Since most writers work at home, their home life naturally mingles with their work life. And it’s incredibly hard sometimes to separate the two enough to get any reasonable amount of writing done. It’s not that others in the household don’t respect the work, it’s that they often don’t know if the writer’s working or, because the person’s right there, a quick question don’t seem like a huge deal. As I’ve navigated this, I’d found a few things that help and thought I’d share.

Encouraging Your Writer

• Communicate! 

You’d think this one would be obvious, but we writers often just assume that, if I’m sitting at my desk, I’m obviously working. So we expect people to just know to give us space. But my husband knows I could be budgeting, reading the news, writing an email for my niece’s homework, or any number of other things that are not writing related. If I tell him that this specific time is reserved for writing, he respects that time and doesn’t interrupt, but I need to clearly tell him. 

Someone once said that we need to treat our writing like the business it is or others won’t. That stuck with me. It’s hard when it’s a job from home. So many distractions abound. But if we set aside time and ask others to help us with it, I’ve found it’s easier. 

• Bring Coffee! (Or any other form of favorite snack and beverage.)

We writers are like squirrels. Distractions abound. And one of the easiest procrastination distractions is going for a cup of coffee, that then leads into making a snack, that then leads to a ten-minute conversation because you’re standing there waiting for the popcorn to pop, that then…

You get the picture. Bringing a small snack if you think of it can be insanely helpful! 

• Ask Specifically About the Magic!

In last week’s post, I talked about how hollow it feels to tell someone, “I was writing,” when they ask what you did that day. It just doesn’t really explain the vibrancy of creating a world on paper. I encouraged other writers to talk about the magic, the fortress you infiltrated, the deep conversation you had with your characters, the reunion the father and son had in your story, whatever it may be. 

As the writer’s support people, these answers can be so much more if you ask deeper questions. Instead of, “How was the writing?” maybe ask what characters they were working with that day. Where were they at? What conflict were they navigating? Did they escape the dungeon? Did something explode in their face? 

This serves to help your writer not feel so crazy, for one, and opens the door for him or her to really dig into the excitement they probably feel for their story. It helps them feel more connected and share more instead of everything living inside their heads. 

I’m sure there’s more I could say and each writer has his or her own foibles, so if you’re truly interested in being a part of your writer’s work life, maybe ask what would specifically help. Maybe the answer is as simple as providing a bag of skittles, but you don’t know until you ask =)

Blessings,

The post Encouraging Your Writer appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.

And second of all, what do I even say when being alone comes comfortably to me? I think the only time I’ve truly dreaded it was when I thought about coming home after my mom passed and having to face my grief while my husband was at work. That quickly passed, however. The quiet and time to cry alone were their own comfort.

But writing by nature requires a great deal of solitude. Our worlds and characters come alive for us, but no one else sees them while we’re creating them and that can be really hard. How do we share? Even being comfortable with the solitude doesn’t take away the inordinately hollow feeling when someone asks what you did all day and you say, “I was writing.” 

That doesn’t encompass…well, anything. It doesn’t share the excitement of Na’rina’s recent escape, or the jumble of emotion Icarus feels at seeing his family again after being cast out as a child. It doesn’t convey the smell of hibiscus blooming in the café while El spies on the Fae embassy. It’d be better to say, “I was creating magic,” than to say, “I was writing.”

I guess my take on the writing solitude is twofold.

The quiet, alone work is a necessity if you want to write. So become friends with your own thoughts. Sit on your patio in the early morning and drink some coffee. No music, no phone, nothing but the delicious smell of coffee, the song of early morning birds, and your own thoughts. Allow them to be familiar friends and not constant condemnation, or constant planning, or constant motion… Allow yourself boredom like it’s a luxury. Because for us writers, it is a luxury. It’s time to live in our worlds and let them breathe. 

