At the time there were four teenagers in the house. It was much easier than having little tots who constantly needed her attention, and her four were old enough to think that it was “quite a kick” to see Mom doggedly writing a book at the humble kitchen table.
Then vacation days arrived. Though Janette felt it was the wrong time for her to go, she climbed in the car with the rest of the family and drove around Alberta, touring several places of interest. While they drove, she wrote with her pad on her knees. There in the front seat of the family car, with Edward at the wheel and sitting beside whoever was unfortunate enough to be stuck in the middle of the front seat for his turn, her book began to take shape.
Just short of three weeks later, Janette was amazed to find that she had finished her entire first draft in long hand. Even she was painfully aware, though, that it was far from ready for a publisher.
She went over it a few times, making no major changes but trying to polish it up a bit. She found that the most difficult part was keeping the unusual dialect of her characters consistent throughout the book.
The next step was to get the manuscript into typed form. Janette was a slow typist and it took her hours. On a few occasions one or another of the boys typed a few pages for her. Even Edward, an excellent typist, took a few turns.
At first she didn’t share her plan with many people. She had talked to her mother about it. Amy herself had always had an interest in writing and passed along the news of the project to one of Janette’s former teachers. Mrs. Lindberg kindly offered to go over the manuscript if Janette would send it to her. The offer was appreciated, and the seasoned teacher did catch some grammatical errors that Janette had missed.
Jean stopped in for a visit one day while Janette was working. She gave her sister the story to read and then sat across the dining room table, busy at the typewriter. Hoping she was being sly, Janette sneaked glances now and then, trying to catch Jean’s reaction. To her delight, she could see definite emotional responses as her sister went through the story. She was feeling something. A little spark of hope was kindled for Janette. The story was “speaking.”
When Jean finished, she stated simply, “That’s my kind of book,” but Janette was encouraged by her comment.
At last Janette had what she considered to be a manuscript. Now she had the awesome task of finding out what to do with it. The very first thing she did was a blunder. She bundled up the pages and sent them to Bantam Books, thinking it might be the type of story they would be interested in. She had read some of their published fictional works, and she did not see hers as being very different.
But the manuscript was returned quickly with a nice photocopied note: “We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.” She didn’t suppose they would be soliciting hers, so she tucked it aside.
The manuscript lay on the shelf for about six months, not because she was discouraged, but because she was busy and not sure of the next step. Looking back on that time years later, she was convinced that those six months were the best thing that could have happened. When she went back to the manuscript, it was as a reader—not the writer—and it gave her a totally fresh view of the story.
Although there was little she did in the way of further changes, she could see it much more clearly for what it was. Then she did what she now knew she should have done in the first place. Research.
Edward found a few books in the college library about how to get a work published and brought them home to her. She discovered some interesting facts about finding a publisher. First of all, one not only had to get his or her work to the right publisher, but it had to be there at the right time. Publishers work with schedules, and the number of books they can handle in a year depends on the size of the publishing house. New manuscripts are slotted according to wants and needs. And, of course, much also depended on the editor.
Editors, too, have likes and biases, preferences and prejudices. One book said that whether an author’s work was accepted or rejected could depend on what the editor had for lunch. After some years in the business, Janette has concluded that editors are far more professional than that. However, that comment did make a distinct impression on her.
Other books said that editors usually have two piles of manuscripts on their desks: one from known writers and the other from unknowns. Since the former stack was considered first, it would be lucky if they ever got to the second one.
Janette knew in which pile hers would be stacked. She was definitely an unknown. All she had ever written was the pile of little stories and verse still tucked in drawers and a few published pieces in the denominational publication.
The books did give her very good advice, though. “Never send out a cold manuscript; send a query letter.” The query is a little “sales job” telling the publisher what has been written, why, and who might be interested in reading it. It should also give an outline of the plot and approximate word count.
Janette sent off about half a dozen queries and then sat back to wait for the predicted six to eight weeks for an answer. It was much longer.
Finally a letter arrived from Zondervan. They said they would like to see sample chapters, so Janette picked out three and sent them off, carefully including a self-addressed, stamped envelope. She did not want to be branded as an amateur before the editor had read even the cover letter.
After another long wait, the chapters were returned. Along with them came a short letter stating that her work did not fit the “present publishing schedule.” She assumed this was a nice way of saying they were not interested.
The next reply came from Bethany Fellowship, Inc. Now, Janette had not previously heard of Bethany, but when she had been praying about what to do with the manuscript, she had drawn a verse from her promise box. The Scripture verse was familiar, and on the flip side was a four-line verse. In the middle of a line was the word “Fellowship.” That was not a particularly strange word for a religious poem, but though it was in the middle of a line, it had been capitalized, and that had drawn her attention.
