It’s Release Day for Priscilla, the third book i n the Apron Strings series. I am happy to have created this series and am excited to be a part of this with other independent author friends.
Most people enjoy books that have a cooking theme, so I set that as the theme for our inspirational fiction series. I wanted to give it a different spin, so I schemed up the idea of one cookbook traveling the span of 100 years through the hands of the different characters throughout the decades.
I invited authors that I knew, and some that were new to me to join the group, and our series was born. We have all worked hard to get the series to the point of publishing. Although the series has cooking at the heart, there’s much more happening in each fictionalized story.
We will release a book every month throughout the year of 2024. I hope that this is a series that will not only entertain but will encourage readers on their particular path in life.
From Mrs. Canfield’s Cookery Book (the traveling cookbook)
Dear Friends,
How glad I am that this cookery book has made its way into your hands. I hope it will become more than a collection of recipes and that in your home it will help foster an environment filled with love, family, and friends, and of course, good food. Cooking and baking are more tha n required skills. They can be an art form. They can be a ministry. Most of all they can be a way to show love.
Food is an essential and everyday part of our lives, but it can be so much more. I hope through the pages of this book you will find not only instruction but also inspiration for your body and your soul.
Happy cooking and baking! May you give and receive many blessings through your efforts.
It’s COVER REVEAL day for my next book, Priscilla, and I am thrilled to share this 1940s, twenty-something farm girl with you.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
“Written in an easy-going, intimate language, this is a romantic and tender story that will immersive the reader in the atmosphere of the time, for a fully-rounded read that is gentle in its outlook, but quietly profound about what it means to be a wife and mother in the modern age.”
Self-Publishing Review
Apron Strings Series
ONE COOKBOOK CONNECTS THEM ALL…
Book three in a string of heartfelt inspirational stories, featuring different women throughout the decades from 1920 to 2020
In the post WWII era of 1946, Priscilla Hadley dreams of being a wife and homemaker, but there’s one big obstacle in her mind—Priscilla has been told she can’t cook to save her life. However, she’s out to prove that wrong, especially to handsome but annoying Aaron Johnson, her twin brother Jeremy’s friend and fishing buddy, who also happens to be the local police lieutenant.
In an effort to polish up her culinary shortcomings, Priscilla joins a local cooking club. A woman from the club gifts Priscilla a cookbook that could very well put her on the path to realizing her dreams. Much to their surprise, Priscilla and her family find much more than recipes within the cookbook’s pages. What will be its greatest blessing?
With an ailing father and the Wisconsin family farm to help keep afloat, in the absence of two brothers who died in the war, where will Priscilla find the time to learn to cook? Will she renew her faith in the presence of adversity or allow her present fears and past losses to dictate her future?
Readers of inspirational women’s fiction will be encouraged by Priscilla and her struggle for identity and her love for family and will find themselves tearing up in one scene and laughing in another. With relatable characters, Priscilla is an easy read but yet one not afraid to delve into the fundamental questions of faith.
“A fabulous Christian novel with true-to-life characters and unexpected twists, Priscilla by Jenny Knipfer is a wonderful addition to the Apron Strings series. Readers will enjoy its fantastic dialogue, practical themes, and applicable lessons.” Readers’ Favorite, five-star review
Priscilla had not been prepared for the way Aaron looked in his police uniform. The blue fabric of his shirt fitted snugly over his broad chest, and his badge, clipped over his black leather belt— complete with gun and holster—lent an air of authority to his person. As did the stars on his uniform, signifying his rank.
Much to her irritation, her knees weakened as he walked into the kitchen.
Aaron widened his eyes and whistled quietly. “Yowzers!” He jabbed Jeremy in the side with his elbow. “You should’ve told me we were having supper with a movie star.”
He waggled his nicely shaped eyebrows at Priscilla. Her knees wobbled, but she recovered and rolled her eyes. Ignoring him, she started to slice the bread.