Then look at your writing and share the bits of excitement that friends and family can understand. Often, we’re not surrounded by people who like to create worlds in their own heads. My husband definitely doesn’t. But if there’s a world mechanic I’m working on detailing out, he’s in the thick of it. And at those times, I share the joy of world building with him. 

Likewise, if a character’s motivation feels off, discussing with my sister often reveals alternatives. She’s not part of the whole process. No one is. But there are pieces built in brainstorming that would never develop in isolation. 

Don’t be afraid to talk about writing like the magic it is. When someone asks, “What did you do today?” share what you actually did. “I planned an infiltration of a frozen palace stronghold.” You may have to explain that some or people might think you’re crazy, but then you get to share! And some of the magic sneaks out of the solitude you spent writing into the time you have with others. 

Maybe there’s a third facet to this.

For the actual writing, we need solitude, but our lives with others often feed our ideas. The magic goes both ways. The palace visited with my parents last year becomes the basis for my Fae palace. The cruise we took a few years ago created the idea for the Sedanza Islands in Theos Rising. The aspen groves I played in as a child with my sisters built Na’rina’s grove. 

So, write in solitude. But talk about your work with the excitement of the story, not just the mundane of “I was writing.” And live constantly aware that everything presents possibilities, and often, the people around you are excited to share and help in whatever way they can. 

Okay, maybe I had more to say than I realized. Thanks again, Lucia, for the post idea!

Blessings,

The post Solitude appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.

That doesn’t mean I don’t try to outline every time I write a novel. It just means I don’t have a system yet that truly works for me. 

Last year I started writing the third book in the Hidden Mythics Series. As always, I didn’t have a clear structure for the story, but I did have random scenes that persisted in my mind. Usually that’s a good sign that the story’s ready to be written, so I wrote the scenes down. They don’t follow a timeline, and they’re not connected to each other. I just needed to get them on the page. 

And then I hit a snag. I had 40K words and had no idea where I was going. Then the beginning of this year happened, and writing fell off my iceberg altogether. 

Now that I’m back at it, I really want a structure to follow. So, I did some searching and found the Snowflake method by Randy Ingermanson. And for once, I have a synopsis written before I even write the book. Since I’m indie-published, I’ve never had to write a synopsis to sell the manuscript to an agent or editor, so it’s never been a high priority to write something that most in the industry consider snore worthy. 

And on top of that, I have a scene list. Huh. That’s never happened before. 

I can’t say that the story won’t immediately dive into the grass as soon as I start the actual writing, but so far, it seems to be working. I’ll update you as I progress. Maybe I’ve finally found an outline that kinda, sorta, works for me. 

Blessings,

The post Thoughts on the Snowflake Method appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.

The post Quaking Soul Recommended! appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.

You’d think, as the writer of the story, that all of this would be firmly planted in my memory, like the sharp smell of pine from childhood. Yet, if the time’s long enough, even something so simple yet powerful can escape me. 

Human memory is interesting like that. We forget even the important things. Knowing this, my husband and I keep what we call an Ebenezer Jar. We got the idea from my parents who in turn got it from 1 Samual 7:12 and Joshua 4:1-24 from the Bible. Both of these stories have someone setting up stones as a memory marker for something God did.

For me, I then tape the Ebenezer into my journal and recall what events surrounded it. Who was visiting, what occasion we were celebrating, the inside joke behind the story. It’s too easy to remember only the negative. This regularly recalls the beautiful, joy filled moments. What do you do to remember good things?

Blessings,

The post The Ebenezer Jar appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.

The Soul of a Place

I stand out on my patio as the dawn starts to turn the world from pitch black into a muted gray. The trees are bare, their skeletal limbs covered in thick green moss and rough lichen. A few crows send eerie caws into the otherwise still morning. It’s like a scene from the Grimm’s fairy tales. I can imagine the birds being spies for an evil queen or the woods listening for human footsteps so they can trap unwary travelers. 

No one ever claimed the Grimm’s tales were bright or uplifting. 

