Yesterday, I uploaded my new novel as an ebook to Amazon. It is ready for you to pre-order, NOW! When you do, you will receive the ebook on its Launch Day, Tuesday, September 15. The paperbacks will be ready for purchase at that same time, too. I have ordered the proof copy and should have it within a week. On Launch day,  I hope to have a stack of paperbacks available. If not on that day, I'll have them very soon. You may buy them either from Amazon or from me. Of course,  I will gladly autograph the books I sell directly to you! (In fact, I'll sign the books you get online, too, if you bring them to me.)

   I hope and pray Expecting and Encountering the Messiah will have a favorable reception. Will you like it? Time will tell.

   
​   Several of you told me how much you liked my first teaser. Here's another one:
​ 
​   Uncle Joseph hired a man named Joseph, of Nazareth, to make repairs on the upper room of our home in Sepphoris. When the man was working on the roof, I wanted to meet him.
   That day, my sister Salome and I had kicked the ball around with several neighboring children. We stopped when the sun was high. Sally continued to play with her friends, and I went home.
   The man worked hard on the roof, so I filled a pitcher with fresh water and grabbed a gourd dipper. I climbed to the roof by the stairs attached to the exterior wall of our house. With one hand supporting the water jug against my side and hip, managing the narrow stairs was a balancing act. I wore my everyday tunic and robe but had forgotten to cover my braided hair.
   The man was on one knee as he replaced a crumbling rock with a solid one. He had a tiny bit of gray hair on his temples and over his ears.
   Since he was working in the heat, he wore only a simple knee-length tunic with sleeves that reached his elbows. Through his tunic, the muscles of his arms and the power of his legs showed. I was embarrassed that I noticed his physical strength.
   He did not know I was there until I said, “Would you like some fresh water?”
   “I would love some fresh water.” He put down his trowel and stood up. He was tall. Taller than most Jewish men.
   He probably intended to simply nod at me and keep working, but he stared. I was embarrassed. I was not beautiful, but I was a pretty, slender young woman. My clothing was everyday wear with everyday sandals on my narrow feet. I had long, thick shiny hair in a single braid that went almost to my waist. He broke his trance and pulled on his sleeve to wipe sweat from his face.
   I dropped the dipper into the jug for water, then handed him the dipper, and he drank.
   “What is your name?” he asked.
   “I am Myriam, but some people call me Mary.”
  “Myriam is the perfect name for a beautiful young woman. Is Joseph your boss?”
   I shook my head.
   “Your father?”
   "No,” I answered. “He is my uncle and our family redeemer.”
   “Oh, forgive me—I mean—I did not know.” He stared at me again. I had thick eyebrows and eyelashes, but my nose was straight. My cheeks had dimples, and my lips were naturally pink. Neither needed anything to make them more noticeable, especially when I was embarrassed, like now.
   I was aware that he examined me, and I wished I had taken time to cover my hair.
   “I apologize for my mistake.” Now, he was the embarrassed one, which made me less nervous.
   “It is all right. My father died three years ago. I am thirteen, and my younger sister is ten.”
   He handed the dipper to me for another drink and straightened his clothes. His eyes roved over the roof until he located his robe, on the far side from us.
   I ducked my head as I handed the refilled dipper to him.
  “Hello, Myriam. I am Joseph, the older brother in our family. I have no sister, but I have a sister-in-law. She and my brother have young children. I do not know how many. The number keeps changing.”
   He has a good sense of humor. I smiled and brought my eyes upward. He had a smile that lit his eyes as if I had blown starlight into them. “Hello, Joseph.”
   “Does your uncle live in Sepphoris, too?”
   “No. Joseph lives in Arimathea, in a very large house with a very large family.”
   As soon as he handed the dipper back, I poured the remaining water into his smaller, almost empty jug. Then I turned to leave the roof.
    He softly said, “Thanks be to God for your kindness.”
   My face was flushed, and I could barely breathe. “May God bless you, Joseph.”
   “And you also, sweet Myriam.”
   I quickly glanced up at him to determine if he was mocking me, but he was not. He was genuinely kind, and I liked him.
   I turned my attention to managing the stairs and left him to his work.
   Later, all the words I wished I had said came to me. Something like “It is a pleasure to meet you, Joseph” or “I hope we meet again, Joseph.” But I had already said enough.
   I did not return to the upper room while he worked on the parapet. I only did what would be acceptable to the LORD and my mother. I waited.

