The decision to write my first novel couldn’t have come at a worse time. Between my job, and running a household that included my husband and three active children, I didn’t have a moment to spare, let alone a moment to myself. Yet, I could no longer ignore the dream that had festered inside me for as long as I could remember.
I finally came up with a solution that allowed me to write without taking time away from my family; I’d simply get up two hours earlier. With grim determination, I forced myself out of bed each morning at four and wrote till six when it was time to wake the family. It wasn’t easy and, at times, it was pure torture.
I can’t remember how many years I did this, but I managed to write four books during those predawn hours. On the few occasions I would sneak away during the weekend or evening to jot down a note or commune with my characters, I was overcome with guilt. It’s easy to justify time spent away from the family when you’re making money, but all I had to show for my efforts was a stack of rejections.
Discouraged, I was on the verge of quitting my writing when something unexpected happened. My seventeen-year-old daughter won a scholarship to a Cordon Bleu cooking school in England. During an interview for a local newspaper, she was asked what she attributed most to her success.
Ah, this was the moment every parent waited for; the moment when your child looks at you with adoring eyes and acknowledges all the sacrifices you made through the years.
I’m still waiting for that moment because my daughter said none of the things I thought she would say. Instead, she explained how every morning she woke to find her mother working on her novel. From this she learned that if you wanted something bad enough, you had to work for it day after day, week after week, and never let anything stand in the way.
Okay, so she didn’t mention the birthday parties, the homemade Halloween costumes, the hours I spent explaining fractions, baking cookies, chauffeuring and rooting for her baseball team. What she did say, however, was far more meaningful. For she made me realize that by taking the time to follow my own dreams, I showed her how to follow her own.
Thrills, mystery, suspense, romance: Margaret penned it all. Nothing wrong with this—except Margaret happened to be writing for the church newsletter. After making the church picnic read like a Grisham novel, her former pastor took her aside and said, "Maybe God's calling you to write fiction."
So that’s what Margaret did. She now has more than 20 novels to her credit. In addition, she's written many Christian articles and a non-fiction book. Still, it took a long time before Margaret tried her hand at writing inspirational fiction which led to her Rocky Creek series.
"I love writing about characters at different stages of faith," she says of the new direction her writing career has taken, "and I'm here to stay."
Happily married to her real life hero, Margaret and her husband live in Southern California.
She’s an outlaw: he’s a preacher. Both are in need of a miracle.
Preacher JUSTIN WELLS leaves Boston in disgrace, heading out alone on the dusty trail to Texas. But when the once-respected clergyman encounters a feisty redhead in handcuffs with a dying U.S. Marshal at her side, his journey takes a dramatic turn. When he promises the injured lawman to take his prisoner to Texas, Justin has no idea the trouble that lies ahead. The slightly-built prisoner turns out to be SARAH PRESCOTT—sister of the notorious Prescott brothers—and she’s determined to miss the hanging party waiting for her in Texas.
But escaping proves to be tougher than she thought. Justin doesn’t own a gun and hasn’t the foggiest idea how to survive the wilderness. How can she leave him alone with the injured marshal?
Nothing is more sacred to Justin than a promise made to a dying man, but how can he turn the blue-eyed beauty over to the hangmen? She’s tough as leather, but there’s something about her that is pure and good.
Justin can’t bear to lose her, but how can a simple preacher fight an entire town? And how can either one of them know that miracles come in many guises—including love?