It’s been exactly a year since my husband and I moved to Germany. On January 15^th, 2025 we left Dallas and landed at Frankfurt the morning of the 16^th. I was terrified, excited, exhausted, and eager to understand this new world we’d stepped into. 

We’d stepped into the old world. 

I’ve heard and read that term. It always carried a feeling of mystery and weight. A man’s from the old world. He must understand deep things and carry a sense of complexity like the years have hidden within him all their secrets. 

It sounds silly, yet here I stand on my patio taking in the very feel that the term implies. 

I’ve wondered before if a place carries the residue of its history. As we’ve moved around over the years, there’s always a texture to a place, a feel that’s as much part of its identity as the name it goes by. Colorado, for instance, was a majestic, if harsh at times, resilience. Or South Carolina a grieving widow full of past hauntings and future hope. A fission of painful memories that cling too tightly and the fight to loosen their fingers.

And now Germany. It was hard to touch on the identities of the states above and yet, their history is but a drop of water compared to Germany. It’s hard to explain but I believe it has to do with the spiritual side of things. I know this sounds crazy, or too far-fetched, but there are things in life we can’t always quantify, and this is one of them. 

Germany, and Europe as far as I’ve experienced, exudes a residue so rich in beauty and grief that even short pauses here make one wonder what stories are hidden on the air. I find myself wanting to sit and listen to the breeze, the bird chatter, and the various languages drifting past with passersby because there’s something more to these things than what I’ll catch if I rush along. 

In a world that feels likes it’s constantly shouting lately; this is what Germany’s teaching me. Don’t rush. Accept the quiet call to sit longer, to listen more, to become acquainted with this land like I would a new, but very old friend. 

I think I felt these things early on in the bells and the bakeries. The simple joys that made the initial rush of moving less painful. Now, the longer I let these things soak in, the more I’m coming to value them. 

Blessings,

Jennifer

The post The Soul of a Place appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.

My months long absence wasn’t planned. Such absences never are unless it’s my holiday exodus I take each year in December. I always intend to post consistently but life rarely plays out the way I envision. 

I planned posts for January, when it’d been a year after we moved to Germany. Talked about the soul of a place and how it speaks in the very fabric of the air. It was a good post. I fully intended to post it. 

I wrote a few posts for February too, planning to schedule them ahead of time and give myself a buffer to keep writing. January was off to a good start for 2026. 

Then it came to a full stop. It wasn’t a trickle as I got distracted or a spurt of creativity that disappeared for a bit and then came back. It was a shot to my foundation that rocked everything and has left me reeling for months. 

There are no words to quite explain why I haven’t posted. There are facts. But no true words for the internal upheaval. 

You see, we all have this internal image of who we are, what our lives look like, and what the future may hold. And deep in that image lies the people in our lives. The ones that are always there. The ones who have shaped us profoundly. Family, good friends, spouses. Those people. 

When one of those people suddenly disappears, that entire internal image cracks. For those who have experienced such loss, you know what I’m talking about. 

Let me give you the bare facts I spoke of earlier. In late January, my mother suffered a severe heart attack. For three weeks, she vacillated between recovery, surgery, set back, small steps forward, delirium, recovery again, and then on February 17th, she went home to heaven. It shocked the doctors, the nurses, and especially my family.  

Everything about normal life dropped for me at the end of January. Within eighteen hours of her heart attack, I was on a plane back to Colorado. For the next five and a half weeks, it was hospital, emotional roller coaster, and then memorial service before somehow, attempting to return to normal life back in Germany. 

Except, what is normal now? 

I see her in the way I cook. In the walks I take almost daily because she was out there walking with me at the end of December. I smell her perfume and can almost feel her hug. Hear her, “Good morning, Sweetness,” each morning and desperately don’t want to lose the sound of her voice in my memory. 