Here is a teaser from the book:
   Before the sun rose the next morning, I left my small house with my satchel at my side, ready to walk to the synagogue. A five-year-old student waited for me near my yard. He shuffled his feet, with his head down and the frown of his lower lip hiding his upper lip.
“What has happened, Asher?”
   His tears fell freely on his already stained tunic while he tried to sniff mucus back into his nose. He wiped away the rest with his sleeve. “Our nanny goat is not giving milk. Please pray for her, Rabbi Buni. We need her milk. My father said if the nanny is dry, he will have to”—Asher struggled to hold back his tears—“butcher her.”
   “Oh, Asher! How old is your doe?”
   “She is much older than me. I have been drinking her milk since I was a baby.” His tears flowed freely as he admitted, “She is my best friend.” He leaned against me and sobbed.
   I patted the boy’s back with one hand. With my other hand, I rested my satchel on the short stone fence. Reaching into the satchel, I found a square of soft cloth. I handed the cloth to Asher, and he used it to wipe his eyes and nose.
   When Asher was more in control of himself, I asked, “Can your doe have more kids?”
   “No. My father said she is too old.”
   “Where does your family live?”
   The boy rubbed his nose and eyes some more and vaguely pointed to the edge of town. “On the ledge, this side of the big stone road.”
   Roads, built of stones several layers thick and angled for drainage, linked several important landmarks. One such road went from the southwestern coastal port of Ashkelon through the Valley of Elah about twelve miles from Bethlehem, then nine miles north to Jerusalem. Another significant road connected Ashkelon with the city of Hebron in the mountains south of us, down the valley nearest the ridge of Bethlehem, and uphill to Jerusalem. Asher was referring to the road from Hebron, which continued farther uphill through the Golden Gate of Jerusalem, and to the summit of Moriah, where the Holy Temple stood.
   “We have seven date palm trees,” the boy finished.
   I could find the right place since some of the date palms were visible from where I stood. Sitting beside my satchel on the fence, I moved my hand to Asher’s shoulder and prayed aloud for Asher’s family and their goat.
   When I stood, I patted the boy’s head. “Come on, Asher, walk to school with me.”
   He nodded his head, sniffed, and blew his nose. “I will walk with you, Rabbi.”
   After classes, I found Pharisee Choni gardening and asked for a moment of his time. “How much do you know about goats?”
   Choni dusted off his tunic and robe as he stood. “What does a Pharisee need to know about goats? I know there are plenty of them in the fields and pastures around here. Why do you ask, Buni?”
   “A young boy in my class has a nanny goat that no longer lactates. His father plans to butcher her. The lad is distraught and says the goat is his friend.”
   “Goats and sheep are part of the economy here. I am surprised the boy’s parents let him think of a goat as his pet.”
   “His mother was ill for a couple of years before she died. The boy is only five now. Perhaps the boy’s father allowed Asher to love the goat to help him deal with the loss of his mother.”
   “And now, Asher must deal with more loss.” Choni shook his head. “I will pray for him and his family. Perhaps the father needs to find a new wife, and Asher would love her more than the goat.”
   As I went home, I continued thinking of Asher and his family. Prayer is a commitment, the foundation of our faith, our first act, constant thought, and last resort. But perhaps I can help young Asher in another way, through action. I changed into an older tunic and robe and put on my well-worn but most comfortable sandals. Then I energetically set out to locate a goat herd in the pastures near Bethlehem.
   Many nearby shepherds kept watch over Temple sheep, but I needed to find a doe, a young female goat. The mountains were majestic, with green grasses, bushes, streams, and ample forests. The colorful flowers of Israel were plentiful and filled the air with sweet scents. The birds sang as if they were having a contest for which of them could make the most melodic song.
   I walked downhill and uphill for over two hours. My stride shortened and my pace slowed. I ceased to experience the beauty of nature and began to think my idea to help Asher was foolish.
Over the next hill and ahead in the valley grazed a herd of what might be sheep and goats mixed together. Finally, thank God. 
   Energized again, I went downhill to the stream, got on my knees, and cupped my hands to drink the fresh water. Nothing is sweeter than cool water from a gurgling stream. After drinking my fill, I stood and walked to the nearest herder and bowed politely. “Peace to you.”
   “And to you, Rabbi.” The herder leaned on his crook, a staff used to rescue sheep or goats, a necessity for herding. One of his hands rested easily on the crook’s curved top ...

