

I stood on the back porch steps and felt like a fool. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb! The impression left by my mother was that it was all an accident and I was a fool to think anything good could be intended for me. I've carried that experience around with me ever since.

Back to my own daughter. Her audition went well, better than expected. When the doors closed behind us she was overjoyed. She'd done the thing she never imagined possible. She'd conquered her fear and come out victorious. She wanted to jump and shout right there in the hallway. I told her no, let's wait until we get outside. Why? Ghosts from my past cast shadows I felt powerless to dispel. By the time we left the building she was feeling the phantoms of self-doubt herself. She didn't jump. She didn't shout.

Last Friday, I completed my YA manuscript. It's been six long months of agonizing over whether or not I was writer enough to do it, to finish what had been burning in my heart, but what had been held down by fear. Fear of failure. Fear of not measuring up as a writer. Fear of so many things I can't even name them all. When the finished novel was ready to go and I hit send I didn't jump. I didn't shout. Why?

I feel joy for myself. I feel joy for my daughter. Why is it so hard to let it out? Still, after all these years? I don't want it to be. I want to be able to celebrate, and so this morning I'm making a choice: chase away self-doubt.

Jump.

Shout.

Celebrate.

Live.

As soon as my daughter wakes up we're going to make this the best day of our lives. The first of many.

Out of the Shadows and into the Light

It's March. Spring is on the way. Life couldn't be better.

I'm in debt to many of you for your kindness,
prayers, and emails.

I'm back out among the living. My manuscript is finished and
in the hands of the agent who requested it; one small step
in the world of writerly things perhaps, but a huge step for me.

Thank you.

Flight

The other night a talented poet in my critique group shared several of her poems. Her words left me breathless. I was stunned by their beauty and power. I related to several of the lines in a very intimate way. They made me think. They made me want to cry. They set my heart on fire. This woman captured feelings that I have experienced. Emotions that are still locked inside my soul. I admired how she breathed life into her underpinnings of her very being and allowed her innermost thoughts to take flight on the page.

I hated the fact, the knowledge, that it’s so difficult for me to do the same.

When I was a kid I was told, “Children are to be seen and not heard.” Through years too numerous and painful to count, daggers of condemnation pierced my heart. I learned keeping silent was safe. But when the danger passed, my words were gone. I literally had a hard time even speaking.

Writing was out of the question.

Old habits die hard.

Slowly my words are returning. A cookbook--that was safe. No danger there. A few short stories, essays, and blog posts. Frightening to fish around inside myself and throw out what I discover. Yet it is becoming increasingly apparent to me that every word I write is a step. Small, but a step all the same.

Poems?

One thing I never envisioned for myself was writing poetry. I knew the words poets use--the words I would need to use to be a poet, if indeed I could hope to learn the art--were too dangerous. But last fall I stepped out of my comfort zone. I did the unthinkable. I entered a poem in a contest at the county fair.

Is There Anyone Left?

Is there anyone left who will fight

For what’s good and what’s right and what’s true?

Who, facing derision, makes firm the decision

To wage battle ‘til all wrongs are through…

Not genius by any measure. But a six stanza offering all the same. My words. And, much to my surprise, the piece won an award.

It’s a start.

Maybe the next time my critique group meets I’ll find the courage to share the poem, and some of the others that are flapping around in my mind. Words waiting to take flight.