Sarah Price's Blog, page 12

People often ask me what the secret is to getting published. I don’t believe there is a secret to getting published, but I do have a list of things that will help writers on their journey to publication.

1. Join a Writers’ Group

I accidentally found the website for a local writers’ group while in search for a professional group to join as part of my day job as a technical writer. When I attended one of the monthly meetings, I met writers in all stages of their careers. It was then that I realized I wanted to become a published author. Through this group, I learned how to plot and polish my novels, how to find a literary agent, and how to write a query letter that would pique an agent’s interest.

I strongly suggest you find a group near you and socialize with other writers. You’ll have a great time and also learn a lot. If you’re not interested in attending local meetings, you always have the option of joining a virtual group. Join the group that best fits your interest and needs and get connected.

2. Attend a Conference

If you have the money and the time, attend a writers’ conference, where you can network and attend instructional sessions that cover many aspects of writing and the publishing business. Conferences are fun and informative.

3. Find a Critique Partner

During my journey to publication, I’ve made some wonderful friends, a few of whom have become my most trusted critique partners. Don’t write in a vacuum; share your books with trusted friends. Your buddies will not only find your typos, but they may give you story ideas you hadn’t considered that might make your plot even better.

4. Find Time to Read

I know what it means to be busy since I balance a day job, two active sons, and constant writing deadlines. I enjoy listening to audio books in my car during my commute to and from work. While reading is enjoyable, it’s also a way to improve your skills by seeing what techniques work (and sometimes don’t work) for other authors.

5. Keep Writing

It may sound silly, but writers need to write! Finish your novel and polish it as best you can before submitting it to an agent or editor. Your book represents your best work. Show a potential agent or editor that you’re a professional and also eager to write for them.

6. Don’t Give Up

No matter what, believe in yourself and believe in your dream of holding your book in your hand! If you’ve been rejected by an agent or editor, don’t give up. I received plenty of rejection letters and I wanted to give up many times. I’m thankful for my family and my friends who told me to stop whining and keep writing!

Amy Clipston has sold more than a million books and is the author of the bestselling Amish Heirloom series with HarperCollins Christian Publishing. She has a degree in communications from Virginia Wesleyan College and is a member of the Authors Guild, American Christian Fiction Writers, and Romance Writers of America. Amy works full-time for the City of Charlotte, NC, and lives in North Carolina with her husband, two sons, mother, and three spoiled rotten cats.  You can find Amy at AmyClipston.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AmyClipstonBooks, and on Twitter at @AmyClipston.

The Beloved Hope Chest, which is the fourth and final book in Amy Clipston’s Amish Heirloom series, will release May 9.

The post Tips to Help on Your Journey Toward Publication by Amy Clipston appeared first on Sarah Price.

Hurray! It’s March 1st and that means that it’s almost springtime!

As you may already know, I hate winter. Sure, snow is pretty…for about one day. After that, the empty trees, gray skies, and bland landscape depresses me.

Last Monday, on my Facebook’s morning livestream, I showed everyone my new favorite tree in the entire world: the bottlebrush tree. I still love my weeping cherry tree and dogwood tree in New Jersey. But I’ve fallen in love with this bottlebrush tree at our Florida farm.

To begin with, it’s green all year round. A few weeks ago, I noticed that it was beginning to bloom. Just one or two blooms here and there. Suddenly last week, it burst into blooms. And they really look like bottlebrushes!

Big, fluffy, red bottlebrushes.

The birds, bees, and butterflies love those blooms.

I’ve actually fallen in love with gardening in Florida, period. It’s different than my home in New Jersey. I don’t know why. It just is. Perhaps it’s the sandy soil which limits the types of plants that I can nurture with any chance of success. Or maybe it’s that my husband actually appears interested in what I’m planting. Every evening, we walk around the property and I’ll show him the baby bamboo stalks that are already popping up on my recently planted bamboo bushes or the sunflowers that are growing from where I’ve discarded my parrots uneaten seeds.

Something else that I’ve started is propagating a lot of the local fauna. From palm bushes to rose bushes, I’m taking a lot of joy out of building our landscaping which, until now, has basically been neglected by previous owners and tenants.

And isn’t that what spring is about? Rebirth? Renewal? Renaissance?

