May Blooms; May Mourns

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Before the filles du roi...Desperate to escape her past, Jeanne, a poor widow, accompanies a rich woman to Quebec. The sea voyage is long, one of privation and danger. In 1640, the decision to emigrate takes raw courage, but the struggling colony of Quebec, so far a collection of rough soldiers and fur traders, needs French women if it is ever to take firm root in the wilderness.

May is, in many old world traditions, the Hawthorne month--beautiful flowers, sharp thorns--a month of contradictions, a time of rebirth and penitence. The Romans and many of the Celtic and Britannic nations as well observed it as a month of celibacy. For housewives, it was a month of house cleaning, necessary after the smoke and soot of a long sequestered winter spent indoors.  

So, here we are again, in May, one that has lived up to both sides of her nature. We've had 90 degree days, tricking the fruit trees into full bloom. This was, almost at once, followed by heavy freezes all over the northeastern US. The much anticipated fruit crop has been badly damaged. Some orchards have lost everything. Many small, local farms will be financially ruined. It's horrible to imagine what industrial evil will seize their land. 

The thorns have drawn blood; Ostara is not pleased with us. This humble mortal thinks she has reasons.

This May has been a mourning month for authors here at BWL, for we've lost our fearless leader, Jude Pittman, who, with the help of friends and angels, braved the early 2000's e-pub experiment. She rescued many of us from obscurity when she discovered/appreciated our work and asked us to join her venture. 

An introvert historian, I was never part of her closest circle, but I was always grateful for her confidence in me as a writer. My fourteen books would never have seen the light of day without her. She was like a battery--she powered us all forward until the day she'd given every ounce of her energy. Then, suddenly, like a battery, she died. It's hard to imagine things without her.  

She called me a year ago and asked me to write another Quebec book for her, a paranormal, a bit out of my natural purview. With a sick husband and no family nearby to help and many, many chainsaws in the air, I really hadn't thought of putting the writer part of myself to work in that way again, but there she was--Jude's voice on the phone--saying she wanted me to do it. So, here I am, in the middle of another creation, another story willed into existence by her--and by her John Wisdomkeeper, the Standing Bear in her life.

"Hail the Traveler." Safe journey. 

~~Juliet Waldron

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Fly Away Snow Goose

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Transport to Fort Providence residential school is only the beginning of their ordeal, for the teachers believe it is their sworn duty to “kill the Indian inside.” All attempts at escape are severely punished, but Yaotl and Sascho, along with two others, will run away, undertaking a journey of 900 kilometers across the Northwest Territory. Like wild geese, brave hearts together, they are homeward bound.

 

Motivating your Characters By Connie Vines #Writing #Storytelling #Hero #Tropes

 The Art of Motivation 😕

Motivation (According to Wikipedia) is an internal state that propels individuals to engage in goal-directed behavior. It is often understood as a force that explains why people or other animals initiate, maintain, or terminate a particular behavior at a given time.  It is a complex phenomenon, and its precise definition is disputed...

In Connie's world, it means sitting down at her computer with a thermos filled with coffee...and talking to herself.

Every writer has his/her own system for producing a novel.

Some have grafts, charts posted on a wall, detailed notes, etc.

I have a tendency to become fixated on details (which is fine during revisions, but a problem during the first draft). 

Now, I interview my main characters. 

Lynx Maddox was a Texan and a bullrider. Q&A is like a radio/online format.

I ask questions, and fornatuely, Lynx had ready answers for me in his deep Texas dawl.

In Lynx's case, it was simple: Win a Rodeo Buckle, and because it's a contemporary romance, Win the Girl.

However, motivation, goal, and conflict are also part of a story...

Why is he motivated? What keeps his goal out of reach? And what about the girl? 

According to Debra Dixon (Goal, Motivation & Conflict), Goals should not be subtle. Get out the two-by-four and start wacking your reader over the head.

Since we are all familiar with the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy must get to the Emerald City. Second, she must get in to see the Wizard. Third, a broomstick.

I have notebooks and favorite pens. Before setting down to write my first draft, I conducted research. I have handwritten notes, dialogue, and scenes. The act of writing in cursive activates a creative area of the brain (the same area activated when playing a musical instrument). 

My notebook info and sensory details, etc., are not included until after I've completed my rough draft.  

When I first sit down, it's nuts-and-bolts.  

When my rough draft is completed, the characters begin to 'talk to me".

Reveal bits of their past. 

Some of my characters are sassy (Charlene/ Meredith). Others have overcome hardship (Rachel/Tay), and some are sexy heroes (Lynx, Brede, Vicktor, etc.). 

Goals: also motivate your characters.  

You can run, but you can't hide from goals.

Each character has a goal.

Goals must be important and urgent. 

Goals must be internal and external. (win the buckle/win the girl).

Character decisions must drive the plot.

Goals must be achieved by characters. (No magic wands, or it just happens.)  Yes, I know many popular books were based on coincidences.

 I, however, subscribe to Joseph Campbell's "Call to Adventure" (Hero with a Thousand Faces) and Christopher Vogler's "The Writer's Journey".

