Category: Annie Louise Twitchell

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Love You, Mean It – Preorders Available now!

My newest book, Love You, Mean It will release on Monday, September 28! The pre-orders are ready now for autographed copies here on my website, along with a limited edition bundle with a custom t-shirt design my husband drew, using our wedding flowers for inspiration.

Love You, Mean It is a love letter to humanity. It is a gentle exploration of faith, hope, joy, and the unconditional love that connects us all to each other and to our Creator. Written by a journalist turned first responder in rural Maine, this short book offers a compassionate perspective and lived experience into the author’s faith.

This book has been a labor of love for several years now, and I am excited – and a little nervous – to send it out into the wide world. I know a lot of folks have been waiting eagerly for this one!

Pre-ordering allows me to purchase a bulk order of books to sign and send out, which is the best way for me to handle these orders. The books will be shipped out between September 21 and October 12, and the limited edition bundles will be shipped out between September 21 and October 19 – the extra week will give us time to get everything packaged perfectly for you.

Love you, mean it.

-Annie

PREORDER: Love You, Mean It Limited Edition Bundle
PREORDER: Love You, Mean It – Hardcover Edition

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Let The Light In

I haven’t been able to figure out where to start with this one, so I’m just diving in headfirst and hoping I come up for air sometime.

This year has been a difficult year. It’s been a “growing in the cracks in the concrete” kind of a year, of stretching and growing and living through all the things you think will break you. It’s been a year of great successes, great achievements, and great losses and sorrows. 

I’ve lost count of how many critical incidents we’ve responded to over the last year. Between the work and the personal losses and everything else, I’ve been just trying to keep from drowning.

A few weeks ago a phrase popped into my heart and eventually made its way up to my head: ‘let the light in’.

If I am a dandelion growing through a crack in the concrete, at least I can choose to grow up tall and to let the light in.

Back at the end of May I wrote another blog post and tried to pick up the threads here for my author page, but life came in with another curve ball. At the beginning of the summer, my husband made the difficult decision to step away from public safety. After being in the fire service and public safety for most of his adult life, it’s left him with wounds that need time and grace to heal. I am more proud than I can ever express that he recognized what he needed and that he made the best decision he could for himself and for our family. 

While it was the right decision, at the same time it’s left us in a difficult position financially. Rising costs of fuel and utilities, costs of groceries, and increased medical bills because I’ve had two miscarriages this year have all piled up on top of the reduced income. While he’s trying to find work, I’ve been picking up extra shifts and extra hours while still trying to maintain some kind of work-life balance. 

As a result my writing has suffered. Lately we’ve been discussing the future of my writing, and we’ve made several decisions.

The biggest roadblock I face currently with my writing is that there is a nearly insurmountable amount of administrative work that needs to be done as well. Archiving old social media posts onto my website, managing book sales and my Butterfly Mail, managing and moderating comments, answering messages, responding to comments, tracking inventory and expenses, staying on top of paperwork… it’s like a thousand little sticky notes on the desktop of my brain that get in the way of my actual writing. 

What we’ve decided to try is to have Chris handle more of the administrative side of things, allowing me to devote more of my time to the writing that I love so much. This will also allow him to utilize his graphic design and photography skills.

This is a new adventure for us and I’m so excited to have him step up and take on this new role. 

Here’s what you can expect: 

  • Much better consistency with Butterfly Mail
  • More essays
  • More videos of Maine and all the places we love
  • More books
  • More tee-shirts and artwork 
  • Maybe even more of the human interest stories I loved writing when I worked at the paper

We’re still chipping away at things at home. I’m still working between 40 and 60 hours a week, but for the sake of my mental and physical health and my marriage I’m not doing the 80+ hours I did all winter. He’s still looking for work locally. We’re still volunteering in a few different ways including with Orion, my therapy dog. We’re both navigating the rocky waves of traumatic stress and critical incidents. And we’re being careful and intentional about making time for ourselves as individuals and as a couple. 

