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.

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

A haunting excerpt from Secrets of Lakeluster House, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

To purchase this novel, click HERE

 For those of you who like spooky stories, but not overly so, please enjoy this excerpt from my young adult novel. It's also a coming of age story for my protagonist.

Editorial Review by Renee Duke A YA novel that will definitely appeal to young teens who like scary stories, Secrets Of Lakeluster House successfully conveys the insecurity and emotional turmoil of its adolescent and preteen protagonists as they find courage they didn’t know they had.

An excerpt, the children are exploring a secret passage:

Sage stopped and raised her light; the hall appeared to curve. She couldn’t see Patrick anywhere. She was about to call out for her cousin. Something materialized in front of her, shifting hues of white and beige, transparent, yet slightly solid.

She froze, mute, unable to turn her head to see if Nate was there. Alarm rushed through her.

The woman in the long apron morphed out of the floating material. She turned her pleading eyes on Sage. “He no longer loved me,” she murmured. “We had plans.”

“Grandma Esther?” Sage thought she said the words aloud, or were they in her head? Had she really heard the woman speak?

The young man who resembled Huntley in a thinner version appeared beside the woman. “It was over, Essie,” he said with a British accent. "We had a bit of fun. Let’s remain friends.”

Sage’s stomach tightened into a fist. Why couldn’t she speak?

The man then stared right at Sage, his eyes black holes, which suddenly changed to ice blue. “Sage, you must go back.” His voice was so familiar. “You aren’t safe.”

He’d said her name! How was that possible? The woman nodded.

“He’s right. Leave us, dear. Be a good girl.” Then she pulled something from her apron pocket. The pistol.

Sage shuddered and nausea rose in her throat.

To purchase my books, visit my publisher's author page:

https://bwlpublishing.ca/lewis-diane-scott/

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

The Scents of Summer

 

                                                             Frind me among our authors

Summer has finally arrived here in beautiful Vermont! 

My garden is producing snow peas, tomatoes, raspberries, corn, beans, squash, herbs, peaches and flowers I can trim and set in a vase on my dining room table. Oh, the joy!

I recently joined our daughter Abby on the coast of central California where I assisted her classes at an acoustic music camp. It was right on the Pacific Ocean. Sage and wildflowers were growing among the sand dunes. Each morning we awoke to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and sage! Those scents will forever remind me of our mother/daughter time together.

What are the scents of summer like where you live? Is it the smell of vinegary barbeque sauce? The pine of a cabin's surrounding trees? The fresh and briny scent of the ocean?

Hope you and yours are enjoying our precious summer season, dear readers, and that it includes a hammock and the scent of a fresh cracked open book!

There's Always a Silver Lining by Eileen O'Finlan

 

 

Click here for purchase information

Recently I've been dealing with some very serious health issues. In early April I was hospitalized for almost five days with peritonitis. I was released after the IV antibiotics did their work, but the cause was still unknown. After more tests, I was back in the hospital by mid-May having major surgery. It turned out that I had ovarian cancer. Thankfully, my very skilled surgeon was able to remove it all. So, now I'm off from my day job for six weeks while I recover from a full hysterectomy.

It has been a rough couple of months, but they have not been without several silver linings. First, if I hadn't had the peritonitis, I would not have had the tests that led to the surgery and I would not have known I had cancer. It was caught and removed in the earliest possible stage. Had I not had those tests and that surgery I'd still be walking around with cancer unawares, probably until it was too late. Having a very painful case of peritonitis probably saved my life. That, along with three amazing doctors who would not give up on finding out the cause and then moving on it extremely quickly. Thank you Dr. Kelly O'Callahan, Dr. Leah Rothstein, and Dr. Larissa Mattei. I am forever grateful to you!

The other silver lining is that not being able to go to work or do much of anything for several weeks means that I've been spending a lot of my time camped out on the living room couch with books and notebooks doing research for my next historical novel. I still don't have a working title, but it will follow my Irish characters from Kelegeen and Erin's Children. Like Erin's Children, it will be set in Worcester, Massachusetts but moving forward into the 1860s. This means that it will in large part include the American Civil War. This entails a lot of research for which I had previous been finding little time to accomplish. Suddenly, I have loads of time to devote to what for me is a fascinating subject.