We all have our favorite reads :)

Name your favorite Hero/Heroine, your favorite book, and why you still remember the story.

Happy Reading!

Connie

Where to shop for my books/ ebooks?

There's a glitch in Amazon at the moment (Only my audio version of "Lynx" is available :( 

Barns & Noble, Apple Books, or your fave online book store.

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/brede-connie-vines/1115934010

 

Do cats have mystical supernatural powers? - by Vijaya Schartz

 

Pasha safeguarding my latest book
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I have loved cats since I was five years old, petting the neighbor’s cat and bringing strays home on my way back from school. But I was deprived of having one as a child because of my dad. “Cats belong in a barn,” he always said. We lived in an apartment at the time. But as soon as I left home, I adopted my first cat. I have enjoyed their company ever since.

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Unlike dogs, who love unconditionally, cats are very picky about who they like. Some believe they can read a person’s aura (the magnetic field surrounding all living beings), and they develop supernatural powers as they age. If an adult cat comes to you and chooses you to take care of him or her, it means you are a good person, kind, peaceful of heart and mind, and trustworthy. I would never trust someone who hates cats.

Pasha, the current blue-eyed guardian of my home

Cats are believed to watch over dreams, sense spiritual energy, and guard thresholds. Some say they have nine lives, others that they are shapeshifters. They have a knack to appear in sealed rooms with no explanation. No closed door or high balcony ever stopped a cat. I often find strange cats on my balcony on the third floor with no apparent access.

Byzantium series
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While black cats are sometimes vilified in the west, because long ago they shielded witches from evil spirits, in Scottish folklore cats in general are considered good luck and believed to bring prosperity. In China, cats and big cats (like tigers) are a symbol of wealth. In Japan, the Maneki-neko (beckoning cat) is a symbol of good luck, prosperity, hospitality, and happiness. It graces homes and waves at you from the windows of most Japanese restaurants, or it wishes you a Happy New Year on your Social Media feed.

Maneki neko (photo: Tokoname ware - Amazon)

In Egyptian antiquity, cats were the guardians of the underworld, preventing the evil dead from escaping and wreaking havoc in the world of the living. They were considered divine, and the Goddess Bastet, with the head of a panther, warded-off evil and protected mothers.

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But many other cultures around the world venerate the cat. Celtic lore mentions the “Cat Sith,” a large black cat with a white spot on his chest, said to change form nine times in his life (possibly the origin of the nine lives legends).

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In Siam, many temple cats reside in sacred spaces safeguarding the souls of the deceased as they move to the afterlife. In Nepal and Tibet, temple cats are nurtured, fed, and loved. In return, they get rid of vermin… physical and otherwise.

In my latest novel, Chi Warrior, many cats dwell in the monastery of the Celestial Gate, protecting the monks and the Acolytes, even curling up on their crossed legs as they meditate.

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If you like cats, definitely check out my science fiction novels. Some of my cats are big, others small, some are genetically engineered, and some wield supernatural powers.

Happy Reading!

Vijaya Schartz, award-winning author

Kick-butt Sci-fi Heroines, cats, romantic elements

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‘Harry’ the red trillium stood tall by Jeff Tribe

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejd_12ipIos

 Every time I see a red trillium, I’m reminded of my father, Harry ‘Red’ Tribe.

The flower runs deeply through our family history. Instead of serving Jessie Tribe breakfast in bed on mother’s day, my sister Lahring and I would hike across the road to our woods, trowels and six-court baskets in hand. Knowing full well picking a trillium meant another bloom would not return for seven years, we’d carefully dig up a few specimens, roots and all, along with yellow dog-toothed violets, jack-in-the-pulpits and May flowers. Returning, we’d proudly show off our handiwork before transplanting them into a bed on the shaded, north side of our home.

Our extended family would return from church for a cookout that noon, followed by a stroll to take in the floral beauty.

It’s a tradition which has lasted 60-plus years, evolving to incorporate a barbecue rather than open fire, my wife’s birthday additional celebration. 

Earlier this week, I was cutting and splitting firewood, late due to a deep-snow winter. In the manner of May flowers following spring showers, the trilliums were out a calendar week earlier than predicted.

Their arrival is a welcome harbinger of the season, red versions close on the heels of dog-tooth violets, preceding their white cousins by a week or two. The tips of white blossoms were just beginning to emerge amidst the scent of wild leeks, new growth welcome promise of the earth’s productive rebirth.

I began cutting wood with my dad as a comparative youngster. I’d rush off the bus after school, sprint through the cow pasture, cross the creek and join him. I started trimming top limbs with a sharpened axe, progressing to the back end of a chainsaw around the age of 10, learning how a log’s grain would speak to you when deciding where to hit it with a splitting maul. It was work, but didn’t feel that way, trying to make your father proud, surrounded by nature’s beauty.

Dad was a quiet yet incredible man. The product of a broken home, he along with most of his siblings, were wards of the children’s aid, raised in and out of an orphanage in between the youthful equivalent of indentured farm labour or household servitude. His childhood, without the racism or cultural destruction, shared much with those suffering the abuses of residential schools.