“You two sit down,” she commanded in an authoritative voice, with more bluster than she felt. “I’ll take no shenanigans here, Lieutenant Johnson.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron said in a duly reprimanded tone.
He obeyed, but Priscilla saw through that. She was sure he simply bided his time.
Jeremy picked up a slice of the fresh bread. “What in the world happened to this? It’s got enough air in it to float a balloon.”
That rankled Priscilla. She tapped the bread knife on the table to accentuate each syllable in every word she spoke. “I’ll have you know, mister, that it’s no easy task to make bread, and if you wanna complain, then you can take your turn at making it next time!”
Dad reached out a hand and patted her arm. “Now, now, don’t get your feathers in a flutter. Seems like these two fellas got nothing better to do than cause trouble. They’re fixing to enjoy shoveling out the barn if this keeps up.”
Smiling at Dad, Priscilla said, “Thanks.” She bent down and gave him a peck on the cheek. Jeremy moaned. “Why do you always take her side?” Dad shook his head. “Son, when it comes to women, you’ll
soon realize there’s only one side.” That tickled Priscilla’s funny bone, and she uttered an
unladylike snort, which embarrassed her. Her face heated. Who needed Aaron to make her face turn red, when she could very well do it on her own? She sat down last and pulled her chair closer to the table.
Laughing, Aaron said, “Mr. Hadley, you sure got that right.”
Is that experience talking? Priscilla wondered.
She’d heard Aaron had had a sweetheart before the U.S. had entered the war, but Jeremy had told her he’d received a Jane Doe letter while he’d been away. She pitied him for that. No one deserved to be told he was being dumped when he was out fighting for his country.
Dad said, “And you best remember it.” He reached out a hand on either side of him. “Now, let’s say grace and eat, then you fellas can tell me how fishing went.”
THANKS FOR READING!
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt from Priscilla. I will be sharing more about the book and excerpts in the coming months.
The summer has slipped by, and I have barely blogged. I’ve let a few things slide as my fatigue levels and some of my physical problems are getting worse. However, I want to make more of an effort again. I miss blogging, sharing my thoughts with you and some excerpts from my books.
Today, I’d like to share an excerpt from On Bur Oak Ridge, the third book in my Sheltering Trees series. I am celebrating one year in print this month. It doesn’t seem like it’s been a year! It seems a lot longer than that. I thought I’d share an excerpt from the book in the perspective of one of the main characters.
MOLLY
With a low creak the front door opens, and the men walk in. I turn my back to them and move to place the boiled dinner Mabel and I made in the middle of the table. Rashly, I lift up the handle of the cast-iron pot, forgetting it’s hot. I drop the handle and it clunks against the side of the pot. “Yow!” I can’t help uttering. I shake my hand, trying to flap away the pain, red marks blooming on the underside of my middle fingers. Mr. Woodson steps forward and grabs a tea towel to lift the pot to the table. “Let me,” his low voice rumbles out. I keep my eyes lowered as I offer him a “Thank you.” I don’t need to say more. Mabel holds her hand out to me, motioning with her fingers, demanding my burning hand. “Oh dear. Let me see.” I don’t resist and place my hand, palm-up, in hers. “Oooh, that might leave a welt.” Mabel drops my hand and steps toward the icebox. “I’ll chip off some ice to place on it. Sit down at the table.” I obey. Lincoln steps closer to his wife. “Should we do the same, Mae? Is supper ready?” he asks, using his pet name for Mabel, concern present in his tone. “Surely. Take your seats. This won’t take but a minute, and then you can say the blessing,” Mabel says with confidence. While she chips at some ice with an ice pick, we all sit, looking a bit uncomfortable. Lincoln watches me with what I imagine is genuine care. Mr. Woodson, Samuel, folds and unfolds his fingers over the top of his plate and clears his throat several times, yet retains his thoughts and his gaze. It gives me the opportunity to study him. He wears his ash-blond hair long, but his face sports no facial hair. His eyes are wide and well-set but not shrunken. Because of his downcast gaze or the candlelight, I cannot decipher what shade they are. The oval shape of his face puts me in mind of more feminine features, but his strong brow and prominent jaw are decisively masculine. Altogether, he presents a pleasing figure. Mr. Woodson suddenly glances up, as if he can read my thoughts. I instantly drop my inspection of him and turn my face, so my good side is to him. My neck begins to prick and itch, and I look at Mabel, begging her to hurry up. She gathers the ice shards in a flour-sack towel, folds it several times, and hands it to me. “There. You rest your hand on that; it should start to feel better soon. After dinner, I can put some balsam of myrrh on the burn.” I gulp, swallowing the word “burn.” I know about burns. I’ve lived through them. Almost died from them. Mabel’s eyes widen, and she holds perfectly still, a fly caught in a word-web. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t think…” Her eyes glisten with the brown, gold-flecked sheen of sand- polished ironstone. “It’s…” I want to reassure my friend that I’ve put the past behind me and that it no longer has the power to scar me. But I’m unsure. Perhaps it still does.