So with all of that said: 

You’re going to see some changes slow-rolled out across my website and social media accounts over the next few weeks. Things that will stay the same: 

  • Entirely and authentically human. No AI has been or will be used in my work.
  • We’ll still read every single comment and message and email and card. I have read every comment since I started publishing my writing more than a decade ago and I don’t plan to stop. 
  • Hope, joy, and love. These three things have been at the core of everything for my entire life. Hope, joy, and love are the best tools I bring to my work in public safety, to my communities, and to you; even when life gets hard, as it has this year, these three things are still at the heart of everything I do. 

I’m so thankful for this community we have here. I hope you’ll stick around. 

Love you, mean it.

-A&C

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Here We Go Again!

As it turns out, working anywhere from 80 to 100 hours a week for a solid four months is kind of a lot for one human to manage.


The good news:


I finished my Advanced EMT program with high honors and have my National Registry exam coming right up to get my certification and license.


I’m working full-time in dispatch, and I do EMS and fire on a part-time and on-call basis, but I am trying to keep it to between 36 and 50 hours a week.


Now that I’m done with class, my brain is finally able to work on books again. I’m into the revision stage on my non-fiction, Love You, Mean It, and making strong headway on my novel Walk Her Home. In addition, I’ve started the drafting process on a baby book and will be spending some quality time with water color paints as I work on illustrations.


The hard news:


In addition to an insane work load since the beginning of the year I’ve been dealing with health issues. I had a miscarriage in January, and another just before Mother’s Day; the physical strain and toll from January resulted in a couple visits to the emergency room as well. I am finally getting back to my usual self. I’ve been careful and gentle with myself over the last few weeks, and I’ve got good people in my corner taking care of me as well.
It’s been a hard year, with a lot of death and sorrow and sadness. Despite it all, the flowers are blooming and I am still here. Today can be good and tomorrow can worry about itself.

I’m enjoying a slower season these days. There is a lot of knitting and writing and walking and sleeping and reading. I am feeling myself grow and deepen and change, too, with the weight of motherhood thus far unrealized. I cannot control what happens next, but I can control my own actions and my own choices; in this in-between space I am settling down to work so that I am better prepared for my own little ones. I am slowing down and learning to pause, to sit with my thoughts and to be patient with myself and with others.


The summer stretches ahead of us, warm and bright and full of promise. I don’t know where it will lead, but I know that I am here and ready to enjoy the journey, even in its beautiful chaos.


Thanks for reading.


Love you, mean it.


-A

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A Letter to Santa Claus



A short, fictional letter exchange I found myself toying with while I made lunch on November 29th. It was originally posted here.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dear Santa Claus,
Hi. I don’t know if you remember me or not, but I’m Emily Grayson from Temple, Maine. It’s been a while since I’ve written a letter to you. I think the last time I did, I was eight. I’m almost thirteen now. But my town is hosting a Letters to Santa thing at the library and I’m stuck here while my mom reads Christmas books to a bunch of little kids, and I figured, what do I have to lose? Nothing.

Here’s the deal. Santa, I don’t think you’re real. I think you’re just a story, made up to keep kids happy. (And to make them behave.) My brother likes to talk about the numbers and how it’s impossible for you to do what they say you do, but the numbers aside:

My friend Carole didn’t get any presents last year. I’m not allowed to go to her house anymore because her father drinks and my parents don’t think it’s safe. I know Carole wrote to you last year, because I paid for the stamp on the letter. (She picked a stamp with your picture on it.) She said she asked for two things, but she only told me about one of them, a bike so she could come over to my house a lot more often.

She didn’t get her bike. And I don’t think she got the second wish either.

I don’t think you’re real, Santa. If you’re real, then why are there still wars and sick people and all that? For that matter, I don’t think God is real either. He’s supposed to love us. And you’re supposed to bring happiness. Well Santa, things aren’t so happy for Carole. Either you don’t exist, or you don’t care, or you failed at your job. And same goes for you too, God.