Presently, it is getting its final edit. I have formatted the book size, font size, spacing, chapters, and organized the front and back matter. Next I will get the ISBN numbers for both the paperback and ebook. In the ebook, I will make links from the table of contents to the correct page or location within the ebook. I plan to record the audiobook as soon as possible, but I already know it will be a few more months before it is completed. 

I should have copies of the novel in time for the second New Frontiers in Writing Mini-Conference in Amarillo hosted by the Texas High Plains Writers, September 18 and 19, 2026. The Mini-Con is shaping up nicely and will begin with A Novel Affair Grown-up Book Fair on Friday, September 18, 5 pm – 8 pm. The conference will continue on Saturday, September 19, 8 am – 5 pm, at the Arts in the Sunset Center, 3701 Plains Blvd, Amarillo. Please visit https://newfrontiersinwriting.com/ for more information, and a link to register today. Our speaker lineup includes Mike Akins, Aubrey Green, R.J. Hanson, Shannon Iwanski, Williamaye Jones, B.J. Sloan, Rick Treon, and Pat Tyrer. Use the code "New Frontiers in Writing" at the Holiday Inn Express & Suites Amarillo for conference rates. 
​
As Rabbi Buni often says at the end of his prayers, "With faith and trust."

May God bless you,
Betty

In April, I traveled with a group to Greece for an absolutely wonderful trip experiencing ancient ruins and archeological digs, starting in Athens with the Acropolis. In Ancient Corinth we walked through more ruins and artifacts. Breathtaking antiquities.

Originally, we were to cruise through the Greek islands to Ephesus, Turkiye. Unfortunately, our cruise ship was stuck in the Strait of Hormuz, blocked due to the wars among Iran, USA, and Israel. Collette Tours made alternate arrangements for us: three nights on the island of Santorini ... white washed buildings, churches, and windmills sloped to the still, turquoise sea. 

Back on the mainland, we traveled north through Thermophlae and Kalambaka to see the "hanging monasteries of Meteora" (UNESCO) ... six secluded communities perched on peaks of dark sandstone pinnacles ... Think Garden of the Gods on steroids. We visited two: one a safe haven for nuns and the other a home to monks. 

From there, we continued north to Thessaloniki, Kavala, and Philippi ... archaeological sites and monuments from the Ancient Roman and Byzantine eras, and remains of Paul's dungeon to the tree-shaded river where he baptized Lydia.

After Greece, ten of us went to Rome for three days packed with sightseeing ... Colosseum, Forum, dungeons of Peter and Paul, Vatican, Sistine Chapel, Basilica of St. Peter,  Pantheon, Trevi Fountain, Spanish Steps, the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls. Awe-inspiring. 

As usual, I took photos of everything. However, on Vatican day, I accidentally left my phone in the hotel lobby. When we returned to the hotel, I went straight to the receptionist. He had it on his desk and brought it to me. "... and I even charged it for you." I was so relieved! A couple of fellow travelers took pity on me and "beamed" Vatican day photos to my phone. Incredible friends!

