Stitching together literature, art, and indie spirit.
Indie Publishin g
Each issue weaves together short stories, poetry, photography, author interviews, book reviews, opinion pieces, and more— highlighting the dynamic world of independent publishing and the artists shaping its future.
Explore the threads. Discover the voices. Celebrate the craft .
TAPESTRY JOURNAL — Stitching together literature, art, and indie spirit.
Welcome to the second issue of Tapestry Journal: Indie Publishing , a place where stories, images, and ideas weave together into something shared and meaningful. As the days shorten and winter settles in, we find ourselves drawing closer to the light—whether it glows from a lantern, a window, or the warmth of one another’s company. This issue is shaped by that season of gathering, reflection, and celebration.
Inside these pages, you’ll find work that embraces the spirit of the holidays and the quiet magic of wintertime. Our contributors invite you into new worlds through short stories threaded with wonder, poems that capture the hush of falling snow, and interviews that offer a glimpse into the creative spark behind voices that shape today’s literary landscape. You’ll also discover photography and artwork that hold the subtle textures of the season: the frost, the firelight, the peace.
We are honored to spotlight the extraordinary painter and artist Temple Reece in this issue. Reece’s art reminds us how color and memory intertwine—and how even in the coldest months, creativity continues to bloom.
Thank you for opening this November/December issue and stepping into the tapestry with us. Whether you are reading by the fire, in a bustling café, or beneath the soft glow of a winter evening, we hope these pages offer you connection, inspiration, and a moment of stillness.
Warmest wishes for the season ahead,
Allison Lawson Managing Editor
MISSION:
Tapestry Journal: Indie Publishing is a
Like its namesake, Tapestry Journal brings together diverse
meaningful.
Jan-Carol Publishing, Inc. PO Box 701 Johnson City, TN 37605
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Janie C Jessee, 423.926-9983 publisher@jancarolpublishing.com
Allison Lawson Managing Editor
Tapestry Journal: Indie Publishing tapestryjournal@jancarolpublishing.com
Draco Bailey
GRAPHICS/PRODUCTION
Reading is a relaxing way to pass the time, expand your vocabulary, and help maintain cognition. Piedmont Health says reading boosts health in a number of ways. Researchers at the University of Sussex found that participants who read for just six minutes experienced reduced muscle tension and a slower heart rate. Studies have shown that regular reading may slow mental decline and reduce the risk of Alzheimer’s disease.
New books inspire people to read more readily. According to Goodreads and The New York Times® Best Sellers, the following are some of the best-selling books of 2025.
• Onyx Storm by Rebecca Yarros
Violet Sorrengail must journey beyond the failing wards and seek allies from unfamiliar lands, a trip that will test her strength, luck, and much more. This book is the third in the fantasy romance Empyrean series.
• Alchemised by SenLinYu
Hope seems lost for Helena, a prisoner of war facing a dreary world of death and dark magic. In this dark fantasy, a woman with missing memories fights to survive in a war-torn world.
• Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins
It’s the 50th annual Hunger Games and fear blankets Panem. In honor of the Quarter Quell, twice as many tributes will be taken from their homes. This book provides an interpretation of the Reaping through the eyes of Haymitch.
• 107 Days by Kamala Harris
Vice President Harris answered her party’s last-minute call to enter the presidential race in 2024. She only had 107 days to prepare and make history, with an eye on the most important job in the country, if not the world. This book provides an unfiltered look at the triumphs and pressures Harris faced.
• Atmosphere by Taylor Jenkins Reid
Thoughtful and reserved, Joan Goodwin is content with her career as a physics professor. But when she sees an advertisement seeking the first women scientists to join the NASA space shuttle program, suddenly Joan aspires to be one of those lucky enough to visit space.
• The Housemaid by Freida McFadden
The queen of suspenseful reads is at it again with a tale of a live-in housekeeper who is very much entwined in the lives of the family she serves without them really knowing much about the woman living in their attic. A mystery-thriller with a surprise twist that no one will see coming, and the first in a series.
• Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey
An honest and unflinching memoir from one of the more popular actors of his generation. Compiled from years of diaries and stories, the book is a composition of his life thus far and offers readers many lessons.
by Rachel Gillig
By Allison Lawson
Rachel Gillig’s The Knight and the Moth is a somber, intricate romantasy that feels less like a tale of gods and prophecies and more like a study of what it means to grow up inside a story you never agreed to. Its power lies not just in its plot, but in the psychological and spiritual knots its characters struggle to untangle.
At the center is Sybil Delling, known as Six, a Diviner raised within the austere walls of Aisling Cathedral. From childhood, she’s been taught that her visions—and by extension, her very identity—belong to the Omens she serves. Gillig uses Sybil to explore the theme of inherited faith: what we accept, what we question, and what we fear to lose if we stop believing. Sybil’s unraveling is not merely a loss of trust in her order; it’s the collapse of an entire worldview. Her quiet rebellion becomes an act of self-definition, and watching her shift from obedient instrument to uncertain yet determined seeker is one of the novel’s most resonant arcs.
Opposing her indoctrination is Rory, a handsome former knight whose skepticism toward divine authority offers a direct contrast to Sybil’s lifelong devotion. Their dynamic isn’t built on instant attrac-
tion but on the friction between belief and doubt. Rory challenges her, sometimes uncomfortably, yet he also gives her the space to question what she has never been allowed to examine. Their relationship becomes a thematic pivot: faith versus autonomy, duty versus desire, and truth versus the comfort of familiar lies.
Gillig’s world-building is absolutely worth noting, too. It is deeply atmospheric, built from images rather than exposition. Traum feels governed by its own logic—fog-bound, ritualistic, and claustrophobic. The Cathedral, especially, is a triumph of world-building: both sacred and suffocating, with its whispered omens, cold stone, and impeccable order hiding a rot that Sybil senses long before she understands it. It’s a setting that doesn’t just frame the story; it shapes every moral dilemma the characters face.
The magic system is intentionally opaque, tied to visions, symbols, and divine interpretation rather than just spellwork. Gillig treats magic as a spiritual and political force, something that can justify or undermine power depending on who wields it. The world retains a sense of mystery that mirrors Sybil’s own limited understanding, and this perspective-driven approach makes the setting feel lived-in and unsettling rather than conventionally mapped out like in some other romantasy novels.
Themes of control, institutional manipulation, and the weaponization
of faith run through the narrative like a low hum, yet Gillig balances this heaviness with moments of warmth—most notably through an adorable gargoyle companion who adds humor and humanity without disrupting the story’s gothic undercurrent. These small flashes of connection lighten the emotional weight and remind us what Sybil is fighting for: not just freedom, but the right to define herself outside the Cathedral’s narrative.
Overall, The Knight and the Moth is a rich blend of character study, thematic depth, immersive world-building, and a slow-burn romance that has great payoff. Readers drawn to introspective, atmospheric romantasy—where the battles fought are as much internal as external—will find it a compelling and memorable read. Personally, I found it to be the best romantasy (or fantasy) novel I’ve read in many years.
By Micah Burgoyne
Up above the clouds are dark, Here below the world seems stark, Wind, relentless as it blows, At last brings the winter snows.
Like an army from the skies, Stretching beyond range of eyes, So the snow falls all around, Covering the trees and ground.
They remake the world in white, Calm and pleasing to the sight; How they smooth the barren earth, As if bringing its rebirth.
At the darkest time of year, They bring light, and with it cheer; Though they know that they will die, Still they fly down from on high.
Come a warm day, They melt away.
A raw, intimate collection of poems exploring the depths of schizophrenia, addiction, heartbreak, and eeting love. Each verse reveals a journey toward clarity, capturing the struggle and beauty of a mind trying to be free.
By Micah Burgoyne
As I gaze into the embers, Worlds blossom and fade before me, Each spark, so bright for a moment, Soon loses its former glory.
Though once the fire leapt up with might, And strong were its flickering flashes, Now it subsides, lessens, dwindles; Soon nothing but dreary ashes.
As I gaze into the embers, Worlds blossom and fade before me; Each thought, so bright for a moment, Soon loses its former glory.
Though once the pondering had might, And strong were its flickering flashes, Now it subsides, lessens, dwindles; Soon nothing but dreary ashes.
Micah Burgoyne is a student majoring in English at the University of Wisconsin Parkside. Previously, his poems “There Came a Stranger” and “The Winter Comes” have appeared in the Voices of Tomorrow section of Tapestry Journal. In his spare time, Micah enjoys a variety of pastimes, such as talking with friends, playing chess, and pondering the mysteries of life.
A Collection of Poems
JC Gilliam
“Everything I have read by JC Gilliam has been excellent and inspirational to me. His writing never fails to touch my heart and o en brings a tear or two to my eyes. I see myself and my life, o en my childhood, in his beautiful words. His writing de nitely warms my heart and leaves a lasting impression.”
— CAROL BRANNIN, author
By Kendra Hinkle
Snow brings hovering softness in the shape of feathery stars. Suspended in the silent air before slipping to earth in satisfying accumulation. Snow brings singular purity to simple, idle souls childishly savoring a sanctified world.
Kendra Hinkle is a native of Greeneville, Tenn. Her love of literature and folklore thrives in the Appalachian region, which she sees as an endless source of inspiration. She enjoys art, poetry, log cabins, animals, and travel. Her goal is to inspire others through written words, beauty, and visual arts.
By Scott Newland
The air bites—sharp as truth— and the trees stand naked, proud, their bones showing against a white sky that neither forgives nor mourns.
