I’m excited to let you know that I have just scheduled Chapter 12 of Pebble’s Bond on Substack, with more on the way. Chapter 7 is now live.
I have also adjusted the options for a paid subscription: receive all 34 chapters, (2 per week in September, 3 per week beginning in October), as well as the audio files for just 10.00 (USD) per month, 100.00 (USD) per year, and 200.00 (USD) for a Supporting Member.
Want to know why and how I wrote the story? I talk about that, without giving too much of the story away, in the Behind the Scenes posts, which are totally free.
Check out Pebble’s journey through pain and loss to forgiveness and peace, and, if you will, share Pebble’s story with your friends and followers. Just use this link
I so appreciate your help in getting Pebble’s Bond out into the world.
Pip: Fantasy novels, Substack launches, and the art of asking your friends nicely — Marcia Lee Laycock is keeping busy, and this site is keeping up.
Mara: That’s the territory today. We’re looking at the rollout of a Christian fantasy novel called Pebble’s Bond, serialized on Substack, with behind-the-scenes posts tracking the writing process alongside it.
Pip: Let’s start with the launch itself — how it began, how the world got built, and how readers are being recruited.
Pebble’s Bond: The Launch, the World, the Ask
Mara: The story here is a serialized fantasy novel landing on Substack in real time — chapters going out weekly, paired with a companion series pulling back the curtain on how the whole thing came together.
Pip: The first Behind the Scenes post sets the tone directly. The announcement reads: “I’ll be posting chapters of that novel beginning one week from today, August 24th.”
Mara: That’s a public commitment with a date attached, which is a different kind of accountability than just saying a book is coming. The chapters are live, the companion posts are live, and readers can follow both tracks simultaneously.
Pip: The second Behind the Scenes episode, Creating Pebble’s World, moves from announcement into craft — what the setting actually looks like, the place called Ter Elsker that Pebble calls home.
Mara: And there’s a warmth to how that episode closes. Readers are invited to respond, with the note that the author won’t “growl at you the way a certain character in Pebble’s Bond does.” The world-building is already leaking into the conversation around the book.
Pip: Which brings us to the third post, Help Your Friends Find Pebble, and this is where the math gets honest.
Mara: Very honest. One paid subscriber, roughly forty readers at the time of posting. The ask is straightforward: share the link with anyone who likes fantasy, send proof you did it, and your name goes into a draw for a free book — either a dystopian middle-grade novella or a Christmas devotional collection.
Pip: A raffle for word-of-mouth. There is something genuinely old-school about that, and I mean it as a compliment.
Mara: It’s a direct, low-friction way to turn existing readers into a distribution network. The novel is out there — the work now is getting it found.
Pip: A serialized fantasy, a behind-the-scenes companion, and a reader raffle — the infrastructure of a small literary launch, built by hand.
Mara: More of Pebble’s world is still coming. Worth watching how the readership grows alongside it.
There’s tension in the air as the cowboy lowers himself into the shute. He knows he has drawn the biggest, meanest bull at the rodeo. The crowd knows it too. He hears the announcer tell them so. He tries not to listen, tries to concentrate on the details of getting ready to ride. He succeeds. Time stops. The bull erupts into the open arena and for those eight long seconds, all the cowboy’s years of training and practice fall into a pattern that has become second nature. At the end of eight seconds he’s a hero. He has done what few will attempt and landed without a scratch.
What makes a man think he can best a beast ten times his weight and strength? He believes he can do it because he has worked at developing the skills and he has paid his dues. The spectators haven’t seen all that has gone before. They aren’t aware of the scars, the broken bones, the cracked ribs, the gallons of lineament rubbed into swollen joints and torn muscles. The cowboy who has ridden an animal that could kill him has seen years of trial and error, years of being thrown off, years of watching and listening to other riders. By the time that cowboy lowers himself onto the biggest, meanest bull in the rodeo, he knows he has everything he needs to do it – the skill and the courage. That assurance can lead him to victory.
Every Christian has been given what is needed to overcome sin. There are no dues to pay, no injuries to suffer through. Someone else has done all that. Jesus paid the price for us. Once we have accepted that fact, our struggle is not how to overcome sin, but how to live as though we already have. The Apostle Paul wrote – “you have been given fullness in Christ, who is the head over every power and authority” (Colossians 2:10). He goes further in Romans 6:12-14 – “Therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its evil desires … for sin shall not be your master, because you are not under law, but under grace.” Unlike that cowboy, we don’t rely on our own skill and courage. We rely on the grace and mercy of God.
Hello everyone and a big thank you to those who have already participated in the Tumbled Stone Fundraiser for Mainsprings Pregnancy and Family Support Centre, Calgary. I want to let you know that the deadline has been extended to August 31st so there are 20 days left to reach our goal.
Today the 26th book was mailed off, so we are just over the half way point in reaching our goal of 50 books. Many local people have purchased a book and donated the cost of shipping as well, so to date we have raised 261.00 that will go directly to Mainsprings.