I’m tired of seeing Carole get disappointed. She’s always believed in you, Santa. She’s always trusted that you’ll make things better. And things are never better, and she gets sad, but then she says, “Maybe next year.” But next year isn’t ever different.

If you’re real, Santa, or God, or whoever reads this letter, you have to prove it. Carole’s address is 165 Meadow Lane in Temple. If you’re really real, give her the best Christmas ever.

Sincerely, 

Emily Grayson

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dear Emily,

I received your letter. Thank you for writing about these concerns. You simply would not believe how many people just give up hoping, instead of trying to do something about it.

Emily Grayson, maybe I am just a story. But stories are mighty powerful things, young lady. Stories let us dream. Stories let us hope. Stories let us believe. And stories show us the light and good in the world.

In the end, Emily, that is what matters most. Love is even more powerful than stories, young lady, and when hearts are full of love, they light up the world. I know your parents might think you are too young to be worried about wars and death and darkness, but you see these things. They worry you. They worry me too, and all the other helpers.

You see, I am a helper. Humans are curious creatures, Emily. They can withstand impossible things, but if you take hope away from them, they fade away so fast that you wonder if they were ever there at all. As a helper, my job is to keep that spark of hope alive. You’ve seen it in your friend Carole. She always hopes that next year will be different. And it is because she hopes that she is so strong.

I am only one of a great many helpers. And I would like to invite you to be a helper, too. You see people. You care about them. You want things to be better for them.

Maybe you have all the proof you need.

With love,
Nicholas

P.S. — I will see what I can do for Carole.


Copyright 2018 by Annie Louise Twitchell
Image from Pixabay
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Through the Pages {blog tour finale}

{This post was supposed to be shared yesterday, but my scheduling isn’t working on my blog (I had it scheduled and it wouldn’t publish) and I was so busy yesterday, I never had a chance to get on and post it. So here’s my finale post, on the 16th instead of the 15th. Oh well.}
Lately, I’ve been thinking about ‘why’. I saw an ad on Facebook for a promotion company, and they said finding your ‘why’ for your art can help a lot. I got upset at first because I didn’t have a why, and I felt a bit threatened. It was weird. 
And then the other night I was walking the dog and thinking about things and I realized I knew what my ‘why’ is. 
My friends have some pretty incredible reasons why they write, and mine isn’t very big or incredible like theirs, but it sums up the reason why I write, very well. 

I write to tell stories. 
That’s it. 
There are themes in my stories that stay the same through most of them–themes of hope, love, forgiveness, joy–but at the end of the day I write to tell a story. 
Like I shared in The Hobbit {my favorite book}, stories are terribly important to me. I write stories because stories are what saved me. Not a sermon thinly wrapped in prose, not someone else’s agenda. Just stories. 
The stories I write are varied, in all genres, of all types. My reason for writing is just simply to tell you a story. I hope that they will be stories you enjoy. I hope they will be stories that move you. I hope they will be stories that someday, will climb down into the pit with a kid and help them back up to daylight, just like I had happen. 
I’m learning. 
I’m growing. 
And as I learn and grow, my stories will grow with me. 
But today and always, my goal is to lay before you a good story. 
Join us on Sunday, September 16th for a Facebook party and a giveaway at the party! RSVP here.
The Kindle e-book edition of Through the Pages is only 2.99 for just a couple more days! Click here to pick it up. 

-Annie

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Through the Pages {blog tour and poems}


Today, I’ve collected a few of Harper’s poems to share with you all. Well, poems and journal entries. They often end up being the same thing when Harper writes them.

It feels so odd to be free. We’re not at war. Didn’t think the war would end. Didn’t think I would come home. But I did. Irene was waiting. We’re getting married. She’s beautiful but that doesn’t begin to describe her. She’s like the stars I could see from the ship, way out there in the ocean.