I walk among them, feeling the slow blood of the earth beating faintly under my boots. Everything is stripped, raw, honest now.
No more pretense of bloom, no perfume to flatter the air— only the clean ache of things that have endured.
The crows cry like thoughts that refuse to die; the wind moves through me as if I were hollow, a reed for its long music.
And yet—beneath the frozen hush— I hear it: the quiet stirring of sap, the secret vow of spring.
Life, bare and unspeaking, waits— like a heart between beats— and I, for once, am not afraid of the cold.
Scott Newland is a USAF veteran, watercolor and photography artist, and poet living in Chuckey, Tenn. He takes great pleasure living deep in the National Forest where he gets most of his inspiration. He is originally a teacher with an education degree from ETSU as well as advanced education degrees from The College of New Jersey (M.Ed) and Specialist and Doctoral degrees from the University of Sarasota. After serving in USAF for 8 years, he and his wife made a career working in overseas American schools for 12 years, traveling to Kuwait, Lesotho, and Eritrea, where he retired as a school superintendent. Now in retirement, he can work full time on his passions.
By Kendra Hinkle
In December we become guardians of light, Harvesting it from attic tubs And boxes in remote corners of the garage.
Gathered bulbs and tangled vines entwine through hands
Dispelling the darkness of the shortest days.
Rays of starlight tumble down
Fragrant boughs of Eastern Cedar, Past bright blue berries or dark brown burls, Unfurling cherished holiday dreams.
With beams of borrowed illumination, We bask until the solstice weighs
The tilt of the Earth back toward the sun.
Transformation replete, Harvest complete.
Kendra Hinkle is a native of Greeneville, Tenn. Her love of literature and folklore thrives in the Appalachian region, which she sees as an endless source of inspiration. She enjoys art, poetry, log cabins, animals, and travel. Her goal is to inspire others through written words, beauty, and visual arts.
By Kathleen M. Jacobs
Moss, sage forest floor.
Spindly wisps of bay tree limbs. Pinecones stake their claim.
By Kathleen M. Jacobs
Stacks of cerulean beribboned letters, shredded.
Diamonds’ blinding brilliance shattered at rocks’ edges.
The bobolink, silenced.
Still, I strain to hear the sweet notes of hope.
By Pauline Petsel
The FULL MOON hung so brightly overhead. The night air was so crispy and cold. Stars glistened and twinkled here and there; A Silent Night was beginning to unfold.
There didn’t seem to be any kind of movement. Even the country cows seemed to be silently asleep. The mountains stood tall over the entire scene. They also shared the silence’s unfolding theme.
No threat—only a dark, mysterious treat. Soon a movement began to move around in the air.
Slowly it started, just scarcely noticed, here and there. And then it multiplied with its Silent Night movement.
The snow so silent, falling absolutely everywhere. It fell upon the mountain top; it fell so silently on the land below. The coldness of its windchilled approach Awakened the country cows within the field below.
In protest to its otherwise still, cold decent, Mooing from the awakened cows broke the silence of the land. Soon snow stretched itself outward everywhere, Causing a cold, but awesome, SILENT NIGHT.
The mysterious nighttime visitor continued its silent descent. Throughout the night, snow fell as if leaving a blanket upon the land. Unlike a thief in the night who steals everything in sight, THIS nighttime visitor gives things away!
For from this beautiful SILENT NIGHT, a story for life itself unfolds. LIFE has both good and bad within its capable means. One holds a negative, sad, hard, despondent-type message; The other holds positives filled with kindness, sharing LOVE, and hope.
So look for the good within everything. Let the negatives in life take a back seat.
Give something of your inner kindness to others. You’ll find it’s as precious as gold and can never be beat!
Pauline Petsel’s life has taken so many directions, with each holding an unbelievable amount of strange, paranormal, religious, uncanny, scarry, absurd, and yet true experiences that it’s hard to tell her life story in a few words. It would take a book in itself. Looking up her name on the internet is the best way to see her story.
December is filled with opportunities to make magical memories, particularly for families with young children. Christmas commands a lot of thought and attention, and parents know such efforts are worth it to see smiles on children’s faces. Stories help set the holiday scene and enable children to hold tight to all of the magic. Whether they are read together as a family or children read them on their own, these literary works can enhance special holiday moments.
• “The Gift of the Magi” by O. Henry
This story tells the tale of a young married couple who have to sacrifice in order to buy Christmas presents for one another.
• “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens
No Christmas season would be complete without reading (or watching) “A Christmas Carol.” When three ghosts visit Ebenezer Scrooge, he learns an important lesson about charity, friends, and family.
• “The Berenstain Bears Meet Santa Bear: A Christmas Book for Kids” by Stan and Jan Berenstain
Kids of all generations have grown up reading Berenstain Bears books. This volume has Mama and Papa showing Sister and Brother that the true meaning of the holiday is about giving.
• “Mr. Willowby’s Christmas Tree” by Robert Barry
When Mr. Willowby’s tree arrives for Christmas, it is too tall for his parlor. He must cut off the top so it will fit, and that top is passed along again and again to spread holiday cheer.
• “The Greatest Gift” by Philip Van Doren Stern
Written in 1943, this story is about a man named George who is contemplating his life while standing on a bridge on Christmas Eve. This tale became the basis for the classic film, It’s a Wonderful Life.
• “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” by
Famed children’s writer Dr. Seuss was a master of imbuing life lessons in his stories, and this book is no different. Isolated and angry, the Grinch learns to appreciate his neighbors in Whoville and comes to realize that Christmas is about being with loved ones and not material gifts.
Families can read about the birth of Jesus Christ, whose birth is primarily narrated in these passages. Matthew focuses on the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecies, while Luke speaks to the angel Gabriel’s announcement to Mary, Christ’s birth, and visits from shepherds.
“Winter Dusk”
by Kendra Hinkle, Painting
The sun setting behind snow-covered trees brings to life the magic of an opalescent winter dusk.
“A Snowy Pine”
by Kendra Hinkle, Painting
The sight of a snowy forest pine recalls scents of evergreen and hibernating woodland creatures—both symbols of the emerging winter season.
Scott Newland is a USAF veteran, watercolor and photography artist, and poet living in Chuckey, Tenn. He takes great pleasure living deep in the National Forest where he gets most of his inspiration. He is originally a teacher with an education degree from ETSU as well as advanced education degrees from The College of New Jersey (M.Ed) and Specialist and Doctoral degrees from the University of Sarasota. After serving in USAF for 8 years, he and his wife made a career working in overseas American schools for 12 years, traveling to Kuwait, Lesotho, and Eritrea, where he retired as a school superintendent. Now in retirement, he can work full time on his passions.
By Allison Lawson
For full-time artist Temple Reece, painting has always been a part of her life. Reece studied nature to teach herself to paint in her style of realism with a softened impressionistic feel. She continues to study and learn from contemporary artists to grow her body of work, and she says that art enriches her days and gives her the opportunity to express herself and the beauty of life.
She has an at-home studio in the Appalachian Mountains of East Tennessee called Studio 411, where she is continuously inspired by the beautiful landscape that surrounds her.
Reece is a founding member and on the Board of Directors for the Johnson County Center for the Arts in Mountain City, Tenn. She is a member of Oil Painters of America, American Women Artists, American Impressionistic Society, National
FRONT COVER FEATURED ART
“Winter Morning Light” by Temple Reece
Oil and Acrylic Painters Society, Tennesseans for the Arts, and American Artists Professional League, among others.
Reece’s artwork can be found in many homes and businesses, and she has taught classes and provided art supplies to children through her signature project, Sunshine and Smiles.
Now, she sits down to talk about the inspiration behind one of her winter paintings, “Winter Morning Light.”
Q: What is this painting called, and why did you name it that?
A: It is called “Winter Morning Light.” Fallen snow and the golden light from a nearby cabin created this magical scene.
Q: When did you start painting it? How long did it take you?
A: I started painting it early on a January morning in 2025. I painted it “alla prima,” which just means it was completed in a single session in one day, wet on wet, without waiting for layers to dry. The total painting probably took about three hours from start to finish.
Q: Where did you get the inspiration for this painting?
A: I awakened to a soft light, thinking it was time to rise and shine, but looking over at my clock, I realized it was much
earlier than I thought. The forecast had called for a possible snowfall, but I really wasn’t expecting it for some reason. I got a glimpse in a mirror of my window from across the room. I immediately looked outside. It was a magical sight! A light shone from the cabin next door, creating a glow in the snow that had blanketed the ground, and giant snowflakes were still softly falling.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and an Eggo and headed upstairs to a bedroom window, where I had a palette and small canvas. I roughly sketched the scene on my canvas with my paintbrush, took a quick photo with my phone in case the light changed too quickly, and began panting. I painted there for about an hour but got excited about going outside and experiencing the scene.
The air was crisp and cold as I walked around in the snow with my canvas, palette, and brushes in hand. I painted a little while from our porch, then made my way to the front door inside my studio. I finished “Winter Morning Light” there in my studio, where that same view is a blessing for me every day, in each season.
As daylight approached, the scene became warmer and brighter, but the feeling stayed the same, so I was able to finish it in the early morning hours, coffee in hand. I didn’t even have to look at my photo. I loved it as soon as it was finished and loved each moment painting it. Time flew by.
Q: Tell me more about the actual setting of “Winter Morning Light.” What is the significance of this scene for you?