Please feel free to share this link wide and far, to friends and family. This is such a vital ministry and they need our support to keep funding the good work they are doing.
For those who do not wish to use paypal, an etransfer to vinemarc@telus.net will work or a cheque made out to me and sent to 119 Riverside Place N.W. High River AB T1V 1X3.
I thought you might like to get a taste of the book, so here’s an excerpt:
Exerpt from A Tumbled Stone by Marcia Lee Laycock
Andrea opened the drawer on a small desk and drew out a notebook she had bought long ago. She had a stack of coil bound notebooks that she had used to write her stories and poems and all the other work her high school teachers had so often encouraged her to do. But this one was different. This one was bound like a normal book, but it was black, inside and out. She picked up the white gel pen that had come with it.
Names had been flitting through her mind for days. She’d suddenly realize she’d been listing them, filing some as possibilities, discarding others. But she had never spoken them, never written them. She put the gel pen down, picked up an ordinary pen and found a blank piece of white paper. She wrote the list in alphabetical order. Alyssa, Brandilyn, Cameron, Destiny. She scratched lines through that last one, continued the list for a while, then crumpled the paper and threw it into the garbage can by the door. She pulled the book toward her, switched to the gel pen and turned to the next blank page.
Dear Diary – I wonder if my birth mother ever thought these thoughts I’m having. She gave me away, so obviously she didn’t want me. Why didn’t she just abort me? I guess back then it wasn’t so easy. It is now. I heard two girls at school talking about it in the washroom. They didn’t even care that I was there. One girl knew a lot about it – how to get the doctor to make a referral – just mention suicide, she said, and there would be no problem. “It’s just a tiny blob right now,” I remember her saying, “but don’t wait too long. Waiting complicates everything.”
Waiting. I feel like I’ve been waiting all my life. But for what?
The pen hovered for a moment, trembling. She let it drop and put her hand over her mouth to hold back the sob that threatened to rip from her throat. She had to get out of this room, out of this house. She grabbed a jacket and slipped quietly down the stairs, out the back door and across the yard to the yellowed field beyond. She strode along the fence line toward the creek, her ears perked for its sound, her eyes peering steadily ahead until she saw the thin line of scrub brush where the land suddenly fell away. Her eyes found the brown scar on the bank where she so often climbed down into the gully. When she reached it she stood still, staring down the incline to the creek.
It was swollen with the spring’s run-off, its water muddied and full of debris. Part of the far bank had fallen away, exposing the roots of old poplar and spruce trees. Andrea stared at the churning water. She wanted the peaceful trickle of mid-summer, the small sound of flowing water that so often soothed her. There would be no comfort here today. She stared down at the steepness of the path. If she fell … tumbled over and over … A crashing sound made her start. A young poplar had yielded to gravity and plunged into the creek. She turned away and wandered along the bank, feeling the bite of wind not yet warmed by the sun. She had stopped crying. She felt dry, hollow inside and wondered at the feeling. Shouldn’t she feel full, with a baby inside her? Sitting on an old fallen cottonwood, she put her hand on her stomach. She should feel something. But there was only a numbness now, even when she thought about Cory. What would he do if he knew she was carrying his baby? She could still hear the rushing water in the creek. The wind had increased and seemed to punish the trees. She pushed herself up and headed back toward the house, each foot crushing the ground in front of the other. She could feel the stubble under her shoes like blunt needles trying to break through.
The back door swung silently as she opened it into the kitchen. Earl had fixed the squeak. He was always fixing things, quickly, before they became a bother.
But he can’t fix this.
Edna was standing at the sink. Andrea watched her fold the washcloth over the faucet and knew by the slight stiffening of her back she was aware of her but she didn’t turn. She just stared out the window at the barrenness of the landscape – the land she always said she loved, perhaps too much.
Can anyone love too much? Andrea wondered. The land perhaps, an inanimate thing that can’t love back. But that’s so much safer than loving those who should but never do.
Edna’s long hand rested on the cloth on the tap. Andrea could see the curve of her high cheek bone, a moistness to the curl of her pale eye lashes as her head turned and dropped almost imperceptibly.
Andrea wanted to scream, “speak to me. Look at me!” For a moment she imagined her turning, a smile quick to her lips, her eyes beaming approval of her only daughter, her “chosen one.” She had longed for that look for as long as she could remember. But then a cloud blocked the light like a heavy curtain, dim reality returned and Edna did not move. Andrea stepped across the doorway and past into the hall, slowly climbing the stairs to her room. Her legs felt like heavy logs but her feet made no sound.
Maybe I’m invisible already, only a phantom whose footsteps can’t make the floors creak.
Back in her room, she picked up the book and pen.
I’m sitting on my bed now, staring at the small suitcase partly hidden on the floor of my closet. Edna brought it up from the basement yesterday so I could get ready. She has arranged everything with her sister, she said. A sister I’ve never met. I’m to leave on Friday, go away for a few months, a year maybe, then I can come home, after, and no-one will know.
