Showing posts with label Nancy M Bell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nancy M Bell. Show all posts

Thursday, January 18, 2024

January ~ The Month with Two Faces

 


To see more of Nancy's work please click the cover. 


January, named for the Roman god Janus, he of two faces. One looking forward and one looking backward. January is the start of a new calendar year and we look forward to the coming year with expectation. As I grow older it, January is also a time for introspection and looking backward at the year that just passed and indeed, even further back at the long line of years stretching behind me. A time to remember those who have made the crossing into the Shining Realms. A time to give thanks for the joy and successes and a time to appreciate the trials and tribulations that have helped mold me into the person I am today. 

January is a time for planning and shedding thoughts and patterns that no longer serve us. And also, a time of welcoming back the strengthening sun. Each sunrise comes a little earlier, each sunset a little later. I watch the sun's journey as it slips ever so slightly toward the north, gaining a tiny bit each day. The sun, the moon, are constants. They make their seasonal journey through the heavens shepherded by the constellations. The Big Bear in her various identities - the Big Bear, the Big Dipper, the Ploughshare and a dozen other names, Orion with his hounds at his heels and his belt shining even in the deep dark nights of November and December. Constants that remind us we are part of the great All That Is, while also reminding us that humankind is a very small insignificant entity in the majesty that is the all encompassing space that surrounds our small galaxy.

On another note, looking forward now. Airdrie Public Library is hosting my book launch for Laurel's Choice on January 24th, 2024 from 6:30 to 7:30 MST. I hope anyone who is close enough can come out and say hi. It should be fun and there might be a surprise or two. 

Until next month. Stay well, stay happy

Saturday, November 18, 2023

The Place that Held You by Nancy M Bell

 


Laurel's Choice releases December 1, 2023
For this and the other books in the series please click the cover. 

It hasn't been that long since Remembrance Day and my thoughts turn to those who went bravely into the unknown and never returned home. Some who came home did so injured both in body and spirit. When I was a child we lived with my grandparents. My grandfather served in WW1 with the engineering corps and his brother, my great uncle lost his life on August 8, 1918 at the Somme. Uncle Joe is buried in France near a small town called Marcelcave. My Uncle Jim, my mother's brother served in WW2 and spent time in a German POW camp before coming home.

There are so many stories that have never been told, and so many we are losing as these brave souls pass on. It is important that we and the younger generations remember those who gave their lives in all the past wars and those who are currently putting their lives in danger to protect us on home soil.

I love the initiative No Stone Left Alone where the graves of soldiers are visited by school children and others. I wish I could visit Uncle Joe way over there in France. But I hold him in my thoughts and I tell them all in my prayers "The Place that Held You is Still There and I remember you.
We will remember you, all of you.

This is poem I wrote for Uncle Joe.

Somme

Sleep

Nancy M Bell 

Crouched and ready we wait,

Dawn is late in coming

And when it does it is shrouded

In mist and fog

It is more than the damp and wet

That sends the shivers over our skin

Anticipation and fear war with each other

Where are the tanks that are supposed to support us?

 Sky and earth merge when we peek over the top

Stitched together by mizzle and mist

Yards away, across the trampled earth

The enemy crouch and wait as we do

Where are the tanks? The support?

Whispers and rumours run up and down the line

Then—suddenly the wait is over

“Over the top, boys,” the sergeant yells

 And we go

Surging out of our earthen burrows

Running, firing blind, blinking in the fog

No time to think, only to run and fire

Ducking bullets whining by our ears

Then—it stops

I open my mouth and spit mud

Blood, hot and cold runs through my fingers

The old guys were right

There is no pain when it happens

Just a mixed sensation of disbelief

And relief…

Even if I die right here in the mud

It’s over:

The fear;

the wet;

the lice;

the killing.

Somewhere my mates are yelling and shots echo

But around me there is an odd silence

A separation from the man-made hell

One hand clutching my gut,

the other somehow still wrapped around my rifle

I let the lark song sing me to sleep.

  

Monday, September 18, 2023

New News and All by Nancy M Bell

 


To find out more about Nancy click on the cover.

News, news, news. My latest novel Discarded released on September 1, 2023. It is part of BWL's Canadian Historical Mysteries Collection. I'm on a blog tour with Goddess Fish Promotions from September 11 to 22nd, you can find the links on my Facebook page each day for that day's post.

Come September 27 I'm off to London England to catch a cruise ship at Southampton on September 29. It's one we've been wanting to do for a long time, England, Scotland and Ireland. I'll be sure to take lots of pictures. While in Belfast we're going to connect with my husband's cousins on his mom's side. We haven't seen them since the 1990s, so very much looking forward to it.

I'm still working on Laurel's Choice. I put it aside to meet the deadline for Discarded but I'm working on it now and having lots of fun with it. Horses and three-day eventing in England. Right now Laurel, as part of her working student gig, is grooming for her boss at Badminton. What a crazy and amazing cross country course! I can't wait to share a few bits of it with my readers. Then Laurel herself will compete at a local event and well...you never know what might happen. And then, readers of the Cornwall Adventures will be familiar with Gort and Aisling, Laurel is the maid of honour at their wedding which also takes place in Laurel's Choice not too long after she gets back from Badminton. And I have to say I really love the cover of Laurel's Choice. In case you've missed it...here it is! The horse Laurel is grooming for and who she gets to ride sometimes is a grey horse call Blue, so the cover is perfect. Til next month, stay well, stay happy and get ready for Hallowe'en or Samhain whichever you celebrate.




Friday, August 18, 2023

Two Bits of Exciting News to Share with You by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about Nancy's books click on the cover above.