It may be just two weeks and six day away from today, but now is the time to start planning. What are YOU going to renew in your life this spring? Will you spend it in the garden? Or will you cultivate new friendships at church or elsewhere in the community? Regardless of where you intend to nurture nature, start your planning now. Dust off your garden equipment, see what is missing or needs to be replaced. Get everything ready now so that you can plant your “seeds” when spring is finally here.

Have you pre-ordered Newbury Acres for the special price of $0.99? Click HERE to get your copy!

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The post March Out of Winter appeared first on Sarah Price.

I am excited to announce that Newbury Acres is ready to preorder for your Kindle! Paperback will be available on March 21st, the day of the ebook launch.

This novel is a fun and lively romance that just may take you by surprise! It’s based on Jane Austen’s romance Northanger Abbey–one of her least known classics but one of my favorites! And I bet some of you will want to learn more about the characters. You won’t want this novel to stop. Guess what? I’m ready to deliver. Just. For. You!

Did you know that most Amish children learn to speak English when they start attending school? Until then, most Amish children speak Pennsylvania Dutch at home.

What else do Amish children learn at school?

Besides the obvious of reading, writing, and arithmetic (not sung to the tune of a hickory stick…I couldn’t help myself, sorry SMILEY FACE), they learn English and German. They learn a little bit about history and geography, but a lot of their curriculum is heavily based on Scripture as well as community responsibility.

When a person dies in the church district, the children at school will often make a collection of drawings with Bible verses to put in a binder for the widow or widower. They will also visit the sick or disabled or make special gifts for anyone who is hospitalized.

At a young age, the children learn the importance of being a supportive member of the community. It is ingrained in their upbringing, first at home and church and later reinforced at school.

One of the ways that the Amish encourage this sense of community is through the spoken language used at home and church. Englischers cannot understand it and, therefore, it creates an “unspoken” barrier (pun intended).

I remember visiting with my Amish friends about ten or so years back when this became more than apparent. Cat was with me and we had been invited to a picnic at an Amish family’s farm (the Witness farm, as a matter of fact). Cat was running around with two little Amish girls, the three of them were barefoot and playing in the dairy barn, climbing on fences and chasing the baby cows and other barn animals.

When I finally managed to convince Cat that it was time to go, her reluctance was more than clear. She had, in fact, made some new friends. But, as we were driving away, she made it very clear that “I couldn’t understand one word they said.”

Somehow she had managed to spend an entire afternoon playing with two little girls that she couldn’t speak to.

And while you might argue that this proves the language did not create a barrier, in many ways it did as it ensured that Cat remembered that she was clearly the outsider. She did not belong with the little girls, even though they found a way to play together.

Granted, I’d like to think that Cat is an unusual exception since most three and four years old would be intimidated…first by the barefoot through manure issue (Cat always hated wearing shoes) and second by not understanding the little girls (Cat has always been rather independent).

I’m fortunate that my grandparents knew Pennsylvania Dutch. My father even used to speak it. I know enough phrases and words that I can pick up the general idea of what people are saying and occasionally I can respond. When I do speak Dutch to Amish strangers, the entire relationship changes. Suddenly, I am no longer the outsider but someone who has cracked the barrier.

Returning to the topic of school, the older students help the younger students with all of their studies and also with learning English. It creates a bond between them, also solidifying the notion of community. And not just a one shot deal, but on-going community love and support.

Once again, this surely is a lesson that we can learn from the Amish.

The post Amish School and Language Barriers appeared first on Sarah Price.

There’s something to be said about the power of the Amish education system.

Last night, my husband and I were talking about education (just your normal evening light conversation…ha ha). And we both determined that the American education system is a big, fat failure. In turn, we began to compare the Amish education system to the “Englischer” system and realized that there is a lot to be learned by studying how the Amish prepare their children for life as an adult within their community.

Because isn’t that what education is about? Preparing our children to become self-sufficient? Able to provide for their families?

Somewhere along the way, Americans lost sight of that.

Back in the day, teenagers finished high school and had two choices: learn a trade or go to college. High school had prepared our students for life in the real world while college groomed them to specialize in a particular speciality. Think doctors, lawyers, teachers, etc.

