Author: Jane Carlile Baker, Author, Editor, Teaching Consultant

Jane has loved writing from the time she learned to hold a pencil. Her writing journey moved from that pencil to personal computers through the seventies, she edited for a hospital public relations department. The eighties found her owning a public relations business, publishing newspaper and magazine articles, and directing communications for a large church. In the nineties she published her first book and led critique groups and writers' workshops. In the twenty-first century she became a teaching consultant for the National Writing Project, published several more books, and began an editing business. Jane also loves raising chickens, dogs and alpacas, gardening, oil painting, swimming and hanging out with her family.

A Common Girl, An Uncommon Time

Jane Carlile Baker, Author, Editor, Teaching Consultant1 Comment

Adapted from Luke 1:5-2:19

Journey One

After a long walk from Nazareth with Daniel’s family, finally Elizabeth’s shaky soprano drifted over her wall, her words from a psalm of David Mary recognized. “You have made known to me the path of life; You will fill me with joy in Your presence, with eternal pleasures at Your right hand.” The swish of her broom kept time to her song. She had waited so long, no wonder her joy.

Mary tapped at the gate with one hand. The other caressed the cotton tunic over her stomach. Would her elder cousin  understand her confusion? “Elizabeth, it’s me.” 

Elizabeth’s singing stopped. She opened the gate. Her silver hair escaped the veil that covered her wrinkled head and belied the obvious bump under her clothing.

“Mary!” Elizabeth’s hand flew to her own womb and her eyes bulged. “Our little John recognizes the mother of our Messiah, the tiny One you carry!” She hugged Mary and kissed her cheek.

“The angel said you’d understand God’s moving among us. … I only wanted to marry Joseph and raise a big family with my carpenter. And now … ”

“Have you told Joseph?”

“He didn’t call for the elders to stone me. He said, ‘We’ll just call it off.’

And I couldn’t … I came to you. The angel said I’m favored, but I feel … favored … and not favored, all at once.” She searched Elizabeth’s eyes for understanding.

And got it. “Dear girl, come in. You look pale. Tea and cakes will revive you. Gabriel spoke to Zechariah too, to tell him about John. You must have responded with faith. Zechariah questioned Gabriel and can’t speak now.” Elizabeth smiled, but then shook her head.

Mary accepted tea, and they relaxed in the courtyard. “Yes, suddenly Gabriel stood there in the room with me.

“He’s not a little fellow.

“I could barely manage to accept his assignment. There’s no evidence I should mother the Messiah. Why me, out of all the girls in Nazareth? Anyway, I asked him one question. How? I really am a virgin, Elizabeth.

”And yet, my womb warmed with life when God moved over me. I know Jesus grows inside me. I know, and yet I am … I don’t know how to do this.”

Elizabeth waited.

“Will my father disown me? My mother insisted I come to you because of what Gabriel said, but her skeptical look broke my heart. What will the townspeople say? I don’t want to return to Nazareth. I’m glad Gabriel told me about you. But … ”

Elizabeth cupped Mary’s arm. “Dear girl, you needn’t know how to do this. I know for certain our God guides us who live in faith. You need only put one foot in front of the other in the direction He leads.”

Tension left Mary in the light of Elizabeth’s words. “Could I stay with you for a while? Could you talk with me about Jesus and John? Please?”

“Of course, for as long as you need. A visit will shorten the time of my waiting.”

Mary stayed three months, gaining courage for what lay ahead and strengthening her faith. After she kissed Elizabeth goodbye, Mary looked to heaven and said, “The Lord has looked with favor on the humble estate of His servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed. For the Mighty One has done great things for me. Holy is His name.” And yet, in this generation, not everyone thinks me blessed. She took home with her all the wisdom Elizabeth had shared before it was time to bring John into the world.

I’m hosting a Christmas blog tour this month. Writing friends participate, and you’ll find nine blogs over the month, with everything from adaptations like this to ideas for Christmas movies and kindness. Look for the rest of this story the week of Christmas. I hope you enjoy the journey.

Guest Author!

Jane Carlile Baker, Author, Editor, Teaching ConsultantLeave a comment

My friend and critique partner, Dave Parks, has recently published a terrific book about Elijah, and is about to publish another. I invited him to tell you about himself and his work, and here is what he said:

What book did you publish?

What’s the Book About?

Twelve-year-old Elijah tries to rescue a slave girl. A few years later he gets beat up trying to save a baby from being burned up by Moloch the rain god. He storms off to the capital city and tells the king: “Neither dew nor rain until I say so.” He doesn’t know where those words came from.

He thinks anger motivates him, so the Lord’s “Hide at the Brook” must mean he’s hearing things. Not until Moloch thugs have him hiding under a thorn bush does he pay attention to the Lord’s voice. The story follows the Biblical outline, ending with a chariot of fire and the mantle falling on Elisha.

How did you get the idea for the book?