First, my contribution to BWL Publishing Inc. Canadian Historical Mystery Collection releases September 1, 2023. It is set in Winnipeg Manitoba in the late fall and early winter of the year 1869. The murder mystery is set against the backdrop of the Riel Rebellion which came to a head during this time period and into early 1870. It was a custom of the immigrating European men to take native wives. While they didn't marry them in a church, they were considered married by a la facon du pays, or according to the custom of the country. These country wives ensured the survival of the immigrants who were in no way equipped to survive the harsh Rupert's Land winters. However, once the settlement became more developed and expanded, the English imported women from the home country who were considered more acceptable in the increasingly European society. The new brides, dainty and refined, were married by clergy and usurped the country wives positions. These native women, both indigenous and Metis, were cast aside along with their children. Most of the women and children were absorbed back into their communities, some just disappeared. 

My second bit of good news. On the August long weekend, I had the pleasure of attending When Words Collide in Calgary. It was a wonderful time as always. I sat on three poetry panels with some amazing poets, and was on the panel for two slush pile readings, YA and Romance. We were treated to some amazing works in progress and invited to give our advice and feedback. 

It was great fun to touch base with old friends and make new ones. 

The poetry panels were Epic Poetry Readings and the audience was encouraged to share their poems as well, Cast A Spell with Poetry and Birth of a Poet. On the poetry panels with me were Jennifer Slebioda, Tammy Rebere, Josephine LoRe, Richard Graeme Cameron and Sandra Fitzpatrick. It was a lovely time and hopefully When Words Collide will continue to thrive under the new management. Registration for 2024 is open now online. 

Stay well, stay happy, stay safe.

 



Tuesday, July 18, 2023

Where it all Began by Nancy M Bell

 

To find out more about Nancy's books please click on the cover above.


Laurel's Quest was originally published by a now defunct Canadian publishing house in  2010. It was re-published in 2014 by BWL Publishing Inc. updated as Laurel's Quest with a new cover and some new text. It is my first published novel and is very dear to my heart. Laurel's Quest is currently being offered for free (as an ebook) at Amazon.com and .ca. I am thrilled to offer readers the chance to step into the magical world that exists just a step sideways from the World as We Know It. A world filled with magic and wonder and a few scary moments as well. Cornish Piskies, selkies, Morgrawr the sea monster along with a cast of intrepid friends who follow the clues to solve a riddle that may save a life. The story starts in southern Alberta but soon moves to Cornwall UK. Set against the beautiful and rugged country of the southwest Laurel's search takes her along the Michael and Mary earth energy lines that cross the country from Carn les Boels, an old hill fort in Cornwall, to East Anglia. Laurel's journey takes her Glastonbury Tor not once but twice before she comes face to face with Gwyn ap Nudd beneath the Tor in the crystal caves where Arthur is rumoured to be sleeping. Laurel's Quest is the first book in the Cornwall Adventures, A Step Beyond is the second and here we pick up one of the secondary character's story. Gort is one of Laurel's gang of seekers and in the second books follows his own journey of coming of age. The third book is Go Gently where we finally meet Laurel's Gramma Bella whose letters figure in Laurel's Quest. We get to know Laurel's father Colt better in Go Gently and understand better why his estranged from his mother, Laurel's beloved Gramma Bella. 

I am currently working on Laurel's Choice which is a stand alone book, but you can be sure the usual suspects will show up. Gramma Bella, Vear Du the selkie, her group of friends from her quest and there might even be a wedding in the future...you just never know. Below is an excerpt from Laurel's Quest.


This is where Laurel's get the first clue from the 'Obby 'Orse in Padstow on May Day. If you want to learn more about this age old tradition just google it. It's fascinating stuff. 


From Chapter Six  The 'Obby 'Orse Clue  Laurel's Quest Copyright 2015

 

“How am I going to know where to look for the clue once we get to Padstow?” Laurel frowned.

“Did the Lady give any indication where you would find the clue?” Aisling asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Think harder,” Coll growled.

“I am.”

“What did she say again? I don’t remember exactly,” Gort broke in quietly.

“She just said I would get the first clue on May Day in Padstow. She talked about the filly that wasn’t born yet and holding death in my hand.”

“So do we have to find a pregnant mare somewhere in Padstow? That’ll be easy,” Coll snorted.

“Quit being so negative,” Aisling admonished Coll. “I don’t think we’ll have to look too far. I think the clue will find us.”

“So we just go to Padstow, join in the festival, and wait and see what happens?” Gort asked.

“I think that’s best.” Aisling nodded.

“What about what I think?” Laurel broke in.

Coll sighed. “What do you think we should do, then?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like I should have a plan of some kind.” Her frustration was plain in her tone.

“Let’s just wait and see. Maybe we’ll come up with something before we get there,” Aisling said.

The bright, clear May Day morning found their small group looking for a parking spot in Padstow. The town was crowded with tourists and locals, all vying for the best place to see the festivities. Those who weren’t actively involved in the festivities jostled for space on the edges of the narrow streets. Soon the ‘Oss would start his journey. Laurel was no closer to figuring out how to find the clue than she had been the night they talked about it in Emily’s parlor. She just hoped with all her heart she would recognize the clue when it was in front of her.

Sarie’s friend emerged through her back gate just as they parked in the tiny spot behind her cottage. Aisling greeted her Aunt Jane and introduced Laurel. The woman led them down a narrow back alley to emerge onto the main thoroughfare. The voice of the crowd swelled to a new level as the ‘Obby ‘Oss began to make his way through the narrow street. The girls craned their necks trying to catch their first glimpse of the ‘Obby ‘Oss in his bizarre costume.

The crowd hemmed them in. Sarie held tight to Laurel’s hand as the crowd vibrated with excitement as the ‘Obby ‘Oss drew near. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes as high as she could in order to catch a glimpse of the alien-looking creature with its large hoop depicting the head of a horse, and a scraggy tail hanging from the rear of it.