Home, again. Back to the book, again.

After much deliberation, I am adding "literary" to my novel's genre because my writing is character-centered, theme-centered, and includes multiple first-person voices. Unlike a plot-driven story, mine is more reflective, until crucial events demand immediate action and get it!

I have the impression that many publishers only want books that contain constant conflict and excitement so the reader will keep reading. That is also what most of today's movies do and what most moviegoers expect. But I know many readers who are wanting something else. They want books that have emotional weight and are thoughtful, hopeful, comforting, and/or inspiring. My Literary Biblical Historical Novel, Expecting and Encountering the Messiah is written for them.

In HOW TO EDIT YOUR NOVEL: Practical Tips for Strengthening Your Story, respected author and editor Karin Beery said:

I still need to rewrite portions, especially where I need to "show, not tell" in order to strengthen my story. I'm catching on, though. I must show, not tell, and stop. Just stop. Explanations are not needed at that point. God willing, I will have the novel finished in two months and ready to publish in September.

Writing the Mother Road: Texas High Plains Writers Celebrates Route 66 is THPW's newest anthology of short stories. Twenty-four authors have contributed a variety of excellent stories. The large-print book is available on Amazon as well as at several events where we will have the anthologies, and our own books, for sale: 

• June 5, First Friday Art Walk at Arts in Sunset Center, Amarillo, 5 pm - 9 pm
• June 6, READiculous Book Fair, Party Suite B, 4400 S. Washington St, Amarillo, 11 am - 3 pm
• June 13, Route 66 Centennial Festival, Sixth Street, Amarillo, 11 am - 7 pm
• July 4, Canyon Fair on the Square in downtown Canyon, 9 am - 3 pm

​May God be with you and yours.
​
in Christian love,
Betty

After the manuscript is written, edited, and finished, the author begins the next steps toward publication. Several types of publication are possible, but here are the four main avenues.

1. Self-publication is when the author is in complete control and responsible for every aspect, from writing to marketing. The author pays all costs and retains creative control, all rights, and all royalties over expenses. Self-publication is the fastest. Sales are limited to the author's ability to promote the books. My previous books are all self-published. I have done everything myself, except the editing and valuable input from a critique group.
2. Hybrid publication is when the author pays a few thousand dollars, non-refundable upfront costs, to the company for their services. They usually have a few more distribution capabilities than the author, and work on a faster timeline than traditional publishers. The author needs to be certain the Alliance of Independent Authors has vetted the hybrid publisher.
3. Vanity Publications imply that they are hybrid publishers, but they are not. Authors beware! Vanity publishers profit on the fees an author pays, not on selling books. Their results are high costs, poor printing quality (Remember--they don't care about the books), and low sales (They don't care). They frequently mislead authors, lock authors into restrictive contracts, claim exclusive rights, and offer minimal distribution.
4. Traditional publication is when the author writes the book and secures a literary agent, who then sells the book to a publishing house. The publishers have industry expertise and will only accept books that they can sell. They distribute to bookstores everywhere. The author has no upfront costs, but can expect low royalty rates, loss of creative control, and a very long timeline of two years or more from the publisher’s acquisition to actual publication.

 
Many authors, agents, and publishers offer lessons, suggestions, and warnings on how to write queries, proposals, and submissions to agents and publishers. Advice abounds in conference sessions, videos, meetings, and even in personal consultations.

Agents and publishers have preferences. The author needs to check the kinds of books the agent or publisher prefers to represent and follow their suggestions as to what you include in your query or proposal. When you honor their requests and preferences, you have one foot in the door. It reminds me of my interview for a job many years ago. The potential employer mentioned the font I used in my resume. It was a normal font, no frills, curls, or waves, but it seemed to be his main take away. Several days later, he offered me the job. In the meantime, I had accepted a better paying position elsewhere.