A: The scene is just outside my bedroom window and the same view I have from the small porch at my studio. I have painted this view several times in different seasons and from varying angles. It never gets old with the view of the mountains in the distance, tall trees that are constantly changing, and mountain laurel bushes in their natural greens and browns, or covered with beautiful blooms or snow. It is home. It is my happy place.
Q: What materials did you use?
A: I used oil paints on a small stretched linen canvas, and most of the painting was done with a small flat brush. I framed it in a wide, gold, plein air frame to further enhance the golden glow of the morning.
Q: What is it about wintertime that inspires creativity for you? What do you love about this time of year?
A: When I was younger, winter was definitely not my favorite time, even though I have good memories of playing in the snow, building tents near the old wood stove, and reading and daydreaming in a warm, cozy place as a child. Playing with my kids and grandkids, building snowmen, cooking potato soup, making hot chocolate on cold days, and enjoying Christmastime was and still is very special.
Since I’ve always loved summer the most, embracing winter is new to me! Over the years, I have come to enjoy it more and more. I get outside even on the coldest days to feed cows and other chores and take hikes in the snow, but now I get to spend more time being cozy in a warm home and being able to paint. Being retired after more than 40 years of working full time makes winter more enjoyable. Cooking is more fun in the winter, and I don’t have to shave my legs. Ha! My studio is beside our house, and I spend a lot of time there, painting, creating, reading, and working on projects. Watching the snow falling from inside that space captivates me now, even more. It is so beautiful in the mountains, and the cold weather doesn’t sting as much. I’ve learned to bundle up and enjoy the season. The bare trees have always been beautiful to me. I enjoy being able to see and study all the branches, and of course, I love to sketch and paint them. Winter is a time of rest and renewal for me, and I generate all kinds of new ideas and plans while embracing the stillness it can hold. I am happy now that I find all seasons very enjoyable, and I’m so grateful for all the beauty of each season and each day.
Q: Is there anything else you’d like to share about this painting?
A: Each time I see this painting, or even a photo of it, the feelings, sights, sounds, smells, crispness of the air, stillness of the snow, and glow of the warm light all come back to my mind. I hope it evokes a peaceful, happy feeling for others as well. The painting is now available at Alexandre Fleuren’s DesignAFI Showroom in Charleston, S.C., and it is featured in an ad in Charleston Style & Design Magazine’s Fall 2025 Edition.
To learn more about Temple Reece and her work, visit www.templereece.com
By Mary Woodside
“Goodmorning, Southern Maryland! This is T-Bone and Heather, and we’ve got another holiday favorite headed your way! Just 17 more days till Christmas, but who’s counting?”
“I am,” Goldie growled at the radio as she swatted it off. She still used the clock radio she bought back in 1975. Most of the year, Goldie enjoyed waking up to music from her youth, but between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the habit was almost unbearable.
With a quiet grunt, Goldie swung her legs to the floor and shuffled to the kitchen to start a cup of coffee. Sister Catherine had never allowed them to drink coffee at the convent. “You should be dependent on nothing and no one other than the Holy Trinity,” she’d chided. So when Goldie left Our Lady of Mount Providence, she stopped at the first Waffle House on Route 1 and ordered a cup. She nearly spit the nasty liquid all over her poor waitress, but pure stubbornness kept her drinking.
As she waited for the coffee to brew, Goldie rifled through the mail she’d been too tired to open yesterday. On the bottom of the stack was a letter from an attorney’s office in Johnson City, Tennessee. A puzzled look crossed Goldie’s face. She didn’t know anyone in Tennessee, not anymore. As her eyes scanned the page, she gave an audible gasp and covered her mouth. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. She refolded the paper, stuffed it back into the envelope, and with shaking hands, picked up her mug of coffee, wishing the scalding liquid would burn away her memories.
Goldie was raised by a group of nuns at Our Lady of Mount Providence in the heart of Washington, D.C. She’d been left there at just a week old, her mother never heard from again. The Sisters always assumed that Goldie would join the convent when she turned 18 and finish school. Goldie didn’t mind that plan. The Sisters were her family, after all, and officially joining their ranks would provide a sense of permanency and belonging that was missing from her life.
But then she met Ryan Whittacker. Ryan had just graduated from the Naval Academy in nearby Annapolis and was spending the week in Washington before shipping out to Vietnam. Goldie should have known better than to accept his invitation to dinner. Hadn’t the Sisters warned her about the dangers of being alone with men? But his eyes. And that lopsided smile. It stirred something in her heart that she’d never felt before, something she didn’t even know existed. And so, she snuck out to dinner that night and every night afterward for seven days. How a stranger could commandeer her heart in such a short time, she wasn’t sure, but a part of her very soul crossed the Pacific with Ryan’s ship. For weeks, she rehearsed how she would tell the Sisters about Ryan, but then fate decided for her. She was pregnant.
She could have stayed at Our Lady, and at first, she did. Sister Catherine was furious, of course, but Ryan’s elation made it all bearable. They wrote nearly every day about their dreams for the future. He wanted to introduce Goldie to his parents in Tennessee, and they would build a little homestead next to the one he grew up on. The baby would be a girl, Ryan decided, would look just like Goldie, and would have him wrapped around her little finger. They would call her Felicity, he suggested, because of the happiness she brought them.
Or so said his last letter. It arrived just before Thanksgiving 1974. On Christmas Eve, Goldie’s whole world shattered. A letter, not from Ryan, but from his parents. He was gone. Pain seized Goldie’s abdomen when she read the words, and she cried for Sister Catherine before she collapsed from the pain. When she woke, she was alone in the hospital and alone in the world. Her unborn child, a girl, was gone just like the baby’s father. Goldie returned to Our Lady only for her bags. She never wanted to see a church again.
This last bit was directed at Goldie. She felt the safest course was to mumble “sorry,” take care of her business as quickly as possible, and beat a hasty retreat to her car. But before she even closed the stall door, the woman had followed her and propped the door open with her hand.
“Cold, heartless, Scrooge!” the woman halfscreamed, half-sobbed. “Hank was my last hope. Now all I’ve got is a broken-down Ford that will never get me to Gatlinburg.”
Ryan’s mother, the attorney explained, died two months ago. She was the last surviving member of the family, and her will provided that the estate go to Goldie.
But why? Goldie wondered. She’d never even met the lady. After Goldie lost the baby, she sent a letter to Ryan’s parents and explained what had happened. Mrs. Whittacker wrote to Goldie once a week for an entire year, letters that Sister Catherine faithfully forwarded to Goldie’s new address, but Goldie never wrote back.
“You can either accept or refuse the bequeath,” the attorney wrote, “but the will is clear: you must visit before doing either.”
And so a week later, Goldie found herself driving down I-81 to Tennessee. The first half of the drive was just as she liked—quiet and uneventful. But at a 7-Eleven outside of Stuart’s Draft, Virginia, Goldie’s luck changed.
“LISTEN TO ME, HANK!” screamed a voice from the ladies’ room. “I WASN’T THE ONE DRINKING AND DRIVING, SO I SHOULDN’T HAVE LOST MY INSURANCE. AND WITHOUT MY INSURANCE I CAN’T RENT A CAR TO REPLACE THE ONE THAT JUST GOT BACKED INTO BY AN 18-WHEELER. IT’S ALMOST CHRISTMAS, HANK. HOW ABOUT YOU SPREAD A LITTLE HOLIDAY CHEER AND REINSTATE THE POLICY? HELLO? HANK? HE HUNG UP ON ME!”
Great black streaks of mascara streamed down the woman’s face. Goldie wasn’t sure what to say, so she reached down, tore off a piece of toilet paper, and handed it to the woman.
“Thanks,” the woman mumbled as she blew her nose. “I’m Myrtle.”
“Goldie,” Goldie responded.
“I don’t suppose you’re on your way to Gatlinburg,” Myrtle said with a desperate look of hope in her eyes.
Goldie had never heard of Gatlinburg, so she quickly responded, “No, Johnson City.” The moment Myrtle’s eyes grew big and round, Goldie knew she’d made a mistake.
“Angel from Heaven!” Myrtle cried, clasping Goldie’s hands in her own.
Goldie tried to back away, but with the toilet behind her, she had nowhere to go.
“I would pay you, of course. Gas, mileage, food, lodging, whatever you wanted! I just need a ride. And Gatlinburg is only two hours from Johnson City, so it wouldn’t be that far out of your way.”
“But…I don’t even know you,” Goldie stammered. “You might murder me in my car.”
“Honey, if I were going to murder someone, it would be Hank. And besides, once you’ve cried with someone in a gas station bathroom, you do know them. Now, meet me out front in five.” Before Goldie could object, Myrtle was out the door.
By the time they crossed the Tennessee border four hours later, Goldie felt she could pen Myrtle’s life story. An obstetrician from Richmond, Virginia, Myrtle was
recently divorced from her husband of 25 years and estranged from her 20-year-old son, Johnny. Three months ago, Johnny was arrested for driving under the influence and possession of illegal drugs. Myrtle blew a gasket. Afterward, Johnny ignored all communication from his mother until yesterday.
“Our family has rented the same Gatlinburg cabin for Christmas every year since he was born,” Myrtle explained. “It’s his favorite place in the whole world, and yesterday he called asking if I’d be there. You’d better believe I’ll move Heaven and Earth to make it. Not even an act of God could keep me from getting there.”
As if on cue, smoke billowed from the car’s engine.
“I’ll take it if she don’t want it!” came a voice from between Goldie and Myrtle.
