Showing posts with label #amwriting #BWLpublishing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #amwriting #BWLpublishing. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 29, 2025

Halloween-A European Ancestral Festival

 

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Barnes & Noble


Around this time of year in Europe, long ago, the ordinary folks had already celebrated Harvest Home, bringing in grain from the fields and hogs from the forests. The barley, oats and wheat, gathered in, was measured. Now the community knew, more or less, how hungry the coming winter would or would not be. The light was disappearing day by day, the sun setting earlier and rising later, as the northern hemisphere angles away from that ancient God--or in Germanic countries, Goddess--the Sun.



This was a time to celebrate the beginning of a new year, and this season, one of the four most important of the solar year was observed with three days of ritual, full of deep spiritual meaning. We can tell how important this observance was because the Catholic Church, after that entity had firmly established its rule, took over the ancient celebration and gave each of those three autumnal days a new, canonical designation.

Halloween is a contraction of "All Hallows Eve," that falls on the evening before what is today called "All Saints Day." Originally, on that night, all the fires in the village would be extinguished. Everyone would huddle in the dark and increasing chill of their homes. On this night, only the priestly caste dared to be out and about, because, now without firelight, evil beings could be stalking through the villages, the fields and the forests on every side. Offerings, sometimes a bowl of milk, sometimes cakes, were left outside each door in hopes of appeasing the endless hunger of these dreadful creatures. 

Today, all that is left of that practice are our children, costumed and masked, dressed as supernatural beings, who knock on our doors and beg for candy. 



On the morning after, as the sun rose, each housewife would sweep and gather the ashes of the central hearth and dispose of these into the purifying safety of running water. At the same time, religious leaders, male and female, would rekindle each village's sacred fire. Once this was established, flaming boughs would be carried house to house, to rekindle each and every village hearth.  Afterward, everyone set to work to make a communal feast. This day, eventually renamed by the Church "All Saints Day," was then rededicated to Christian Saints. In pagan times, however, this day was the first of the New Year and pagan gods and goddesses were the ones celebrated.


The third day of the feast, later named "All Souls," was originally in honor of the ancestors. Ancestor worship still exists today here and there on planet earth, but 2,000 years ago, this was a universal feature of most religions. Bones of last year's deceased, previously de-fleshed in various ways, and subjected to cremation and temporary housing in pots, might be brought out of dwellings to be reverently interred within the local barrow or stone burial chamber. 

In some places/times, when barrows were the fashion, the great stones which blocked the openings would be laboriously moved so that the year's dead would be carried within, to rest with those ancestors who had gone before. The rituals of deposition for cremains varied from place to place and age to age. Cremains urns have also been discovered beneath standing stones. Others carpet the ditches which enclose stone or earthen monuments, or the ditches that still exist, still guarding a long perished henge made of wood. 

In the Norse tradition, this period, after the full moon of the Autumn Equinox, was celebrated as the Disirblot, a feast in honor of the ancestral female spirits who guarded the family line and also in honor of Freya Vanadis, their chief. The celebration was local and domestic, and was also a harvest home. The pig, often portrayed as the mount of Freya, provided the pork for the feast. 

Of course, there are as many traditions as there are countries for this time of year. Divali, the feast of lights, is celebrated in India by closing the books of the last financial year and opening those of the next. Laxshmi, goddess of good fortune and wealth, asked for Her aid in business. What is most visible, however, are the oil lamps that line the streets and float upon the rivers. Many other divinities are honored during this feast in the vast and populous country.  In some regions it is great Kali with her necklace of demon heads
(She who embodies primeval energy/change and creative destruction) that is honored, in others it is Durga, demon slayer, seated upon her tiger. The Warrior God Rama also gets into the Divali celebration, as his devotees know that in the times long ago, this was the season of his coronation.

~Juliet Waldron


Tuesday, October 21, 2025

What if vampires existed on the island of Napoleon's final exile? What can a young maid do to stop them? by Diane Scott Lewis

 


To purchase this novel click HERE

I wrote this fanciful novel after reading about a story of vampires involved with Napoleon's failed conquest of Russia. Why not set up these enigmatic creatures on the remote island of Saint Helena, a place of myth and hardship?
Enjoy the surreal existence of vampires during Napoleon's final exile. Just who is one of the undead, and who isn't? Young maid Isabelle, a member of the emperor's household, will soon find out. And she must rush to stop a wicked attack.