When I sit down to write, I can feel her pride in my stories. Remember how she could barely contain herself when she heard someone liked to read and wanted to tell them about my books. I even gave a lunch lady a business card while we were in the hospital because she had to share when the woman said she liked fantasy. But conversely, I sit down now, wanting to make her proud, and stare at an empty page because no amount of writing will bring her back to share with others. There are no new stories I get to share with her. But I know she’d want me to keep writing and so I push through. It’s messy. My heart feels like a rock in my throat and everything else is dull. 

I hate grief yet I know the only way out is through. So, I allow myself to feel. To cry, use a full box of tissues, and then get up and cook chicken soup like she would because that’s how she lives on in my life. 

And my deepest solace lies in something she lived day in and day out. As the pastor said at her service, she didn’t complicate her faith. She loved Jesus. She chose to love others every day even when it was hard. It was as simple as that. 

And because she loved Jesus, I can hope. 

Corrie Ten Boom talked of death like falling asleep in her father’s arms one day when they were walking home and waking up safe and warm in bed later. She didn’t remember arriving home, but she knew upon waking that she was safe in her father’s house. This is how I chose to see death. 

Mom woke up in her father’s house. And some day, I’ll wake up there too. She’s not gone. She’s home. 

The day my mother passed, this was my sister’s devotional scripture: 

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing.” (2 Timothy 4:7-8 ESV)

I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe this was God’s assurance and although I keep this blog focused mostly on writing and this adventure called life, I’ll ask the following question because when everything’s gone and it’s just us and reality in the mirror, I think we need to be able to answer this question. What’s your assurance beyond this life? Will you wake up in your Father’s house? 

Blessings,

Jennifer

The post Flaying the Heart appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.

In many ways, 2025 challenged me. There’s nothing like moving to a different country to upend what a person thinks she knows. Everything from doing laundry to driving or ordering food became both a struggle and an opportunity to learn and experience. In such times, perspective is everything. I wish I could say I kept a great attitude like the bunny from Zootopia, and sometimes I did, but often I found myself just tired and surly. My poor husband. He was going through the same life upheaval, and I wasn’t much help. 

It’s in hindsight that I see the good that I was just too overwhelmed to appreciate or notice at the time. 

Germany is a beautiful country. As I sit here writing, I’m looking out over the walking path and the thick trees behind my house. If you know anything about me, you know how much I love the forest. And Germany has a lot of forest. 

The fall colors have been vibrant and various. Deep ruby shows in the vines growing up the house at the end of the street. Bright yellow covers the hillsides, broken by the occasional orange or red and still lots of green. When we follow the walking path, some of the leaves are small splotches of color. Others are bigger than my hand. 

And that’s just talking about this fall. It doesn’t touch the deep, rolling green of summer or the flowers in the spring. Or the winter. I’ll talk about the Christmas Markets next year after I’ve had a chance to fully experience them, but when entire villages decorate and celebrate for weeks, I have to say, the Germans know how to keep the winter blues away. 

I could ramble about castles, museums, tunnels, and towers. I could rave about the slower pace of life and the gentle encouragement to be social. This could be a very long post. 

But there’s one thing that really stands out from this last year above the beauty of Germany and the adventure it is to live here. 

It’s a subtle thing, seen in the dance my husband and I do in the one-person kitchen while we’re cooking. Felt in the regular conversations we have about work, doctor appointments, and whatever weird thing the Writing Sidekick’s doing now. A thread woven through the small gestures. Prepping his lunch before he leaves for work or cooking my breakfast for me because the Sidekick’s sleeping on my lap. These are the everyday details that are easy to overlook, to take for granted and treat as normal. But they’re reflections of something deeper. 

And it’s always in hindsight that I see it. When we’re challenged. When we’re stretched and it’s hard to be kind. When I want to cry because somehow, my husband and I can’t seem to communicate. In the midst of it all, I know from experience that God’s working, but I can’t see it. Only afterwards can I look back and see the golden thread keeping us going and teaching us. God’s gentle hand carrying us through and, through the struggle, making us stronger. 