I have emailed queries to some agents and proposals to some publishers who allow unagented submissions. When contacting agents and publishers, they usually say to allow them 30 days to 120 days. I’ve heard back from some who had comments, such as

• start with an inciting incident at the opening 
• keep readers engaged with conflict and tension 
• pass
• we, as a group, are not very drawn to Christian fiction
• too much telling and not enough showing
• more than one point of view is distracting.

 
Well, you get the idea, and so do I. It’s humbling. While I wait for more feedback, I will improve my manuscript, continue research, and begin the next book. Will you wait with me? Will you pray for me? Please?
 
In faith and trust,
​Betty

     In a psychological thriller, surprisingly, I read a great passage about authors. I wish it were true, but the story is fictional. In this scene, two characters are strangers seated next to each other on a flight from London to New York.

     ... "I'm a writer."
     And those were the words that changed everything because writers were my rock stars.
     He instantly transformed from an irksome stain on the planet into a creature of wonder. We started chatting, and he was charming and witty and clever. The book I was reading went into the seat pocket and wasn't opened again. I have always had a soft spot for storytellers. I fall in love with their words; then I fall in love with the people who wrote them. I sometimes wish I could crawl inside their heads, hear their innermost thoughts, and see the world through their eyes.
     It isn't as though I'd never met an author before. The woman who raised me—when my mother gave up trying to—worked in publishing. I spent my teenage years living in a home that was often filled with writers. She would host these amazing dinner parties in her London flat, and they would all sit around for hours talking, eating, drinking. I would sit on the top step of the staircase, secretly listening, wishing I was allowed to be down there having fun with them. Those "dinner parties" often went on until the sun came up and I had to get myself ready for shool. I'd go to class exhausted but happy. It didn't matter to me whether they were million-copy bestsellers or award-winning novelists—though many of them were—they were all magicians of words, and that was my favorite kind of magic.
     We talked so much when we first met on the plane that I barely noticed when it took off ...
     ... It was a night flight to New York, and before long the cabin was in darkness. Most of the other passenters seemed to be asleep already—travel cushions tucked under their heads, eye masks on—but we continued to whisper, like children excited to still be up long after bedtime. We spoke for hours, and I felt like I could talk to him forever about books, travel, life, anything. I wanted to know everything about him, what he thought and felt, to know if his view of the world was the same as mine. Have you ever met someone and just clicked? As though you had known them for years even though you had just met? That's how it felt.

     Quoted from Beautiful Ugly by Alice Feeney. Diggi Books LTD. 2024. Flatiron Books. ISBN 9781250337788

Quotes on Books, Reading, and Writing:

• "When you finish a draft of a poem, or short story or novel, make sure you go out and celebrate all night long because whether the world ever notices or not, you did something most people never do: You started, stuck with, and finished a creative work. And that is a triumph." — Andre Dubus III (American author, novels, short stories) 
• "Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home." — Anna Quindlen (American author, novels, journalism)
• "Reading is to the mind, as exercise is to the body." — Brian Tracy (Canadian-American motivational speaker and author)
• "A children's story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children's story in the slightest." — C. S. Lewis (British author, scholar, Christian apologist - one of my favorites)
• ”Both reading and writing are experiences―lifelong―in the course of which we who encounter words used in certain ways are persuaded by them to be brought, mind and heart, within the presence, the power, of the imagination.” ― Eudora Welty (American photographer, writer, short-stories, novels)
• “Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” ― Louis L'Amour (American writer, mostly western fiction - a favorite of my Uncle Rip)
• “You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.” ― Madeleine L'Engle (American Christian author, young adult fiction, other genres)
• "Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are." — Mason Cooley (American professor emeritus and speaker who used aphorisms)
• "A book is a dream you hold in your hands." — Neil Gaiman (English producer and author, novels, comic books, audio theater, screenplays, short fiction)
• “And by the way, everything in life is writable about, if you have the outgoing guts to do it and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." — Sylvia Plath (American author, confessional poetry)
• “The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them―words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.” — Stephen King (American author, horror, thrillers, science fiction, fantasy) 
• "If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it." — Toni Morrison (American novelist, editor)
• "Books last longer than digital media, with physical books (especially hardcovers) potentially lasting for centuries while ebooks may disappear without active maintenance. Many paper books, particularly high-quality hardcovers, have lasted for hundreds of years and will continue to exist indefinitely if stored properly. E-books and other digital artifacts have a much shorter lifespan without constant maintenance and updates. Internet engineer Brewster Kahle suggests that without active upkeep, digital books may not last a decade. A Yale study found that people who read books lived, on average, almost two years longer than those who do not read books. This survival advantage is thought to be linked to the cognitive engagement that book reading provides, which can hone critical thinking skills, concentration, and empathy. Researchers caution that this is an association, not a proven cause-and-effect relationship. Factors like higher income and education levels common among book readers may also contribute to a longer life." — AI Overview (artificial intelligence)
• "I read because I love to read. I enjoy all kinds of books―physical books, ebooks, and audiobooks—in many genres including my own. I write because I love to write. God gave me the desire to write as surely as He gave me the desire to sing, play piano, teach music, love, and be loved. And it is my desire to do His will." — Betty M Reeves (American author, audio producer, self-publisher - I know her well.)