Here is an excerpt:


Isabelle envied the handsome white stucco colonial house with light gray shutters nestled in its verdant garden. But the Union Jack—the emblem of their imprisonment—that rippled from a flagstaff in front of the structure’s Georgian porch had marred the effect.

This beautiful scenery almost eased her distress over the bat-dream of three nights past, or had that part been real? She stifled a quiver.

“Do you like working here?” she asked the maid who had arranged many of the other ladies’ wraps.

She was a mulatto girl with slightly brownish skin and plump lips. “Yes, it’s one of the best places on the island to work.”

“I imagine it would be.” Isabelle stepped to the ballroom door, watching the ladies twirl like flowers in their gowns of pink, blue and yellow; silks, taffetas and muslins. A reminisce of life back in Europe. She sighed. Not that she would have danced in such company. She turned and helped the other maid arrange wraps and hats in scents of perfume, talcum powder and perspiration. “These English bonnets are not so pretty. Do you like Governor Lowe?”

“I don’t see him much.” The maid held up a wrap with intricate lace on the borders, her gaze admiring. “I mostly assist the Missus.”

“Lowe seems a man of quick temper.” Isabelle said this as nonchalant as she could manage. She caressed a white ostrich feather on one of the hats.

“He can be, but he does not sleep well.”

“How do you know that?” Isabelle kept her tone conversational.

“His valet. . .is my special friend.” She grinned. “He says the governor wanders about late at night.” The maid twitched her lips. “But I should not speak ill of my employer.” Now she watched Isabelle, embarrassment glinting in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Isabelle decided to leave that topic—though she found that information significant. “Do you know I’m the one who found that poor, dead girl in Sane Valley?” She again pictured Amanda’s distressed face.

The maid started and backed up a step. The feathered hat in her hands wavered. She set it down. “A very terrible sight, I’m certain.”

“Are they still investigating the death?”

“I don’t think so.” The maid averted her gaze and plucked at a ribbon on a bonnet.

“I thought your valet friend might have known whether they thought the death an accident or something more?” In the resulting silence, Isabelle spoke again: “I’m new here, but,” she ran her fingers along a satiny pelisse, feigning indifference, “I wondered if you’ve heard of an animal called the beast?”

                                       

“Everyone knows of that.” The reply sounded more like an accusation, the maid’s eyes sharpening.

“Has anyone ever seen it? Isn’t it more a superstition?”

“No, it’s real.” The mulatto girl twisted at the bonnet ribbon, then turned her back. “But we keep our mouths quiet here.”





For more on me and my books, visit my BWL author's page


Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

Monday, October 13, 2025

Plaid Blanket Cover Story

      


                                                       My Facebook Page


I'm excited to announce that I have a new book coming out next month! It's the third of my Navajo Code Talker series that began with I'll Be Seeing You and continued with Watch Over Me. Keeping up with the title theme of songs that were popular in the 1940's, Book #3 is a song that my mom once told me was her and my dad's favorite: All of Me.

All of Me is set in the summer of 1943, just after the first class of Navajo Code Talkers has been sent overseas to the Pacific. Our hero Luke Kayenta is still stateside in Arizona, training and recruiting more possible candidates for this important work that helped the United States win the war.

It's now New Yorker Kitty Charente's turn to be a fish out of water as she comes to join Luke and meet his family.  But Nazi agent Helmut Adler has arrived too, to try to throw the Code Talker program into chaos.

The threesome....


Book 1: Spain 1942




Book 2: New York City 1942




Book 3: Arizona 1943

Do you like the cover of All of Me? It's another wonderful design of our Art Director, Michelle Lee. There's a story that goes with that blanket that Luke and Kitty are snug under, concerning a long-ago real life Scottish trader named Big Jock....


Big Jock McCluskey



Big Jock McCluskey

The story Luke's grandmother Anaba Bowman tells is about the Hudson’s Bay Scottish trader lost in a storm. It's based on the life of Big Jock McCluskey, who traded machine loom blankets and shirts woven in the colors of Rob Roy tartan of the Clan MacGregor. McCluskey family stories claim that the Native Americans loved the red-black cloth and called it Buffalo Plaid. It became a quintessential symbol of the American West. I had fun thinking of Big Jock losing his way in a Northern Arizona winter and finding the Navajo, who had been weaving their own wool for centuries! Luke’s long-ago grandmother politely traded one of her textiles for his, and so it became a family heirloom. It appears in All of Me’s story as well as its wonderful cover.