Having worked in the world of higher education, I can assure you that most high school graduates are not only ill-prepared to face survival in the “real world” but they are ill-prepared to be a success in college. One of the reasons why is that high schools just move students along. I don’t know about YOUR school districts but the Morris School District in my hometown does not have a final examination to determine what the students have actually learned before they graduate. Oh sure, they might have a final paper in one class or a final exam in another class. I’m not talking about class performance. I’m talking about the readiness to survive in the world…to live based on what our wonderful (sarcastic) education system has taught them. Perfect example…my son had no idea how to cash a check when he started working after graduation. Forget about balancing a checkbook or living within a budget…we leave that to the credit card companies who push low-finance rates for the first 90-days while giving non-working 18-year-olds $5,000 in credit.

And then these kids hit college.

I don’t even want to share the stories…the horror stories…of my college students who couldn’t write at an eighth grade level and insisted that they were A students in all of their other college classes.

You get the picture.

Our education system is NOT preparing our children for the world. In many cases, what they ARE preparing them for is amazing debt for subpar education with the (false) promise that EVERYONE should be a CEO of his or her own business and make well into the six-figures upon graduation.

Now, let’s take a look at the Amish.

Their children study until the eighth grade and then they continue their education outside of the classroom, interning in trade. For young ladies, they might work at home or outside of the home. For young men, they might learn carpentry or farming or even work at a store. They must keep a journal of their activities. Every week, they meet with the teacher who reviews what they have learned. By the time the students are sixteen (and can legally stop attending school), they are well trained in a trade, know how to manage their money, live within a budget, and plan for the future.

Here’s the kicker…

In my experience with the Amish, I have NEVER met a “poor” Amish person. In fact, the majority of Amish people that I have met in Lancaster County, PA own their farms/homes (no mortgages) and have zero debt. Many take nice vacations (perhaps not when the children are small, tho) and some even own second homes for vacations (think lake houses for summer or winter residences in Florida). Quite a few of them are multimillionaires…you just would never know it because they don’t drive fancier buggies than everyone else or renovate their homes to be huge, majestic McMansions.

Does this mean that there are no poor or struggling Amish families?

Of course not.

Surely there are Amish families that are not successful or living beneath the poverty level. I just haven’t met any during the past thirty+ years.

However, I have seen farms that are riddled with junk and debris, something I personally tend to equate to poverty but, perhaps, might just be laziness or, in some cases, particular types of Amish that do not take care of the property as they feel that shows pride (i.e. Swartzentrubers in Ohio). I know in Lancaster that these families are frowned upon by the rest of the district. And there are Amish who cannot purchase things for their family. But rather than rely on the government to provide for their family, the community will come together and help with the expectation that the recipient will work to improve their situation. In other words, they aren’t sitting around watching satellite television, drinking soda (or beer!), or playing computer games while the community is helping them.

All of this with an eighth grade education.

Clearly, we have a lot to learn from the Amish.

Somewhere along the way, Americans have lost sight of what is important. Personally, I’d rather my kids be happy and supporting themselves (and their families) than have $100,000 or more in college debt, working in a career that stresses them out, and living a life that focuses on what can be acquired (on credit!).

Isn’t that we all want for our children? Enjoying life to its fullest?

I’m going to take this lesson from the Amish and keep it in mind for both of my children.

The post Education and the Amish appeared first on Sarah Price.

With great pleasure, I introduce you to my next novel that is being released May 16th! This is my first women’s fiction novel and deals with a woman facing breast cancer without any support from her family.  Preorder a copy of The Faded Photo by clicking HERE.

During the course of the early afternoon, as she unpacked her few belongings, the rattle of a buggy driving along the road whispered in through the open windows. The first time she heard it, Shana hurried to the nearest window and, pushing the curtains back, looked out, too late to catch anything more than a glimpse of the black boxed buggy and the majestic horse pulling it over the hill. The second time, having missed the buggy, she noticed a lone man walking behind a mule-operated machine in the fields.

The machine moved across the field of corn, a narrow path dropping behind as the corn stalks collapsed to the power of the plow. While she watched, the young man’s straw hat, worn and tattered, blew off his head, revealing a tousled set of brunette curls, and fluttered to the ground. Quickly, the man pulled back on the mule’s reins. When the mule stopped, the man walked over to pick up his hat. For a second, he held the hat in his hand, glancing over the field of waving corn. Then, his hesitation over, he slid the hat back onto his head, returned to the mule, slapped the reins on its back, and continued harvesting the corn.