Goldie screamed, slammed on her brakes, and swerved onto the shoulder.
Poking his head above the center console was a young boy of about seven. He had a mop of messy blond hair, green eyes, and two missing front teeth.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY CAR?” Goldie screamed.
“Stowin’ away,” the boy answered calmly. “I’m runnin’ away from home, and you two are helpin’ me.”
Goldie looked to the sky and yelled, “IS THIS A JOKE? IS THIS ENTIRE DAY A JOKE?”
Myrtle placed an arm on Goldie’s shoulder and mumbled, “Let me handle this.”
The tow truck driver was nice enough to drop them off at a rental car company. “You have insurance, don’t you?” Myrtle pestered as they stood in line. “They won’t give us a car without insurance. Trust me, I know.”
Goldie closed her eyes and counted to 10. Sister Catherine had taught them many lessons on patience, but after eight hours on the road and an unexpected tag-a-long, Goldie’s patience was down to its last drop. She did not grace Myrtle with a response (her short acquaintance with the woman had taught her this was the best course), nor did she smile at the young man behind the counter who set her up with a 2022 Toyota Corolla. She thought momentarily about making a break for the Corolla and leaving this entire trip behind her, but Myrtle was a good 30 years Goldie’s junior and could probably outrun her. So with a resignation that stretched from her head to her toes, Goldie turned to Myrtle and said, “Let’s just get this day over with.”
As she pulled onto the highway, Myrtle stuck a beef jerky in Goldie’s face. “Hungry?” she asked. When Goldie didn’t respond, Myrtle persisted, “It’s just that you seem a little grumpy, and people get grumpy when they’re hungry. I also have Cheetos and a chocolate bar. Want it?”
Turning to the boy, she said, “What’s your name, son?”
He thought for a moment then puffed out his chest. “Lebron James.”
Goldie’s eyes grew as wide as saucers while Myrtle stifled a laugh. “Like the basketball player?” she asked.
“One and the same! I’m the G.O.A.T.”
“I see,” said Myrtle. “And why are you running away from home, Lebron? Don’t you think your family will miss you?”
Goldie gave Myrtle the side-eye when she called the boy Lebron but kept her mouth shut.
“I’m bein’ replaced,” he scowled. “Mama’s havin’ another baby any day now. She don’t want me anymore.”
“Did she say that?” Myrtle asked.
“No,” the boy admitted, “but why else would she have another baby when she already has me?”
Goldie and Myrtle exchanged a glance over the child’s head, and with a forceful sigh, Goldie said, “I suppose we’d better ask her.”
* * *
“She won’t be at home,” the boy said, directing Goldie down a narrow country road. I told her I was goin’ home with Reid Johnson today. His momma was supposed to bring me to church tonight.”
“So it’s Reid Johnson’s mother who’s worried out of her mind?” Myrtle asked.
“Nope. I told Reid I changed my mind and didn’t wanna come. His momma thinks I went home after school, just like normal.”
Goldie didn’t want to admit it, but she was impressed. “Don’t get into crime, kid,” she said. “You’ll be too good at it.”
“Is that a compliment?” the boy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Goldie admitted.
After another 10 minutes, they pulled up beside a small brick church with a striking white steeple. The parking lot was full, and everyone was gathered in a field next to the building.
“What’s going on?” Myrtle asked.
“It’s the Living Nativity. Every year, we reenact the birth of Baby Jesus. This year, my mom and dad are playing Mary and Joseph.”
“Seems fitting,” Goldie mumbled.
As they moved closer to the crowd, Goldie could see they were in an uproar, and she suspected she knew why. The boy weaved between people until he came to stop in front of a pregnant and panicked young woman.
“FRANKLIN R. SENSE!” she cried, crushing the boy to her chest. “You had me worried sick! What were you thinking, runnin’ off by yourself?”
Franklin looked sheepishly to the ground. “I just figured it was time for me to move on, what with the baby coming and all.”
“Move on? Away from your family?” Tears sprang to his mother’s eyes. “You can’t leave me! I love you, now and always. You’re my sun, moon, and stars; a part of my very soul. I would be lost without you. Promise me you’ll never, ever do that again.”
“I promise, Mama,” Franklin said quietly, then with more gusto, “But you gotta quit squeezin’ me so hard. I feel like I just peed my pants.”
True enough, the ground was wet next to where Franklin stood, but Franklin wasn’t the source of the liquid. * * *
Not a single person left that country church except to gather supplies and follow the periodic orders that Myrtle barked at whomever was closest by. “I’ve brought thousands of babies into this world,” she assured Franklin’s mother. “You’re in good hands.”
Goldie dozed off at some point—most everyone did—but she woke when a chorus of infant cries broke the silence of the night and proclaimed the birth of a child. She gently shook Franklin and whispered, “He’s here.”
Franklin R. Sense rubbed bleary eyes and looked on in awe as Myrtle placed the neatly swaddled babe in its mother’s arms.
Goldie considered her two companions and the strange circumstances that had thrown them together. Not in all her wildest imagination could she have dreamt up the events that led her to that country church. Yet she was meant to be there; they all were. And standing in the presence of new life incarnate, a peace settled upon Goldie. Her journey was far from over; she still had the will and the land to sort out. Myrtle, too, had miles to travel and fences to mend. And Franklin, well, he and his brother were just getting started in their young lives. Still, Goldie had the overwhelming sense that the three of them would be okay. That they would leave this sacred spot, and their lives would be changed for the good.
“Sure wish I had a birthday present for him,” Franklin whispered as he bent to stroke the new baby’s head.
“Just give him yourself,” Goldie said. “It’s the best gift of all.”
Mary Woodside is a writer, historian, and emphatic believer in the magic and power of stories. She has been fortunate enough to bring stories to life for visitors of museums and historic sites but most loves creating stories for her four young children.
By Kathleen M. Jacobs
Across the street from the 92nd Street Y in Manhattan’s Upper East Side, the Saturday afternoon performance of Nut/Cracked by The Bang Group has energized me, as I cross the street to satiate my hunger at a favorite Italian eatery on Lexington Avenue named, appropriately, Lex Restaurant.
The sky is beginning to grow somber, and the temperature has dropped more than a few degrees from when I arrived for the event, light flakes of snow dusting the shoulders of my tweed jacket. Phillipe and Victor stand at the entrance, flanked by potted poinsettias, the restaurant’s scarlet awning dancing with the brisk wind.
“How was it?” Phillipe asked.
I try to imitate a few dance moves from the performance, failing miserably, and we each chuckle. “As much as I loved The Bang Group’s version of The Nutcracker, my thoughts kept returning to your Pappardella.”
“We can make that happen,” Phillipe assured me, and they moved aside to invite me in to an interior layout that always transported me to the shotgun house in New Orleans where I spent my early childhood, presenting
Author Kathleen M. Jacobs
a “straight shot” from the entrance to the back, with Thonet style bentwood chairs and rectangular tables draped with ecru cloths along the right side and maroon leatherette banquette seating with similar tables and cloths along the left side.
The leatherette reminds me of the interior of my father’s vintage Corvette, that has not been driven—or started—since he passed away a year ago, when the accumulated snowfall in upstate New York would have come close to encapsulating the entire vehicle. Gleaming brass wall sconces lightly illuminate the path.
Phillipe leads the way to my seasoned corner of the banquette and knows to not ask to take my jacket, just as he knows that I’ll want an unsweetened iced tea—even in December—with an extra side of ice. Just as he knows that I’ve “taken a break” from the basket of Tuscan bread, but not from the crusted small bites of seasoned bits of tomato and herbs drenched with the finest of extra virgin olive oils. He knows too that we’ll chat a bit, wonder if I’ll dine alone (as I often do) or not. And once I pull from my canvas tote my current read, he knows the answer—we both know.
And as the hours pass, he and Victor will make welcome—once again—the elderly couple who each of us hopes to grow into with their obvious affection for one another, as they toast—to what is irrelevant—before taking their first sip of Merlot; the recently-retired nurse and her husband, who will soon release his first book; the law professors who often sit next to me and at whose table I’d like to be offered a place; along with the familiar faces seated at the bar who, like each of us, no longer have to give much instruction.
And before my Pappardella arrives, Phillipe will place to my left a cocktail fork and an espresso spoon, simply because I find each whimsical. He brings the former in a repeated attempt to entice me to one day try oysters, which I have assured him will not ever happen. Still, he hopes.
Spirits are served, hunger is satiated, and conversation enriches, as each of us brings the single red rose that ornaments each table to our closed lids, as we inhale, exhale, and reconvene with the elements that wait for our return.
Kathleen M. Jacobs holds an MA in Humanistic Studies. She divides her time between West Virginia and New York City.
By Kathleen M. Jacobs
Theascent from the corner of 97th and Lexington is a bit more strenuous than anticipated, and yet, the only choice is to put one foot in front of the other; otherwise, I return to where I’ve chosen to leave.
I make a right on 96th, and sirens and the displaced mingle with dogs on leashes and a sea of businessmen and uniformed, private school children—each clutching their iPhone and listening to whatever makes its way through their enameled, white earbuds. The pastor of St. Francis de Sales is perched at the top step, shaking his head.
Again, another and steeper ascent waits until I reach Madison Avenue and inhale the lavender and roses and
tulips and peonies from Jerome’s. As the composite fragrances energize me, I notice something ahead that reminds me of home, even though it’s barely discernible. Still, I take a deep breath, exhale, and feel the corners of my mouth begin to upturn.