This isn’t the first trial my husband and I have faced, and it definitely won’t be the last. I sometimes dread them. But I also know, such trials are where we grow the most. Where our marriage becomes stronger. Because we keep trying, keep praying and trusting, we come out the other side even closer. 

I hope this is an encouragement. Struggles happen in relationships. Especially in marriages. Trust that those struggles in the end will form in you and your spouse something precious beyond description.

That’s what I’m thankful for this year. That’s how I’m blessed. And now, stronger and still growing, my husband and I can explore together and navigate the unknowns with just a tiny bit more grace.

Blessings,

P.S. December is a hiatus month for me. A time for family and reflection. May you have a wonderful Holiday Season, and I’ll see you in 2026.

The post On the Doorstep of December 2025 appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.

Thanks for stopping by!

Gargoyles of Sergi (Originall Posted On 10/30/25)

Frost covers your horns where you sit in the spire work of the Sergi Cathedral. Another quiet night has passed as you guard your sacred home although you would never say that aloud. Speaking such things has power and inevitably brings chaos. 

But you can feel the peace in your bones, and you savor the sweet stillness. The organist is warming up inside, her music gently vibrating the stones. Her footprints in the frost on the flagstones below lead to the side door she entered by. Soon, those footprints and the frost on your horns will melt with the morning sun promised in the glow on the horizon. 

A contented hum comes from inside your stone chest. Its mirror sounds from the other corners of the cathedral where your siblings keep watch on their spires. 

“It’s been a quiet night, hasn’t it?” asks a bright, feminine voice at your elbow. 

You groan. “We don’t say such things aloud, Ana.”

“Ooops.” The tiny gargoyle ducks behind the spire to your right. Her club tail, however, still sticks out from its sandstone base like an added ornament. “I always forget that,” she whispers, peeking back out at you for forgiveness. 

You’re not even sure where she came from. Usually new gargoyles are commissioned by the priest and show up when the sculptor is ready to unveil him or her. Ana just appeared one morning about three weeks earlier. 

Refusing to let the comment ruin your peaceful morning, you close your eyes to enjoy the first rays of sunshine and smile. “All is—” 

The words die on your tongue as the sun disappears. Your eyes pop open to find the formerly clear horizon boiling with clouds. 

“Brace yourselves!” You shout and take your own advice by ducking behind the spire next to Ana. Unlike her, your larger body doesn’t fit and the roiling cloud bank hits your shoulders, wings, and sides. Your exposed tail curls down the side of the cathedral. Sharp ice chinks into the stone coils. 

You cringe but know it’s just the prelude. The ice giants will follow, bringing another heavy cloudbank with them. 

Inside the cathedral, the organist’s music stops.

Beside you, Ana shivers and actual tears flow down her stone face. “Not again. Not again,” she mutters. “I can’t do this again.” 

There’s no time to question what she’s talking about. “Go inside.” Ana’s face falls as you speak. “And protect the organist,” you finish. 

Instantly her face brightens like you handed her a flower and she zips off through the spires. 

That taken care of, you notice your siblings gathering to confront the oncoming cloudbank, their heavy wings creating their own wind down the face of the cathedral. You spread your wings to join them and then hesitate. 

The giants are often straightforward in their attacks, but not always. Sometimes that mass of clouds that precedes their advance hides different tactics. The last time that happened, they came up through the floor of the cathedral. 

One word from you and the force in the air will split in two to cover both areas, but if you’re wrong, that also weakens the defenders. 

Do you…

Join them in the air?

Or

Split the force?

Gargoyles of Sergi – Split the Force (Originally Posted 11/6/25)

“Half to me!” you holler at the airborne gargoyles. You don’t wait for them to respond before diving off the front of the cathedral. They’re a well-trained force and you know they’ll follow. 

Instead of using the updraft to carry you upward, you slant your wings to slice through the air. A moment before you hit the ground, you flare your wings and set your feet gently on the flagstones. A lot of the stones will probably be broken in the coming fight with the giants, but that doesn’t mean you want to add to the damage. 

