Meet our members

Linda Boulanger

Linda Boulanger is a happily-ever-after author, wife, and mother of four human children and two fur babies. She has an eclectic mix of published books, numerous story singles and short stories in a few group anthologies, plus a slew of always evolving works in progress.

Along with being an author, she designs book covers for herself and others through Tell~Tale Book Covers and TreasureLine Designs, all from her desk just north of Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Please click on Linda's page to read her prior posts and to view her work.

Unwanted by Linda Boulanger

When I first started writing again after so many years of not picking up a pen, I thought Christian Fiction was the way I would go, especially after my friend, Pat Sipperly, pulled me into a writing group called FaithWriters. They had weekly challenges with different levels and, low and behold, the first story I entered won in its level. I was shocked but elated as well. I was also hooked and continued on, working my way up with a win here and there until I received the highest honor... an Editor's Choice.

Looking back, those wins may not have been that great to most people, but to me... I may as well have won the lottery. They gave me faith in my stories and my ability to write, and they pushed me to explore where I wanted to go as a author.

It took me several years to come to the realization that my heart is in Historical Romance. I've dabbled in a lot of genres along the way... including that time in Christian Fiction. That's a time that will always be near and dear to my heart and I'd like to share my Editor's Choice winning story with you. It's an idea that I think I'll eventually work into one of my Historical Romances, because I really like it. It touches the heart. It's called Unwanted. Enjoy!

Betrayal. Is there a more justifiable reason to be angry? I had every reason in the world to be bitter. I was swallowed up in the deepest, darkest time of my life, but God wasn’t giving me any slack.

I had done nothing wrong!

I was still seething as I looked down at the tiny bundle wrapped in soft pink. She returned my gaze, her eyes filled with trust. They were the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Sweet. She looked so sweet.

I picked her up, feeling her tiny nose against my cheek, soft yet firm, like nothing I had ever felt before. She nestled against me as I held her in my arms. I breathed deeply, the aroma of baby lotion, powder, and her distinctive scent filled my head. She smelled like him, her father…. my husband.

I didn’t want to love her, vowed I would not the day he told me about her and that he wanted to bring her home. To our home! His child with another woman… brought into this world by a chance encounter… and I was supposed to take her in and love her as my own.

Preposterous!

I had resolved to harden my heart toward her. Bitterness had tried to creep in.

I’d already made my peace with my husband… with an awful lot of help from God. I had come to terms with the fact that, perhaps, it had even been my obsession with the need for a baby that had driven him away for a time. It had been difficult enough but we’d gotten through it. And then he’d learned of this child, his child, to be given away without a care from her real mother.

And now, here she was, so small, so helpless. She was soft within my arms, looking to me to take care of her, to show her a world where someone cared.

“God, how could you do this to me? How can I do for her what is needed when my heart is hurting so?”

I’d been denied my own child in life. Years of trying had left me with nothing but a hardened heart, wounded pride, and a taste of bitterness in my mouth. The barren woman… and now this child.

She began to fuss. I laid her back and she looked at me again. I was touched by the total lack of judgment in her eyes. She had no idea how tormented I was or that I had planned not to love her, only that she needed someone to take care of her and that I seemed to be doing a pretty good job at that very moment. Her own mother didn’t care, didn’t love her; had not even loved my husband as I did.

I brushed the palm of my hand across the soft down that covered the top of her head. She liked it. Her eyes took on that dreamy look and I smiled. The realization of how much she needed me washed over me with great cleansing waves.

I leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her eyes fluttered, and then shut. I could feel her breath. Soft sweet whispers caressed my face as I rubbed her cheek with my own.

In her sleep, she smiled. It was an angel’s smile.

I couldn’t hate her.

My bitterness faded away. She was the answer to my prayer for a child.

I resolved right then to be her mother, to be that someone who would love her no matter what. I thanked God for giving me the chance to make certain she never felt unwanted.