I step to the side, from the onslaught of the rushing tide, close my eyes for the briefest of moments, and wonder if what I saw will still be there when I open them. And it is. And I stop and stare and pick up my pace and approach. It awakens my tired senses and reminds me of home, even in its constricted space of two feet by three feet, and yet it is enough. Its floor is a composite of Frazier fir branches and tree twigs, both at rest and upright, and pinecones. And I know, with certainty, that every step forward will be less exacting, and I continue.
By Pauline E. Petsel
Naturehas many ways of revealing messages to the world, wherever it may be. Nature isn’t just for places we know or places close to home, but it reaches far beyond our entire being.
Like a silent movie unfolding without music or words being said or typed upon the screen, you see only nature revealing itself.
The cold winter night with full moon and twinkling stars high up in the sky shine down upon a silent world, casting soft shadows on the glistening snow far below. Every once in a while, the silence is broken by the soft mooing from a cow, or perhaps a gentle breeze loosening a frozen icicle from its place, giving a soft snapping sound. Other than this, the world is silent with only a visual story to be told.
Tall, overpowering mountains show their power and strength, revealing hidden scenes within rocks and crevices showing mysteries to only those with special eyes that see.
A smooth, motionless, glassy lake appearing almost with a blue cast to it has snow-covered trees lining the shoreline, with twinkling snow highlighted by the full moon overhead. It is as a spotlight, bringing an inner peace to mind and soul.
All over creation, no matter country, nationality, race, color, or creed—beauty is there for all to enjoy.
Lovers may sit on a cold park bench somewhere, under the background of a moonlit night, with a silent love song filling the air but heard by only themselves.
A nighttime ice-skating scene may be another’s choice of wintry recall. The colorful snow hats, mittens, gloves, scarves, jackets, and coats find others wearing a lighter attire, telling a story of its own. They almost dance to that unheard music in the air. Couples, lovers skating hand in hand, and any youngster that may still be awake find themselves ready to sleep.
Adding to the specialness and movement of the scene at Christmastime, like a special treat, a horsedrawn sleigh with battery Christmas lights might just silently pass down the close-by country road.
All these things have a silent movement, yet no words need ever be said.
Pauline Petsel, born Pauline Franks in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, married her high school sweetheart, Carl Petsel. They had two boys there, and four years later they moved to St. Petersburg, Florida, where their daughter was born. Pauline’s entire life was filled with strange, unbelievable amounts of every kind of experience one could have, causing her minister’s wife to say, “You need to write a book.” She ended up doing so and has now written 16, with all having some kind of actual tie to an experience she’s had.
By Draco Bailey
Author Julia Russo released her first book around the holidays in 2023. That story, Maggie the Cat Who Came Home for Christmas , quickly became a beloved holiday read, even hitting best-seller status within just a few days.
Since then, Maggie the Cat has developed into more than just a Christmas story. Just one year later, in 2024, Maggie and friends were back in a second children’s book, Maggie the Cat Loves Pip’s Thanksgiving Surprise—also a best-seller! Now a cherished series, Julia Russo is prepping for her next installment, a Valentine’s Day-themed adventure for Maggie.
We had the chance to chat with Julia and dive deeper into her experiences as a children’s author.
Q: Your book series centers around an adorable cat named Maggie. Is there a real-life Maggie?
A: Many years ago, my friend and next-door neighbor had a beautiful little cat named Maggie. One day, surprisingly, Maggie ran away. We all went out and called “Maggie! Maggie!” And then, right at Christmas, Maggie came home. On that day, I told my friend, “One day I will write a book, and it will be named Maggie, the Cat Who Came Home for Christmas.”
about how I would never ever, ever, EVER have a southern accent! You see, my mom had a strong southern accent.
Well, I wasn’t chosen for the competition, but at the end of the event, the narrator, who worked at PBS and was talented, told me my story was really good, and it made me proud.
I wanted to write a children’s story that reminded me of my grandpa. He inspired me by introducing me to new experiences. He taught me how to play the harmonica and how to “rag” it. He let me drive around with him in his big, old car, which had an old-fashioned front seat where we could sit together. He also took me down to stand on a box outside of a famous place—the boxing training ground for Mohammed Ali. We did all kinds of things.
In my books, my grandpa and my neighbor were the inspiration for Grandpa Charlie Green.
Q: What made you want to write stories about the holiday season?
A: I love holidays. Especially winter holidays. There are lots of little white lights everywhere, and everyone just seems excited and happy.
Q: What inspired you to write your children’s books?
A: I started storytelling a few years back when a local restaurant and bar in Atlanta held a storytelling contest, and I was determined to participate. Each day, I would practice my story, telling it out loud with lots of expression. The first story I told was about my mom. It was
Q: How did writing Pip’s Thanksgiving Surprise differ from writing your first book?
A: Frankly, I was a little nervous with the second book. The first book was truly joyful because there were absolutely no expectations. Since I had never written a fictional story before, I didn’t really think the first book would actually be published. As time went on,
writing the second book, I came to love the more developed characters, and especially loved the introduction of little Barney.
Q: The illustrations in your series are beautiful. How closely do you work with the illustrator, Grace, to create the illustrations? Roughly how long does it take to get one of your stories illustrated?
A: Let me begin by introducing you to Grace. Grace Metzger-Forrest graduated from the Atlanta Art Institute in 1990 and has been drawing ever since. Her career includes wonderful things like animating children’s software, book illustrations, and presentation art. I knew Grace would be the perfect illustrator for Pip the Goat because she works from a studio on a little farm in Virginia that she shares with TWO RAMBUNCTIOUS GOATS!
Anyway, to answer your question, the individual illustrations can each take anywhere from two weeks to two months to complete, depending on complexity and changes. We work very closely. We talk and text about the characters and the scene. Sometimes, I send pictures from magazines about particular rooms or colors. First, Grace does a pencil illustration which we both look at and make any changes. Then, when we both love all the changes, she colors.
For many years, I have been saving different pictures that come from magazines or various papers. They were pictures of a farmhouse that I envisioned to be such a wonderful place. Also, many years ago, I looked to have my own farmhouse and put an ad in some South Georgia papers to find an old farmhouse to move into and renovate. I found the old farmhouse—the family very much wanted me to have it for free because they did not want it to further decay.
Unfortunately, being so young and just starting out in jobs and relationships, the plan did not last, and so that dream was gone. But I still had a dream about an old, cozy, loving place that was an old white farmhouse. I found that farmhouse in a little town in a historic area outside of Atlanta. It was even near a train—it is always important to have a train nearby. I sent pictures to Grace, and we started to draw the house. That was where Grandpa Charlie Green’s farmhouse and his apple farm up in Ellijay came about.
Q: Both of your books take place on a farm. Do you live on a farm, too? What parts of farm life are you drawn to?
A: There are parts of Grandpa Charlie Green’s farm and the surrounding area that I love. I love the snow. I love the cold weather. I also love all the apple farms and barns in the area, all the apothecaries around, all the
horses and the goats. I love the fall, I love the winter, I love the change of season, and the leaves.
I’ve lived, part-time, in a little cabin in the woods for many, many years. But why a farm? A couple of years ago, the Georgia Farm Bureau put out a booklet called Farm Passport, written to encourage people to visit all the farms throughout Georgia. I got really excited reading it and started to go to the various apple farms in the North Georgia area. I started thinking about Grandpa Charlie Green’s farmhouse being in Ellijay, which is the Apple Capital of Georgia. I thought his farmhouse could be on an apple farm—so there you go!
Q: Maggie the Cat has had both Thanksgiving and Christmas adventures. Can we expect other holiday stories in the future?
A: Absolutely! Maggie the Cat Loves a Valentine is almost completed. Here’s a little snippet.
A Valentine for you
A Valentine for me
A Valentine for you
A Valentine for me
But a Valentine for Maggie
Oh what, oh what, oh what, might it be?
Might it be large?
Might it be small?
Or might it be absolutely nothing at all?
Q: What is your writing process like? Do you have a special place or ritual that helps you get your stories on paper?
A: It’s interesting. When I start writing about Maggie the Cat, I see little scenes in my head like scenes in a play. Each chapter is like a scene in a play. I see all of the characters and what they say and what they do, where they live. Oftentimes, I story-tell. I stand up with my phone and I tell the story out loud and record it, then later write it down.
Q: What have been some of your best moments involved in sharing your book with young readers and their families?
A: I love how small children play (I was a first-grade teacher), and I love to watch children read out loud.
That’s why I talk about Maggie the Cat being best when read out loud with lots of expression. One of the best new experiences that I have had is when I work with children and I tell them, “Okay, we’re going to call Maggie, and you guys have to help me.” And they say, “Oh yes! We’ll help!” When we get to the part where we call Maggie, all the children in the room start saying, “Maggie! Maggie! Maggie! Maggie!” They help call Maggie, and they love that. And I love it, too! It’s fun!
Q: What are you most looking forward to in 2026?
A: Hmm, that’s an interesting question. I look forward to Maggie the Cat Loves a Valentine coming to print. I look forward to traveling with my husband. We’re maybe going to go to Malaga, Spain. I look forward to getting up on a horse again after many years. I’ve been working hard to build back my strength so I can ride again.
Q: Is there anything else you would like to add?
A: Actually, I have been thinking about something. Here’s an idea for all the children.
When I was little, Kim, Donna, and I would put on plays in our one-car garage. We would set up chairs in the driveway leading to the alley. We would make our own costumes and sets, we would each be characters, and the play would be so much fun.
