Guest Blog--Janet Morris Grimes--Update: Winner--Natalya
Updated: 6 days ago
COMMENT BELOW for a chance at a free copy of the e-book. :) Really, I've been crazy busy!
Janet Morris Grimes - born in Mississippi, raised in Nashville and have lived just outside of Louisville, KY for the past five years.
I hope people notice my keen interest in hearing their story. People are fascinating, and we’ve all traveled intricate roads to get to a place where our paths happen to cross.
Solomon’s Porch is my first novel to be published, and my goal was simply to write an inspirational story that united people and could be shared freely among mothers, daughters, grandmothers. Even fathers. I think there’s a connection with these characters for everyone.
Tell us about your book—
Solomon’s Porch -
Solomon is running out of it.
A broken and forgotten man fighting the demons of dementia, he longs for the past when both he and his beloved military town of Ginger Ridge once thrived.
When his stooped body collides with the hardened realities of the present, Solomon lies in a coma as an unidentifiable victim of a hit-and-run accident in a faraway city.
With nothing to keep him going but flashbacks of relationships from his past, Solomon has no idea what a difference he will make on the future …
An Excerpt -
Cam entered the lobby and approached a petite blonde pacing in front of the vending machines. “You must be Harper Phillips,” he said. “Sorry I’m late. I blame Savannah. Tourists barge into the street with no warning around here.”
She reached to shake his hand with a firm grip.
This woman means business. Intense.
“Good morning, Detective. I appreciate you driving so far to get the word out.” She checked her watch. “We’ve got the media set up in a conference room. You can cover details of the accident, and I’ll touch on his condition.” She spoke at a rapid rate. Faster than his ears could listen, even in his overly caffeinated state. She launched down the hall and he scrambled to keep pace.
No sense looking for trouble with this one.
The press conference kicked into gear as soon as they entered the room. Cam read what details he could release. When Harper took over, he stepped back to observe and take notes.
“This gentleman, whom we’ve affectionately nicknamed Grandpa Doe, doesn’t have long to live. We need to determine who he is and where he came from. Our goal is to locate his family, so he’ll be surrounded with loved ones.” Tears filled Harper’s eyes and her voice quivered. She bit her lip but continued. “In the meantime, he’s made quite a few friends. We’ve loaded his wall with encouraging notes, so he’s not truly alone.”
She wiped at a tear and stepped away from the microphone, making a brisk exit, catching Cam off guard. He stepped to the podium to answer remaining questions off camera, repeating the phone numbers for the hospital and the Madison Police tip line. Soon, the reporters scattered, and Cam was left to gather his thoughts.
The whole thing had taken less than five minutes.
In his notebook, he’d written only one word. Compassion.
What Cam first interpreted as intensity proved to be sincere kind-heartedness. Harper Phillips genuinely cared for this patient, which made him wonder if that’s what he’d been missing in his life. He made a few notes and wandered around until he found a coffee machine—police officers had a sixth sense about such things.
After obtaining another cup of coffee, he strode to the information desk and waited for the middle-aged redhead to acknowledge him. “How may I help you?” she asked without looking directly at him.
He flashed his badge. “Do you know where I can find Harper Phillips? I’m working with her on a case.”
“She’ll be back after lunch.” The lady paused and motioned with her head toward a flat-panel screen on the wall. “But it looks like you can catch her on the midday news. Would you like to leave her a message?”
“No thanks.” Cam stepped aside and studied the film clip that rolled as a teaser. Even with the volume muted, Cam noticed the marked difference in their expressions. Misery vs. Passion. The difference rattled him. Cam rushed for the exit to make his escape, but something forced him to turn around.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Can you give me the room number for the John Doe case we’re working on? The elderly man?”
“Yes, sir. Grandpa Doe? He’s in room 815, in the ICU.”
Cam checked his watch and hurried to the elevator. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful,” he called out as an afterthought.
He had no time to visit a comatose patient with no information to offer. Still, it seemed the right thing to do. Seeing his victim in person might spark that passion that once drove him.
Baby steps. My therapist would be proud.
Question for your blog readers - I’m terrible at texting; so much that my phone now changes words just to make a fool out of me. What’s the most embarrassing text or autocorrect mistake you’ve made?
Social media and buy links!
Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/janetgrimed/
Pinterest - https://www.pinterest.com/janetmorrisgrimes
Thank you for joining us, Janet! Best wishes with your book!