Shana spent the rest of the afternoon driving along the winding roads, acquainting herself with her new surroundings, more from relaxed boredom than from pure interest. The massive farms impressed her. Each was very similar: Large white buildings with pastures where Holstein cows were grazing. Yet, at the same time, very individualistic: From the pretty flowers that surrounded the mailboxes and the dogs lounging on the front porches to the clotheslines flapping in the wind, most adorned with brightly colored clothing, all spoke of the different personalities living within each dwelling.

In town, Shana parked her car along the main street. Horses pulling the black Amish buggies trudged along the streets amidst the hundreds of tourists, bending their necks to get a quick glance at the people inside. Shana fought her way across the street and into a small bookstore. She nosed through several books and, after much deliberation, she stood in line to purchase the latest edition of a book about Amish society.

She wandered through the small town, pausing at an antique furniture restoration store to admire the tall, cherry oak armoire in the window. A loud car horn blasted behind her and, startled, she turned in time to see a battered, green pick-up speed past a buggy. The driver in the pick-up shook his clenched fist out the window and his passenger tossed a burning cigarette at the horse. Then, the truck was gone and the frightened horse, quickly steadied under the calm hand of its driver, continued patiently down the road.

Her last stop before returning to the Lapp’s farm was the local grocery store. Although she would spend most of her time in the restaurant, she knew she’d want a small supply of food in the house for her days off. The store reminded her of an old general store. Everything from hats and shoes to flour and sugar lined the aisles. In the back, dried herbs hung over the glass cases filled with fresh smoked Pennsylvania Dutch ham and sausages. And, at the register, as she waited in line behind an older woman in a floral polyester dress, she noticed that the cashier greeted most of the people with a personal hello and a warm smile.

When she returned to the farm, the cows stood noisily in the barn and in the outside paddock near her new home. Shana stood by her car, staring across the paddock at the luscious corn fields, rich and green in color. The air, while ripe from the manure, was not necessarily unpleasant. She shifted the grocery bag in her arms, glancing around at the now quiet barn. She could see a bright light burning in what she imagined was the kitchen window of the farm. But she saw no activity from within.

Behind her small house in a shed-like barn, a muffled neigh caught her attention. Squinting, she could vaguely see several large mules eating out of the troughs. In the background, two mules nipped at each other and jumped in a semi-playful manner. Curious, Shana walked toward them. The closest mule lifted its massive head and stared at her, its rabbit-like ears twitching nervously. Shana smiled as she dared to reach out and scratch the mule’s forehead. “You’re a big fella, aren’t you?” she murmured.

“You like the animals then?” a low voice said from the shadows behind her.

Startled, Shana whirled around, dropping the grocery bag. The carton of eggs fell out, spilling onto the dirt floor, several of them breaking. Shana knelt to examine the damage. The young man set his pitch fork aside and quickly bent down to assist in the assessment. Shana glanced at him and smiled. “Only three.”

He tilted back the straw hat perched atop his forehead as he met her gaze. “Sorry about frightening you like that.”

They both stood, each quickly surveying the other. Shana wondered if the man before her, with thick curly brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, had been the same man she had watched briefly in the field. His face reminded her of a child, soft and innocent, although the twinkle in his eyes whispered otherwise. His voice, soft and even-toned, had a slight German accent, spoken in the same dialectical slang as Jonas Lapp. She knew at once that he was certainly Jonas’ son.

“I hadn’t seen you standing there,” she said apologetically. While he was short like Jonas, he still towered over her. She couldn’t tell how old he was, possibly eighteen, maybe older.

He plucked a piece of hay from a nearby hay bale and stuck it in his mouth. “You the Englischer that’s moving in?”

The Englischer, she repeated to herself. Then, with a smile, she replied, “My name’s Shana.” She held out her hand.

He hesitated then shook her hand. “Emanuel. My daed said you’d be here for several months.”

“I work in the area,” she quickly explained.

“What kind of work?” He spoke with a gentleness that Shana found soothing.

“I manage a restaurant in Lancaster. Actually, I’ve just been temporarily transferred from my hometown in Connecticut.”

His face lit up. “Connecticut? Why, you must’ve been driving all day!”

Shifting the bag in her arms again, Shana smiled, amused at his sudden enthusiasm. Certainly, not familiar with the speed of automobile travel, Connecticut might have been another continent to Emanuel. “If I hadn’t gotten lost, it wouldn’t have taken me so long.”

Emanuel laughed, his crystal blue eyes crinkling into half-moons and his mouth twisting into a lopsided friendly grin. “Ay, you got lost.” Then, he quickly sobered and lowered his eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t laugh. It isn’t funny, getting lost, is it?”