Meet Our Members ~ Linda Boulanger

Linda Boulanger

Linda Boulanger is a retired graphic cover artist and Medieval and Fantasy Romance writer. To learn more about the author, her works, and to read her prior blog posts, please click HERE

Don't let fear stop you from following your dreams! ~ by Linda Boulanger

Tuesday, Sept. 3rd, I took a deep breath and began a new journey. You might remember my announcement last month that I've decided to retire from cover design so I will have more time to devote to family matters and to more fully pursue my own writing. Well, as of Tuesday, the entire Boulanger Tribe is either in school or back at work... and that includes me. I got all caught up on laundry, made a meal plan that I seem to be sticking to, set a word count goal and have spent two glorious days adding to my current writing project.

Keep in mind that I have battled back and forth with myself for weeks over whether I made the right decision. Perhaps I should have retired from writing to focus fully on the cover designs for others... but I couldn't do that. I have a saying: Writers can't NOT write. Yes, I know that will probably make my editor scream, but it says it exactly as I believe. When a writer has a story inside him or her, it simply has to come out. It has to be written, and with every cover I willing and happily designed for someone else, my dream of working on my own stories was growing in strength.

Now, I do not regret the time I have spent designing covers in the least. I LOVE working with other authors whether it's as a designer or a fellow author and feel the time has helped me grow in so many ways, especially as a writer. So, now, I have to believe in myself and follow my dreams.

Whew! That is a hard thing to do! I don't know many authors who don't feel at least a modicum of angst when releasing a book... and I've worked with and am friends with some pretty big writers! It's scary and the what ifs start slamming you from every side. So much so that on Monday evening I told my dear friend Grace Augustine that I wasn't sure I could do this, that I was doubting my skills as a writer, and that I thought maybe I was making a mistake.

What she told me calmed me more than even she might have imagined. First, she told me to stop it! But it was this little quote that really drove home what I needed to do: "Change your thoughts and you change your world." ~Normal Vincent Peale.

 She couldn't have chosen better words to have gotten through to me. I knew then that I couldn't let my fears of the unknown stop me from following my dream.

I have a plan. I've set it in motion. And I've changed my thinking... I fully believe in my dream and my abilities to pull it off.

In a future post, I will tell you about what I'm working on. The research has been fascinating and I'm anxious to share what I've learned. Until then, unlike the little engine that said, "I think I can," I will keep telling myself, "I know I can. I know I can." until I can say "I knew I could." I'm excited! And, as always, thank you for being a part of my dream.

The Chase -- A short story written to the prompts: Broken, Desert, Voices ~ by Linda Boulager

Once upon a time, there was a site called Clever Fiction Short Story Prompts that provided weekly writing prompts. Quite often, they were 3-words that weren’t always easy to work together but ended up pushing us as writers to create great stories. Many of the stories I wrote to those prompts were incorporated into longer short stories, novellas, and full-length novels. The Chase was written to the prompt: Broken, Desert, Voices. Give it a try and enjoy!

The Chase by Linda Boulanger

Her chest heaved with every breath, straining against the bodice of the silk gown. Silk - supposedly spun by the gods, meant to entice as it fell in revealing layers over the satiny skin of young ladies waiting for the men for whom they were chosen. To Elenya it only impeded her escape through the thick brush. She pushed the hood of the cloak-like dress from her head, releasing a magnificent mass of red tresses that matted against the trickle of sweat running down her back, now bare from the unusual cut of the dress.

What a waste. She thought of her trip to the courts as well as the expensive fabric and the excitement that had surrounded picking it out, fashioning it into a body-covering masterpiece that represented her future, her dreams. Her family should have saved their reserves, her destiny decided many years ago by higher authorities anyway. The only thing she’d needed to entice her warrior was her scent. Or was it his scent? She wasn’t sure, knowing only that she’d been marked, ceremonially injected with his blood as a child to belong to him when her season came – though neither of them would know the other until the appointed time.

Even aware that she’d been marked and her future assured, Elenya was no different from the other girls who dreamed of a lifetime dance with one of the elite warriors of the court. It meant she and her family would return to the luxury of the circle of the chosen once she came of age.

