P&R Publishing has created a new series/collection of my books, THE HEROES AND HISTORY SERIES; Hostage Lands and the soon-to-release Hand of Vengeance
are the first two in this series.The H&H series is designed to be
the place where other ideas I have for historical fiction will collect
themselves together into what we hope will be an invaluable collection
of books for anyone who loves history. New ideas include historical
fiction on Wycliffe (1300s), Huss (1400s), Huguenots (1500s), and more... ...and most
recently (after a fun family visit to Fort Nisqually today), a
19th-century Pacific Northwest, Hudson Bay Company yarn set in the Puget
Sound and Fort Nisqually (very near my home). There would be a Scots
connection (my lens may be a young Scots voyager), as there were many
Scots immigrants employed by the HBC. I guess it would be sort of a Bond
version of Little House on the Prairie. Lots of beaver trapping,
PNW trading musket shooting, horses, HMS Beaver steamer for the HBC,
small boat sailing, coastal Indians, and frontier tensions between
American and British settlers, the Pig War context, and the rising storm
to the Civil War. I'm really, really warming to this idea.
English students at Covenant High School performed well in the regional writing contest (Our Own Words, now Expressions, sponsored by the Pierce County Arts Commission, the News Tribune, and the Pierce County Library Foundation) for 2012. There are nearly 1,000 students who enter this contest from a number of different schools in the region, public, private, and homeschool. By God's enabling grace, CHS had more winning writers and artists than any other high school in the region. We are grateful to God for all of the excellent writing submitted to this contest. The awards assembly and public reading of the winners will be held May 24, 2012 at Pacific Lutheran University. All CHS students and families are welcome to attend. Below are samples of the CHS winning entries:
Isabel Anderson (10), 3rd place, 9-10 Short Story:
“I have something
for you.” Jack’s grandmother handed him a ball of yarn. It felt cool and
smooth in his hand. Not like yarn should. He looked quizzically up at
her. “I want you to unwind it,” she continued, “and make it as tangled as you
thought as he pulled the ball apart. After a few minutes, he was done. A
disordered mess of yarn littered the floor.
“Now I want you to untangle it,” his
grandmother said, “and wind it back up.”
“But Grandma!” Jack protested. “That’s
impossible! It would take years.”
She smiled sadly down at him. “Listen
Jack. The ball of yarn represents your life. You’ve made a mess of
things. You need to change.” Her voice wavered as a tear rolled down her
Jack awoke in a cold sweat. He rolled over and tried
to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. He thought about his dream, and of his
grandmother, who had suddenly died earlier this year. She had been his
guardian, the only loving and caring person he had ever known.
Anne Gaspar (10), 2nd place, 9-10 Short Story:
As I looked back at the gray shingled
house with its homey wrap-around porch, I took a shuddering breath, determined
not to cry. The house might look drab and dull to an outsider, but to me it
never would be. This house held all of my precious childhood memories, and most
importantly the memories of my parents. With this thought, I felt a warm drop
land on my cheek. I turned away from the house, sighing, and faced the waiting
“Hi, Janie, I’m Tara.”
“Hi,” I replied, nervously, pushing my
hair behind my ear.
“How are you? Sorry to rush you, but we
better get going. We have to get to the airport on time.”
“I have my bags all packed and ready.”
“Good! Well get in the car and we’ll be on
hesitated, and then slid into the waiting car, giving a last look at my home.
My life had changed so drastically since the accident. Usually I break down in
tears when any little thing happened, from skinning my knee, to getting a bad
score on a test. But now after...
Tamala Aown, (11), 3rd place 11-12 Short Story:
Growing up as an attendee of Joy
Bible Church, where welfare and tattoo are considered cuss words and starch is
subconsciously considered a sacrament, dressing for Sunday morning service was
largely an unattainable routine. My mother and I had it virtually mastered however;
to the point where I would sleep in my beloved Calico dress the night before, giving
myself a few extra, blessed moments of sleep. Twelve-year-olds do that kind of stuff,
I would inform my mother, who would occasionally catch me in the act. She slept
in her hair curlers.
“Let’s quiet our hearts and confess
our sins,” the Reverend began, with the stereotypical prompt, the words dripped
like honey, sickly sweet from his lips and rolled onto his well-trimmed beard,
What he actually meant by all that
phraseology was that the congregation had a brief moment to bend their knees
and examine the attire of his neighbors in a two to three pew radius.
“Mommy, I want my hair braided like
Rachel’s, with a large pink bow,” I said.
“Hush Amelia, and confess your sins, I don’t
Noelle Oppenhuizen, (11), 1st place 11-12 Poetry:
No one looked, no one saw, no one seemed to see.
No one listened, no one heard, no one seemed to hear.
With tear stained cheeks he sat alone. He felt displaced
Still no one noticed, no one came, no one really cared.
With shoulders drooping, eyes downcast, his legs didn’t
seem to move,
But rather stayed glued to his chair; the place he lived,
He was below “they” were above. He felt shamed and
Others stood and walked away, leaving him behind and
At three feet tall he couldn’t meet the gaze of people’s
So gathered strength with all his might and wheeled
A war rose up within his soul. A fight for being
With one deep breath, he could not stand, but screamed
Douglas Bond, author of more than 25 books, is husband of Cheryl, father of six, and grandfather of two. He is director of the Oxford Creative Writing Master Class, a ruling elder in the PCA, a speaker at conferences, and a leader of Church history tours in Europe.