Next month I'll include a sneak peek at my new novel. Thank you for being readers of the series!







Tuesday, October 7, 2025

Found: A Book Lover's Paradise by Eileen O'Finlan

 


A friend recently told me of an incredible place to buy used books. It's called The Book Barn, and it's in Niantic, Connecticut. It has three locations all within minutes of each other. Once I heard about it, I knew I had to go. So, on a recent, gorgeous fall day, my friend, Katie, and I took a ride south to check it out. 

Oh my, what a place! If you are a book lover and you're in the area, you must give the Book Barn a try. It's not just a store. It's an experience. Besides the main buildings of the three locations, there are loads of smaller buildings and stalls filled with books. Because they are all used books, the prices are low.               



The main site has an enclosure with some friendly goats available for visiting. Fortunately, they do not have the pellets available for (over)feeding, but you can purchase a few carrot sticks for 25 cents if you want to give the goats a treat.

Oh, and they also buy books at the Main Barn, so if you go don't forget to bring some books to sell. You can get a check or credit for them.

At Chapter Three, the site just 100 feet from the Main Barn, live several beautiful cats who patrol the store and sometimes even allow petting.

 These two sites are both on West Main Street. Then there's the Downtown Store on Pennsylvannia Avenue just about a mile away set in the heart of this lovely seaside town.

If you don't live are don't plan to be anywhere near Niantic, try to find a unique book shop somewhere. It's a balm to the book lover's soul.

My book haul for the day: 13 books. My joy level: Through the roof!




Sunday, September 21, 2025

How does a young woman spy for the British during the American Revolution? by Diane Scott Lewis

 


To purchase this novel click HERE


I decided to write a story from a loyalist's point of view, the British side, even though I'm American. My ancestors fought on the revolutionaries' side.

My heroine, Rowena, learns to decipher code under the guidance of the Welshman Derec. She must flee her home with her family as Washington's army closes in. Will she ever see Derec again?

I hope you enjoy this different view of the fight over America.



Here is an excerpt:

In the musty stone cottage they’d gathered in before, Rowena laid the paper bearing her cipher on the rough-hewn table. It had taken her all of yesterday to unravel the mystery of the Greek words. Dressed again like a boy, she sat without having to manage with petticoats and hoops. A lantern flickered beside the note. Sam, Derec and James stared down at it.

“This dispatch tells of rebel forces gathering again to protect Morristown in New Jersey. Their General Greene knows they’re outnumbered.” She kept her tone officious and massaged a bush scratch on her hand. She’d taken a great risk sneaking from her aunt’s home this evening. Sam had strolled boldly through the rear garden, the extra guard watching him, while she slipped off in another direction. They’d reunited at the stables to retrieve Kayfill.

On the tip of her tongue, she decided she wouldn’t dare ask the courier’s fate from whom they’d obtained this report. The first courier’s bloody stomach flashed through her mind.

"A well written story, produced by an author who knows her era. Details of espionage and intrigue keep those pages turning."

“Aye, General Knyphausen plans a second attack after the failure of Connecticut Farms.” Derec plucked up the note. “Greene has over a thousand Continental troops, plus the hundreds in the New Jersey militia to oppose the Hessians.”

“Connecticut Farms. Where you imprudently put yourself and Sam in grave danger.” James’ words cut through her. “But you never heed my warnings.”

“Dear James, we must work together to prevail in this war.” She tried Aunt Joan’s soothing manner, instead of allowing him to provoke her.

“I still think you should return to Easton, and Uncle Robert, before you’re hurt or arrested.” He averted his gaze, his shoulders hunched.

She grinned over her irritation. “How kind of you to worry about me, dear cousin.”

“We do worry, geneth.” Derec paced the hard-packed dirt floor, his face in and out of shadow, the note in his hands. He’d briefly smiled at her when they’d greeted tonight and cast her a look now and then.

She thought of his words at the river. The dare about her seeking a husband. The memory of his arm around her sent a heated tremor through her. She rubbed her nape, hard. If she wanted to be taken seriously, she couldn’t be seen as a simpering girl. The boy’s clothing sheltered her.

                               

For more on me and my books, visit my BWL author's page



Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.


Sunday, September 7, 2025

Reading by Season by Eileen O'Finlan

                                                                                                                                                                   





Over the years, I have noticed an interesting phenomenon. At certain times of the year, usually at the change of seasons, I get the overwhelming urge to read specific types of books. Often, just as we are sliding into summer, I get the hankering for historical fiction set during either the American Revolution or the American Civil War. I've no idea why the warmer weather induces such a fancy. After all, those are hardly what most people would call beach reads, but there we are. 