Molly carries scars within and without that have helped shaped who she has become.
Question: Do you have any physical scars?
I have the scars of bearing children, several surgeries, and a bump under my chin that I hit on the dashboard of the car when I was a kid. And then the general ravages of time… sigh.
I can’t believe it’s been two years already since I’ve published the second book in my Sheltering Trees series, Under the Weeping Willow. Of all of the books I have written, this one was the most alive while I was writing it. The setting, being right around our country block from our place, and the things the main characters deal with are close to home and my heart.
It also has the most alive cover. The picture was taken by my brother-in-law at a farm nearby, where I imagined the story to be set, and the model is my niece. It was fun to see my vision for the book cover come together before my eyes. Not many authors probably get to experience that.
Essentially a story about a mother and a daughter, Under the Weeping Willow is told in a split timeline. The story of Enid and her mother, Robin, unfurls in a way that brings readers into tangible settings and real life issues like Alzheimer’s and depression.
AN EXCERPT FROM THE OPENING SCENE:
Enid June 1983 I rub my hand over my mother’s words. My throat clenches, and I hiccup, forcing back a sob. A tear lands on the lined page of the diary with a splat. The word “willow” starts to bleed with the moisture. I read through the entry once more.
April 10th, 1977 Dear Diary, I put the silverware in the breadbox today. I don’t know why. I went to pull a loaf of bread out of the red, tin box to make a sandwich, and instead I pulled out a fork. I haven’t found the bread yet.
Yesterday, I couldn’t recall my phone number, when asked to give it over the phone to the clinic scheduler. Nothing appeared in my mind when I tried to imagine it. I could pull no number out of my magical memory hat. I had to read the number off the label under the receiver cradle. After about an hour, the number suddenly came to me, like I’d been hit with it. Did my memory go on vacation for an hour?
I have been noticing these strange things recently. It frightens me. It’s as if someone else has done these things. I don’t remember moving the bread at all. I try, but only a black hole appears in my mind when I do. That emptiness slowly sucks at me, like a vacuum. One day I fear there may be nothing left to remember.
Maybe I’m going crazy, but I swore I’d never go there again. I see the edge of the pond and feel the dangling willow branches tangle in my hair as if it were yesterday. The water pulls at me like Velcro, clinging, drawing me in. Why can I remember that from so many years ago and not where I put the bread today? I know one thing: They will not put me in an asylum for the mentally deranged. Not again.
I lift my eyes from the diary and look out the window in the sitting room. The willow tree still stands watching over the pond despite having battled several storms and suffering lost limbs. I whiled away many a summer day under its canopy of hanging branches. Mom didn’t like me playing by the willow, and she hated the pond. She was always after Uncle Hal to drain it. I never knew why.