As usual, I have Autumn Amelia, to help. While she plays nurse and hangs out with me 24/7, I am getting a lot done. No doubt she is also multi-tasking as my Cat Tales muse. I'm sure that as I read and take notes on the history of the War and Worcester in the 1860s, my subconscious mind is whirling with ideas for the third book in the Cat Tales series thanks to her constant healing presence.

A young adult ghost story, written with my granddaughter, by Diane Scott Lewis

                                           

NEW RELEASE To purchase this young adult novel, click here

 I wrote this story, released this month, with my granddaughter, Jorja, who is fifteen now; I'm so proud of it. I hope you enjoy the spooky tale. 

Here is the blurb:

Sage, at fourteen, grows up in turmoil in Nahant, Massachusetts. Her changing body, her parents’ rocky marriage. When her cousin Patrick visits for the summer, his parents’ divorce has given him a reckless anger. He insists they explore the creepy mansion in the woods. Nate, Sage’s younger brother, is reluctant to approach the manor where a beloved teacher was found hanged months earlier. The children’s great-great grandmother worked at Lakeluster House in a previous century and was under suspicion of shooting another servant.

Now an old lady and her butler have moved in and the kids bring a welcome cake. Invited inside, Sage encounters a strange little girl who shows her the manor’s dark secrets—sparking Sage’s curiosity. Will the butler—a man with his own mysteries—throw them out for snooping? Who is real and who is a ghost? Was her relative guilty? And what danger lingers in the attic? Sage must gather her courage, risking her life to find out.

My late husband chose the setting for the story: Nahant, Massachusetts, an almost island dangling off the coast.

The gazebo mentioned in the novel

Writing from a younger POV gave me new insights. I'd use words my granddaughter would puzzle over, so I had to change them. Or she'd say "I'd never say that!" I also had to figure out the current teenage slang. Like bougie for fancy. My critique partners said it was their new favorite word.

She is a recipient of literary awards, a girl after my own heart!

An excerpt:

Sage, the fourteen-year-old protagonist, is exploring the manor library, when a child comes up behind her.

“Do you live here?” Sage felt the room go colder, as if someone had opened a window. She rubbed her arms. “Is Miss Dora your aunt or…?”

“My room is upstairs, on the third floor.” Bella cocked her head. “I don’t come down often.”

She had a stilted cadence to her speech, as if she only recited lines written by somebody else. Or she’d repeated them many times before.

“Are you all right?” Sage wondered why she’d ask that. Was this child a prisoner, or a guest? Or just an odd family member? Then Sage remembered the dream she had of a child. A child who resembled this one. How could that be? Her heart twitched. “Do you… like it here?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Bella frowned. “It’s my home now. But the others never liked visitors.”

“The others?” Sage felt for a moment she was being pranked. She shook her head. “Um, okay. There’s a photo album here. Would you like to look at the pictures with me?” Sage turned to the desk and opened the album, at first filled with sepia pictures with posing, glum people: fusty and dusty. Maybe she could get the child to tell her more. A chill crept up the back of her neck and she looked behind her.

Bella was gone.

Sage scanned the room, and it was empty. A lion carving in the fireplace mantel had its eye on her, a live eye that blinked! Sage gasped. The eye returned to plain wood. Big yikes? She stepped over and tentatively touched it, cool and wooden as could be. Then she looked down and cringed.

Bella’s ribbon, still in a bow, lay on the fireplace grate.

To purchase my books, visit my publisher's author page:

https://bwlpublishing.ca/lewis-diane-scott/

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

A Romance Parody. You Were Supposed to Laugh, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

To purchase this book, called "a worthwhile read (and nice change of pace)." ~ Long and Short Reviews, click HERE

If you like parodies, and funny romps through the 18th c., you'll enjoy my story where I poke fun at the tropes of romance novels. At least if you take it with a grain of salt.

I read many historical romance novels and usually found the formula, boy meets girl, they immediately fall in love, trouble ensues, but love and lust conquers all, contrived. I wanted to pen more believable stories, with long simmering attractions. But first, given the parodies of the popular Fifty Shades of Grey, I had to combine the usual tropes of this genre and have some fun.

Here is an excerpt: (Melwyn and Griffin are betrothed, but neither wants the match. He confronts her in the Vauxhall Gardens)

The chit’s wrist felt sparrow-thin in his hands. Griffin glared down at her, as she stared up, raspberry ice cream on her lips. At first startled, she didn’t scream and composed herself quickly; he had to admire that.