I've never been into the typical "beach read" anyway. The last time I read a book on the beach (many, many years ago), it was The Shining by Stephen King. I was so into it that I completely lost track of time - a common occurrence when I'm reading a good book - and didn't realize that four hours had gone by. I'd been laying on my stomach, propped up on my elbows. I got a massive sunburn and wore the outline of it on my back from my low, scoop-back, one-piece bathing suit for the next two years! Yes, Stephen King books can be dangerous!

Now that we are heading into fall, the temperatures here in New England are beginning to dip, the days are getting shorter, and autumn is definitely on its way, my book cravings are turning to the supernatural. I'm beginning to amass a "to be read" pile of such books, having just finished two of the genre's classics - Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House and Henry James's The Turn of the Screw.

I'm sure I'm not alone in turning to these types of books at this time of year. It makes sense. (Certainly more than yearning for Revolution and Civil War books just because it's summer.) Come the holidays and the long, cold winter, I'll probably start looking for something more cozy. But from now through Halloween, bring on the vampires, ghosts, and haunted houses. 

While it took a year to write The Folklorist, (after at least six months of research), I really got into it the most during the fall. It was exciting to craft a novel that could have been on my own autumn TBR list at the same time I was craving that type of book. I think it helped me write the kind of book I most wanted to read at that moment.

Included in this fall's reading will be books from BWL's Paranormal Canadiana Collection. If Nancy M. Bell's Night at the Legislature is any indication, they are sure to induce plenty of spine tingles!

Of course, I might throw a book or two by Stephen King into the mix. At least at this time of year, I won't be risking a sunburn.

The beginning of my fall TBR



Thursday, August 21, 2025

Did People really kill over Oysters? The 1950s Oyster Wars, by Diane Scott Lewis

 


To Purchase this book click HERE


A friend of mine said her boyfriend had been a witness to some of the dangerous antics on the Potomac River in the 1950s. Maryland owned the river and shot at any Virginians who were dredging for oysters, a profitable practice but it ruined the oyster beds. My protagonist, Luke, is involved, anxious to make money to support his family.

My critique group said this couldn't possibly have happened, but it did.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Colonial Beach


Spray dampened Luke’s face and shoulders as he held onto the boat’s rail, balancing with the slap of the river. On shore, as the sky lightened further, the sun straining to shine through the murk, people gathered. They cheered for Harvey and cursed at the police.

Bullets flew. Luke and Bobby ducked beside Frank on the slimy deck. Jim navigated near the shore, toward a creek’s mouth they knew about. Up on the bank, tree trunks splintered, struck by gunfire.

Harvey careened around bars and in and out of coves, then he cut a hard turn as the seaplane lowered to the water’s surface. The Miss Ann revved, and Harvey steered her right at the plane.

“Oh, shit,” Jim muttered. “He wouldn’t.”

In a splash of flying water, Harvey gunned his boat. The people on shore gasped. The seaplane lifted just as the Miss Ann swerved beneath her pontoons.

“He’s as insane as Bozo.” Luke gripped one hand to the port rail as he still kneeled.

A boat roared up behind them, lights flashing.

“We’re spotted.” Jim slipped Sally into the creek, amongst thicker foliage. Little sunlight had penetrated in there yet. The mist clung like a smoky curtain.

A sudden shift in water again, and a low engine sounded behind them. The police had followed! A spotlight lit up their boat. “Stay where you are!” a disembodied voice shouted. “We’re coming aboard to check your equipment.”

Luke cursed. Their boat pushed into deeper shadows, scraping the starboard side.

“Dammit. Jump overboard. All of you.” Jim flicked his cigarette away. “I’ll take the heat.”

Luke hesitated, but he urged Bobby and his cousin—though they both cursed—to crawl over the side and slosh through the shallow water.

“You got a young family,” Silas hissed and pushed at Luke’s shoulder. “Get goin’. Now.” 

Luke couldn’t be any help to anyone in jail. Especially his family.


For more on me and my books, visit my BWL author's page


Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

Wednesday, August 13, 2025

Storytelling Magic

 





You're never going to kill storytelling, 
because it's built into the human plan. We come with it.
~ Margaret Atwood 

As I complete my third book in my award-winning Navajo Code Talker Chronicles series (All of Me...coming in November), I am, as usual in awe of the power of storytelling. It's the power of the creative spirit... the ability to make something out of nothing that we all possess. We express it in many ways... a well-tended garden, a dance or song, a painting, a family. And it is nothing short of magical.