The ink smudges as I swipe at the damp spot on the page of Mom’s diary, and I try to comprehend the words. Crazy… asylum? What could she possibly mean?
I swallow the lump in my throat and try not to be overburdened by guilt. This was Mom’s first full week in the Dunn County Nursing Health Care Center, a glorified name for a nursing home. I hate that I had to admit her, but she’ll be safe. They won’t treat her like a crazy person. Will they? No, dementia is different. Well, Alzheimer’s the doctor called it. The staff are professionals and can care for her better.
I groan and swipe at my eyes. I can tell myself any number of things to justify my mother being tucked away like an old rag doll, but at the bottom of the justification lies the fact that I am the one who brought her there. I sigh and close the diary, placing it back by her wingback recliner.
It’s release day for The Regal Pink! I am excited to share Diana, Daniel, Rosalind, and Roderick’s stories with you in this work of fantasy fiction. Even though this novel is in the fantasy/fairy tale genre, I wanted it to have some realistic historical elements pertaining to the medieval setting and characters. I suppose this also drives it into another genre—magical realism.
Some things I studied up on for the book, pertaining to the mid 1400s:
CLOTHING STYLES:
Long, loose tunics were the basic style for women. Men wore shorter tunics with doublets (a long type of vest) over top usually with some kind of leggings
Trivia question… What is a hennin? Please don’t cheat and look it up!
MEALS AND EATING HABITS:
Strange fact: breakfast was looked down upon by the church and was considered indulgent. Most people did not eat breakfast but had a midday meal and an evening meal.
Plates were not widely used, but a trencher (thick slab of bread) was used as a sort of plate to mop up meat juices. Forks were not yet in use, but people used a knife to cut and spear food. Bowls and spoons were commonly used utensils.
CASTLES:
I searched through online maps of castles from the middle ages, and found this one that gave me the right feel for the story. I like to have an image like this in my mind for a significant setting. Often it is a place that I have actually seen or been to. I can recall those types of places the best, and they seem the most real when writing a story. But sometimes I use the Internet to give me that visual.
I used medieval era Harlech Castle in England for the main castle setting of The Regal Pink.
All this week I am posting in my Facebook group, Journeying With Jenny about my upcoming book, The Regal Pink,which releases on Friday. Please join me to read excerpts from the book, get some behind-the-scenes info, and enter into several giveaways. Today I am sharing some history about what a “pink” is.
WHAT IS A PINK? A pink refers to a flower in the dianthus (latin for divine flower) family called the clove-pink, which is the ancestor of the modern carnation.
Once upon a time, these simple but jagged-edged, bright, five-petaled flowers were simply called pinks. They were used, of course, for their beauty but also in perfumes for their deep floral, clove-like fragrance.
LEGEND: A Christian legend says that the flowers sprang up from Mary’s tears over Jesus’s plight on the cross.
HISTORY: The name: Carnations were mentioned in Greek literature 2,000 years ago. The term dianthus is derived from the Ancient Greek words for divine (“dios”) and flower (“anthos”). The name “carnation” is believed to come from the Latin corona-ae, a “wreath, garland, chaplet, crown”, as it was one of the flowers used in Greek and Roman ceremonial crowns, or possibly from the Latin caro (genitive carnis), “flesh”, which refers to the natural color of the flower.
COLOR MEANING: The colors of carnation flowers have specific meanings. Pink blooms express motherly love and are a staple in Mother’s Day bouquets. Light red expresses admiration while dark red symbolizes deep love. White blossoms express devotion and wishes for good luck while yellow expresses disappointment and purple shows capriciousness.
THE COLOR: The idea of “pink” as a color was named for the flowers rather than the other way around. In the eighteenth century, flowers were described as blush, pale red, rose, light red, flesh-colored– never pink.
WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH “THE REGAL PINK”? Diana, the main character is a “pink” flower fairy and is transformed from her pink, petal-covered fairy-self into the human realm, to aid a boy named Daniel with an unusual gift. This comes directly from the original Grimm’s tale, The Pink.