“How is your sojourn in London, my lady? A sudden urge to travel, had you?” Griffin smiled at the rising anger in her blue eyes.

“How dare you follow me, sir. And drag me into bushes.” Miss Pencavel pulled away from him, chin jutted out. “I told you my wishes in Cornwall. You have wasted your time if you’re here to change my mind.”

“Truth is, I did have business in town, so it’s not a total waste.” He rocked back on his heels, arms now behind his back. His actions were irrational, and totally alien to his usual demeanor. “You intrigue me, Miss Pencavel, such as a wasp might intrigue one. You wonder how close you may hover before being stung.”

He baited her, and enjoyed it. This slip of a girl provoked him, and that was disconcerting. Most females he understood as connivers or simpletons. Miss Pencavel appeared to be neither. Her eyes shone with an innate intelligence. Why had he followed her into the garden—while he had to admit that he’d searched for any sign of her in town—when he had little use for marriage? A wife like her would only get in his way.

Thomas Rowlandson 1780s, "Entrance to Vauxhall Gardens"

 
“I assure you, you will feel my sting.” She backed up a step and took another bite of her dessert. “You said cruel things about my mother. Even if they were true, you were still despicable.”

“I must apologize; I should have waited until I knew you better before being so straightforward.” He softened his words as a twig crackled under his buckled shoe. “But are you like your mother, partial to servants and other low-lifes?”

“I might be partial to whoever takes my fancy, a sailor, a groom, a particularly handsome nightsoil man.” She scrutinized him closely. “I’ve heard you have sinister inclinations, not that such things would bother me, being the free-thinking person I am, but I’d rather not be troubled with you.”

Griffin pondered what she really knew. He decided to deride her, to nudge her off-balance. He resisted the urge to brush a stray leaf from her cheek. “Are you already ruined, my girl, is that why you shy away?”

“I have been in various positions where I might have been ruined, but not in that compromising position I know nothing about, and you no doubt insinuate.” She licked her spoon, slowly.

'

"Beer Street and Gin Lane" by William Hogarth 1751

Many reviewers took offence at my fun-poking, but it was not meant to be taken seriously. My book club thought it hilarious.

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

https://bwlpublishing.ca/lewis-diane-scott/

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

A woman doctor in the 18th century, impossible, or is it? by Diane Scott Lewis

 

A young woman seeks to learn a physician's skills in the late eighteenth century, but discovers strange village secrets, and a possible murder, instead. To purchase this book, click HERE  

For this novel I delved into eighteenth century medical practices, and found some interesting facts concerning women. I hope you find them interesting as well.

In this time period woman weren't allowed to study as doctors in Great Britain. But some women found ways to circumvent the restrictions.

Women were often relegated to treat female issues only, but a few went beyond that practice.

An Irishwoman named Margaret Bulkley dressed as a man, attended Edinburgh University, and graduated a fully fledged doctor. Her charade went largely undetected in her many years of practice.

Margaret as "James Barry"

A Mrs. Roman in 1760s Wiltshire, England, worked as a physician, for the poor, treating both men and women. She was paid the same as the male doctors but her formal education is unclear.

Here is an excerpt from my novel, when Rose confronts the village doctor. (all her examples are pre 1790s) 

“Why are you interested in these things, may I ask?” Dr. Nelson's tone turned a little cold as he scrutinized her.

“That’s what I’ve come to discuss with you.” Rose scanned two other book titles then faced him. “Since I was a little girl I’ve been interested in healing, practicing on cats and dogs, mostly. I set a dog’s leg, and he recovered quite well. I even treated our servants in America with poultices and syrups.

“I discovered a Lucretia Lester of Long Island who practiced midwifery for years, but she was respected as a nurse and doctoress to the women she treated.” Rose sat in a Windsor chair before a large oak desk, the books in her lap.

“Women have long been respected as midwives.” Nelson sat at his desk. The size of the piece dwarfed him, and it displayed no personal items and no portraits hung on the walls.

He stared down at his hand and tapped a finger. “Of course, since the use of forceps started twenty years ago, which brought men into delivery rooms, midwives were relegated to rural communities or serving the poor.” He related this as if delivering a lecture. His stiff words pushed aside any friendliness.