Only the moment Elenya realized the Masters had matched her with Tahruk, she knew that would not be the case. Tahruk! Why? Their families had been enemies for generations. There had to be some mistake. She knew she had to find a way, to find someone who could make it right. Her only chance was to get to the house of the Masters.

Ignoring the aching in her legs and lungs, she refused to pay heed to the burning of the cuts and scratches inflicted on her limbs by the cruel sticks and whipping grasses. She would not cry over the sounds of her beautiful black dress ripping as she ran. She glanced down at what now looked like shredded rags. Careful! Taking her eyes off the terrain could have made her lose her footing and then it would all be over. She could hear him not far behind. Only her slight size lent itself to her ability to outmaneuver him through the dense brush.

Elenya longed for the smooth desert sands of home. Life had seemed so promising then as she’d played and worked beside her sisters, making sure they stayed within earshot of the voices of the elders whose sole purpose was to protect the future of their people: her.

There it was! She could see the house of the Masters. Elated that her uncanny sense of direction had led her right to it after seeing it only once, she was concerned about the clearing that lay before her. Her pursuer would be unhindered.

A man opened the house door causing hope to surge, hurling Elenya forward. He had to be one of the Masters.

“My Lord! My Lord!” she screamed, garnering the attention of men she hadn’t realized were there. Panic rose as they converged on her, though she dodged them, stopping only when she had thrown herself at the feet of Dahru, the head Master. Only when her arms wrapped around his legs did she dare glance back at the warrior who crossed the clearing at a more casual pace. Anger burned behind his eyes, their dark depths glowing within his sun-bronzed face. Even as she shivered, she was unable to break away from his gaze. She felt the pull of the marking as she watched him run a hand through his night-black hair. She fought against it.

“Tahruk? What is the meaning of this?” asked the voice above Elenya’s head.

“I wish to know that as well, Lord Dahru.” As the warrior spoke, his chin tilted upward and he sniffed the air.

Dahru looked at his brethren before addressing the other man. “She … the woman is yours then?”

Tahruk nodded. He glared down at the beauty who attempted to scoot around the strong legs of her refuge, seeing her clearly for the first time. His anger spiked as he took in the honeyed cinnamon hair, sun-kissed ivory skin, and soft pink lips, full and enticing. He watched as Dahru’s hands locked on her arms and lifted her to stand before him instead. She tried to look over her shoulder. Again, the unmistakable pull warred against her fear.

“Look at me.” The firm voice denoted care. He smiled as he wiped some of the grime from her face. “Why would you do this?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “What is your name, maiden?”

Her voice trembled as did her body. Gone was the brave woman who had fled her warrior. “I am Elenya Avenille of the Aleone Drille,” she answered quietly, listening for certain response from behind.

Having recognized her by her appearance as the Aleone woman, hearing her speak it pushed the warrior beyond reason. “Aleone!” he roared. Elenya pressed herself against Dahru. His strong arms encircled her small frame.

Dahru silenced the younger man with a raised hand, though the outburst was understandable. The disdain felt by the two Drilles, one for the other, had been passed down from generation to generation.

“There must be a mistake…”

“No.” Dahru stopped Elenya’s verbalization of the thought that echoed through many heads. “The Masters do not make mistakes. You must go with this man and fulfill the obligations imposed by the marking.”

“I… I am afraid…” Elenya whispered before looking over her shoulder at the stiff form of the warrior for whom she was chosen. “My lord, please. You see how he looks at me.”

“He will not harm you, child. He is honor bound, like you.” Dahru made certain the young warrior heard as well.

After a moment, Elenya nodded. She looked up at the stars, sucking in and then slowly exhaled breath before turning toward Tahruk. Head bowed, she followed, not bothering to fight the tears. Her dreams were shattered, the broken pieces washing away with each teardrop that fell onto the hand that held hers. Honor would have her pay for the sins of her ancestors.

She had been chosen to dance for a lifetime in the arms of her enemy.

At the request of readers, The Chase was expanded into a full-length novel, Dance with the Enemy.

 

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The Chase A Short Story ©Linda Boulanger

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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this work.