Mine to Tell went from a NanoWriMo novel to an
Amazon #1 Bestseller. Quite a trek for a seed of an idea about betrayal and
forgiveness, and a budding voice I merely felt inside as an author.
A bit about the book:
"Mama, would you please tell me about my
great-grandma?" Annabelle Crouse grew up under the family shame that had
been there for three generations, and at the age of twenty-one she still didn't
know why. The boarded-up house down the road her great-grandfather had secluded
her great-grandmother in, had to hold the reason.
Denying her family's demand she let the past lay,
Annabelle followed what felt like her great-grandmother's voice telling her
there was another story to be told, one that was different from the accusations
claiming she had been unfaithful. Stripping the house of its boards and dust,
Annabelle moved in. She listened and searched for that one voice beneath the
insults and criticisms of her family and fiance. She along with Kyle - a long
ago childhood neighbor - together unearthing her great-grandmother's story, the
one she claimed was Mine to Tell.
* * * * *
Not every love story begins or ends with the passion of a bodice-ripper. Some develop slowly - an occasional look or a choice word the only spark they ever know. Some endure adversity - lies, infidelity, or opposition creating flames of distrust instead of the warm thaw of a hesitant heart. And some are so unlikely, so unexpected - no one sees the connection coming, not even the lovers themselves. "Mine to Tell" is a gentle story of adversity and forgiveness, a tale of mystery you won't forget.
“Mine to tell,” Kyle said suddenly. It was a jolt. I was yanked from my mental tumble into a pit of unredemption. Alex looked up too, a quizzical expression on his face. “Julianne left a story behind,” Kyle continued. “Some of it speculation and rumors by people who don’t know, and the rest of it by her own hand. It was a love story. One that was countered with suffering.”
We were all quiet. I looked at him, my heart melting as I heard his masculine voice speak of love and suffering. I wanted to lean across the table and hug him, but I was too afraid.
Alex leaned back in his chair. “What my father went through didn’t feel like love when we were little.”
“But maybe it was,” Kyle persisted, his tone smooth and even. “Does love always turn out the way we want it to?” Then he looked at me. “Julianne Crouse was a fine woman. We haven’t finished her story, but she suffered, and she was fine indeed.”
Tears came to my eyes. “Thank you,” I squeaked. Kyle stood and walked around the table to me. He helped me stand as he thanked them for their time. He retrieved Julianne’s picture, took my hand, and together we went to the door, Alex and his wife following us.
“I hope you’re right,” Alex said, running his hand through his thin, brittle hair as we stepped outside. “My father had some things to come to terms with, but he was a good man. A better man later in life, when he told us he was sorry. I never knew for what.”
A little bit about Colleen L. Donnelly who resides in the Midwestern United States. Born and raised in this central part of the country, she eventually broadened her horizons by exploring and experiencing other areas and cultures until she returned to her home ground to settle for good. Colleen always knew, or was told, she could/should write, but there was never enough time until education, family, and career were well established.
Now she loves creating character driven tales, telling her stories with a literary style that flows at a gentle and smooth pace. Besides writing, Colleen enjoys the outdoors, theater, treasure hunting through antique malls and flea markets, and rubbing shoulders with other creative people. Colleen always has her eyes and ears open for that one statement or unexpected incident that sprouts like a tiny seed into her next new novel.
“Mine
to tell,” Kyle said suddenly. It was a jolt. I was yanked from my mental tumble
into a pit of unredemption. Alex looked up too, a quizzical expression on his
face. “Julianne left a story behind,” Kyle continued. “Some of it speculation
and rumors by people who don’t know, and the rest of it by her own hand. It was
a love story. One that was countered with suffering.”
We
were all quiet. I looked at him, my heart melting as I heard his masculine
voice speak of love and suffering. I wanted to lean across the table and hug
him, but I was too afraid.
Alex
leaned back in his chair. “What my father went through didn’t feel like love
when we were little.”
“But
maybe it was,” Kyle persisted, his tone smooth and even. “Does love always turn
out the way we want it to?” Then he looked at me. “Julianne Crouse was a fine
woman. We haven’t finished her story, but she suffered, and she was fine
indeed.”
Tears
came to my eyes. “Thank you,” I squeaked. Kyle stood and walked around the
table to me. He helped me stand as he thanked them for their time. He retrieved
Julianne’s picture, took my hand, and together we went to the door, Alex and
his wife following us.
“I
hope you’re right,” Alex said, running his hand through his thin, brittle hair
as we stepped outside. “My father had some things to come to terms with, but he
was a good man. A better man later in life, when he told us he was sorry. I
never knew for what.”
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