In Kings and Chronicles, I became fascinated with Elijah and Elisha, Ahab and Obadiah. Then I remembered “Elijah was a man with passions like ours.” (James 5:17)

Did he have a temper?
Get discouraged?
Notice the ladies?

Where can I read the first chapter?

Click here to read Chapter 1. Wind and Fire

What do readers say about this book?

It’s like I’m there. Watching.
– Darci

I loved every part of this book!

— Shanielle

The feel and texture of this story drew me into the ancient world of the Bible.

– Gary Endermann

An excerpt:

“Grab that goatskin!”

Elijah patted the donkey’s rump. “Excuse me.” As he dove beneath the belly, his knee slid through a pile of fresh droppings. Hmm…. Better than a sharp rock. He poked his head out the other side.

A mother with a baby on her back jumped away and pulled two dirty-faced children with her. Elijah favored them with the smile which had sold dozens of skins of Tishbe wine to camel pullers on the King’s Highway, but the children screamed and grabbed their mother’s knees. As Elijah scooted past, most of the donkey dung fell from his knee.

“He’s getting away.”

A bronze-colored chariot stood in his path. No time to run his hand over the rail or examine the wheels. He leaped the shafts and lunged for the gate of the fort.

A load of melons hanging from both sides of a donkey blocked the opening.

From behind him a shout—“Hey, grab that kid in the goatskin. Stop him!”

Elijah nodded to the donkey’s open-mouthed owner, stood tall, sucked in his belly, and squeezed sideways past the bulging sacks. Sandals slapping planks, he dashed across the bridge then down the grade and into the trees. He ripped off the goatskin, jammed it into his pack, and slipped into his robe.

From the gate—“Find that goatskin. He’s not far.”

Where can I buy the book?

Click here to buy The Boy Who Closed the Sky.

When’s your next book coming out?

If the Lord wills and I live, in the fall of 2022 I hope to publish the story of Obadiah.

Friend of the King.
Enemy of the Queen.

What’s this next book about?

Little Obadiah bloodies the nose of Ahab, his friend.

The two growing boys race stallions and run from Syrian assassins.

As adults, Obadiah and King Ahab stand together and fight invading armies.

Then King Ahab marries a witch.

Queen Jezebel steals children from distant backyards and shoves them into brothels.

She kills her critics.

How can the friend of the king rescue fugitives from the queen?

Here’s an excerpt:

“Do you pray, Uncle Biah?”

Obadiah dangled an empty prickly pear stick from his fingers. “Do I pray? Um, well.” How do I answer this child, Lord? He cleared his throat. “My conversations with the Lord lack the poetry of David or Solomon, but we talk a lot, and he listens in on my thoughts.”

Ruthie hunched her shoulders. “Was that a yes or a no? Do you pray?”

Obadiah sighed at Yeskah. “Little Hammurabi.” He took a long breath. “Yes, Ruthie. I pray.” 

Have you been to the Holy Land?

In 1964, Delphine and I toured the Holy Land for three weeks.

Delphine Parks, Dr. DeWayne Coxon, President of Jordan College, and Dave Parks at The Dead Sea.

In 1984-85, we worked at the archaeology dig at Oboth, the Rift Valley oasis where Moses headquartered about 1300 BC (Numbers 21:10). When we weren’t digging, we led busloads of tourists around Israel, introducing them to the Biblical sites. Plus, we made personal jaunts exploring Lebanon, Israel, and Jordan.

I wandered Elijah’s village in Gilead and trudged his paths in the Jezreel valley. Stood in his footprints on Mt. Carmel. In Zerephath, marveled with him at snow-covered Mt. Hermon. The songbirds of the Bible hovered in me with rock badgers, Absalom oaks, and the usual rain shower at 1 pm.

What kind of person are you?

Delphine, my wife of 39 years, died of cancer in 2000, and I miss her every day.

Two years later, I married Vickie. Every day I thank the Lord for Vickie.

I taught English at colleges in Michigan and California.

2002-2010, we taught English at universities in China then retired ten miles from the Alabama Coast.

Vickie and Dave in Sichuan, China about 2006.jpg

Vickie and Dave in Sichuan, China, 2006

English Professor

Alpaca Spit!

Jane Carlile Baker, Author, Editor, Teaching ConsultantLeave a comment

Last time I promised to tell you about alpacas spitting. Generally, if they have anything to say, they just hum. Some say that’s because they don’t know the words.

This picture shows Chloe giving the warning signal that a spit is on its way, and Champagne giving it back. When Chloe puts her head up in spitting prep and her ears flat against her neck, she’s telling Champagne she better back off or there’s going to be trouble. She growls at the same time she raises her head. Now, she won’t spit at me, but her spit can fly ten feet. Therefore, an intelligent, focused human will back away that distance.