It could easily have embittered and broken him. Instead, dad made the hard, pivotal choice to break a cycle of neglect and abuse and instead become a loving, supportive father. A talented athlete who was invited to a St. Louis Cardinals farm team tryout, he had beautiful ‘hands’ that would have done a surgeon well, had he been given the chance. Instead, he embraced the financially-insecure life of a family farmer, building a household filled with love and the kind of stability he never knew. Dad could read pain in a child’s eyes, and was also a supportive presence, a Sunday school teacher who listened and cared rather than quoted scripture, a coach who shared his love of sports, a father, uncle and grandfather who loved children above all.

I had a brother-in-law whose habit was to quote famous people, presidents, monarchs and the like. I once remarked to him, my hero lay far closer to home.

Dad was still roofing houses, still cutting wood, still very much a larger-than-life figure to me at the age of 68. I will always find it one of life’s unfairest turns he would be caught in a power takeoff connecting shaft during a farm accident. We cut him out with an oxy-acetylene torch, loaded him in an ambulance and prayed. The doctors filled him full of tetanus, amputated his right arm and hours later, informed us we were lucky he as a tough old farmer.

The first thing he did after getting out of the hospital was prove he could both get on and drive a tractor. Dad would live to 97, holding his sense of humour and love for his family to the end. 

On his deathbed, I promised I’d share his story with the family he and mom built together, a little self-published effort titled ‘Life Isn’t Fair, But Your Response Is.’

Maybe some day, I’ll try and formalize that as a young adult novel in respect of the people he always supported.

In the meantime, there’s 20 or 30 face cords of wood to be cut. The red trilliums tend to be in marshier ground in smaller groups in our woods, threes and fours, the white higher in larger patches. One distinctive red version was the exception, standing solo near a rotting stump across from our cookout pit.

Every time I passed, ‘Harry’ ran through my mind. Not just for the obvious ‘Red’ connection, but his ability to stand strong and alone, brave against the vagaries of the world. A life well lived, an example well set, mindful impact reaching four generations.

That trillium has passed, part of the universal circle of life. My niece, a talented artist, painted a timeless ‘portrait’ which continues to hang in our house.

As it says on our parents’ gravestone, to live on in the hearts of those you loved, is to never die, a thing celebrated in our woods each and every spring.

Struggles with the Setting in My Novels by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

https://www.bookswelove.com/shop/p/romancing-the-klondike

https://books2read.com/Romancing-the-Klondike

https://www.amazon.ca/Romancing-Klondike-Yukon-Joan-Donaldson-Yarmey/dp/1772992682

https://books2read.com/Rushing-the-Klondike

https://www.amazon.ca/Rushing-Klondike-Joan-Donaldson-Yarmey/dp/0228622328

https://www.bookswelove.com/shop/p/sleuthing-the-klondike

https://books2read.com/Sleuthing-the-Klondike

https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/0228624762?tag=books2read02-20

I have written in many different genres, non-fiction, mystery, romance, and historical. According to the professionals, I have had to make sure that my characters are multi-dimensional, my story plot is fast paced, and my setting is exciting. Readers want to identify with the main characters so they have to be believable and likeable. Readers want action in the story so the plot has to move along at a good clip. And readers want to learn about the place where the story is set, so it is important that I know the setting itself.

For my Travelling Detective Series, I had been to each of the places in the story and knew my setting. My descriptions of a town or a building or a street were true because I had seen them. I’ve heard that some authors who write about a place they’ve never been to using Google Maps to check out the buildings or streets.  

However, this is much harder in historical novels because that setting is no longer readily available in the way it was in the time period. Research is important and this is where non-fiction books, museums, archives, and paintings or photos of that time come in handy. And, of course, the Internet. It is the easiest and quickest way to learn about a historical event or a place or what clothing was worn, and even people’s names at the time.

I have written seven Canadian historical novels in two different sets. My Young Adult Canadian Historical books are: West to the Bay, West to Grande Portage, and West to Fort Edmonton. For each one I spent as much time researching the area, the history, and the people at the time as I did writing the story since I hadn’t been to the Hudson’s Bay or Montreal or Edmonton in the mid-1700s to early 1800s, I hadn't paddled a canoe or York boat, nor had I traded furs.

Luckily, for my Yukon books set during the Klondike Gold Rush, I’d been to Dawson City three times and even hiked the Chilkoot trail on the hundredth anniversary of the gold rush. Many of the buildings in Dawson today are from that era. However, I still had to research the clothing, the founding of Dawson City, the people who headed north, and what life was like for the newcomers from 1896 to 1898.

I enjoy research so much that sometimes I go down the rabbit hole and my actual writing suffers.

Romancing the Klondike is one of the twelve books of BWL Publishing, Inc. Canadian Historical Brides Collection.

Rushing the Klondike is my sequel to that book.

Sleuthing the Klondike is one of the twelve books of BWL Publishing Inc, Canadian Historical Mystery Collection.

Haunting the Klondike is one of BWL Publishing Inc. Paranormal Canadiana Collection and will be out in June, 2026