The traditional song rang high and loud as thousands of voices joined in celebration:

“Unite and Unite. Let us all unite. For summer is a cummin today, and wither we are going, we will all unite, in the merry morning of May.”

Periodically the ‘Obby ‘Oss lunged into the crowd and captured a young woman, prompting good-natured jesting and howls of laughter. At intervals the ‘Obby ‘Oss would falter, stagger and fall to the street where he lay motionless for a moment, when this happened the joyous song changed to a sad dirge. As soon as the ‘Obby ‘Oss rose and danced again, the song spun back to its joyous celebration. Laurel didn’t know where to look first; this was all so different than anything she ever experienced. Even Stampede in Calgary wasn’t this crazy. The song filled the air and rose from the stones of the street under her feet. It vibrated in her bones and eardrums.

There was a sudden break in the crowd; the ‘Obby ‘Oss was right in front of them. She watched entranced, as the ‘Oss made an exaggerated grab for Sarie, who waved him off, laughing. The strange hooped face of the creature paused, his painted eyes looked straight at her and the sound of the celebrations faded. It seemed only Laurel and the strange beast existed in a world somehow one step sideways from the world she knew. She couldn’t even feel Sarie’s hand on hers, and the words of the song, though faint still echoed in her ears.

The ‘Obby ‘Oss regarded her for a long minute before a voice echoed in her head. It was both soft and deep, young and old, gentle and intimidating, all at once and yet none of them at all. A part of her was afraid, but another part was braver than she would ever have imagined and allowed her to listen to the message.

 “Greetings, child who searches for answers. On this May Day, the ‘Obby ‘Oss grants you a boon. Neither husband nor child will I give you, but the answer to part of the mystery you seek to achieve your heart’s desire.”

Laurel started as the voice took on a deeper tone; she could hear the ringing of great brass bells underlying it as if they rung from the depths of the ocean.

“Find the great lizard as it emerges from the foam and follow its path to the secret caverns of the crystal guardians. You must remember…to gain entrance, you and your companions must be found worthy, and so I tell you that it takes not the courage of a man, but the selfless sorrow of a woman for the Selkie guardian to admit you.”

“Thank you,” Laurel whispered.

Suddenly, the world came back into focus. Although Laurel felt like a lot of time had passed, it seemed only a tiny second elapsed to all those around her. Sarie was still waving the ‘Obby ‘Oss away and giggling like a girl.

“Go on with you, I’m too old, and she’s too young.”

The ‘Obby ‘Oss shook his hooped head at Sarie and bowed before he continued on his way. The May Song rose high and strong over the throng and slowed to the awful dirge as the ‘Oss stumbled and fell once more.

“Why does he do that?”

Sarie smiled. “Don’t let it bother you, girl. It symbolizes the death of winter and the birth of the spring. If winter doesn’t come, the summer never ends, and there can be no spring. It also mirrors mankind’s cycle of life: we are born, we die, but we live on in our children and our children’s children.”

 Laurel doubted if her mom was comforted by the thought of her daughter going on without her.

“Come on you lot, let’s go find some market stalls and some goodies to stuff your gobs with,” Sarie invited.

They shouted their agreement. The ‘Obby ‘Oss leaped to his feet again and cavorted down the street out of sight, though his song continued to echo in the air.

As the group made their way to the market stalls, Coll dropped back. “What happened back there? You looked all mazed for a minute, like you could see something the rest of us couldn’t.”

“The ‘Obby ‘Oss spoke to me,” she said.

“It never,” Coll exclaimed. “It’s not supposed to speak to anyone.”

“I don’t think it was the man inside the costume who talked to me. It sounded deep, like it was inside my head, but faraway at the same time. It was spooky.”

“Bloody Hell,” Coll exclaimed loudly.

“You mind your tongue, young man!” Sarie said over her shoulder. “You’ll have your Gramma down my throat for allowing you to behave like a ruffian.”  Jane and Emily laughed at her words.

“Sorry, Sarie,” Coll said, and then spoke in a quieter voice. “What did it say? Why couldn’t the rest of us hear it?”

“I don’t know why you couldn’t. I wish you were all there with me. It was creepy,”

“What do you mean there with you; you didn’t go anywhere. I was still hanging on to you and so was Sarie.” Coll looked confused.

“It was weird,” she paused, trying to find a way to describe it, “as if I took a step sideways or something. Like I was apart from everything somehow. All the noise faded, I couldn’t feel you or Sarie. All I could see was the painted face of the ‘Obby ‘Oss and hear that voice. But I could still hear the May Song faintly, all I could make out was unite, unite. It was freaking weird.”

“What did it say?” Coll asked impatiently. “Who would have guessed the ’Obby ‘Oss would talk to you!”

“Weird stuff, all in riddles. You know those stories your Gramma and Sarie tell at night in front of the fire where the faeries or piskies or whatever give the person the information they need, but they never tell it right out. The people in the story have to figure it out for themselves if they want to finish their quest or get out of the faery hill, or whatever.”

Coll danced a jig of delight on the cobbled street. “This is great, isn’t it just? We get to go questing like King Arthur’s knights. Gort’s going to be beside himself.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy, or making it up?”

“Naw, I believe you. We knew you were going to get a message here. You even had that faery struck look on your face for a moment when the ‘Oss stopped in front of you. You know, the one Sarie always makes as she describes how the person in the story would look.” Coll stopped talking long enough to make sure Sarie and the others weren’t too far ahead. “What did the bloody thing say,” he asked plaintively.

Laurel giggled at his tone. “Something about lizard tails and paths.” She trailed off and her eyes unfocused for a second. “In order to find the answer to my heart’s desire, I have to find the great lizard as it emerges from the foam and follow its path to the secret caverns of the crystal guardians.” She shook her head. “I don’t have any idea what it means.”

“Anything else?” Coll vibrated with excitement.