“I didn’t mind. The country is so beautiful.”

“Emanuel!” They both jerked their heads in the direction of the female voice calling for Emanuel.

“That’s my mamm.” Emanuel lowered his head as he excused himself. “Ach vell, I must finish my chores ‘fore the evening meal.” He started to walk away then, hesitating, he turned back. “It will be nice to spend some time with you, Shana.” He gave her a final friendly smile before hurrying off to the barn.

The dog barked from the other side of the barn and one of the mules snorted loudly. Shana returned her attention to them, long enough to run her hand down the closest one’s nose. Its velvet flesh warmed her touch. From the other barn, a cow bellowed and Shana quickly glanced over her shoulder at the barn, quiet from noise yet busy with activity. Then, giving the mule one more friendly rub, she whispered, “Good night, big girl,” before she left the mule stable and walked to her house.

It was shortly after eight o’clock, the sun fading rapidly behind the hill, when someone knocked softly at her door. Shana shut the book she had been reading and walked toward the open door. Sylvia stood outside, a bulking towel in her hand. She shuffled her feet, her large eyes peering eagerly inside the house, curious about the few knick-knacks Shana had set about the kitchen. When Shana opened the screen door, the girl handed her the towel then retreated toward the large farmhouse.

For a moment, Shana stared after her. Her two encounters with the young Amish girl gave Shana the impression that Sylvia was equally curious about the non-Amish woman now living on her father’s farm. Shutting the door, Shana peered inside the towel to find three large eggs, nestled in the scratchy, yet clean, cloth.

She smiled to herself and leaned against the door for a minute, listening to the sounds of the farm. The cows wandered noisily from the paddock into the fields. The dog barked twice then quieted down, as though bidding the farm goodnight. Sighing, Shana turned the brass lock. It clicked shut. Amish, Shana thought as she turned off the lights and headed upstairs, tired from moving, anxious about her landlords, and excited about starting work the next day.

Want to keep reading about Shana and her experience living on an Amish farm? Click HERE to purchase The Amish of Lancaster Collection!

The post Excerpt: Fields of Corn (Chapter 1, Part 3) appeared first on Sarah Price.

Shana raised her hand to shield her eyes from the mid-day sun. Her dark eyes traveled down the dusty driveway leading to the large, white farmhouse as she opened her car door and, hesitantly, swung her legs to the ground. A summer breeze, carrying the strong odor of manure, rustled her long brown hair as she got out of the car. For a second, she stretched her back, reaching up with one hand to rub the back of her neck as her dark eyes looked around.

Field equipment, most of it aged and rusty, lay scattered around the outskirts of the driveway. From the pastures, a cow bellowed. The noise broke the silence that engulfed the farm. Two cats lounged in the shade of the large white barn, which desperately needed a fresh coat of paint. The smaller of the cats stretched in the sun before it stood up lazily and began to lick its paw.

The other cat lifted its head, noticed the woman standing by the car, and, jumping to its feet, raced alongside the barn before disappearing through the open doorway into the shadows within.

Shana scanned the hillside, the rustle among the cornfield captivating her eyes and ears. The sound, its crisp whistle of tranquility, faintly came and went as the breeze waved back and forth across the field. Leaning against the open car door, she shut her eyes and breathed in the pungent odor of manure. Wrinkling her nose, she kept her eyes shut and listened to the gentle lulling of the cows as they wandered in the fenced-in field between the barn and the corn.

“Hello,” a voice called from inside the barn.

Glancing over her shoulder, Shana squinted and peered in the direction of the voice. A short man, a battered straw hat tilted forward on his head and a mustache-less beard covering his chin, emerged from the depths of the barn’s darkness. His dirty brown pants, held up by loose suspenders, had a slight tear at the knee. He walked toward her, a friendly smile lighting up his golden-brown face. “What can I do for you?”

Drawn out of her momentary lapse, Shana glanced down at the piece of white paper in her hand. “Is this 317 Musser School Lane?”

“317, ja.” The man gave her another smile as he shifted his weight and jammed his hands into his pants pockets. “You the Englischer looking for a place to stay, then?”

Shana glanced around the farm again. She noticed a small boy wearing similar pants and a bright purple shirt peering at her from behind the open barn door. When he saw her staring back, he dashed back into the shadows. Redirecting her attention to the man, she returned his smile. “If you have a place to offer, I’d like to see it.”