I would love for children to make a Christmas play from the book Maggie the Cat Who Came Home for Christmas. You could have the play ready for Christmas. If you only had a few people, the same person could play Daddy, Maggie, and Pip. You do it your way—figure out what scene or two you need and make them. Figure out what costumes you need and make them. Maybe Wilhelmina Olive Blessing could read a chapter or two or three as part of the play, and others could act out the play. Or maybe the characters would just say their lines. You could do it in all sorts of ways!
I think it would be wonderful. Have fun, fun, fun!
Readers can get the entire M aggie the C at series (so far) through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or through JCP’s online bookstore. Keep an eye out next year for the new installment, M aggie the C at L oves a v a L entine !
Various traditions take center stage during the holiday season. One of those traditions may be sitting down and enjoying any number of timeless Christmas movies or even newer holiday films that are quickly becoming favorites.
Film fans have their own ideas about the best films to watch during the holidays, but the following movies are some kids and adults can enjoy together.
• The Polar Express (2004)
A young boy enjoys a magical adventure to the North Pole aboard the Polar Express train. He learns about the true spirit of the holidays and the value of bravery and friendship along the way.
• The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992)
Charles Dickens’ classic story about a bitter miser might be a little frightening for young children to enjoy in its more theatrical offerings. However, when the Muppet characters tell their version of the classic tale, the story becomes much more family friendly.
Based on the book by Matt Haig, this movie is a reimagined take on Father Christmas. It focuses on Nikolas as he goes on an adventure to find a magical town called Elfhelm.
• Jack Frost (1998)
When a father dies in a car accident, he comes back to
By Draco Bailey
There is no shortage of holiday movies to watch this season, but if you’re looking for recommendations, allow me to add one more to your list. Klaus , the Academy Award-nominated Netflix original, is by far my absolute favorite Christmas movie. For those who haven’t seen it, the film presents an adventurous and comedic tale of Santa Claus’s origin story involving a begrudged postman, voiced by Jason Schwartzman, and a reclusive toymaker, voiced by J. K. Simmons.
life as a snowman in his son’s front yard. Jack learns to keep his promises and make things right with his son—things he wasn’t capable of doing as a human.
• Christmas with the Kranks (2004)
The Kranks decide to forgo their annual Christmas party and plan a vacation since their daughter will be out of town. But when said daughter decides to come home after all, chaos sets in as the couple tries to figure out how to put together an extravaganza at the last minute.
The Beast does not favor the holiday season, so Belle must change his mind on the matter in this animated Disney offering.
• Elf (2003)
As a youngster, Buddy was magically transported to the North Pole and raised by Santa’s elves. As an adult, he’s determined to find his real dad in New York City and uncover a way to fit in.
•
This is a newer take on the classic Nutcracker tale. This adventure sees Clara defending the Land of Sweets from the evil Mother Ginger.
Klaus was the first animated film from any streaming service to be nominated for an Academy Award. To say the art in the film is stunning would be an understatement. Coupled with an incredible score and a heartwarming storyline, I’m not sure what else one could ask for from a holiday movie. Adorable animal companions? Check. A dash of romance? Check. Laugh-out-loud one liners? Check. Moments so full of joy and love they evoke tears? Check. The list goes on.
I’ve had the pleasure of convincing several of my friends and family to join me in a viewing of Klaus in the years since the film’s release in 2019, and each of them have fallen in love with the story. I hope any readers who add it to their holiday watchlist will be able to say the same.
By Allison Lawson
Author Melissa Sneed Wilson sat down with us to discuss her Christmas romance novel, Reclaiming Christmas , as well as her writing background and other novel, Growing Up and Going Back .
Q: What should potential readers know about your holiday romance, Reclaiming Christmas ?
A: Reclaiming Christmas is a heartfelt novel about a cynical economic consultant, who’s grieving the loss of his parents, and butts heads with a Christmas-obsessed hospital administrator over their town’s annual holiday festival. As they navigate their feelings about Christmas and each other, they learn that maybe they aren’t so different from one another after all.
Q: What do you feel are some key ingredients to writing a holiday romance novel?
A: Relatable characters, festive scenery, plenty of drama, and of course that happy ending.
Q: What about this genre interests you?
A: I love Christmas stories and romance novels because it just feels good to read. Good to write. Life is difficult, and having a story that ends on a high note is something we all need, especially this time of year. My first job out of college was as an intern with Hallmark Media, and I saw firsthand the reach that stories like this have on people, especially during the holiday season.
Q: Was this book inspired by anything or anyone?
A: I played Mary in a Living Nativity when I was eight months pregnant. It had been a stressful Christmas season, and that night of the event, I felt God speak to
my heart that I was worried about all the wrong things during the holiday season.
Christmas at its heart is an act of worship celebrating the birth of our Savior. Writing a book about overcoming the obstacles that keep us from the heart of Christmas, such as forgiveness and family squabbles, was very therapeutic for me. I think many people deal with those kinds of stresses, and that makes the book very relatable.
Q: What do you hope readers take away from reading Reclaiming Christmas ?
A: I hope that they leave the book feeling lighter and ready for the Christmas season, and that it helps them focus on what really matters.
Q: What can you tell readers about your other novel, Growing Up and Going Back ?
A: Growing Up and Going Back was my debut novel. I was honored to receive Jan-Carol Publishing’s 2018 Believe and Achieve Award for it. The book follows Jennifer Johnson, who left her southern roots behind to start a new career in New York City. She is let go from her job as a public relations manager and returns to her hometown of Edmonds, Virginia, for the summer.
While flying back to her hometown, she reconnects with an old friend from high school, Aaron Scott. Throughout the story, Jennifer learns to readjust to living under her parents’ roof with her younger sister while beginning a new job in the most surprising of places.
Q: What inspired that book?
A: I was inspired to write Growing Up and Going Back when I was struggling to get pregnant. I had recently lost my job and was dealing with some strong emotions about where life was going to lead. Similar to Jennifer, I felt a little lost, and God laid this story on my heart. I loved getting to write about life in the city versus a small town, because I lived in big cities for many years of my life. I love both! I also just needed the reminder that sometimes a setback is a setup for something greater. I ended up finished the novel eight days before I had my son. It was a very special time in my life.
Q: What sort of writing background did you have before publishing your two novels?
A: I moved around many times as a child because of my dad’s job, and reading books provided a great escape when I felt alone. Books and writing have also given me a lot of joy over the years.
I majored in communications and Spanish and then got my master’s in professional communication. I’ve worked for different companies in a corporate
communication’s role. Now, I am heavily involved in education as both an adjunct professor and a substitute teacher for our local public school system.
Q: What advice would you give to other writers?
A: Write what you know. Write the books that you want to read. The rest will follow. You just have to start writing. You can’t edit a blank page. Also, surround yourself with people who are encouraging to your writing journey. Iron sharpens iron.
Q: What’s next for you? Do you have any other novels or stories in the works?
A: I just finished the screenplay adaption of Growing Up and Going Back and was pleased that it was a semi-finalist in a nationally known competition, Kairos Prize for Uplifting Screenplays. I am not currently writing a new novel, but who knows when inspiration will strike.
Melissa Sneed Wilson’s novels can be found on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and through jancarolpublishing.com.
Jan-Carol Publishing, a small book press, brings book publishing tips, changes in the book publishing industry, introduction to authors, books, and working behind the scenes in the book publishing industry. Listen, learn, and enjoy the interviews with different authors.
“Voices of Tomorrow” showcases the creativity and insight of young writers and artists ages 10–18. This section celebrates emerging talent, offering a platform for the next generation to share their unique perspectives through words and visual art.
By S. A. Michaels
Wintertime has arrived! Well, I guess it had arrived already, but today we sat on the carpet around a fire blazing in the hearth, the bricks around it glowing in a rather joyful manner. Mother and Father sat together on a chair, holding each other close, all snuggled in blankets. As for the boys, myself included, and our sister, we sat on the floor at the feet of our uncle, Uncle Matt. It was at times like these that he would tell us truly wild stories. Sometimes he would tell us fairytales, and other times, daring adventures. And so, we sat at his feet, awaiting desperately that new tale that was sure to come forth from his lips at any moment.
The snowfall outside was quiet and slow, and the twinkling of the lights strewn across the hearth in perfect order were ever bright, all while the evening of the fading day came closing in. And as all of this was happening, Uncle Matt sipped his hot chocolate, a candy cane ready and waiting next to his hand, while sitting on another couch. His head was turned toward the warm fire. The house was quiet, except for a few whispers back and forth from Mother and Father, their smiles shining, joy filling the air in the room. As for Uncle Matt’s expression, it was of smiles and deep thought, most likely—at least we hoped—contemplating the next story that was to be told to us. And in this way, we waited, the fire happily crackling, the cold kept outside, and all of us children on the edge of our seats.
Finally, Uncle Matt spoke, eyes shining, “Alright. I have just the perfect story!” The quiet of the evening erupted into a squeal from our sister, and some happy cries from my youngest brother. I felt my heart leap within my chest as I waited for my brothers and sister to quiet down so that Uncle Matt could continue. While I waited for that moment, Mother and Father shifted a little bit, getting even more comfortable and preparing for the tale that was just about to unfold as Uncle Matt picked up the candy cane.
He said, “This is the story of one crazy winter night that leads into another story.”