“There was something about gaining entrance to the secret caverns. Me and my companions have to be acceptable, I think he said ‘worthy,’ so the Selkie guardian will admit us. What the heck is a Selkie?” she asked crossly. “How am I supposed to figure this out when I don’t even know what the stupid things are?”

“That’s why you have companions. A Selkie is some magic kind of seal man.” Coll grinned. “Do you remember anything else?”

Laurel pushed aside her resentment and frustration at the riddles to try to remember the last piece of the riddle.

“He said it takes not the courage of a man, but the selfless sorrow of a woman to gain entrance.” She kicked at piece of litter. “I haven’t the slightest idea what that means either.”

Coll grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd. They could just see the top of Sarie’s head in front of them.

“Hurry up, we don’t want to get lost,” Coll said over his shoulder and then in a louder voice, “Sarie, Gramma, wait for us!”

Panting slightly, they caught up with their group just at the edge of the market stalls. Aisling and Gort looked at them questioningly; Coll winked at them.

“Just wait ‘til you hear the story we have to tell you later when we’re by ownselves.” Coll grinned at Gort. “You’re going to either love this, or think we’re bleedin’ kitey.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve anything illegal.” Gort muttered. 

Sunday, June 18, 2023

Sneak Peek! Manitoba Canadian Historical Mystery ~ Discarded by Nancy M Bell

 


To find out more about Nancy's books please click on the cover above. Discarded is scheduled for release in September of 2023.


Happy to report Discarded is almost ready. It's been an interesting journey and the more I read and researched the more I realized how much the British have to apologize for with regards to the high handed arrogant way they ran roughshod over the peoples already living in the areas the British colonized. However, this is not the place for political discussions. Just let's leave it at this: Louis Riel was a good man who stood up for his people. We should celebrate him, not villainize him as they did in my elementary school History class.

Discarded, the title, refers to the women who were married to the men who came to settle in Rupert's Land in an arrangment called 'la facon du pays' (according to the custom of the country). Without the help of these First Nations and Metis women many of these men would not have survived the harsh conditions. However, when the settlement grew larger the English and Scots brought women from Britain to Rupert's Land who they married in churches as the Catholic and Presbyterian clergy did not recognize the arrangements of la facon du pays. The women who had sustained the first arrivals were cast out and left to fend for themselves and their children by the men now married to 'more suitable wives'. 

Here is a snippet of the first chapter.

Chapter One

“Marguerite, you must go to him. Etienne needs medicine, the fever is eating him up,” Marie Anne urged her sister.

The younger woman shook her head, wringing out a cloth in cold water to soothe her child. “How can I? The English woman, she is there now, I doubt Miles will even speak to me.”

“He must, Etienne is his son!” Marie-Anne insisted.

“No longer.” The words were bitter. “He has disowned the bebe and me, discarded us like so much offal. Now that his fancy English lady has arrived.”

“Still, Marguerite, you must go and ask. I will come with you. Together we will convince your Miles to either send the British doctor or give us money for the medicine.” Anne Marie pulled the dripping cloth from Marguerite’s hand and threw it on the pounded earth floor. “Look at him! You cannot just let him die. If you won’t go yourself, I will go in your stead.”

Marie-Anne whirled around, grabbing two thin shawls from the back of a chair, and wrapping them around her shoulders. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at her sister. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, oui, of course. I know you are right. It is just my pride that stops me. For how long was I his wife in every sense of the word? If not for me, and you, and others like us, those soft Englishmen would never have survived their first winter. It was our relatives who brought them buffalo and other provisions to see them through, and us who cared for them, chopped wood, carried the water, bore their children…” Marguerite broke off, her throat closing in frustration and sorrow for all that they’d lost. Angrily, she swiped the moisture from her cheeks and straightened her back. “Come, we go. Alexandre! Come watch your brother while I go to your father to ask for help.”

The older boy poked the dying fire one more time before crossing the small room. He picked the sodden cloth up from the floor and wrung it out. After rinsing it with some water from the bucket by the bed, he wiped his little brother’s face.

Maman, he’s burning up.” Alex looked up at her. “Will Papa come and take him to the doctor? Why hasn’t he come to see us lately?”

“Your papa will not be coming, nor will he take Etienne to the doctor. The best we can hope for is that he will send the doctor or at least make provision for the apothecary to give me some medicine for him. I have tried the best I can with the willow bark, but it isn’t enough.”

“Will Eitienne die like Elizabeth?” Alex glanced at the empty cradle still sitting by the hearth.

“Not if I can help it,” Anne Marie promised. She took Marguerite’s arm and pulled her toward the door. “Put this on against the cold.” She thrust a Hudson’s Bay blanket into the other woman’s arms.

Oui, yes, we must go. You are right.” Marguerite wrapped the woolen blanket tightly around her, and after one last look at her children, followed her sister out into the bitter wind blowing down the Red River, howling around the eaves of the small buildings and sending snow flying into their faces.

Alex’s last words echoed in Marguerite’s head as she shouldered her way against the wind. “Tell Papa I miss him.” She snorted, as if Miles cared about them anymore. Even little Elizabeth, dead at six months of age, hadn’t moved him to contribute to her burial. It was the English woman’s fault. She was the one who turned Miles against them. Charlotte Windfield, what sort of name was Charlotte anyway? Grief stabbed her for a moment, not Windfield anymore, oh no. Miles married her in the church two weeks ago. So now she was Charlotte Ashmore. Lady Ashmore.

“Marguerite, come on, hurry up.” Anne Marie looked over her shoulder and waited for her sister to catch up.

“Sorry, the wind is stealing my breath.”

“Here, take my arm. It’s only a little way more. Surely Miles will ask us in and let us get warm before we go on.”

The walk from the Metis community to the more substantial homes of the British and Scottish population was a long one on a good day, for the two women walking into the teeth of the northwest wind it seemed interminable. Marguerite pulled Anne Marie to a halt in the lee of the church.

