Author of The Christmas Village and Return to Canterbury

Sunday, December 4, 2016


Jamie suddenly wanted to be alone. He got up, grabbed his jacket from the coat rack by the front door and slipped outside. An almost-full moon lit up the snowy landscape. Wisps of wood smoke from chimneys throughout the village floated like gray ghosts across the clear night sky.
He sat down on the top step, closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He remembered what Rusty had said the other night about hard times showing what people are made of. He thought about the man who had asked them for a dime and about people standing in lines to get bread. He thought about Christopher’s generosity and about the kindness he’d been shown by the people of Canterbury.
Then his thoughts turned to his father. He had begun to understand how his dad might have felt when things went wrong – just like Jamie felt now, scared and not knowing what to do. Jamie thought about his mother, and for the first time, he realized how awful it must have been for her when his dad left, and how hard she had tried to protect him from what had happened. He longed for the sound of her voice and for the chance to rest his head in her lap again.
Jamie looked up at the moon. “I want to go home,” he whispered, “I want to go home so much.” His lower lip quivered. The muscles in his face began to twitch. His body trembled. The first sob was like a hiccup. The second one jerked his head and shoulders. The next one started as a wave in his belly that surged into his chest and flooded his heart with tears. Then wave after wave of sorrow pulsed through him, his whole body shuddering and tears gushing out like water from a geyser.
He wept for his father, who had lacked courage in a time of trouble, for his mother, who had tried to pick up the pieces, and for himself, for being caught in the middle of it all. He wept with frustration for the unfairness of being twelve years old and trying to solve a problem that seemed impossible. He wept with desperation for being far from home and with terror that he would never find his way back. He wept at the thought of never seeing his parents and grandparents again. He wept because he felt like time was running out.

After a long, long time, his sobs ebbed, until they were no longer waves but only ripples. Jamie wiped away his tears with a sleeve. Looking up, he saw a million stars twinkling in the clear night sky. He whispered, “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight ….” He stopped, feeling silly for reciting a little kid’s poem about wishing on a star. Well why not? I wished that I could come here and that happened, so why can’t I wish to go back home? He squeezed his eyelids shut and finished,I wish I may, I wish I might … be home for Christmas.”

Monday, November 14, 2016

Because We Need a Little Christmas

Here is a little excerpt from my book, The Christmas Village. Over the next few weeks, I'll post snippets of it, so come back and check. The book, and its sequel Return to Canterbury, are available from Amazon in paperback and Kindle.

And, just fyi, the book is not just for kids - it's for US too.


Excerpt from The Christmas Village by Melissa Ann Goodwin

Grandpa held a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a biscuit in the other. A plate of butter and an open jar of strawberry jam sat on the table in front of him. “C’mon over here and join me in one of Granny’s buttermilk biscuits,” he said, pulling a chair away from the table. “These things just melt in your mouth.”
“Wait, Bart,” said Grandma, “there’s something I want to show Jamie first.” She took Jamie’s hand and led him down the hall. “I finished that secret project I was working on this morning.” They stopped in front of the living room doors. “Now close your eyes,” Grandma ordered.
Jamie obeyed. He heard the doors creak open.
“Okay, now you can look.”
The sweet scent of pine floated on the air. A fire roared in the magnificent stone hearth and threw its heat across the room. The mantel was decorated with evergreens and holly. A ten-foot-tall Christmas tree shimmered with tinsel, sparkling glass ornaments and twinkling white lights.
 “It’s beautiful, Grandma.”
 “Now over here is the piece de resistance,” said Grandma, leading him across the room.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a French expression that means, the Star of the Show, the Belle of the Ball, the . . . the . . . the Main Attraction!”
Grandma’s Main Attraction was a village of miniature porcelain cottages nestled in a blanket of cotton-batting snow on top of a long table. Perched on a knoll overlooking the village was a white church. Below the church stood a regal pine tree. A group of carolers gathered in a half-circle beneath the tree, their heads thrown back and their mouths open in O’s of song.
A sign on a brick building read Canterbury Town Hall and another read Canterbury Post Office. Aunt Polly’s Kitchen and The Canterbury Savings Bank rounded out Main Street, which was lined with streetlamps decorated with red bows. A statue of a soldier stood in the town square. Scattered about the village were other buildings:  Miss Ida’s Boarding House, Vanderzee’s Welding & Ironworks and the Canterbury General Store.
On a hill at the outskirts of the village, a blue Victorian mansion with gables and two chimneys overlooked a cluster of cozy cottages. At the very center of the village was a glass pond on which two figures, a boy and girl, skated. Though they were tiny – less than two inches tall – Jamie could make out every detail of their clothing. The girl wore a red coat with matching hat, a white scarf and gloves, red and white striped stockings and white skates. The boy wore a blue jacket with gold buttons, gray pants and hat, and a blue striped scarf and mittens. In a clearing near the pond, a black Scottish terrier with a red plaid bow around its neck sniffed at a snowman that sported a black top hat and a bright orange scarf with a large black “P” on one end. 
Jamie put his arm around Grandma's ample hips. "You're right, Grandma. This is definitely a Piece of Resistance."
They admired the village in silence, the snapping of the wood fire and the ticking of the grandfather clock the only sounds in the room. Then Grandma squeezed Jamie’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go have our dinner, shall we?”
Later that evening, Jamie wandered into the living room for a last look before bed. Crimson embers glowed in the hearth. Grandpa snored loudly but peacefully in his chair. Jamie tiptoed past him to peer at the Christmas Village. He imagined the skaters trudging home, their skates thrown over their shoulders and their cheeks rosy from wind and cold. He pictured the banker closing up for the night and the welders returning to their cozy cottages after a long day at work. He imagined a choir practicing in the church and happy families eating pot roast and biscuits smothered with honey in front of warm fireplaces.
Jamie imagined how perfect life would be in a perfect little village like Canterbury. His heart ached to live in such a place, where nothing ever changed. “I wish I could live in Canterbury,” he whispered. Then he tiptoed past his snoring grandpa and quietly closed the doors behind him.