Excitement flooded us. Mother and Father chuckled while watching our reactions. It was hinted that we would be told two stories, soon, so we did not want to delay the first one. The room became silent once more, the twinkling of the lights and fire being the only moving things in the room. Uncle Matt began. This is the first story he told:
Once upon a time, on earth, not so far back in time, three men were grouped together, backs against the concrete walls of a chocolate factory.
Night was upon them, and the outdoor wind gusted and blew fiercely. Snow blanketed the ground outside as shattering noises came from within the factory.
Our main characters, the three men, are as follows: Jake, Keith, and Andrew. Jake was the leader of these three. He was also tall, strong, and able to give sound suggestions. Keith was shorter in height, as well as strong, yet his hair was longer than Jake’s. Andrew was taller than Keith, but shorter than Jake. As for the way they each spoke, their use of language varied. However, they all seemed to have the same sense of honor for others, and so, at important times, they refrained from using any questionable language.
We giggled at the language part. As soon as we settled down, my younger brother asked Uncle Matt, “Why were they there?”
Uncle Matt put his fingers to his lips and said, “You’ll see!”
And so, the room became quiet once more, night encompassing our home. Uncle Matt continued:
In this factory, a battle was playing out. One single battle that nobody knew the meaning of right then.
My sister called out, “What battle?”
And then she instantly fell silent so she could hear the rest of the story and find out for herself. Uncle Matt smiled and then continued:
The three men had their swords sheathed and rifles at the ready. Keith said, “Jake…I don’t know how much longer we can stay here.” Andrew joined in, saying, “Keith is right. It’s only a matter of time before we’re found…Not to mention, the factory could fall into enemy hands soon.”
Jake stared at the empty space on the wall in front of them as he listened. He knew they were right. He answered, “We are
outnumbered. We could be the only ones that stand between the enemy that came from the north pole, and them taking control of this factory. What do you suppose we do?”
Keith looked away from Jake and turned to Andrew. An explosion went off. It was close. Too close for their comfort. Keith said, “Well, we can’t stay here, that’s for sure.”
Andrew looked forward, nodding. Jake replied, “Very well. Pick up your swords and rifles. We’ll get out from behind this wall and move forward.” As he said this, the snowfall outside became heavier, falling faster.
Andrew looked out the window nearest to their position and chimed in,
“Say, this weather here sure is getting bad. It’s not usually like this.” Jake acknowledged this statement as he made sure his sword stuck to his belt. This was no ordinary sword. The sword’s red and white blade was sticky. Jake felt the sword and made up his mind. Confidently, he said, “We should have a momentary advantage over this battle if we move forward within the next five minutes.”
Keith nodded, sword already buckled and rifle in hand. These rifles were not ordinary, either. Wrapper crinkling, among the sound of the wind outside, was now the only noise in the factory.
I interrupted, asking, “Uncle, what kind of sword was it?”
He looked at me, saying nothing, but smiled and fingered the candy cane. I saw this and gasped. His eyes brightened at my understanding as he placed his fingers on his lips. He then continued:
The men had just stepped out from behind the wall when the first strange noise came. It rumbled through the ground, quiet and distant at first, yet growing stronger by the minute. Jake looked up from the cracked, concrete slab floor. He had been watching his step, but this new noise unsettled him. Keith looked around. He said, “They’re coming.” Jake nodded, replying in a firm but calm voice, “Weapons. Now.” Andrew dropped some mints into his rifle, while Keith pulled out his sugary sword. Keith instantly frowned, saying, “Darn it, my candy cane sword could use some sharpening.”
Andrew took care of this and said, “Dude, there’s no time. They’re here!” And then a sickening groan of thunder seemed to rattle everything around them. Keith shouted, “Ahh! Come out, you freaks!”
The snowfall outside became heavier, and Keith’s challenge seemed to have no apparent effect but that. The clouds that were visible from inside the building were a dark and glowing blue. Andrew became afraid and drew his candy cane sword, even though he was already holding a rifle. Jake, seeing this, said, “Andrew, be strong. They prey upon our fear—at least, as a figure of speech, that’s what they do.”
Andrew nodded, sheathed the candy cane into its clear wrapper sheath, and continued to hold his rifle steady. A more powerful groan of thunder shook things harder.
Uncle Matt paused and looked at us. We had been completely submerged in this tale to the extent that we had barely noticed the pause. Mother and Father laughed a little, and seeing that we did not ask questions this time, Uncle Matt continued:
It was soon clear that the enemy was approaching, yet from within the building. Surprisingly, there would be an occasional noise in the distance that meant there were still others on the good side fighting inside. The clouds seen from inside, for a brief moment, emanated a bright light, and then sent lightning down to the ground. Defying physics, the lightning stayed. Jake jumped, and so did his team. The ground seemed to jump beneath them. As he regained his balance, Jake said, “Wait for it…” And the lightning disappeared. When this happened, the heavy snowfall relented and fell in a much calmer manner. Jake’s heart beat in his chest as he surveyed the area of the room that was visible from his point of view. The electricity was still on, which was a good sign. Andrew seemed terrified. Keith had his eyes focused on anything that might move, but nothing happened for a full two minutes. The clouds outside continued to glow a faint blue, yet other than that, it was suspenseful. When nothing happened, Jake motioned for Keith and Andrew to follow, and they continued to move farther into the building.
And then the first shot came. An icicle, filled with sprinkles frozen in place, sped right over Jake’s nose and into the wall to the left of Jake. The glass shattering noise broke the silent environment.
We all gasped this time. My sister almost said something, yet Uncle Matt said, “Wait, you will see!”
There was a twinkle in his eyes. We settled our curious minds as Uncle Matt dove straight back into the story.
Jake yelled, “Weapons, for real, now! Find cover!”
All three of them dove behind separate pillars of concrete as three icicles flew past them, and the noise of glass shattering filled the air. Keith worriedly asked, “What should we do?”
Jake looked at them. He thought, and the silence returned. “We will charge. Rifles, now.”
All three of the men loaded the maximum number of mints into their rifles. As soon as this was accomplished, Jake said, “Alright, this is our only shot at this.”
Keith and Andrew nodded. Jake continued, “On three…” All three of them stiffened.
“1…”
Nothing seemed to move.
“2…”
The silence deepened.
“3…”
The silence held.
“Go!”
And they jumped out from behind cover, coming face to face with the dreaded warrior. Its armor and skin were one. This was known to be an Ice Cream Cone Warrior. And so, the tiny showdown began. Jake looked at the warrior that stood before him, raised the rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. A loud burst of air escaped from the rifle, and the mint, hit by this burst of wind, popped out of the wrapper, shot down the barrel, aimed straight at the warrior’s upper body, and left the barrel. It struck the Ice Cream Cone Warrior square in the chest. The warrior started to step forward, faltered, and stopped. The impact point where the mint hit burst open, and sprinkles fell out as the warrior fell and crumbled into graham crackers. Keith and Andrew both looked around as Jake stood. The next few moments were a blur as a deafening roar blasted through the building and filled the ears of the three men. As soon as they recovered,
Keith asked, “Sir? Cover?”
Jake turned toward him and answered, “Negative. They’ll only advance further if we do nothing to stop them. We continue onward. The factory must be kept out of enemy hands.”
Keith nodded. The hallways were still. Too still, not to mention the quiet. The three men continued their travel through the hallway, finding no warriors. The warriors continued their attacks against the men in other places of the chocolate factory; the noise was enough evidence of that.
My sister interrupted the story, asking, “Uncle, what happens?”
Uncle Matt looked at her and excitedly said, “My dear, listen, and the story shall continue!”
She nodded and became expectant, waiting for the story to go on. And it did:
The three men knew that there was only one way to secure this area, and that was with the help of others. The first step was finding them. Jake looked around as they walked. In this hallway, there were traces of Ice Cream Cone Warrior materials here and there, strewn about by the fighting that had occurred in this passage not too long ago.
It soon became apparent that the other men in the building were behind a door that Jake and his team had just reached. Jake commanded, “Open it.” Keith looked uncertain, as did Andrew. Keith replied, “Sir…” Jake interrupted, saying, “Keith, the enemy must not be allowed to have this factory. They want it for a reason, and they have attacked us many times. This could mean no good for us if they take it. We must stop them.” Without another word, Keith held his rifle ready and kicked the door down.
The noise in the hall that the door entered into erupted into more confusion. Jake, Keith, and Andrew stormed right in, combining with the good forces already present. Jake found the leader of the team and hurriedly asked, “Sir, what is this about?”
Yelling and shouting began as graham crackers flew across the room.
The leader answered, “They’re after this factory out of jealousy.”
Jake was surprised upon hearing this. He answered, “I am sorry?” Keith and Andrew, along with the men left in the room, continued to decimate the invading enemy. At one point, Keith jumped out from behind cover, throwing himself at the enemies, candy cane sword unsheathed. He cut and sliced, all the while making the floor dirty and crowded with sprinkles and graham crackers. Jake continued the conversation with the leader. “Yes, you see, the Ice Cream Cone Warriors are jealous that so many people love chocolate more than ice cream.”
Jake answered, “I do see…”
The leader continued, “So they got jealous. There is also another reason they want this factory.”
Jake, running out of time, asked, “What is it?”
“They want to create armor that protects them from our weapons…We will not tolerate that.”
Jake understood. He got up, joined the battle, and fought fiercely. Approximately five minutes after, an Ice Cream Warrior, taller than the rest and seemingly uncatchable, screeched, “Retreat! The enemy is winning! Regroup!”