“A moment, I need to catch my breath,” she said, also needing to strengthen her resolve not to do damage to either Lord Ashmore, her erstwhile husband, or the English woman now ensconced in the fancy house just up the street.

“A moment, then. But we mustn’t waste time. Come.” Anne Marie grasped her arm and towed her sister out of the lee of the building into the wind once more.

Marguerite led the way up the path to the front door, pausing before the two steps up to the porch to take a deep breath and straighten the blanket around her shoulders. Head held high, she mounted the steps and rapped loudly on the door. Anne Marie hovered at her side; shoulders hunched against the wind.

“Yes?” Lord Ashmore’s man servant opened the door.

“I need to speak with Miles. Immediately.” Marguerite blinked in light spilling over the man’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid that is impossible. You should know better than to come here where you are not welcome.” He made disapproving noises with his tongue and made to shut the door, his strong London East End accent making it difficult for her to understand him.

“No!” Anne Marie thrust forward and stuck her foot in the door. “A child’s life is at stake. We must speak with Lord Ashmore.”

“Who is it, Gregory?” Light footsteps and the clicking of heels on the polished wooden floor proceeded the voice.

“Nothing for you to worry about, m’am.” He moved to block the woman’s view of the porch.

“I need to speak with Miles,” Marguerite shouted. “His son is very ill.”

“Oh!” Charlotte Ashmore topped in her tracks and took a step back. “My husband has no son. I’m afraid you are mistaken. Now leave this place immediately.”

“I assure you Miles does have a son, two of them in fact, and a dead infant daughter. Now let me speak to him,” Marguerite insisted. 


Until next month, stay well, stay happy.
Nancy


Thursday, May 18, 2023

Cover Reveal for Laurel's Choice by Nancy M Bell

 


To see where Laurel's story begins please click on the cover.

Laurel's Choice ties up some loose ends that have threaded through the Laurel stories that have come before. Starting with The Cornwall Adventures: Laurel's Quest, A Step Sideways and Go Gently which took place mostly in Cornwall, UK. Then her story continued in The Alberta Adventures: Wild Horse Rescue, Dead Dogs Talk and Chance's Way. Laurel's Choice can stand alone on its own merits, but throughout the first 6 books Laurel has grown from a young teen into a young woman and there are two prominent men in her life, Coll Hazel one of the friends she meets in Laurel's Quest and who she has had a long distance relationship with ever since and Chance Cullen, rodeo cowboy and bull rider. 
Laurel returns to Cornwall to pursue a career in the horse industry, she's been accepted as a working student by Suzy Wish an Olympic Three Day Event competitor and coach. 

The Cornwall Adventures series delved into the magic and wonder that abounds in Cornwall while The Alberta Adventures became more of a rescue series, first the wild horses, then dogs from the dog fighting rings and finally, Chance working on saving himself.

In Laurel's Choice, which combines elements from both series, Laurel is back in Cornwall and so of course there will be magic and mythical creatures. Gramma Bella and Vear Du will be sure to show up at some point, not to mention Gwin Scawen and perhaps a friendly sea monster or two.

Horses and eventing will take a prominent place in the story, helping to keep things moving along. So if you love horses and magic with a bit of young love thrown in, watch for Laurel's Choice coming in September of 2023.

Thanks to everyone who has followed Laurel's journey so far. She and I are most grateful for your support. 

Until next month, stay well, stay happy. Enjoy the spring and the newly minted leaves and blooming flowers.    

Tuesday, April 18, 2023

April is Poetry Month! by Nancy M Bell


To learn more about Nancy's work please click on the image above.


Spring is here. I think... It's April and April is poetry month, so it must be spring. My mare is shedding her winter coat, the gophers are out and stealing her grain while she's eating it. But there is still 5 feet of snow drift on my back garden....so Spring...what the heck!

But I digress. As I mentioned, April is poetry month. So my goal this year is to write a poem a day in April. I've done this before many years ago and then just sort of lost the time to do this when life kind of took over. When you read this, it will be April 18th, so hopefully I will have 18 poems under my belt by then. I'll let you know how I fare in next month's blog.  

For those of you who write poetry, come join me in my April quest. For those of you who dabble or don't write poetry at all...why don't you go for it. Not necessarily a poem a day, but maybe just one or two for the month. Poetry is amazing, so many forms, so many emotions and moods it can invoke. I find poetry cathartic myself, somehow giving the emotions or thoughts the freedom of lighting on the blank page gives me freedom to let them go. 

Poetry is joy, sorrow, grief, love and whatever name you wish to attach to it. So come on, let's go for it! April Poem a Day here we come.

Just to whet your whistle, here are a couple of my older poems.

From 2011

Spring Snow

Nancy M Bell

The storm demons are howling rabidly across the sky

Dragging their icy talons against the window glass

Screeching their defiance through the hydro wires

Buffeting the house with their fists of wind


Shrieking they the fall upon the exposed prairie

Vomiting great gouts of snow to cover the earth

They hurl handfuls of icy pellets in my face

As I struggle to let the stock into the barn

 

Mean spiritedly they snatch the door from my frozen fingers

Slamming it open and popping one of the hinges

I bare my teeth at them and wrestle the door from their grasp

Hold it steady as the horses troop in out of the angry storm

 

The bale of hay spills its summer scent in the frigid air

A sunlit meadow song to battle the storm raging outside

The storm demons grab me in their teeth and shake me

As I blindly make my way back to the house

 

Power and fury personified; they scream their defiance

Their voices howling through the wind in my ears

Reluctant to exchange the winds of winter

For the thunderheads of summer 

   

Bitter Ashes

The taste of bitter ashes on my tongue

All the more potent for their age

The things I should have said

Coiled about the things I did say


Time slides by in endless flood

Bearing my choices out of reach

Things I can’t change

Things I wouldn’t change

 

That line from an old Kristofferson song:

“I’d rather be sorry for something I’ve done,

Then for something that I didn’t do.”