Strange, she thought, and began perusing the library shelves to see if she could find any publishing house by the name of Fellowship Press or some such thing. Bethany Fellowship, Inc., was as close as she had come, so that was the rather unusual reason she had included them in her little list of publishers to query.
The reply postcard simply stated that they were interested in seeing the manuscript, and it was signed by Carol Johnson, Editor. This made Janette’s heart beat a little faster. She had written her story for girls and young women. So she felt that if there was anyone who would understand what she was trying to say, it would be another woman, and Mrs. Johnson had asked to see “the entire manuscript.” Quickly, Janette bundled it up and sent it off.
The weeks slipped by. Every day she visited the post office. She couldn’t keep herself from succumbing to that temptation! Day followed day—and no answer. Little did she know that Carol Johnson was fighting for her manuscript, urging other members of the editorial committee to “give it a chance.”
One day when Janette went for the mail, there was an envelope with an unfamiliar return address: Bethany Fellowship, Inc., 6820 Auto Club Road, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438. She turned it over, looked at it, pondered inwardly: “I wonder how they got my address,” and tucked it back in with the mail.
Later she couldn’t believe she had gone to the post office looking for that very letter for weeks on end and then not recognized it when it had finally arrived. It was not until she got home and looked through the mail again that she realized what she had in her hand. She tore the envelope open and read the short letter. It was to the point, declaring simply that they had decided to accept her book for publication.
Janette laid her head on her arm and cried. Up to that point, she had had no idea of the tension building within. She had written a book, had given it to the Lord, and had endeavored to follow His leading to find a publisher. Now He had honored her prayer. He was allowing her the opportunity
of sharing her faith through the medium of Christian fiction.
When word quietly leaked out that Janette’s manuscript had been accepted, the assistant pastor’s wife called up some of Janette’s closest friends and arranged a little luncheon at a local restaurant as a surprise celebration. What a wonderful encouragement it was to Janette to have those dear friends share her excitement.
Love Comes Softly came out in July of 1979. By December of the same year it appeared on Bethany’s bestsellers list. Family and friends were thrilled for her and proud to tell about her success to anyone who would listen. It was strange, though, to have people consider her “famous.” She was Janette, yet her new success as a novelist was exciting and just a little overwhelming for her family of growing teens.
She was already thinking of her next story. It was to be the tale of an orphan boy, Joshua Jones. But reader requests began to come in the form of letters, wanting to know “what happened next” to the Davis family. After talking with Bethany, it was decided that perhaps she should write a sequel to Love Comes Softly. Though she had not considered that when she wrote the first book, she began planning the sequel. The whole thing was most gratifying.
Then Janette realized that she was scared. She knew she had relied heavily on God’s help for the first book. What now? Did she think she was able to write one on her own? Instinctively, she knew that if she even dared to try, she would likely have the world’s worst flop on her hands. So Janette desperately went back to God. She was sure she needed Him even more for the second book than she had for the first.
There was also a time factor now. There was a publishing date looming on the horizon. She had not had that pressure before, and she was still a very busy wife and mother. This time it didn’t seem to work to use the dining room table. She would not have the luxury of months of thinking and plotting. This time she needed quiet. She needed to be able to concentrate totally on the task at hand.
Jean and Orville had a house with a small basement suite. They were not at home at the time and had told Janette that she was free to use the suite if she wished. The house would be totally quiet, and the offer sounded too good to be true.
She gathered her scribblers and pencils, packed a suitcase, and set off for some serious work. Again she wrote longhand, starting in the morning and writing all day with hardly a break for a snack. By the end of the day her arm would ache all the way to the shoulder. On one particular day, she wrote eighty pages, filled from top to bottom with her small script. That alone was about a third of the book.
Since she had not planned to write a sequel, she was uncertain how to go about it. She didn’t want a carbon copy of the book that had just been published, so she set about deliberately changing the tone. The chapters were shorter and the book covered a longer time period. She hoped her work wouldn’t be positioned in a confining way.
Edward called with news that Amy had been taken to the hospital. Janette forced herself to finish one more half-day of writing before packing up and going to her mother. The book had to be done, and she knew she would not get back to complete it once she left the small apartment. She had finished the first draft of the manuscript in four and a half days.
This incredible pace was a little miracle. She doubted she would ever be able to repeat the performance and could not believe she had managed to do it that once. Her only answer was that God must have steadied her hand, given clear thoughts, and “pushed the pencil.”
When she arrived in Rimbey, she was much relieved to find that Amy was improving. After a hospital stay she was able to return home.
Love’s Enduring Promise was published in September of 1980. Then Janette wrote the story of Joshua Jones, which she had planned, and it was titled Once Upon a Summer.
