I must admit, my emotions have been a little crazy since my middle daughter graduated from high school last weekend. Yep. Unbelievable. It feels like we just sent my first daughter off to college and now--here we go again--learning to let go of daughter #2. 

Recently, I was talking to a friend of mine who had just published her fourth book. She was excited, but also admitted to being a little nervous about releasing her book into the world. I found myself telling her some of the same advice I'd been hearing about letting go of my high school senior. 

"You've worked hard. You've done everything you could do. Now it's time to trust and let go." 

Now that I'm in the thick of planning her graduation party, I am reminded of one more bit of advice ... Celebrate a job well done!

And that's exactly what I'm doing today. I am so excited to have Crystal Joy on my blog and help her celebrate the release of her latest book, Shattered Heart. Take it away, Crystal!

​Thank you so much for having me as your guest today, Sheri! It’s been a pleasure to experience our writing journeys together, and it’s an added bonus that we get to experience motherhood together as well.
 
I’m a stay-at-home mom with three little ones all under the age of five. I’m already getting nostalgic knowing that my oldest is about to graduate from preschool, so I can’t imagine having a high school graduate. But I can relate to letting go of one of my babies—a book baby, anyway. I just published my fourth book, Shattered Heart. I’ve never felt more terrified to publish a novel. 

I’ll back up a little. When I wrote the rough draft of this sweet and wholesome romance, I knew exactly what I wanted to happen in the plot. I knew what conflicts would arise in order for the characters to grow and change. I knew where the book would take place. Every book in this series is located in a fictional small town in Iowa (based the town off of the Village of East Davenport). I was so excited that the first draft was easy to write. That was a first for me!
 
However, when I started revising the novel I wanted to rip my hair out. The main characters, Amanda and Ethan, had conflicts to overcome, but their problems were too surface-level. At the beginning of the novel, Amanda Meyers’ dad is diagnosed with lung cancer. Her mom passed away when she was in high school and her dad’s diagnosis resurrects fears that she kept buried for a long time. As Amanda’s worries resurface, she takes it out on the charming and handsome oncologist, Ethan Contos.  
 
My biggest hurdle in creating depth to Amanda and Ethan was my lack of experience in hospitals. Even though I write romantic fiction, I strive to create relatable, authentic characters with deep-rooted issues, like you and me. In other words, I couldn’t “feel” their inner turmoil. 

Until real life happened. 

Last August, I gave birth to my third child, Savannah Grace. After spending a few days in the NICU for what seemed like extra fluid in her lungs, Savannah was discharged from the hospital. But after several days of being home, I noticed that Savannah was having a hard time breathing, especially while nursing. So I took her into our pediatrician thinking he would give me some advice on how to position her differently, so that she could breathe easier. But that’s not what happened. Before I had a chance to explain my concerns, the nurse checked her oxygen level and called an ambulance due to an alarmingly low oxygen level. We spent a week at our local hospital. Doctors and nurses tested her for everything they could think of—but she seemed fine, except that she couldn’t breathe on her own.
 
We were transferred to the University of Iowa Children’s Hospital. At this point, they started testing her for rarities. And that’s when they diagnosed Savannah with Congenital Lobar Emphysema. You have better a chance of getting struck by lightening than having this condition. The best way I can describe it is like this: you have a lobe in your lung that expands like a balloon and pushes into the other lobes of your lungs—and in Savannah’s case, her heart. Once she was diagnosed, doctors immediately performed surgery. Watching Savannah being wheeled away into the OR was one of the scariest moments of my life. My prayers were set on repeat, but I felt an overwhelming peace that she would be okay. And she was. She is. Her lungs aren’t normal yet, but they are growing with her body. As she grows, she should be able to do activities and sports like her older siblings. Thank God!
 
After Savannah’s hospitalization, it took awhile before I attempted to write the final draft of Shattered Heart. But when I did, I poured my fears and worries into Amanda’s character. When Amanda cleans her dad’s house because she wants to kill off any germs that are a potential threat to her dad … That was me. After we got home from the hospital, I cleaned my whole house until it shined. When Amanda calls her dad at the hospital in the middle of the night just to hear his voice … That was me. I would go into Savannah’s room in the middle of the night just to make sure she was still breathing. When Amanda has a panic attack at the hospital … That was me. I thought I would pass out when I brought Savannah in for her first check-up (post-hospitalization) at our pediatrician’s office.
 