Jake flew after the enemies, running as fast as he could. He sliced and cut with his sword, all while firing mints at their backsides. Many of the enemies fell on their retreat out. However, despite his attempts, Jake watched many warriors leave the building, get struck by lightning, and disappear. Keith and Andrew caught up to him and saw the cloud move away. Keith yelled, “That’s right! Run!”
In an effort to calm and encourage him, Jake said, “We have victory.” And that is the end of this story!
We all erupted with excitement. I asked, “Uncle! Does it really just stop there?”
Uncle Matt looked at me, winked, and answered, “That was only the first story.” He laughed as Mother and Father snuggled even closer to each other. Uncle Matt continued onto the next story, and in this way, the winter night continued.
S.A. Michaels is a high school student and writer in Tennessee. They enjoy writing, especially when it comes to tales such as this. Writing has been a passion for this writer from a very young age, when playing around with words and beginning to write stories became extremely important.
By Olivia Matras
Your words stick with me every day.
Your voice plays in my head repeatedly.
The remembrance of what you did haunts me.
I’ve been told to move on.
How can I move when your actions leave me stuck?
The constant loop of feelings and dread.
By Olivia Matras
If I were the sun,
Would you still love me if I set?
If I were the stars,
Would you still love me even if I wasn’t the brightest?
If I were a planet,
Would you still love me even if I was too far?
Or would you move onto the moon after I set?
Would you look at other stars that shine brighter than mine?
Would you love another planet closer to you?
By Olivia Matras
If you’re right here in front of me,
Why do you feel so far?
We stand on the same earth,
But why can’t I feel your touch?
You’re hugging me right now,
Yet your arms fade through like a ghost.
You say that you’ll stay,
Until the next morning you’re gone.
Olivia Matras, age 13, is a poet and writer from Kansas who loves writing about themes of identity, healing, growth, renewal, and situations people might be struggling in. When Olivia isn’t writing, she loves playing volleyball and reading books. Olivia found herself in poetry after she was harassed and bullied for her looks and body. Her first-ever poem was titled “A Broken Glass of Fat-Shaming.” After that, she fell in love with poetry and continues to write every day.
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Artist’s Note:
By Jubilee Akers
I wanted this painting to feel as if it came straight from a storybook. Inside the hollow of a tree, a little squirrel enjoys her acorn, surrounded by the soft comforts of winter and Christmas. I hoped to capture the feeling that even when the world outside is cold and still, there’s always a bit of warmth to be found— warm and cozy, even when the harsh wind is blowing and snowflakes tumble through the trees.
“Home
By Jubilee Akers
Artist’s Note:
I wanted this painting to capture the feeling of coming home—that joy when snow is falling and warm light spills through frosted windows. This painting is imperfect, simple, and cozy— and that’s what I enjoy about it. The world outside is still and cold, but there’s family and warmth waiting inside.
Jubilee Akers is a 16-year-old homeschooler with a heart for all things art. From painting and drawing to sewing and song, she loves bringing imagination to life. She dreams of becoming a children’s book illustrator, but for now continues to create cozy, whimsical pieces filled with warmth and wonder.
By Kristen Miles
Artist’s Note:
Four close friends wake up on a dull, nippy, winter day. They get up to prepare for school, but then to their amazement, it’s a Snow Day! Quickly, with no time to lose, all four bundle up in the biggest, poufiest coats. Itchy sweaters knit by Grandma, fluffy warm scarves, and of course a cozy beanie. Nothing makes warm memories like a long snow day with friends.
From a very young age, Kristen has had a passion for art. She enjoys drawing people and characters and creating her own stories. It is one of her biggest dreams to become an illustrator and/or an animator. She is thrilled to have her art published in this magazine.
Jan-Carol Publishing hears this question frequently. As an author, you do have choices such as traditional publishing, hybrid publishing, and self-publishing, and there is a process. Without having reliable resources, the process can make an author feel overwhelmed, compromising the joy of publishing. But before publishing, you have to start the process. Here are a few outlined steps.
First, finalize your manuscript.
• Read it aloud. Rhythm and pacing matter a lot.
• Get feedback from parents, teachers, librarians, or writing groups.
• Consider read-aloud quality for parents and teachers.
• Revise based on what you learn.
• Your manuscript should be complete and finished before submitting it to a publisher or self-publishing.
Secondly, understand the basic standards set by the Picture Book Industry.
These standards are set as a guide. Following the standard will allow more opportunities in promotion, marketing, and acceptance.
• Word count: 300–800 words for ages 3–7
• Length: 32 pages is standard (36 pages is acceptable)
• Illustrations: full color, consistent style
Next, how do you get the book published?
What are your options?
Traditional publishing, self-publishing, and hybrid publishing are the top options. Not only are these options different, but also the company offering the options will have their own set of guidelines, a company model, and contractual terms.
Traditional publishing has always been seen as top prize, but with accessible technology, social media outlets, and the long process with celebrity status competition, this option can be very discouraging. Seeking a traditional
publisher will take time and many submissions. However, a traditional publisher may include providing the illustrations for your book. Also, a traditional publisher can own all rights to your book, including the illustrations.
Self-publishing can work for many but does not work for all. There are pros and cons. The pros are full creative control and faster, higher royalties. The cons are that you handle (or hire out) everything, including editing, illustrations, layout, marketing, reports, and more.
Do you know how to hire a professional illustrator? Children’s books are illustration-driven.
As the author, you can look on platforms like Behance, Upwork, Fiverr, book artists’ portfolios, Instagram, etc. for assistance. Some authors take a chance on using AI tools, but when the illustrations are generated by AI tools, without tweaking the illustrations, you may not be eligible to secure a copyright. (Seek the advice of an intellectual property practicing attorney.)
Even short children’s manuscripts benefit from a picture-book editor. Having an editor, and not an AI generated editor, will assist with the tone of the book and make it readable.
Can you use tools like Adobe InDesign or Canva? If not, you will need to hire a book designer.
Can you prepare your files for the printer and distribution? Completed files in both print and eBook formats must be uploaded to the publishing formats such as Amazon KDP (paperback, hardcover, eBook), IngramSpark (bookstore distribution), and Barnes & Noble Press. Uploading the files will require setting a price.
Be sure to register your book with an ISBN and copyright.
Some self-publishing format will provide a “free” ISBN, but that ISBN identifies “who” published the book. You do not own the ISBN unless it is registered in your name. (An ISBN, or International Standard Book Number, is a unique 13-digit number that identifies a book and its specific edition. It is used by publishers, booksellers, and libraries to catalog, track, and sell books, with different versions (like hardcover, paperback, or eBook) requiring a separate ISBN. The number is often found on the back cover above the barcode and/or on the copyright page.)
If you have survived all the above steps, next will be the question, “How do I market my book?”
Marketing and promoting your book will require contacting local libraries and possibly schools. You will hear a lot of rejections, but it can depend on speaking with the right person. Participating in events will be a big part of getting exposure for you and your book. Are you set up on social media? Are you comfortable doing a read-aloud event? Have you budgeted for advertising, such as Amazon ads, Meta on Facebook, and others? Do you have a website
or webpage? Did you register your book with an ISBN or copyright?
Are you ready to publish and promote? If all of this sounds discouraging, the best overall option for you is choosing a hybrid publishing press.
Jan-Carol Publishing is a hybrid blend of traditional publishing and self-publishing. JCP follows the highest standards set for hybrid publishing and more. With over 500 titles, JCP understands how to work with authors, helping them achieve their goals and literary expectations. JCP works with authors, navigating each of the above steps and securing the process with ease.
All hybrid presses are not the same. So, call or email JCP and set up a free consultation to find out how we can help you become a successful published author with a children’s book, or your next novel!
Email submissions@jancarolpublishing.com and use the subject AUTHOR, or call 423.926.9983 and leave a message.
Happy writing!
Janie C. Jessee, Publisher Jan-Carol Publishing, Inc.
We’re seeking work that captures the quiet magic of cold nights and warm hearts—stories of connection forged in snowy forests, love rekindled beside crackling fires, fleeting moments beneath frost-rimmed streetlights, and the kind of tenderness that only winter seems to draw out. Show us the chill and the heat, the solitude and the longing, the softness and the storm.
We’re seeking original works in the following categories:
• Short Stories
• Poetry
• Photography
• Art (digital or traditional)
• Book Reviews
• Opinion Pieces related to the literary world
Deadline for Submissions: December 30 th, 2025
How to Submit: Email us your submissions at: tapestryjournal@jancarolpublishing.com
We’re looking for work that leans into atmosphere, emotion, and character. Interpret “winter romance” broadly—cozy, bittersweet, hopeful, complicated, contemporary, speculative, or anything in between. Surprise us. Melt us. Make us feel the cold and the warmth in equal measure. Full submission guidelines will be shared soon.
Questions? Reach out to us at: tapestryjournal@jancarolpublishing.com .
Let your words drift like snowflakes—delicate, fierce, beautiful. We can’t wait to see what you create!
Jan-Carol Publishing, known as JCP, is recognized as the largest book publisher in the region with over 400 titles of books and publishing the monthly magazine, Voice Magazine for Women, for over 20 years. We are locally owned and operated.
• How do you get your book published?
• How do you submit your manuscript?
• What steps are needed for editing?
• How do I get an ISBN?
• Will your book be on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, etc?
Let us assist you in navigating through the book publishing process! 423.926.9983 submissions@jancarolpublishing.com www.jancarolpublishing.com