However, there’ve been times when my back was turned, I missed the growl, and I got the wet green regurgitation all over me. Alpacas have three stomachs, so the smell of this stuff isn’t Chanel #5. In Alaska, if you’ve seen the ice break up and go out to sea on the Yukon, you’re called a sourdough. I guess since I’ve worn alpaca spit, I’m an alpaca sourdough.

Just to make sure you don’t swear off the sweet deer/teddy bear cross of an alpaca, up against spitting are:

  • Elegant, peaceful, calming movement
  • Warm soft fleece with multiple uses
  • Sweet pasture buddies
  • Gentle humming
  • Gorgeous eyes
  • Poop that makes the best natural fertilizer around

One day,, I believe alpacas will make their way into one of my novels. In the meantime, they cush in my field.

Word of the Day: Alpacas

Jane Carlile Baker, Author, Editor, Teaching Consultant2 Comments
My new girls and their breeders, Maureen and Larry Macedo, back in April. The one they’re holding is Chloe, and behind her are Champagne and Mocha in the background.

I could hardly believe it when I looked at my blog page on janecarlilebaker.com and realized I haven’t said a word since February. Part of the reason is that I’ve revamped the page to add my editing business, which took a while. Click on over and look. There’s an opportunity to get a monthly email from me containing fun adventure, animal, and other stories. Please sign up. I won’t sell your email address, just share my writer life with you.

So what’s that got to do with alpacas? I’ll tell you. I have a giant backyard even though I live in town. If there are no animals, somebody has to mow. I can’t mow and write at the same time. So my alpacas’ first identity is lawn mowers. However, this is not a short story. I was drawn to alpacas at first because when their fleece is grown out, they look like teddy bears on four legs with these gorgeous eyes. Then I found out they don’t tear grass out like sheep do. But that’s not all, dear friends. They also eat elderberry trees like mine which is trying to take over the world.

And that’s not all, either. Alpaca fleece is some of the softest there is. People compare it to cashmere, and yet it’s strong and warm, and even wicks water away from your skin. It’s hypoallergenic and dust mites (which I’m allergic to) hate it. So far, I have a sweater and a pair of socks made of alpaca fiber, and they are lightweight, too. You can make so many things out of alpaca fiber–dryer balls, hats, shawls, blankets, rugs–I could go on. In about a week, I’ll have a bed pillow made from Champagne’s fleece. Ask me if I’m excited. Yes, yes I am.

But that’s still not all. Alpacas poop all in the same place because they want their owners to have easy clean up. No, really, they do. And not only that, their poop isn’t hot. That means you can put it right on your garden, or if you’re a purist, you can compost it first. Some people make alpaca poop tea, but I prefer to just water it. You don’t even have to rake it in, for cryin’ out loud. Some folks call alpaca poop magic beans. No surprise there.

Now for the best part. Each alpaca has their own personality. In our herd, and by the way, if I’ve talked you into getting your own, you have to have at least three. In our herd, Chloe is the leader. She is aloof and her ears go up first when there’s a noise. Nevertheless, she’ll eat alfalfa pellets right out of my hand. She’s also the oldest. Champagne is next, and she’s a foodie. I have to put rocks in her frizbee feeder to keep her from eating too fast, or she’ll choke. Just the other day she gave me a nose kiss. The youngest and littlest is Mocha (the dark one, naturally) and she’s had a little trouble with comfort in the transition from the farm to our backyard. She hums the most. That’s the sound alpacas make, humming, peaceful humming.

And that’s not all. Next time I’ll tell you about spitting.

Turn

Jane Carlile Baker, Author, Editor, Teaching Consultant1 Comment
Photo by jasmin chew on Pexels.com

“Turn” is my word for this year. Specifically, in baffling or important decisions, turn and ask Jesus first. Sounds like a piece of cake, right? Easier to write than to do, at least for me. You see, I have this hangup. It’s bred into me to say yes and scramble to accomplish whatever need someone presented or whatever good deed needs doing. HOWEVER, this is not biblical. Have you ever noticed that Jesus didn’t heal everyone in Israel? There were still sick, twisted people when He headed back to Heaven. That’s because He talked over His earthly mission with His Father, every day, all the time. He turned, and then He obeyed. That’s how He managed to be gentle and lowly, even in a human body.

There’s an important truth there. He talked it over with His Father. We call that prayer. The trick, for me and you, is to turn off automatic response in favor of discussing the current situation with Jesus. Sometimes I don’t even get my whole thought out before Jesus starts answering. Sometimes he taps me on the shoulder before I have a thought. Other times I ask and ask and He just says, “I’ve got this.” Finally, of course sometimes I ask Him and He says nothing. That is a dead giveaway that I need to stand in place, not rush off to anywhere. But I’m still practicing, sometimes I still forge mightily ahead and don’t ask.

Nevertheless, He loves me. Whatever his response, I know He loves me and will give me His best answers and His best in everything. So this year, I’m practicing. Won’t you join me? Turn and ask.