Undaunted, Rose plunged on. “I also read an article in an old edition of the South Carolina Gazette about a Mrs. Grant who attended lectures by professors of Anatomy and Practice of Physick in Edinburgh. She had a certificate and practiced as a doctoress in Scotland.”

“I have heard of her. That was almost thirty years ago.” Nelson looked up again, his frown deep. “What do you hope to accomplish, Miss Gwynn?”

“Women were allowed to be physicians in England until Henry VIII legislated to put a stop to it.” She pressed the history books against her thighs. “It’s time that women were allowed back into the practice.” 

“Do you intend to find a way to attend a medical college? I’m afraid that’s— impossible.” His skin flushed as if he fought against a stronger emotion.

A quack doctor assists a patient in 1792

Rose has no idea she's stirring up trouble for Nelson, but soon she'll be in the thick of it. Along with her meet Catern, a tavern wench out for revenge against the earl who is courting Rose's sister, and the mysterious Charlie who watches them all, hoping to help or hinder.

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

https://bwlpublishing.ca/lewis-diane-scott/

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

Write a Novel...It Will Be Easy--And other Fairy Tales By Connie Vines #Connie Vines author, #BWL, #Fragrance #book teaser

Connie is motivated by jewelry or colorful baubles.

 "You should be a writer," my maternal grandmother said while sprinkling the top of the Kolacky cookies with powdered sugar. "My mother. Your babi (bah-bee) was from Bohemia...she loved her romance stories...."

My grandmother, in her youth

The paternal side of the family held another opinion regarding novelists.

My paternal grandmother, born and raised in Texas, didn't voice acetates for my father's cousin, Clarence "Clancy" Carlile, a published author. My grandfather was Clancy's uncle. 

Clancy's first novel contained a gripe/scene featuring breakfast oatmeal.

My grandmother practically spit nails whenever the subject was mentioned. So, I dutifully vowed "never to read "that" novel.

Oklahoma Reservation/ 1938-1942
My father (far left), Clancy beside him. My grandparents are on the far right. 

Of course, I was still an early reader when I made that vow. 

Later, as I transitioned from writing magazine articles and nonfiction to writing Western romance, I recalled my promise to my late grandmother.

Although the book was out of print, I found a copy in my late twenties. My first novel (Lynx) opens in a  "Honky-Tonk" as a nod to my Uncle "Red" Clancy Carlile. 

That is what is known as "Back Story".

Information a reader must know to tie into a current scene or a future plot point :)

This information also hints at "Character Motivation" or an "Inciting Incident".

In this blog post, you can understand how my life influences my writing (though I'm seldom aware of it until it jumps out at me or a sibling points it out).

All this is good, but it doesn't fulfill the title's promise (which is obviously tongue-in-cheek).

My Findings:

1. Writers are often introverts because they are energized by time alone with their minds. They may love being with people, but it tires and drains them. I spent many years feeling guilty because I turned down invitations to "events"

2. I focus on research. Therefore, I allow one day a week to indulge in my obsession. 

3. I'm easily distracted. Therefore, I have to push myself along. 

4. I post reminders (I love sticky notes!) around the house and on my office whiteboard: 

Why I started writing the story in the first place.  

Possible characters/plot for the next book in the series, etc.

5. I set deadlines and reward myself (coffee break or sitting in my garden with my 2 pups). 

 6. Place images representing your goals (future novels, etc) in your writing area.

7. Gather memories and experiences from your life. This will trigger emotions and remind you how much others have influenced or inspired your novels.

8. Though I'm an introvert, I do interact with others. I'm a huge fan of events like "Charmed Writers." We (Members of OCRW) write nonstop for days—well, almost nonstop for days. We log in our time and page count on the Facebook group page and add a mini update/and/or gifs. 

My Charms: Handcuffs, for 6 straight hours of writing. Owl, writing from midnight to sunrise.

 

And believe it or not, the early bird was when I crawled out of bed before sunrise to write.

Updates:

At the moment, I am on my computer writing the first book of my Fragrance and Love Series. 

While I'm not sharing snippets of my work-in-progress, I'm sharing the story that inspired the series!  

 "Gumbo Ya Ya"  "Love Potion No.9" is the second story in the anthology.