Do you like carnations? I do! What’s your favorite color? I like the deep pinks.
Today is one of those mornings that I just want to go back to bed. I have a number of things I need to get done for the upcoming release of The Regal Pink, but I can’t seem to gather up the gumption to do them. I thought about posting today and wondered what in the world I could write about and settled on sharing some of my coping mechanisms for the lack of motivation.
1. Allow yourself to rest. Sometimes we just don’t have the gumption because we need to rest. I find that if I can give myself a little space, then I can build up the energy to do something.
2. Make a to do list. I have never been much of a list maker, but since I’ve become an author, it has helped to keep better track of the things that I need to do. I no longer can physically write, so all of my notes are digital. This really comes in handy because I can see them on all of my devices that way.
3. Plan a reward. The reward system is not just for other people or little children, it can also be for yourself. If you need to motivate yourself to do something, if there’s something you want to achieve. Allow yourself a little treat for doing it. I do.
4. Listen to some upbeat or encouraging music. When I was able to get up and move around and exercise, I would listen to some lively music that would help me get going. For most people, this is a help. These days that doesn’t really help so much, instead I use music as a relaxing tool more than a motivator.
5. Say a prayer They should probably be at the top of my list. The best way to start a day is committing your day to someone who can handle it.
6. Add something living to the picture. I love green, and I love plants. Sitting by my large window that has most of my plants in it, lightens my spirit, and in so doing motivates me. I also like to have these fresh flowers by my chair. Flowers are almost always on our grocery shopping list.
7. Just start. Sometimes all you need is that first step. Even if you have something large to accomplish, it starts with one action which leads to others. Hopefully this will be like a domino effect and keep you moving in the right direction.
Life has been very challenging of late—lots of tears, pain, emotions, fears, prayers, rantings, and little or no answers. Because of dealing with all this, I have had no inspiration and energy for writing or author business, much less promoting my upcoming book, The Regal Pink.
Today, in the wee hours of the morning, I dug into a study by Joni and Friends entitled The Gospel in Hard Times. It is just what I need right now. Though it is meant to be done with a group, I am doing it individually. There are videos to watch online too. The one I watched this morning was very inspirational.
Listening to some worship music this morning when I woke up really lifted my spirit as well. I spent a few hours in the depths of despair yesterday. I am thankful that God was there with me. I am glad that there is nowhere that I can go physically, mentally, or emotionally that he is not. He is always with me. Because of that truth and others I can continue on.
I wrote this poem/prayer this morning and thought I would share it with you. I hope that my words might encourage you to keep believing, keep trusting, and keep on living.
With a Hallelujah
Though my song has been stolen, You sing over me.
When my lips cannot even form one plea, You intercede for me.
In the threatening darkness, You light my way.
On the frontline of my battles, You spread the banner of love over me.
When I think I can no longer go on, You strengthen me.
Though my hope becomes like a caged bird, You free it.
When fear spreads its fingers around my neck, choking me, You are my breath.
At the edge of the precipice, You make me fly.
When pain floods over me, almost drowning me, You help me walk on water.
Though my heart quakes within my chest, You make me courageous.
When I need You, You never fail me.
And at the end, when nothing else is left to say,
I will die with a a sacrifice of praise and a hallelujah on my lips.
Recently, I revealed the cover of my upcoming novel, The Regal Pink. I am so thrilled with how the cover turned out. I think it exemplifies the main character and the feel of the book very well. Stepping into writing and publishing in the genre of fantasy is new to me, but I knew I needed to have something eye-catching that fit well with what readers can expect from this genre.
The story is based on a Grimm’s tale, The Pink. Of course, I put my own spin on things and will connect the story to two others—also based on other Grimm’s tales but ones that are more well-known—in the series. Next up in the series is The Wildest Rose, which I will start writing soon. I am drafting a rough outline right now. A fun fact: I am writing a gnome into this one, and my oldest grandson came up with the character’s name.