The formalities over, he wasted no more time with idle chatter. “I’ll get my daughter to show the room to you then.” The man disappeared into the barn, leaving Shana standing by her car. As she stared after him, her eyes noticed another cat, this one striped and fat, as it scurried out of the barn and across part of the driveway. It leapt into the air as it reached the edge of the grass and tumbled onto its back. Shana smiled as she watched it playing.

A moment later, a young girl, wearing a plain olive green dress with a long black apron covering the front, ran around the side of the barn toward Shana. She was barefoot and her feet were dirty. Her hair was parted in the middle, pulled back, and twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Yet, her expression was softened by the smoothness of her skin and the glow in her dark brown eyes. She held a single, rusty key in her hand. “You want to look at the room?” she asked, her voice hidden beneath her downcast eyes and thick German accent. The girl led Shana behind the barn and toward a smaller building. “It’s a nice apartment. How long you want to stay?”

Shana waited for the girl to unlock the door. Behind the building was a large cow pen. Beside that was another paddock. Both were empty. “A month or two.” She stepped into the apartment and immediately held her breath. The air was stale, thick of manure. The young girl hurried over to the two windows and, pushing back the simple lace curtains, threw them open.

A small metal table stood in the center of the room and a faded orange sofa sat against the far wall. The walls, painted a dark peach with sporadic red clusters of flowers, added to the emptiness emanating from the rest of the room. Along the walls were several hooks, each painted a clumsy imitation of the dark peach. A small gas stove and refrigerator stood next to the stained sink with two separate faucets, one for cold water and one for hot. A neatly handwritten sign hung over the sink: “No Alcoholic Beverages. No Indoor Smoking. No Pets. Thank you. Katie and Jonas.”

The girl walked quietly across the floor and opened a door. “Upstairs,” she murmured, her eyes darting away from Shana’s.

Holding onto the railing, Shana followed the girl up the tall, narrow staircase, most of the wooden steps creaking under their feet. From the landing, Shana noticed that there were two bedrooms. The one bedroom had carpet but both had the same dark peach painted walls. The bathroom was small and cramped but livable. While there were no closets, each bedroom had a large armoire. And, if each room had one thing in common, they were remarkably clean.

“Who lived here before?” Shana asked as they descended down the staircase.

“Another Amish family. Had so many children they were forced to move.”

Shana stood in the middle of the kitchen and, for a split second, while the girl’s words sank in, she stared at her. Amish. That explained the plain decor and thick German accent, she thought.

Then, when the girl looked back, Shana moved toward the windows, pushed back the curtains, and stared at the green land that stared back. The countryside was untainted by telephone poles or electric wires. The roads lacked racing automobiles or noisy motorcycles. On top of the hill, she could barely make out the outline of a stopped black buggy, so characteristic of the Amish. Letting the curtain fall back, her fingertips lingered on the light fabric before she turned around and followed the girl out of the house. They returned to the barn, Shana walking a pace behind the slender Amish girl. Neither spoke. Nearby, a dog barked until someone called out for it to quiet. Obediently, the dog’s bark dwindled to a low whine until Shana no longer heard it.

The man stood just inside the barn, shoveling manure out of the open cow stalls, the metal from the blade scraping systematically against the damp cement. He set the shovel against the wheelbarrow and wiped his hands on his pants when he heard them approaching. “Sylvia show you the house, then?”

Shana nodded as she looked out the barn doors toward the road. “How far is Lancaster from here?”

“Driving? Vell, let’s see.” He pondered her question for a moment, his thumbs hooked around the bottom of his suspenders, before answering slowly, “Guess fifteen miles or so. Depends on what part you looking to travel. How long you planning on staying?”

“No more than two months,” she answered as she met his gaze.

“That long?”

“Is that a problem?”

The man leaned against the railing by the cow paddock. The tranquil cheerfulness of his expression struck Shana. “Most Englische come and go. You work in the area?”

Shana glanced around the barn as she answered. “I work in a restaurant.” She looked back at the man, who, curiously, seemed genuinely interested. “They just promoted me to a managerial position in the Lancaster branch for a couple months,” she added softly.

The man scratched his beard, as if contemplating what she had just told him before he said, “Ach vell, rate’s usually fifteen dollars a night. But folks mostly come and go, staying for only a night here and there. Since you staying for so long, how’s $250 a month?”

