This is where the magic begins, blends, comes together, and ends
I take no blame and express no shame
In the fact that Annie’s existence has inspired me with no resistance.
This is where the characters come alive and strive
To capture my attention and create an intervention
They cry, laugh, giggle and speak to compete
With all the books waiting to be complete
They seek meaning and life through my acting and reacting
The doll’s name is Annie and she is Blessed With a Gift
Due to be released this year
Annie will share her fears and tears
Her love, happiness, and sadness
But most of all, she wants to share her love
Blessed With A Gift of white light healing
She gives her life and her strife
As a child, mother and wife
It’s so sad she will never hold her daughter
But she will live on in verse and historical fiction
Annie is the character who caused the most friction
Her voice will be heard…
In my story and my words…
God Bless Annie from the mid-1600s
In a Colonial America
Continue to follow bowmanauthor.com
For excerpts, reviews, comments, and songs
About Annie’ s Story, Blessed With A Gift
And the upcoming release as my spirits lift
BowmanAuthor and Writer/Editor 
I await your next book- where did you get the Annie doll from- its so beautiful .
Susie
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A friend’s mother-in-law made these over 50 years ago. I was blessed to be able to purchase 3 of these antiques, but this particular doll was a gift from my friend because she reminded her of how I have described Annie.
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I love antiques. I can’t help but imagine the lives of all the people who’ve used the objects before or enjoyed their beauty.
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Sorry, Olga … a typo in my reply to you. How I hate that as an editor, but we are but beautifully flawed humans. “sits” should be “sister” . 😊
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Olga, I grew up going to antique stores, helping my mother search for antique picture frames. My mother is an artist, oil paintings. At 93, recovering well from a massive stroke in late 2016, she is painting beautifully again. I never forgot those trips to tiny, dusty antique shops. I started a little game with my baby sits to amuse her as my mother searched and pondered. I would touch an object and then just start telling stories about the owner, sometimes generations of them, or total strangers, who had left their imprint and life’s story on the item. Many years later, I would learn about psychometric energy and gradually I realised that, perhaps, the stories were true and I had been blessed with a gift, like my dear, precious Annie.
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