Been home a few weeks. Pa doesn’t care if I do chores. He didn’t think I was coming home but here I am. Found this old journal in the bottom of my duffel and forgot about it. I’d almost forgotten about Christopher. It’s been years. At the same time it hasn’t been any time at all and I can still hear his voice in the back of my mind. “Harp, you’re going to tell my girl that I love her, right?” I promised him I would but the issue is, I don’t know her name.

Irene’s an angel. I’m good if she’s here. Wish she’d sing more. Her voice is perfect because it’s home.
House is freezing. Some of the farm help didn’t come home. They won’t come home again. Pa’s collected their things to post back to their families.

I didn’t have to live, God. You know that, right? Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Coming home and seeing all the dead hopes and all the new tombstones and — all the empty seats in the church pews. War is hell. God’s not there. I am sick of the stink of blood and sound of death. I can smell it. I can hear it. Said it was for right and freedom but I don’t know anymore. I can hear the shells in my mind. I can hear the screams. God, please, make it stop. I think I’m going insane.

I want to live on a mountaintop somewhere. A quiet place. With Irene and maybe some kids.

H.S.

1946


Do not weep for the fading of the autumn
Do not weep for the drifting leaves
Do not weep for the earth at rest
Do not weep for the changing of the stars
and the chilling of the air
The winter is near
A world of peppermint ice and frosted lace.
Do not weep for the changing tides, my love
Life is ever changing.
Life is the same.

H.S.
November 1982





These people here, these young and happy folk,
they don’t understand.

Their minds are filled with colors and equality and they fight, not in mud-filled trenches, but in minds and hearts. They don’t understand us but I think, maybe, I don’t understand them either.

They are young.

They are free.

They are brave.

They’re the future, and I am the past.

Both of us are soldiers, I and the little girl who stood at the front of the crowd on the sidewalk who jumps when the guns fire the final salute. My name isn’t on the memorial statues, but so many other names that I know are.

It will be good to rest, won’t it?

H.S.
Memorial Day 1992


Thanks for reading!

Join us on Sunday, September 16th for a Facebook party and a giveaway at the party! RSVP here.

The Kindle e-book edition of Through the Pages is only 2.99 for just a few more days! Click here to pick it up. 


-Annie


Copyright 2018 by Annie Louise Twitchell

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Through the Pages {blog tour launch}

Through the Pages never got a blog tour or a release party, because it was a secret birthday surprise for my mom. So we’re doing one now, a month or so after the release date. Better late than never, right? 

Spring will always follow Winter. 

Misty doesn’t know who she is. Nineteen years old, she’s trapped inside who she has been, with no idea who she could be. 

When she goes to Mill’s End to take care of her stubborn, book-loving grandmother, she finds herself torn between past and present. The answer to who she is lies hidden in her grandmother’s library. Her path to find herself takes her through the fading pages of dusty books and the memories of a woman who has lived a full life. It is up to Misty to write the final chapter to the dearest story of them all.

In this tour, you can look forward to meeting some of the characters, reading some interviews and reviews, and at the end of the week, we’ll have a Facebook party and a giveaway!

Here’s the link to the Facebook party so you can RSVP: Through the Pages Release Party

The Kindle e-book edition of Through the Pages is only 2.99 for the length of the tour! Click here to pick it up. 

This is a week-long event! Here’s the approximate schedule:

Sunday, September 9th:
Monday, September 10th:
Tuesday, September 11th:
Wednesday, September 12:
Thursday, September 13th:
Friday, September 14th:
Saturday, September 15th:
I hope to see you around!
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The Worth of a King {blog tour}

The Worth of a King Blog Tour




Okay, for starters, look at this cover: 
Isn’t it AMAZING? I’ve been watching this for a while now, just because of that cover. I didn’t end up with time to do a review of it, because I didn’t have time to read it, because I’ve been a little busy with my own novel, but I have a short excerpt to share with you!

{Book Description}

Princess Obsidia’s father was killed the night she was born. Since there was no male heir, the crown went to the man who killed him, by Dialcian law. This never bothered her, growing up, and when it comes time for Obsidia to choose her husband, she chooses Prince Delaney, the son of that man, with little hesitation. Only then does her life start crumbling around her.