Oh, the things I didn’t do!

 

Choices that affected other’s lives

More compassion here, more forgiveness there

The phone calls I didn’t make

The words I didn’t say

 

The taste of bitter ashes on my tongue

More potent for their age


All I Want

All I want is to walk in Grace

To live my life under the wide sky

With a good horse under me

And endless country in front of me

 

All I want is to make each day count

For something; no matter how small

I fed a stray dog the rest of my sandwich

I put seed out for the birds and food for the feral cats

 

All I want is to be happy in my skin

To know I’ve done the best I can

With what I had to work with today

And know that I will try to do the same tomorrow

 

All I want is the wide sky sweet with dawn

And the morning breeze on my face

Followed by the burning blue noon

With the sun at its zenith

 

All I want is the golden sky of sunset

And the dry prairie wind hot on my neck

The softness of evening gilding the range

As the gold melts into the royal blue of night

 

All I want is the silver of moonlight

To throw shadows across my bed

While the song of the coyote rides through the night

To know that all is right with my world

  

Till next month, be well, be happy.



 

Saturday, February 18, 2023

I'm excited by Nancy M Bell

 


To learn more about Nancy and her books please click on Kayla's cover.


I'm excited because I am about to embark on my very first author tour! Jude Pittman, publisher of BWL Publishing and I will just be back from a whirlwind tour of Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and New Brunswick when you read this. Currently, the date is February 7, 2023 and I am in the middle of preparing for the departure.

I've only been to Nova Scotia before and it was a quick visit, although I did get to Peggy's Cove and the best lobster roll ever! This time, we will be promoting the new audio books of the Canadian Historical Brides collection. SInce Jude is the co-author of Pillars of Avalon (Newfoundland) and I'm co-author of On a Stormy Primeval Shore (New Brunswick) we are covering as much of the Maritimes as possible in a short period of time. We will also be meeting with some BWL authors who live in the area, so doing double duty in that respect.  It will be so great to meet with everyone and enjoy talking about books and writing.  

Hopefully, the weather will co-operate as we're busing it and taking an overnight ferry from North Sydney, NS to Port aux Basques NFLD and then returning the same day via overnight ferry to North Sydney. Should be quite the adventure.


See you next month, until then stay safe, stay warm.

 

Wednesday, January 18, 2023

One of My Favourite Hobbies by Nancy M Bell


To find more information for Nancy's books click on the cover

I have a few hobbies, anyone who knows me will know horses are a huge part of my life. They have been my sanity, my salvation and my love from a very young age. I also am involved in animal rescue and fostering for a Calgary animal rescue. But on top of that I love to do cross stitch. I have a pile of framed cross stitch projects as a result of the Covid winters. There's something so engrossing about matching the pattern to the threads and seeing the picture come to life in all that glorious colour. It takes my mind off any problems that may be occurring in my life or stresses that are so much a part of everyday life in this day and age. While my husband watches TV shows or sports I can sit happily and listen with one ear while still paying total attention to the project taking shape on my embroidery hoop. 

My subject matter is varied, sometimes Celtic knot patterns, horses, bunnies an tulips, some poppies and even a red dragon. Currently, I am almost finished with a fawn standing in tangled grasses under autumn trees. Once that is done I am hoping to embark on a huge project, much more complicated than what I've done before. It's a standing stone with a raven sitting on top which measures 21.64 inches by 28.57 inches and involves many colours that are very similar to each other. A challenge for sure.   Wish me luck!




This is the start of a Wysoki pattern  Frederick the Literate 



 


 

 

  


 

Sunday, December 18, 2022

The Things We No Longer Do by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about Nancy's books please click on the cover.

I was contemplating the wintry weather outside my window while snuggled under a blanket and somehow started to think about how things have changed. There are so many things that as a society we don't do anymore. These changes have happened in my own lifetime. But when you think about how much has changed in just the last hundred years, it is mind boggling.
In the 1920's, only the rich had cars, horses still pulled plows and wagons. Tractors and farm equipment was starting to evolve, but when compared to the giant machines that can now plow, manage and harvest millions of acres complete with air conditioned cabs, wifi and satalite radio it is hard to comprehend how things have changed so much in so short a time.  
In just the average household, washing machines and dryers spin and whirl on their own. I remember using a wringer washer to wash cloth diapers when my kids were young in the 1980's, I still hang my laundry out on the line in the warm weather, but also remember bringing in frozen clothes off the line in my younger days. Central heat is a wonder in our cold Canadian winters, I love the smell of a wood stove but the chore of keeping it stoked and minded can be overwhelming when it is the only heat source. 
Even our clothing has changed. There are not many people who make their own anymore. I used to work for a company called Reader Mail. They were a mail order company dealing solely in dress and embroidery patterns. A huge warehouse lined with banks of shelves filled with patterns. The centre part held tables for sorting the envelopes which were then put on trolley and wheeled between the shelves while we picked the correct patterns that were ordered. Another part was taken up by the desks of the women who opened the mail, and in those days women still sent money including coin in the envelopes. Labels were stuck on the aforementioned envelopes by two girls using an antiquated machine and if you had long hair you had to be careful it didn't get caught in the mechanism that drove the glue wheel. The company went out of business in the 1990's as the demand for dress and embroidery patterns dried up. 
Now we buy items made in far away countries by underpaid, often underage workers. The world is much smaller now with the advent of the world wide web as we used to call it in the early days. Now internet or wifi is used. Now we have 5G speed, but how many of us remember the squeal of the dial up connections? It was not so long ago. Makes a person wonder where we are headed as a society and a species.

Anyway, enough of that. Just food for thought. 
Wishing everyone Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, Happy/Merry whatever holiday you celebrate at this time of year.