Happy New Year 2026!
Thanks for reading!
In Christian love,

―​from Nathaniel Fryml, conductor of Amarillo Master Chorale, as written in the concert program, November 14, 2025, in St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, Amarillo, Texas.

What a joy it is to be back in this elevating sacred space making beautiful music together. Our program this evening has been carefully selected not only to highlight the glorious acoustic of the nave of St. Andrew's, but also to evoke the feeling of a journey towards a safe place―perhaps a journey home.
​
The idea to organize a program around the poetry contained in Griner and Gawthorp's "Sing Me to Heaven" came rather unexpectedly. I had been puzzling for weeks over what direction to take this fall concert, a long-anticipated traditional choral event after a few years devoted almost entirely to masterworks and wonderful collaborations. I was writing a poem about an exhausted bird who collapses on a (seemingly) barren patch of hard earth, thinking perhaps I could build a program around this metaphor. But as I wrote, I discovered the poem was really for someone I dearly love who is sgruggling through a very difficult season in their life. 

I then started to reflect on the "other" implied in so many one-sided conversations we are privy to in music and throughout the arts, but especially in poetry. I began to reevaluate my long list of dream pieces for performance venues like St. Andrew's Episcopal with this in mind, and a common theme begn to emerge. And though this concert would indeed be infused with poetry, the central image would not be that of a fallen bird, but of a lamb―a lamb looking up at its shepherd, with questions in its heart but no words with which to articulate them. 

"If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby..." From the infant's first awestruck, gasping breaths in the arms of a protector and provider, to the wizened yet labored sighs of one who has lived and seen much, we draw in and pour out comfort in a myriad of different ways. Words of affirmation, knowing glances, careful touch, warmth of physical presence, random acts of kindness, great acts of self-sacrifice, or even the humming of a simple tune―we feel instinctively we cannot bear to be alone, and we sense something inside of us that longs to move toward the "other," despite the fear of the unknown. Why do we reach out for love? Why do we feel welling up inside of us a love that has to be given away lest it overwhelm us or, worse, grow stale? Because at some point along our journey, there was an Other who first reached out to us in love. 

As in life, certain portions of our journey this evening will be colored by a tinge of loneliness. Other moments may invite painful reflection on deep loss we have experienced or that we dread may be waiting right around the corner. But then light starts pouring through broken clouds, or a fragrance of delightful memory is wafted on a breeze, or the hand of a friend rests lightly on one's arm, and suddenly the path forward becomes clear enough to take one more step. My deep hope is that, as we share the gift of music tonight, you will find the comfort and courage you need to take the next step towards your dwelling place.

Thank you for reading.
Happy Thanksgiving!

In Christian love,