Barely a second after you land, a dozen gargoyles do the same. No stones broken. 

“Spread out inside,” you order, and they scatter for the various cathedral doors. You and Lukus, a burly creature with tusks, go through the front. 

Stepping into the cathedral is always like stepping into sunshine after wandering the dark woods. There’s something warm and soul brightening about it. You wish you could pause to enjoy that sensation today, but there’s no time. 

You head straight down the center aisle. At the far end of the sanctuary steps lead up to the alter. Splitting those steps into three sections are more stairs that head downward to the ossuary below. If the giants plan to come through the floor, they’re likely to come up in the underground chamber and then up those steps. 

You’re only halfway there when something else boils up the stairs. 

Goblins. Dozens of green, ape like beasts with long pointed ears, multi-knuckled fingers, and a cackle to send shivers down your stone spine. They carry heavy clubs, axes, and flails. Weapons often used against gargoyles because of their breaking power on stone. Even still, one or two goblins aren’t a concern for a gargoyle, but dozens can do a lot of damage. 

Lukus gives a startled shout and rushes forward. You’re right behind him, already forming a plan on how to counter so many creatures. 

Fire’s one option, but that’s always a risk. Much of the cathedral’s ornamentation is wood, cloth, and other flammable materials. 

Speed and stealing a club might work better, but if you get too many creatures attacking at once, you might lose any advantage. 

Do you use…

Fire?

Or

Steal a Club?

Gargoyles of Sergi – Steal a Club (Originally Posted 11/13/25)

Although goblins fear fire, the chance of burning everything down isn’t one you want to take. There’s a thin goblin in the mob ahead who’s hauling a club twice her size. She must be new to this sort of thing because there’s no way she can swing the weapon. 

She must feel your gaze because she looks up and meets your eyes. You grin and roar. The sound shakes the cathedral’s solid pillars. 

Shrieking in terror, she drops the club and flees, climbing overtop her comrades to do so. That’s goblins for you. 

Retrieving the club, you wade into the mass of goblins alongside Lukus. The impact of your attack reverberates through the stone walls. Clubs and flails chip away at your shoulders and hips but you were made for this and you find yourself grinning as you send goblins flying with your stollen club and long sweeps of your tail. 

Then a shattering filled with delicate pieces and sharp edges washes over the sanctuary. You can barely force yourself to turn around to look. 

The gorgeous rose window that graced the front of the cathedral now opens into a jagged hole in the wall. Colorful pieces of glass dust the floor and rear seats like drops of sharp dew glittering in the torchlight. Through the hole above, a giant reaches his huge hand inside where a tiny goblin races to meet him, clutching something against his chest.

When he starts to climb the wall up toward the window, he drops a page and familiar flutters to the floor. It’s the scriptures. 

You roar. Those pages are painstakingly copied at the monastery on the mountain. It takes years to produce one copy and only a few cathedrals in the valley have them. You suspect you know where they’re taking the pages, but the storm alone might destroy them. 

You only get a step before other movement catches your attention. A group of six goblins are carrying a different trophy. Ana, hog tied and raised over their heads, is being carried out the side door. She’s a gargoyle. Made to withstand attacks and made to cause her own kind of destruction. But she’s also untried and you have no idea how capable she is. 

Do you go for…

The scriptures?

Or

Ana?

Gargoyle’s of Sergi – Save Ana (Originally Posted 11/20/25)

Ana twists and lurches, fighting the goblins carrying her. They stumble before regaining their feet and one of them thumps her with a club. A small chip of stone flies off her shoulder. 

You’re charged with protecting the cathedral and its people. You’re not sure if that includes the other gargoyles but as the goblin raises his club again, you decide to interpret the oath that way. You veer away from the broken rose window, vault off the marble baptismal, and land directly behind the goblins carrying Ana.

