Have you ever found an old treasure at an antique festival
or rummaged through a fancy purse at a consignment shop? Ever wondered where
those items came from or who had owned them? I’ve pondered such things and
thought it would be fun to throw Paige into the life of another person: the
person who used to own that special item. I wanted my character to experience
three different women’s lives, from different places and different time
periods. I needed to connect the stories to Paige’s life and give it a comic/cosmic
twist. 

When outlining ‘Glimmers’ the plot basically sprouted to
life. I allowed the characters to guide me and help form the story. So much so
that after completing Emma’s story, I continued to think about her and her trip
to America. I will reveal more of her life in the third book, Sister Glimmer, only this “glimmer” will
come from another perspective. Many readers have said they felt connected to
Emma most — which is remarkable, considering she lived in 1818. 

Here’s a brief
excerpt of Paige “glimmering” into Emma’s life:

Left to admire my new things, I slide the drawer back into
place. I don’t care how old-fashioned these earrings are, I’m wearing them. As
soon as one earring fastens onto my earlobe, the air shutters. From the shadows
of my room, a tremendous crackling sound hits me and reverberates throughout my
entire body. My head starts to swim as I try to focus on the mirror. The
reflection of my room stretches out and snaps back like a spring. Before my
eyes, wooden posts sprout from every corner of my bed, and turquoise fabric
drapes across the top and down the sides. A canopy? 

Am I being pulled into another memory?

Beneath my feet the carpet fades, and dark wooden planks
piece together. My hands reach for the dresser, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
It’s still there. The mirror hangs in the same position as well. One problem:
the person staring back looks somewhat like me, but she isn’t me. Emma? 

Without warning and all at once, I’m absorbed into her life.

Emma’s Story, June 1818

Heatherwood, England 

My comb runs through the tangled mess atop my head as I gaze
into the mirror. My cameo earrings are already in place, and I observe their
splendor. A light breeze ruffles the canopy atop my bed, and my thoughts drift
through the open window. The Gladston River rushes along the outskirts of town
before passing beneath an arched bridge. The Heatherwood church bell echoes
throughout the vale as the sun falls from the sky. Shopkeepers close their
storefronts before darkness shrouds our quaint village. The clomping sound of
horses’ hooves carries through my window, and I am well aware of the
cobblestone road upon which they travel, for it leads directly to my front
doorstep. 

My brick home serves our proud family well. It is neither
too large nor too small. It is, however, the perfect size for a proper party.
At this very moment, most of the household are diligently preparing for this
evening’s festivities. Doubtless, Papa is checking on this evening’s libations;
Mama will be supervising the kitchen staff to ensure every detail is perfect;
and my younger sister, Victoria, will no doubt busy herself with primping for
at least another hour. My older sister, Alice, and her husband live in London
and will not be in attendance. Sadly, my older brother, Edmund, is also in
London whilst managing business for my father.

It was of no surprise to me when Papa requested that my
fun-loving brother quit his playful behavior and join the family business.
Business has been steadily increasing and requires more than one man on board
to properly run. Papa’s pleasant disposition has helped win him a reputation of
the highest regard. His small fortune has been earned through clever and
insightful business dealings. He prefers to be in the middle of business
dealings rather than at either end. He is a factor — a matchmaker of sorts —
and the name Phillip Middleton is respected far beyond our town. 

Papa’s most recent business endeavor has helped him make the
acquaintance of England’s most prestigious fabric makers and has put me in a
state of elation. It is not unusual for him to bring home an abundance of
fabric. I delight upon receiving such lavish gifts, as I have become quite
accomplished in the art of designing and stitching together gowns. I put much
time and thought into my dress for this evening, and I shall be proud to wear a
garment sculpted from blue silk with sleeves that caress my shoulders. The
delicate beads along the trim took an abundance of love and patience … I do so
hope somebody notices my efforts. 

A tree branch scrapes against our roofline, and I abruptly
return to my task at hand. My daydreaming has the tendency to get the better of
me, and I suppose my thoughts had yet again drifted to someplace else. How long
have I been sitting here idly toying with my hair while not having made any
progress on my appearance? Perhaps I ought to solicit Victoria’s help, for I am
taking far too long in my dressing. 

My hair droops over my shoulders and will not cooperate in
the very least. I lift a few strands hanging above my right ear and stretch
them back. They are almost secured in place when the entire left side of my
head comes loose. Honestly, how women manage to pin up their hair with ease
every day is beyond me. With deep resignation, I attempt to fashion ringlets.
To my dismay, they wilt like withering flower petals. My fingers tighten around
the comb, but then I remember that it is entirely unladylike to feel the heated
desire to heave it across the room. With much control and precision, I set the
comb onto my dresser. A familiar sniggering sound travels through my room and
swirls about my head. My eyes shift away from the comb and focus on my mirror.
Through its reflection, I notice the smiling face of my younger sister,
Victoria.