Here is my interview this evening with Messiah Community Life Radio Talk Show. We discussed Uncharted Waters and my previous novel, Conquering Anxiety. Uncharted may be ordered at: www.amazon.com/author/www.saradubose.com and the anxiety book at: 1-800-283-1357.
Since October is Domestic Violence Month I am posted this excerpt from the foreword of my latest novel, Uncharted Waters.
Regardless of where you live, you may call:
1. National Alliance of Family Justice Centers toll-free:
2. National Network to End Domestic Violence toll-free:
3. Hot Peach Pages/search by country at:
4. In the UK, help is available through the Women’s Aid
and Refuge, and the freephone 24 hour helpline is:
Since Uncharted Waters is set in Alabama, other special
5. One Place Family Justice Center: 334-262-7378
6. Family Sunshine Center: 334-263-0218
The inscription on this pen reads: This Pen Has Been Stolen From: Montgomery Police Academy, 740 Mildred St., Montgomery, AL 36104"
While researching my latest novel, and spending countless hours with a class of young recruits, the staff presented me with this pen. Today, I may receive some odd looks, but I find it fun to autograph Uncharted Waters with my pen!
Here is a newsletter post from Sunpenny, my UK publisher of Uncharted Waters.
"Don't you think a husband is a good Birthday Gift?"
Find out about Beth and Donnie's loving and supportive relationship, and whether Beth manages to assert herself against her stalker, in this intelligent romance by Sara DuBose.
Put away now for another year, this Christmas bell belongs to Sara & Bill DuBose. One day, while admiring the bell, Sara decided to use it in a scene for Uncharted Waters. Here is a excerpt:
Ordinarily the July heat would already be oppressive by mid-morning but, thankfully, we felt a breeze as Donnie opened his truck cab and picked up a small red foil gift bag reminding me of Christmas.
“You may think I’m the crazy one, Beth, but I couldn’t resist buying this for you last week.”
“What is it?” I asked as he handed me the package.
“Well, I was just browsing the internet and happened to Google Christmas in July.”
I lifted a small see-through box from the bag and found a beautiful silver bell with some sort of inscription engraved on the front. Before I could open it, Donnie said, “It’s for our first tree. Look, I know it’s early. I just couldn’t resist.”
I turned the ornament toward the sunlight and read, “Beth & Donnie, Our 1st Christmas Together.”
“Donnie, I . . . .”
“Now don’t go all sentimental on me.”
“Looks like you’re the sentimental cop in this equation, but I love it,” I said. “How is it you do these things when I can’t kiss you.”
“Rain check? Say, if you don’t have too much homework how about a supper date? Besides, even recruits need a little fun.”
“Homework is gonna take two hours at least, yet a girl’s got to eat. What time?”
“Let’s aim for seven, but I’ll call you later. Look, to save you a trip to the locker room, I’ll bring the gift with me tonight.”
I handed the beautiful ornament back to Donnie and waved as he pulled out of the parking lot. Somehow, taking a July jog didn’t seem so bad after all."
Can God use a frightening Thanksgiving incident to help change a floundering family? Well, maybe . . . Here is another excerpt from Uncharted Waters.
"I planned to work on the wedding invitations over the Thanksgiving holidays but one event changed everything. It happened late Wednesday afternoon during a heavy thunderstorm. I had just put a pecan pie in the oven when a local radio station announced hazardous weather conditions with ten inches of rain in the past five hours.
Dad called around two-fifteen to say he was on his way. I almost offered a word of caution but then decided he wouldn’t appreciate daughter intrusion. After all, Dad was the Alfa agent. He dealt with weather and accident investigations all the time.
Looking back, I wonder if speaking up might have made a difference. Only God knows."
When it hit, I instinctively knew it was a gunshot—a gunshot that completely shattered the window on the driver’s side of my Honda. Two impulses came in rapid succession: to take a breath assessing for pain or blood, and a quick attempt to see the perpetrator. Nothing but broken glass. Third impulse: to flee. I rounded the corner and reached for the cell phone, dialing 911 as I drove.
This paragraph is based on an actual experience I had while doing research for Uncharted Waters. Frightening as it was, it added fuel to the stalker's chase and help direct Beth Davidson to her next important decision!
Sunpenny, my UK publisher, e-mailed last week to say a fellow author from Scotland was visiting her sister in Montgomery, Alabama. I e-mailed Step McKean, author of "Bridge to Nowhere" and, by afternoon, Step, her sister, Vickie Potter, and Step's husband, Alan McKean, were sitting for a chat in our den. Alan is also an author of a Christian time-travel called "The Scent of Time." God is so good!
Several friends are asking, "Am I in this novel?"
When this happens, I reply, "Yes, you might see yourself somewhere." I say this because we are all on a journey. For some, it may be simply to get through the day. However, for many of us, it's a journey to discover and fulfill our purpose. Like Pilgrim in John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, the Christian's journey includes inconvenience, pitfalls and setbacks but, as we persevere, our purpose and God's promise becomes clear.
Yes, on this side of eternity, life seems like Uncharted Waters, but believers have a Father with a perfect GPS. We will arrive home, and it will be a glorious destination. In the meantime, we confront anxiety and fear. I hope this novel will help you cope with life's uncertainties and to remember you are not traveling alone.
Trembling now, I moved closer to the tunnel wall, wondering how long it would take me to run back to my car if the man approached. Donnie was right. I shouldn’t have come. Beth goes deeper into the tunnel.
Someone sneezed. I looked behind me. Nothing. No, it wasn’t a sneeze . . . it was a train—a six o’clock freight train pulling through the train shed just west of the tunnel. Now came a mournful whistle blow, followed by two more. Ordinarily, I love the sound of a train, but this was distracting. What should I do? I crept several more paces inside the hollow tube, hoping to recognize the person at the other end. The man had definitely moved closer but I couldn’t identify him . . .