Janette’s original pace of one book per year soon doubled. Then she wrote a children’s story about a puppy, intending to submit it to a writing contest. She ended up sending the manuscript to Bethel Publishing in Indiana after clearing it with Bethany House, the new name of Bethany Fellowship’s publishing division. Bethel, the denominational publisher for the Missionary Church of which Janette was a member, was just venturing into publishing fiction. Previously they had been involved in preparing curriculum materials for the denomination’s use. They had asked Janette if she had something they could handle. So Spunky’s Diary, the first of her animal stories written for younger readers, was published by Bethel in 1982.
Now there was a second publisher who was interested in her writing books for them regularly. This meant three complete books each year, but it was enjoyable to change style and write the third manuscript from an animal’s point-of-view.
Soon after Janette began writing, she was surprised to learn that because one’s name appeared on the cover of a book, it was assumed that the author was also a speaker. But since speaking was another opportunity to share her faith, Janette felt she should take advantage of those invitations. Unfortunately, she soon discovered that she could not possibly say yes to all the offers. This would have required her to be on the road constantly, and didn’t fit with her responsibility to family nor leave her the required time needed for writing.
But it wasn’t easy to say no. Each request seemed to come with the subtle prompting, “Couldn’t you just take ours?” She wished she could, but it wasn’t possible.
One of the really gratifying results from her books was mail from readers. It was rewarding to hear how they had allowed God’s Spirit to speak to their hearts as they read the stories about her fictional characters. Janette laughed and cried as she read some of the accounts shared with her.
The letters that brought her heart the most joy told of individuals many miles away, people to whom she knew she would likely never speak in this world, but who had opened their hearts to the Lord Jesus and asked Him into their life. In some way the books were able to help them discover this truth. How wonderful to be able to share a very real God through the use of fiction! Janette enjoyed each of the letters, although it was with great difficulty that she found time to answer them.
As her writing career blossomed, she tried to picture each one of her books as a little “paper missionary.” It had the potential, through the Spirit’s working, to reach a heart crying out for truth and answers somewhere, and she prayed often as she wrote that this would be so. Then, she prayed again after the books were completed, and she knew that the people at Bethany prayed along with her.
The prayers were what made it all an exciting adventure. Writing was not just a dream, nor was it a marketable commodity of words—it was a ministry for a world hungry for the knowledge of the God who loves them. Janette thanked Him that He had allowed her the privilege of being involved in “one more way” to share the Gospel.
Proverbs 3, verses 5 and 6, became increasing meaningful to Janette. Though she had memorized them as a small child, she felt she was just beginning to understand their deepest message and the wonderful truth: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
Such a simple directive, she thought. Yet we so often try to work things out in our own wisdom or strength. But God can do little for us—or with us—as long as we insist on doing it our own way. When we truly trust and acknowledge Him for who He is, then we can have that wonderful “direction” for our path—our life—that He has promised.
Chapter Thirty-three
Moving Again
For a number of years, Edward had dreamed of completing work on his Ph.D. He had been putting it on hold because of the needs of the rest of the family, but as the twins neared high school graduation, it seemed a good time to pursue his degree.
Edward and Janette’s preparations included another dreaded trip to Immigration. At this time, border crossings were hard to come by as the economy in both the U.S. and Canada was suffering. Edward would need to work, and Uncle Sam did not want him to take a job from an American. When he made his initial trip
to the Office of Immigration it looked as if there would be no chance at all.
Edward had the promise of a job at Bethel College, the liberal arts school he had previously attended in Mishawaka, Indiana. This time he’d been invited on as a faculty member. But there was still the matter of getting across the line.
The lady at the Office of Immigration gave him a form to complete, and one of the questions asked if the applicant had a right, through parentage, to American citizenship. Edward brought the question home to Janette. “The clerk says that because your mother was an American, you might have right to citizenship,” he explained.
“That’s ridiculous! Mom has been a Canadian since long before I was born,” Janette answered.
“Well, this woman says we should look into it. It’s the only way we’ll ever be granted permission to enter.”
After much red tape, they were both surprised to discover that Janette was eligible for American citizenship. They were required to obtain three documents proving her mother had been born in the United States and was, therefore, an American. Because Amy had never actively relinquished that right, the U.S. still claimed her. Canada operated under British law that allowed a woman to automatically take the citizenship of the man she married. Thus, to them, Amy was a Canadian.
As they worked through the papers, they discovered that Janette was the only one of her family of eight who was eligible for American citizenship. Because of the changing laws over the years, she had managed to just fit the specifications.
A big factor was their former residence in the U.S. from 1957 to 1960, and even their tiny infant son entered in. Brian had been born to them while in the United States, and he had never left the country. In a bizarre case of “legal logic,” it had not seemed to matter that the infant had not even lived a full day. Who would have dreamed that little Brian would “open a door“?
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