The ebook for The Regal Pink can be pre-ordered now on Amazon. The book releases in e-book and paperback form on May 12th.
“This inventive novel has more layers than first meets the eye, elevating it far beyond a simple retelling of a familiar story into a uniquely, entertaining, genre-blending work of romantic fantasy.”
Self-Publishing Review
💕ABOUT THE BOOK💕
A young man who can grant wishes. A fairy hoping for her wings. A king and queen seeking an heir.
Far, far away, in the fairy tale kingdom of Evermoor, young, gifted Daniel dreams of escaping his life in captivity and his dastardly Uncle Aldrich. Diana, a flower fairy charged with guiding Daniel, helps him channel his ability to grant wishes, but his uncle exploits Daniel’s gift, stealing the wishes for himself.
Warned not to fall prey to mortal love, Diana keeps a friendly distance from Daniel, but she cannot deny her growing feelings for him. Will she shield her heart or risk losing the chance to ever go back home to the Green Glade and gain her fairy wings?
In the same kingdom, childless King Roderick and Queen Rosalind have become divided by a great sorrow. Battling the wounds of the past, the monarchs make a valiant effort to move forward, but can they learn to trust each other again? What future can the kingdom have without an heir?
Readers of fantasy, Christian fantasy, clean romance, and YA fantasy will be enraptured with this gripping tale of overcoming the past and embracing hope, layered with romance for both the young and the young at heart.
“Knipfer has created a well-constructed story with all the elements of a classic fairy tale: a royal family, a lost prince, magical creatures, and determined villains.” Readers’ Favorite, five-star review
“A heady blend of magical realism, myth, and references to God’s force in the world that will involve readers in a complex, appealing rendering of Grimms original ‘The Pink’.” Donavon’s Literary Services
A short excerpt from The Regal Pink
Daniel In the 20th reigning year of King Roderick III Evermoor 1451
She tried to kill me in my dreams.
The vision of it rested as real in Daniel’s mind as the clock on the mantle, which he heard striking midnight. As the clock chimed for the last time, he envisioned Diana hovering over his chest with a raised knife, her eyes wide and wild and her cheeks flushing as brightly as the bloom of a clove-pink. The dream had caused Daniel such terror, his heart still pounded thinking about it.
He sucked in a breath and shivered on his pallet by the hearth, which had now gone cold. Daniel stretched the rough, woolen blanket up to his chin. His eyes searched the small room of what passed for his home, expecting Diana to jump out at him, but no one appeared. Hopefully, she rested better than he did. Her bed sat behind the muslin curtains sectioning off a corner of the room. The curtains hung suspended like a ghost in the moonlight shining in through the window. The fabric fluttered, brought to life by the draft under the door.
Dwelling on his dream, Daniel understood that it wasn’t the idea of dying that had frightened him. No, it was the fact that his friend, whom he had come to love, had held the knife. What manner of alarming premonition is this? Daniel couldn’t understand how his mind had fabricated Diana taking up a weapon against him.
Surely not!
Uncle Aldrich, Daniel could see. He did not care for Daniel. He only kept Daniel because he proved useful to him. Daniel grew tired of working his uncle’s wishes. He dreamed of leaving the hovel they lived in, but he didn’t know where to go. Daniel couldn’t comprehend why his uncle had not wished for a life away from this place. Something surely kept him tethered to such a humble abode, or Uncle would have forced Daniel to lay a path of wishes that led to a richer life.
Thanks for reading!
I hope you enjoyed the short excerpt from The Regal Pink and look forward to more tidbits of info and excerpts. J
For sometime, I’ve been thinking, I want to write a poem again, needed to write one. Poetry has always helped me truly express what is inside, more than anything else. So today I tapped this out on my iPad, and I can say I feel much relief over having gotten it out. Maybe you can relate to something in it.