Until next month, stay well, stay happy    

Thursday, August 18, 2022

Field of Ghosts by Nancy M Bell

 


To find more of Nancy's work please click on the cover.




After many many years of caring for horses I find that I am in possession of a field of ghosts. Emily aka Pikkasso Premiere crossed the Rainbow Bridge on Tuesday August 9, 2022. She was 22 years old and was born here. Today, in a field that once housed 6 horses and four cows, there is only Shady aka Shades of Ice, a TB mare who came to live her as Emily's companion after Max crossed the Rainbow Bridge. 
    When I look across the empty acres I feel the ghosts of those who lived here and have passed. I see them in the shimmer of heat over the grass, hear their voices in the whisper of the wind, in the laughter of the poplar leaves. Shady is doing well on her own which is a relief. Perhaps, she too, feels their presence and knows she is not alone. 
    Usually when a loved animal passes they are absent for a time before returning, but Emily hasn't left me. I feel her at my side as I'm walking, just as she always did in life. We took her last walk together and as always weak and crappy feeling as she was, she walked at my shoulder and trusted me to the last to do what was best.
    She contacted Potomac Horse Fever and declined very quickly.  Her kidneys failed and while the values did improve overnight while she was on high amount of fluids running IV and with her legs encased in ice boots to hopefully stop the possibility of laminitis (founder), she was in a huge amount of pain. She couldn't have pain meds as they would affect her kidneys which were only marginally beginning to work. Emily was mare who was full of piss and vinegar always, when we first got her to the vet she was literally leaning on me to stay on her feet, swaying and leaning on the wall. She stayed on her feet through sheer will. 
    Tuesday morning she stood with her head down, nose on the ground or leaning on my chest, eyes glazed over. The only times she would stir was when the spasms in her gut spiked. I stayed with her for an hour finalizing a decision I knew I had to make, but needed to be sure. Emily's actions and her body language told me without a doubt that she was ready to let go. Sometimes when you love something or someone so much, you have to make the choice to let them go. 
    We could have continued to treat her, but kidney injury is a long long road to recovery and in most likely hood that would not be anywhere near 100% recovery which could lead to other complications, even in the event she pulled through which was in no way a given.
    How could I ask her to go through that long corridor of pain when I couldn't promise her it would get better. The reality is we could have carried on for another few days, weeks or months and after all that the end result had a high probability of being the same. How could I ask her to endure that when she was telling me in the only ways she could that it was time to let go?
    And so we took our last walk together in this realm and I let her go, staying with her until her spirit left her body. 
    And now I look out over a field of ghosts. Tags (Tag n Passum), Laura (Laura's Miracle), Sue, the cow, Sunny (Pug's Escourt) (the mare) Emily's mom, Phil (Philosopher's Stone) her brother, Flash (MS Flashdance), Sam, Spook, Patches the pony, Sleeping Beauty the pony, Goat-the goat, Big Bird (Condor), Chance, Max, King, and now Emily.  

Until next month, be well, be  happy.

Emily, Phil and Big Bird photo by Michelle Kannenberg


Monday, July 18, 2022

Kayla's Cowboy, another Longview Romance by Nancy M Bell

 


To find out more about Nancy's books click on the cover above.

For any of you familiar with my Longview Romance series, you'll recall that Rob Chetwynd and Michelle Wilson were engaged. Or at least that's the impression Michelle had, not to mention all of Longview. So it was a shock when Rob came back from the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas married to someone else.  And that someone else was a dressage rider, not someone familiar with rodeo. Kayla Dunbarton had no idea of the hornet's nest she was going to encounter when she accompanied her new husband home to Longview, Alberta. 
Kayla's Cowboy tells the tale of how this wedding came to be and the events leading up to the nuptials. Not to mention the fall out afterwards.

Here's a short excerpt to tempt you. Kayla's first meeting with Rob which doesn't go so well:

She’d just finished taking the bridle apart and was dropping the bridoon bit and the curb into a pail of warm water when the curtained stall door opened a bit.

“Anybody here?” A male voice asked.

“Get out of there, Chetwynd,” another voice cautioned.

What the hell? Kayla pulled the door all the way open and fisted her hands on her hips. “What do you want?” she demanded. “Who the hell are you?”

“Aw, c’mon now, pretty lady. I was just wantin’ to say hello and admire your horse.” The tall cowboy pushed his hat back on his head and grinned down at her. His gaze swept her up and down, lingering on the swell of her breast below the gapping neck of her old sweatshirt.

“I asked what your name was,” she repeated. “And I don’t appreciate you just inviting yourself into my tack room. There was something interesting about the man, his jeans snugged against his lean hips, broad shoulders filling out his western shirt. There was some kind of advertising emblazoned all over the red shirt but she couldn’t make it all out. The cowboy just continued to grin at her in appreciation.

“I’m sorry, m’am. I’m Cody, Cody Butters and I apologize for my partner here, he’s a little short on manners.” The second man elbowed in front of his friend.

“Hell fire, man. She should know who I am,” the first man said belligerently.

Kayla’s temper flared and she glared over Cody’s shoulder at the cowboy. “I haven’t a clue who you are, and I could care less. Why don’t you go back under the rock you crawled out of?”

“He don’t mean no harm, m’am. He’s just a mite uncivilized, is all,” Cody intervened. This idiot, is Rob Chetwynd, the reigning Bull Riding Champion.”

“At your service,” Rob swept his hat off and made a deep bow.

Kayla sighed in exasperation. “What do you want? I have things to do.”

“Just wanted to say hello and say how much we enjoyed your riding,” Cody said with a meaningful glance at his friend.

“Actually, I wanted to see if your little behind was as cute out of the arena as in it,” Rob said, lifting one eyebrow.