Our grandson is at an age where he's starting to get the mechanicals behind creating magic. He loved joining his mom to create beautiful illusions to benefit our local Friends of the Library. I enjoyed that spark in his eyes as he pulled a bouquet of flowers from a silk scarf...astonishing even himself. I recognize the same in me as I stand back from a section of dialogue that seems to come from my characters themselves or plot twist that even I didn't see coming. Wow. Moments of magic.
Our young magician

Evan our six-year-old knows that making magic requires craft...presentation, patter, storytelling... and practice, practice, practice with the tools of magic. 

So too for his grandma and her tools of storytelling magic: character development, plotting, dialogue, narration, description... and edit, edit edit!

I hope you'll find the results as pleasing as my grandson's magic!

3 generations of magicians


Book 1

  
Book 2



Book 3












Tuesday, August 12, 2025

My Changing Author Photo



When my first novel, A Deadly Fall, was published in 2011, I decided to get a professional author photograph for book promotion. A friend recommended her friend, Deb Marchand, a local Calgary photographer who specializes in portraits, family pictures, and special events like graduation photos. 

I contacted Deb, found her cost reasonable, and arranged a photo session. Deb likes to shoot outdoors and prefers the evenings for better light. We picked a date, but that summer kept getting hit with evening thunder showers, and we had to cancel our first date. The next time, another storm loomed, but we agreed to chance a downpour. 

Deb chose a location on a park ridge. I had asked her advice on clothing for my portrait. Since it would be a head shot, clothes only mattered from the chest up. Deb said a plain coloured top with a rounded neckline would be best. I had also read that it's best to avoid jewellery in portraits since it detracts from the face, which is what people most want to see about the person. 

I looked through my wardrobe, couldn't find the perfect top, and threw a bunch into a bag with the plan to discretely change on the ridge until we found the top that worked. Fortunately, on that evening of looming clouds few people were out walking in the park. After taking numerous photos of me in several tops, I went to Deb's house, in the rain, to go through the selections on her computer. An agonizing choice when so many photos looked similar and I'm not the biggest fan of pictures of me. 

In the end, I settled on a photo of me wearing a white top with a V-neck. I liked the look so much that I had the photo enlarged for my family room wall. 


Deb and I became Facebook friends. She came to my book launch and read A Deadly Fall and my next two novels. In 2019, I realized my eight-year-old photo was out of date and asked Deb if she'd be interested in another photo shoot. This time, we met on a clear, spring evening in Calgary's St. Patrick's Island Park, and I had the perfect top--red with a rounded neckline.  
 

Six years passed. I published three more novels, let my hair go naturally gray, and. thanks to cataract surgery didn't wear glasses anymore. Every time I sent out my author picture, I felt it didn't look like the current "me." I messaged Deb who was enthused about working with me again. She suggested Prince's Island Park downtown for our third photo shoot.  

Deb asked if I'd prefer a city or nature backdrop. I chose nature because I liked the greenery in my past photos and thought high rise buildings in the background would portray the wrong image for my shift to historical fiction. Deb thought a light-coloured top would be a good contrast to nature colours. I chose a pale pink rounded-neck T-shirt top. 

On a warm, slightly windy and smoky evening in June, we walked around the Prince's Island Park and caught up on each others' news. Deb photographed me on a staircase to the Bow River and in front of trees and flowerbeds. She had me do models' poses--chest out and swish your arms down your hips to your thighs--and fussed with my windblown hair. It reminded me that I wouldn't want to be a model. 

After the session, Deb emailed me a longlist of photos as well as her five personal favourites, from which I chose my two author photos. Here they are:


  


When I want, I can crop the bottoms of these photos for more close-up views, which works especially well when the promotion image will be small.  

Deb also sent black and versions:   

 


Deb and I shared a few laughs during the photo shoot. She said that, as a bonus, she'd add a joyous portrait as her gift to me. "It will be one of those great laughing photographs that makes me smile as big as your smile in the photo." 

I was touched when she gifted me with two joyous pictures. Thanks to Deb Marchand Photography for all these years of great author photos. 