The last two spin around to confront you with high pitched screams. That leaves four carrying Ana and they wobble under her stone weight. She starts to twist even harder. 

You roar back at the two confronting you. With a swing of the club, you smack the feet from beneath one and then catch the other with your tail. That leaves the others exposed. Taking advantage of the opening, you take out the next two in another tail-club combo. 

Ana hits the floor, still hog tied, as the front goblins shriek and scramble for the door alone. You let them go, standing over Ana as their companions also flee. 

Ana smiles a tentative thanks and then looks at the rose window over your shoulder. It’s already too late to retrieve the scriptures as that goblin just disappeared riding on the palm of the giant outside. 

Lukus follows them out, his heavy wings creating a gust of wind in the sanctuary as he tries to gain speed, and then the ice storm you can see through the window catches him in a sudden side gust. You hear his heavy grunt as he’s shoved the wrong way. 

“We just lost the scriptures,” Ana says, shrinking in on herself once she’s free of her bounds. 

“We’ll retrieve them,” you assure her, keeping your misgivings to yourself. You’re just about to ask about the organist when the woman peeks her head from beneath the alter. “Well done,” you tell Ana, nodding toward the woman, and the small garogyle lights up.

***

The mountain peaks rise in jagged vertical walls around you. The valley you stand in is the fifth location you’ve looked for the giants. But just like the last four trails, this one disappears on the rocky ground. 

Somehow, the ice giants have vanished. Their city is empty. The goblins who helped them have gone back to their regular forest village life, no sign of the scriptures or their allies. The mountain trails that usually bare the giants’ huge footprints show only old tracks. 

You want to slump, let your wings hang in dejection, but there are five other gargoyles with you, including Ana, and you refuse to let them see you lose hope. It’ll be six years before your cathedral can get a new set of scriptures. 

Six long years. 

“This is all my fault,” Ana says. “We’ve lost the scriptures for good.” 

“This is the giants’ fault,” you say again, holding your wings and chin high. “And we haven’t lost them until we give up. Now, tell me the first psalm.”

Ana and the others respond, reciting the psalm together as you continue down the path. Although the texts are gone, the words aren’t. Until a new copy is received or the old copy retrieved, you determine to remember. And you determine to keep looking. As you’ve learned over the years, protecting the cathedral and its people comes in many forms. 

The End

Yay! Not a bad way to finish this adventure. Thank you for joinging in the fun this last month. I always love to hear readers’ thoughts as they cast their votes each week.

Until then, many blessings,

P.S. If you enjoy adventure stories like this one, you can be a dragon in Discarded Dragons and Zap Dragon.

The post Gargoyles of Sergi appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.

Say How?

“What’s your name?” the vet asks as I make an appointment over the phone.

“Jennifer Zeiger,” I answer. I’m beyond relieved that she speaks English. German’s hard enough when I can’t see the other person’s face.

“Jennifer siga?” she asks. 

I frown. “Z-e-i-g-e-r.” I spell it out. 

“S.”

“Z.”

“Sorry, what?”

I thought in moving to Germany that it’d be easier to say and use our name. It’s German, after all, meaning “pointer” or “sign maker.” In the U.S., we often get extra letters added—an extra L is particularly common—and get all sorts of pronunciations.  

In Germany, we have different problems all together and the above example has become a regular occurrence. 

What I didn’t realize is that the German pronunciation is very different from the English and the alphabet has different names for the letters. “Zee” isn’t a letter in their alphabet. They call that letter “set” and it sounds like a “ts” not a hard “zzz”. 

It’s like doing brain acrobatics just to give my name over the phone. Healthy brain acrobatics that are probably making my thinking muscle stronger, but OWWW!

“Set-a-ee-geh-a-er.” I spell it out. 

“Ahh, tsIgah!” she says.

I face palm my forehead but internally am proud that I got it right enough for her to understand. “Ya,” I answer. “That’s correct.”

Blessings,

The post Say How? appeared first on Jennifer M Zeiger.