Adrian expected to live a normal life, taking his father’s place at the print shop when his father retired. But, on his eighteenth birthday, when the princess’ engagement is announced, his world is ripped out from under him when he learns that his life was a ruse, and he is the twin brother to the princess – and expected to take back his father’s throne.

Delaney knows that his country is hovering on the brink of war – and that his father may harbor murderous intentions towards his intended bride due to her Zovordian blood. He wants nothing more than to protect Obsidia and his people, but as merely prince, he has little power against his father.
The ancient war between the Dragons and the Immortal King and Queen is nearing its climax, and the three are already caught in it.


{Excerpt}

IN his panic, Adrian forgot that there was a party outside. A party for his twin sister. Because their father had been killed the day they were born.

It was impossible. It was a bad dream. It had to be. Perhaps a practical joke taking advantage of how he shared a birthday with the princess. Yes, yes, that was all this was. It had to be.
“Oh, Adrian!” Christa’s voice cut into his thought. “You’re awake! Oh, if I had only stayed just a few minutes longer! How did you like the cake?”
Adrian swallowed. He’d not even taken a bite of the cake, and he couldn’t tell her that. “I liked it,” he answered instead. It wasn’t a lie. It was a cream cake and she had made it.
“Good.” She gave a satisfied nod and then narrowed her eyes. “Are you all right, Adrian?”
As Adrian floundered for an answer because no, he wasn’t all right, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and Jerolin answered for him. “Oh, it’s just finally set in for him that he has turned eighteen and his carefree childhood is over. I’m sure that you’ll understand next year when you have to leave childhood.”
Christa rocked back on her heels, her frown easing, but not disappearing entirely. “Oh.”
“And you know how grumpy he always is on his birthdays,” Jerolin continued. “It’s just going to be worse this year. You might want to give him some space. Just for today, that is. Come tomorrow, everything should be back to normal.”
Normal? How could Jerolin say that? So flippantly, too. Things wouldn’t be normal tomorrow. Things couldn’t be normal. Never again. He was a prince.
He bolted again. Tore himself from Jerolin’s grip. Headed out of town. Dodging people. Trying to get away. To be alone. To think. He reached the edge of town and kept running. Down the road. Into the woods.
His foot caught on a root and he fell, face-first, into the dirt. He made no effort to get up. Just lay there as the world spun around him.
His parents weren’t his parents. He was the son of Queen Adelaide and the dead king. The murdered king. Was he expected to return to the castle and kill King Ossian in return? Was he supposed to become king?
Oh, but he hated politics.





{Add Book on Goodreads}
{Author Bio}

Kendra E. Ardnek loves fairytales and twisting them in new and exciting ways. She’s been or acting them on her dozen plus cousins and siblings for years. “Finish your story, Kendra,” is frequently heard at family gatherings. Her sole life goal has always been to grow up and be an author of fantasy and children’s tales that glorify God and His Word.


Find her online at: Website || Blog || Goodreads || Facebook || Twitter || Amazon 



-Annie
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Through the Pages {a giveaway and a thank-you}

It’s been almost a year since this story started, but it’s far from finished. 
I want to hug all the people who’ve helped spread the word about Through the Pages, but most of them aren’t in my immediate range of hugability. 
So instead, I’d like to give away one of my Collector’s Boxes. 
In this giveaway, you’ll receive a paper back copy of Through the Pages…
A paper back replica of Harper South’s Journal, available ONLY in these special bundles…

Five art prints…
And maybe a random bonus gift!
The Collector’s Boxes will be available on my website when I have more books in stock! In the meantime, why not enter the giveaway?
International Winners: unfortunately, lack of funds prohibits me from shipping internationally. So instead, for international winners ONLY, I have an e-book copy of Through the Pages in your choice of Kindle, PDF, or ePub. 

And in closing, a random landscape shot. This is my hometown, ladies and gents.

Good luck! -Annie

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