  


  
 

                                 

 

Thursday, August 7, 2025

They Don't Make Them Like That Anymore by Eileen O'Finlan

 

                               


Whenever I do research for a new historical novel, I always find things that surprise me. Currently, I'm working on the research for the third book in my Children of Ireland series. Like Erin's Children, this one will also be set in Worcester, Massachusetts but a decade later during the American Civil War.
Naturally, I have to research the politics of the time, life in the military and on the home front, as well as the war itself. Equally important is research on everyday life at that time. That is my favorite type of research. I find it fascinating to learn about how people lived, what they wore, what they ate, what they did for work and leisure, and what things they had in their homes.

Recently, I read about some types of furniture that were common in the mid-19th century. I was amazed to learn that patent - that is, convertible, collapsible, or folding furniture - was all the rage in American middle-class homes. These included such items as sofas and lounges that converted to a bed, a bed or a bath tub that converted to a wardrobe, or a bench that doubled as a table.

Wanting to see for myself what some of these furnishings looked like, I did an online search for images of 19th century American patent furniture. My favorite is the Wooton Patent desk. Closed it looks like a intricately carved work of art. Open its double doors to reveal a multitude of drawers and cubby holes, many of them on the inside of the doors, and a pullout platform for writing. It is a masterpiece of a desk.

Another favorite is the metamorphic desk chair. Closed it's a round table, but pull it open and you have a chair with a rounded back attached by a hinge to a half-moon table with a drawer.

These are just a few of the innovative designs of 19th century furniture. I would welcome either as additions in my own home. I'm sure I will find a place for some of these items in my next novel. Meanwhile, I have more research to do. I wonder what else will surprise me.


Monday, July 28, 2025

In an Era of Fake Alpha Males, Cowboys are Sexier Than Every, By Connie Vines #Sexy Cowboys, #Alpha Males, #Rodeo Romance

 Have you noticed? The times are a-changing.

In an Era of Fake Alpha Males, Cowboys are Sexier than Ever.

The cowboy fantasy isn't just about romance. When men in power are unserious and unworthy. Or when the media depicts all men as deadbeat dads with inflated egos, there's nothing hotter than a symbol of quiet strength, reliability, and competence.



Do you recall the classic 1999 country song by The Chicks? 

The song informs everyone that a rugged man sweeps a woman away to the freedom of the wide-open plains.

That fantasy --- the allure of a cowboy and the promise of escape -- has endured for generations. Woven into country songs, fashion, romance novels, movies, and all eras of pop culture alike. 

No matter how much the world may change.

The cowboy endures.

The era of the itinerant cowboys driving cattle herds through Texas lasted 25 years. However, the cowboy in our hearts has been around much longer.

The loner. The protector. Core values: Hard work, independence, courage, honor, and freedom. His word is a solemn vow, and... cowboys ride horses.

He'll love animals and probably have a dog or two. 

A cowboy's got to be tough to ride the land, but he might have a heart of gold beneath that rough 'n' tumble exterior. He's willing to tame the harsh elements around him to get what he wants.

There's a hint of a gentleman about a cowboy. He'll tip his hat and be respectful.

Every woman loves a cowboy.
(connie's Canva photo)


A cowboy's got to be willing to take on danger and have endurance. After all, he's got to keep on working, whether he's running a days-long cattle drive, barrel racing, or sticking to a rebellious steer's back on the PBR.

A Stetson, flannel, buckle, and denim look good pretty much any guy...whether or not he can dance.

There is a cowboy for every era.

Some may save a 1800s town from a tyrannical railroad baron, a working ranch hand, or a sensitive soul crooning a country tune. 

Do you reach for a Cowboy Romance?

If so, who's your favorite on-screen cowboy? Or your Favorite movie?

Mine:

Dances with Wolves (1990) and Quigley Down Under (1990).

Favorite Western actor: Sam Elliott (love his gravelly voice).

Best Cowboy song: Should've Been a Cowboy by Toby Keith.

My Favorite Cowboy Motto:  "Don't Corner Something Meaner Than You". 

I hope you enjoyed my post.

Please add your list of "Faves" in the comment area (my cowboy heroes love to please the ladies 😉🤠 🐴).

Please visit my links and follow my website and blog. 




My links: 

https://connievines-author.com

https://mizging.blogspot.com

https://books.apple.com/us/author/connie-vines/id624802082

barnesandnoble.com/s/connie%20vines

And, of course, at your favorite online book seller!



The tidy corner of my office 




My awards and some of my research materials.




Spending quality time at my PC at 1:00 AM


Happy Reading,
Connie

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