But I’ve decided. Tomorrow I’ll take that small suitcase and walk away.
A sound on the stairway made her freeze. She closed the book and stood up, leaning toward the door to hear what might be beyond. But there was no sound. She pulled a box of old books out from the closet. Edna had discovered it in the basement the week before and brought it up to see if any of the books were worth reading. But Andrea didn’t feel like reading much lately. She lifted a stack and slid the diary beneath them, then shoved the box back.
*****
Thanks again for your trust, your support and your generosity.
Hello again! If you just read the previous post you’ll notice a link at the end that sends you to my Substack account. Some have been wondering what that is, so I thought I should explain.
Substack is simply a platform where I’m posting more regularly than here on my website, though I try to update here as well. Sometimes I’ll post the same thing, which is the case with Fear Factor, but there will be more content on Substack, so I do encourage you to subscribe, especially if you want to keep up with my writing life – those details will be in a regular montly newsletter posted there.
When you hit the Subscribe button it will give you a few options, to pay or not to pay (the last block is the freebie). Most click on that last one and that’s just fine – you’ll get most of the content I post. Of course I would be thrilled if you should choose to support me by clicking on one of the paid options, but no pressure at all. I will be posting some things, like excerpts from my upcoming memoir, behind the ‘paywall.’
By grabbing this bundle, you’ll not only get a ton of stuff to boost your writing but you can also pick from over 40+ other trainings, eBooks, and templates to help you take a step of faith to finish your book so that God can use your message to impact lives.
Here are a few of the amazing offers that are included in this carefully curated bundle I think you will love in these 5 categories:
Improve Your Writing
The Ultimate Writing Mastery Guidebook ($27 value)
Different Kinds of Memoir and How to Write Them ($200 value)
First Draft Fundamentals Course ($47)
Get Productive
Idea to Amazon in 14 Days ($99 value)
Secrets to Writing the Perfect Query ($49)
Blog for Impact
SEO for Christian Bloggers and Writers ($197 value)
Content Kit Magic ($47 value)
Get Paid to Write
Freelance Writing Bundle ($67 value)
Where to Find Paid Christian Writing Opportunities ($11 value)
Be Encouraged
Silence Your Inner Critic ($147 value)
And many, many more.
But don’t wait if you’re interested. This is the last time I’ll be contacting you about this because the offer expires tomorrow, Tuesday, 5/7/24!
p.s. Full disclosure – these are affiliate links. This does not affect the price of the bundle. Thank you so much for supporting me in this way. As a small thank you when you purchase the bundle you’ll receive a link to a pdf of my devotional book, A Traveler’s Advisory. I hope you are blessed as you read it.
The day had been hot and the walk through the gardens longer than I had anticipated. I was among the first few people to return to the tour bus that day and it was a relief to step into the air-conditioned environment. As we waited for the others to return, our driver called our attention to a man in the parking lot. “See that guy?” he asked. The man was dressed in over-alls, with a base-ball cap pulled down to shade his eyes as he pushed a long broom toward the gutter. He looked like any other maintenance man you might see in a park. The driver paused for effect. “He’s the owner of this place.” He let the words sink in. “In fact, he’s the one who created it.”
I stared out the window again. I thought of all the beautiful flowers, shrubs and trees we had just seen, the landscaping that had been done with skill and attention to detail. The gardens were world-renowned for good reason. I was shocked that the man who was responsible for it all was sweeping the parking lot. As our bus rolled away, I watched a large crowd heading for the entrance. They flowed around the man in the over-alls like water around a rock. No-one spoke to him. No-one even seemed to notice him. I wondered what they’d do and say if they knew who he was.
How often do we do that to God?
Even if we acknowledge that He did create the world we live in, we think of Him as the executive who stays in his office and calls the shots from there. We don’t expect to find Him with a broom in His hands. But that’s exactly where God is. He is present with us in every circumstance. Even better, His Spirit is living in us and working through us. He has His hands on the same broom we do. He walks the same roads, drives the same highways. He’s here, waiting for us to see Him, waiting for us to acknowledge his presence.
I still wonder what those people would have said and done, had they known who that man with the broom was. I wonder if they would have thanked him for the treasure he created and opened for their pleasure. I wonder if they would have been in awe, or just a little bit intimidated. And I wonder why it was we who knew sat in our seats and did nothing. We didn’t rush out and shake his hand. We didn’t express our thankfulness for the beauty we’d just seen and experienced. We drove away, watching that crowd ignore him.
There are a lot of verses in scripture that can be used to praise God, to thank Him, to give Him glory. The Psalms are full of them. Perhaps we should all take a moment to read a few, not just out of obligation or habit, but with heart-felt emotion, to acknowledge Him.
For, “Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise” (Ps.145:3).
marcialeelaycock.com 