“$250 a month?”

The man held up his hand, as if stopping her from continuing. “If it’s too expensive, let me know and we’ll lower it.”

“That’s just fine,” she heard herself say. For a two-bedroom house, so close to Lancaster, she had expected the rent to be at least twice that. She found herself taking the key from Sylvia as Jonas returned to his work. No handshake, no papers to sign. Just a verbal “ok” after a quick character analysis.

Shana smiled to herself as she left the barn. Tucking the house key in her back pocket, she opened the trunk to her car and began unloading her two large suitcases. Living on a farm after leaving the hustle and bustle of the noisy, polluted New York suburbs with their quick-tempered people and congested roads would be a welcome, if not interesting, change; even if for only a couple of months.

Want to keep reading about Shana and experience living on an Amish farm? Click HERE to purchase a copy of Amish of Lancaster Collection!

The post Excerpt: Fields of Corn (Chapter 1, Part 2) appeared first on Sarah Price.

The horse, a brown Morgan with a thick black mane, trotted down Musser School Lane, effortlessly pulling the black, box-like buggy. The wheels of the buggy rattled against the macadam, creating a soft metallic humming. The horse jerked its head twice as though wishing the man in the buggy would release the reins, letting it race down the flat road. But, for the moment, the cracked leather reins remained taut and the horse, its mane dancing in the wind with each prance, continued its even pace. The horse’s hooves pounded against the road in rhythm like the soothing ticking of a grandfather’s clock in a quiet house on a Sunday afternoon.

Inside the closed buggy, the driver pulled in the reins, allowing a passing car to speed by. But, even as the car continued down the road, the driver continued his tight hold, urging the horse to the side of the road. The horse reluctantly obeyed the command, gradually slowing down until, at the top of the hill, surrounded by grassy knolls of long, waving brown hay, the buggy stopped with a final, noisy jolt. The man held the reins in one hand, leaning forward and peering out of the small window to take in the majestic scene before him.

The sun illuminated the farm, nestled comfortably in the crescent at the bottom of the hill, in a glorious glow of warmth. Along the hillside, neat and even rows of green corn rippled in harmony like a freshly washed sheet fluttering in a gentle breeze on washing day. The leaves brushed against each other, the music a rustling whisper of a song in the man’s ears. Oblivious to nature’s silent symphony, a scattered herd of cows grazed in the thinning grass around the muddy river that cut through their pasture.

“Thank you, God,” the man murmured softly. Although his prayer lingered in the air, as though unfinished, he continued to pray to his God, expressing his gratitude for the beauty of setting suns, the wealth of ripening corn, and the warmth of coming home.

For the first time ever, all four novels of the Amish of Lancaster Series are available in eBook format as a collection. Click HERE to purchase!

The post Excerpt: Fields of Corn (Chapter 1, Part 1) appeared first on Sarah Price.

In 1988, I found an Amish farm that was willing to rent me an apartment over the mule shed. Little did I know that the day Amos shook my hand with a twinkle in his eye at my promise to pay $25 a day that my life would change.

For several years, I would travel back and forth to the Lancaster farm, spending as much time as I could there while juggling my college studies. Each time I stayed at the apartment, I learned so many new things about the Amish and about life that are even more applicable in today’s chaotic world such as kindness, fairness, patience, and godliness.

At the time, I knew that I was really blessed to have this amazing connection among the Amish. Back then, we didn’t have the Internet or smart phones. Most people had no idea about the Amish…many just thinking they were a cult or “freaks.” Today, so many people have learned the truth (and a lot of falsehoods, unfortunately) about the Amish.

Yes, they are people and people are flawed. No one is perfect. But as a community, they set an example that, in my opinion, should be followed by many of us.

While I lived on the farm, I wrote about those memories…in a fictionalized form, of course. Today…almost thirty years later (EGADS!!!!!), the observations of a nineteen-year-old mixed with her romantic fantasy (which almost became reality!) is available for readers in my book, Fields of Corn along with the other three books in the series.

These books launched my writing career, something I had dreamed about ever since I was a little girl.

For a limited time, this collection is available in eBook form to my readers at a special price of $4.99 for ALL FOUR NOVELS.

Thank you for honoring me by reading my books, enjoying my stories, and sharing my passion for the Amish.

The post Amish of Lancaster: The books that launched my career appeared first on Sarah Price.