Besides one scene, I didn’t put my experiences in the novel on purpose. I was just polishing a final draft. But when I reread the final copy, I had tears in my eyes. There I was, in Amanda’s deepest darkest fears. Amanda and Ethan’s love story would not be the same if I hadn’t added my experiences.
 
This is why my heart picks up speed when I think about releasing Shattered Heart into the world. But I’m ready to let it go. I’m ready for you to read it. I hope Amanda and Ethan’s love story touches your heart as much as it touched mine.

​​Crystal Joy lives in Iowa with her husband and three growing children. She’s a stay-at-home mom with a heart for people. She loves getting to know them, writing about them, and inventing them. When she’s not hanging out with the hero and heroine in her latest book, she loves to dance awkwardly, watch reality TV, and visit real locations from her favorite books.

You can learn more about Crystal Joy at her website www.crystaljoybooks.com. 

Hi everyone! In honor of Mother's Day (this Sunday) I'm sharing my story that was recently published in the book, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Mom Knows Best.

Leave me a comment and I'll enter your name for a chance to win a copy for your favorite mom!

One word. That’s all it took to throw my family into a frenzy. It began one night during dinner. Someone made an innocent comment. I blurted out a response with one little word:
 
“Well!”
 
The tone of my voice surprised even me. Where did that raspy drawl come from? For a moment, the room became silent. Then suddenly, all three of my daughters broke into laughter.
 
“What?” I asked, folding my arms.
 
My oldest caught her breath. “You sound just like Grandma!”
 
“What? Grandma? Nah. No way.”
 
My husband joined in the fun. “Oh, yes you did!” He gave me a playful smile. “You must be turning into your mother!”   
 
“You’re all crazy.”

The next morning, I woke to the sound of girls arguing while getting ready for school. One girl snapped out a snarky comment. The other jabbed back with sarcasm. Back and forth. Louder and louder. Finally, I’d heard enough. I threw back the covers, jumped out of bed and marched down the hall to the bathroom.
 
“Girls, stop! If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all!”
 
I stopped in my tracks, mildly disturbed. Images of my mom, blurting out those same words, flashed through my mind. What in the world? Without even thinking, my mother’s words had jumped out of my mouth!
 
As the school bus drove away, I reasoned with myself. It was just a cliché. Lots of moms say those words. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not turning into my mom.
 
Within a few minutes my cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID: Junior High. Why were they calling? Instantly, three scary scenarios slipped into my mind.
 
Did she get hurt during PE? Maybe she’s feeling sick – what if she threw up during class? Then I remembered a recent note from school. Oh no! I hope it’s not head lice!
 
I took a deep breath and answered the phone.
 
“Mom? I forgot my lunch money.”
 
Whew. As I hung up the phone, I couldn’t help but wonder. Why was I such a worry-wart? Over the years, I’d received dozens of calls from my kids’ school. Why do I always worry?
 
Then it hit me. If there’s one thing my mom excels at, it’s worrying. Just great, I thought. Now I was worried about worrying.
 
I assured myself it didn’t mean a thing. All moms worry. But when I returned home from buying groceries later that day, the clues were everywhere.

Like Mom, I collected an ever-practical bag full of bags. No sense throwing those plastic grocery bags away. We might use them for something. My mom’s words echoed in my head. “Why buy bathroom trash bags when these fit so perfectly inside our wastebaskets?”
 
I grabbed a head of lettuce from a bag and opened the crisper drawer. More proof glared back at me from inside the drawer. How had I accumulated so many leftover packets of catsup, mayo, and mustard from fast-food restaurants?  
 
Suddenly, it wasn’t just plastic bags and packets of catsup. I found evidence all over my kitchen. I stared into my drawer full of empty containers. Cool Whip. Cottage cheese. Sour cream. Yogurt. That kitchen drawer had more plastic dishes than a Tupperware catalog.  
 
Just then my daughter burst through the door. “Bad day?” I asked.
 
She exhaled and plopped down on a chair. Over the next few minutes she shared the dramatic details of life in middle school. I tried my best to encourage her.

“Thanks Mom. You give pretty good advice.”
 
“Junior high can be tough, but this too shall pass.” I patted her leg. “Seems like a long time ago when I told Grandma all about my problems when I was in school. She gave good advice too.”  
 
“See, we told you,” she said, beginning to smile. “You’re just like her.”
 
I thought for a moment, then spoke with a familiar raspy drawl. “Well,” I said, “Maybe that’s not so bad, after all.”