“That’s enough.” Kayla grabbed a stable broom from the corner of the stall and smacked him with it. “Get out! Get out now, before I call security.”

“Now, now, there ain’t no call to do that.” Cody grabbed his friend by the back of his belt and started to drag him out of the stall.

“What’s going on here?” Anna demanded, coming to a halt with Wellington in tow.

“These two yahoos invited themselves into our tack room and made themselves very unwelcome,” Kayla told her, still brandishing the broom.

Cody turned and let go of Rob’s belt as Anna came up. “Man, that’s a nice piece of horse flesh,” he said, eyes running over the 17.3 hand gelding in appreciation.

“Yes, he is, and I’d thank you to not touch him and take your…companion…and leave.” Kayla glared at the two men. “Now.”

“Sorry, yeah. I gotta apologize for my friend here. He’s maybe had a bit too much celebratin’, if you catch my drift,” Cody said.

“That’s not excuse for being an ass,” Kayla shot back.

“Yes, m’am.” Cody ran his eyes over Wellington again, stopping when Anna stepped out from behind the big horse into his line of vision. Interest flashed across his face before he dragged Rob away.

“What was all that about?” Anna asked, her gaze on the red headed cowboy. “What did he say his name was?”

“Which one?” Kayla stripped the cooler off Wellington and picked up a brush from the tack box just inside the tack room door.

“The red headed one, not the other one,” Anna said folding the cooler up.

“I don’t know…Cam, Cale, Cody…maybe…why?” She glanced up from her work. “You can’t seriously be interested, can you?”

“Maybe,” Anna dragged the word out. “He seemed nice, I mean, nicer than his friend. And he sure filled out those jeans…” She winked at Kayla.

“Oh, you,” Kayla snorted. “You’d date the devil himself if he had a nice ass.”

Anna grinned. “Probably,” she agreed, chuckling.   

Saturday, June 18, 2022

Working With An Editor by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about my upcoming release pictured above and my other books please click on the cover.


Do you need an editor? In a word ~ yes. Everyone needs an editor.

 

Why you need an editor.

As authors we know our story inside out, what may be blatantly obvious to us may not be so obvious to your reader.

We read what we ‘think’ we wrote not always what is actually on the page. It’s easy to skip over words like ‘the’, ‘a’ etc which may be missing from the text.

 

The difference between content edits and line/copy edits.

A content editor looks at the over- all structure of the story. Does it make sense; is it following the plot in the correct timeline; are facts correct; over use of words i.e. that, then, given names; passive voice vs active voice; does the plot move at a good pace or does it drag; does it make sense or are you confusing your reader; are the names of characters, places etc. consistent. The list goes on.

A copy/line editor looks at things on a more granular level. This is a check missing or reversed quotation marks, missing punctuation over all, formatting issues, grammar errors etc.

 

Choosing an editor.

If you are traditionally published the publishing house will assign you an editor, often two, one for contents and one for lines, this depends solely on the house and your experience. In this case you have little say in the choice of editor.

If you are self-publishing you will have to search out an editor for yourself. You can look at trade publications [like Quill and Quire in Canada or Writers Digest (US)] where you will find free-lance editors advertising for clients. If you are a member of your provincial guild there will be listings on their website- Writers Guild of Alberta. You can also look at The Writers Union of Canada site and there are numerous other places. You want to ask for references and titles of books they have edited, do your due diligence before committing yourself.

 

What if you hate your editor?

This is a two sided question as well. If you are with a traditional publisher your only recourse would be to contact the publisher and explain the problem. Depending on the house and the nature of your complaints, they may or may not be willing to mediate for you or assign a different editor.

If you are self-published and have entered into an agreement with a free-lance editor it may well depend on the agreement you signed or verbally agreed to. If there is no opt out clause, you can of course fire your editor but that may mean you have no way to get any monies already paid back. To protect myself when I free-lance I ask for half of the agreed fee up front with the remainder payable upon completion of the project to the author’s satisfaction.

 

Open Dialogue and Open Mind are key.

Your editor has your best interests at heart. They want to help you polish your work and show it in the best possible light. If you are a new unpublished author (and this has nothing to do with chronological age) be prepared to approach the experience with an open mind. You are not always going to like what the editor says. Remember, if you confuse your editor with aspects of your plot then you will also confuse your reader and the last thing you want is for them to put the book down and never buy anything else you’ve written.

Conversely, don’t be afraid to defend elements of the plot that may be essential to something that happens further on in the story, or in subsequent books if you’re writing a sequel. It is important to feel comfortable discussing things with your editor. At the end of the day it is your name on the cover.

 

Resolving Conflicts

This is hand and glove with what we just talked about. Keep a cool head and your temper under check. Flaming your editor is not conducive to a good working relationship. On the other hand, if you’ve not been careful with your choice you may find yourself with an editor who refuses to compromise.

In most cases the editor should explain why they think something should be different than what you’ve written. The editor should be familiar with the genre you’re working in and they will know the market much better than you, in most cases it will be in your best interest to listen to their advice. Very often compromises can be reached. If I encounter an empasse, I state my case and then let the author make the final call. There are always exceptions to the rule, of course.

The difference between a beta reader and an editor.

A beta reader is NOT an editor and should not be used as such. A beta reader is usually a friend or acquaintance who is willing to read your rough draft and offer comments or ask for clarifications in places where your plot may be weak or suffering from plot holes.

 

We’ve already discussed earlier what an editor is.

 

If you’re self-published ~ how much is too much dollar wise

 

This will depend on your budget of course, but be wary of paying thousands of dollars. The length of your work will help dictate the cost as well as the topic. Non-fiction will be more expensive as your editor will want to check your data and sources. 

Be sure you know what you’re paying for.

Know what you are agreeing to and set a mutually agreed upon timeframe for the completion of your project.


Until next month, stay well stay happy and keep writing.




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