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Hannah Gaudette - JoyfulWriter

United States

I am an aspiring writer who happens to live on a farm and love cats! So as it is said on my blog, I'm an author, farmer, and daughter of the King of Kings. I hope my writing leaves you with some kind of blessing today, big or little.

God bless!

Message from Writer

A message from me is not important. I wish only to be a mirror through which the light of Christ is reflected. Listen to His message, not mine:

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power . . ." 1 Peter 1:3-5

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Hannah Gaudette - JoyfulWriter (United States) published:

One Light Shining - Chapter One

PROMPT: Novel Writing Competition

CADE WAS TRESPASSING. In his own home. Or, more correctly, the home he had been banished from.
He knew these halls and stairs, so the lack of candles did not hinder him. Some small, traitorous part of him wished it did. He tried hard to seal it off, but his conscience persisted until sweat tingled on his neck and his hands turned cold. His father would disapprove of such weakness, but could Cade actually help it? His intentions within this...

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Hannah Gaudette - JoyfulWriter (United States) published:

One Light Shining - Chapter One

PROMPT: Novel Writing Competition


I am paralyzed by the eyes. His gaze is like steel cutting into my soul. I can't escape it. I can't escape him, not even when my body jolts into consciousness, leaving sweat soaking into my pillow and ragged gasps entering my lungs. Darkness peers down on me. I miss the lights of the city. They always made me feel safer at night. Here there is no light to combat the dark of my mind.
If there's any God...
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Published Work

Novel Writing Competition

One Light Shining - Chapter One

CADE WAS TRESPASSING. In his own home. Or, more correctly, the home he had been banished from.
He knew these halls and stairs, so the lack of candles did not hinder him. Some small, traitorous part of him wished it did. He tried hard to seal it off, but his conscience persisted until sweat tingled on his neck and his hands turned cold. His father would disapprove of such weakness, but could Cade actually help it? His intentions within this home tonight were so nefarious he could not allow the words to form in his mind. He prayed to the Ancient Ones for strength and withdrew his knife from its sheath.
The upstairs halls found him too quickly. He raised defenses against the barrage of memories, but the attack was one of vengeance and his walls were made of hurts and betrayals. The stairways up which he had run with the boy he had called his friend, the closets they...

Novel Writing Competition

One Light Shining - Chapter One


I am paralyzed by the eyes. His gaze is like steel cutting into my soul. I can't escape it. I can't escape him, not even when my body jolts into consciousness, leaving sweat soaking into my pillow and ragged gasps entering my lungs. Darkness peers down on me. I miss the lights of the city. They always made me feel safer at night. Here there is no light to combat the dark of my mind.
If there's any God out there, save me.
After several minutes more, I can breathe again. I won't close my eyes – every time I do, I see his. They're after me. They want me. I'm scared.
The bedside clock bleeds red for four am, and I resist the urge to smash it clean off the lampstand. It's bold, it's loud. I've been on edge like this a great deal lately. I can't let anyone see what's happening, especially Logan, though I know he...

Why I Write

With Pen in Hand

Fellow writer and wielder of the pen,

I write so as to journey to other worlds . . .

to tame dragons . . .

to fashion universes that never existed . . .

to save the world . . .

to praise God . . .

. . . with pen in hand . . .

. . . I write. Do you?

Flash Autobiography

This is the Miracle

I hold my breath, my heart rate quickening in anticipation. This is it.

The goat lying on the hay is wide-eyed, is breathing rapidly, and is only moments away from a new life entering the world on our farm. I silently urge her on as I pray for her and the baby, of whom I can see only the nose and two tiny hooves. The little one is in the right position. We have only to wait.

The goat gives it all she has once more and her infant is free. I stoop down beside them, hastily rubbing down the new kid with a towel. It's crucial to do this as quickly as possible, but so many goat kids have been born on our farm, it's second nature. This one is a little doeling, and she is beautiful. Magically colored, she sports strawberry roan, creamy white, and speckles of gray. I back away as her mother pushes in to lick clean...

The Nightwalker


He walks the streets like a ghost, but chuckles to himself at the irony. He is a ghost. He does not exist. He has no name.

Except to these, the flock, the redeemed, those to whom he comes tonight with a heavy, troubled heart.

He watches the streets, cautious and careful in his approach. Surveillance is quiet tonight. He makes his way first to the prisons. Crude, gunmetal shelters built near the edge of the city. The people here know what to do when he comes – take the food wrapped in cloth as he holds it through the bars, say nothing. He whispers a prayer at each window, surrendering piece by piece his broken heart. Father, save these people.

Nothing was the same after the bombings and the radiation that poisoned the country. Law meant nothing when the military took rogue control. The people suffer now, more, he believes, from the oppression of occupation and persecution than from nuclear...

Flash Fiction Competition

Mercy

"Mercy," he cries in terror cold. "Have mercy!"

My sword jabs at his chest. My body sheds sweat as rain from these angry clouds. He dares ask for mercy? On his hands is my father's blood. My beloved's. Mercy. I was taught to not hate, but this? He is not man. He is beast.

With trembling, he pleads. Blood gathers on the stone beneath his knees. I can end this, but I hear my father's voice. My beloved's. They call for ceasefire. But how can I forgive?

I look into his eyes.

I tremble.

I drop my sword.

Flash Fiction Competition

Mercy

"Mercy," he cries in terror cold. "Have mercy!"

My sword is at his chest. My body sheds sweat as rain from these angry clouds. He dares ask for mercy? On his head is my father's blood. My beloved's. Mercy. I was taught to not hate, but this? He is not man. He is beast.

In terror cold, he pleads. Blood gathers on the stone beneath his knees. I can end this, but I hear my father's voice. My beloved's. They call for ceasefire. But how can I forgive?

I look into his eyes.

I tremble.

I drop my sword.

Flash Fiction Competition

Mercy

"Mercy," he cries in terror cold. "Have mercy!"

My sword is at his chest. Sweat rains from my body as from these angry clouds. He dares ask for mercy? On his head is my father's blood. My beloved's. Mercy. I was taught to not hate, but this? He is not man. He is beast.

In terror cold, he pleads. Blood gathers on the stone beneath his knees. I can end this, but I hear my father's voice. My beloved's. They call for ceasefire. But how can I forgive?

I look into his eyes.

I tremble.

I drop my sword.

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7 Likes from Others

Mercy

Liked by 6 people

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Liked by 3 people

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Liked by 3 people

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Liked by 6 people

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Mercy

Liked by 5 people

Good neighbor

We like your photo and your biography.

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