*

It is said that the sense of smell is the most intimately linked of all our senses to memory, and I believe it to be true. One whiff of a familiar scent, even one we have not encountered in years, can transport us to a time and place long forgotten, even before we consciously recall the memory.

*

"Don't shake your finger at me, Simone Basso. I know what I'm doing." Persia Richmnd said, holding a pipette to fill a crystal half-ounce atomizer with perfume. The top notes of peach blossoms and bergamot,  and the mid-notes of gardenia, honey and tuberose tantalized... 

The fragrance was New Orleans, culture at its most upscale moments and Mardi Gras at its naughtiest... Ooooh, La La!

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57681480-gumbo-ya-ya

https://books.apple.com/us/book/gumbo-ya-ya/id1560874874

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1077128

Or at your favorite online Book Seller

Happy Reading!

I hope you enjoyed my post.

Connie

More Links:

http://mizging.blogspot.com/

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Award winning series about the French Revolution, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

To purchase Escape the Revolution, click HERE

To purchase the sequel, Hostage to the Revolution, HERE

A writer goes through many drafts of their manuscript. This one I worked on the longest, being my first completed novel.

A novel that grew so big I had to cut it in half. Who knew publishers shied away from large novels, though it didn't stop Diana Gabaldon.

I even visited Cornwall and Paris, where my main character lived, struggling to solve her situation.

Settle back, and enjoy this journey through a determined young lady's experience.

The northern coast of Cornwall, England where Bettina works in a tavern

I researched the French Revolution to add flavor to the story of a young countess who is tricked by a trusted servant into fleeing to England to deliver important papers. When she arrives she discovers the paper are blank and she's left penniless and adrift. She must find a way to reconnect with her mother. And uncover the truth of her father's death. She finds herself embroiled in a murderous plot. Escape the Revolution takes place in England, where Bettina must find work to pay her way. With no real skills, she ends up in a bawdy tavern on the Cornish coast where she meets a man who is rumored to have killed his unfaithful wife. Will an attraction happen between them?

The Luxembourg Palace in Paris where Bettina must go to ask a favor of Napoleon

The second novel, Hostage to the Revolution, takes place in New Orleans and France. Bettina discovers the truth of her father's death, and kidnapped by rebels, she escapes into war-torn France to save the man she loves. Through it all, she grows in courage and shrewdness, ready to face any difficulty that comes her way. 

Read an excerpt, the first meeting of the main characters:

“Affreux!” Bettina recoiled from Stephen. “You are … a rutting pig, and have no reason to say that to me!”

He grabbed her upper arms as she tried to shove past him. His bared teeth turned him wolfish, wiping any attractiveness from his features. “A pig, am I? I’ll show you a pig, froggie!”

“Let go of me!” She struck and pushed at him with her fists. But the harder she struggled, the more he laughed. Stephen hauled her to his chest, then brushed his damp lips on her jaw when she whipped back her head. Bettina wrenched up a hand to scratch his cheek.

A horse clopped up. Someone dismounted, jerked Stephen around and punched him in the face.

The young man sprawled on the ground, kicking furiously at the dirt. “Damme! Who the hell—oh!” He staggered to his feet and sped off into the twilight, his footfalls echoing across the cottages.

Bettina froze, her hand at her throat, heaving for breath. Facing the person who came to her aid, she took in a tall figure in cape and hat silhouetted against the darkening sky.

“Are you all right, young woman?” The man spoke in a deep, resonant voice. The clean, faint scent of spice floated around him.

“Yes … merci,” she uttered through tight lips. "Who are--"

“Then if you don’t live far, you had better proceed home.”

Bettina didn't wait for more and hurried up the road. Once she reached the inn porch, she looked back to see the man mount his horse and ride away. With a ragged sigh, she brushed tears from her cheeks. She’d little doubt she just came face to face with the nefarious Everett Camborne.

The story is about coping, survival, passion and heartbreak.
Then victory under dire circumstances. A rousing adventure.

"...wonderfully researched and the reader is taken right into the drawing rooms, kitchens and taverns of the dark days of late eighteenth century England."
- Historical Novels Reviews blog

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

Meet Louisa and Vivian by Eileen O'Finlan

 

Click here for purchase information

Last month I began introducing the new Cat Tales characters with Buster Parker. This month I'd like to introduce Louisa and Vivian.

Louisa is a great blue heron and Jasmine's business partner. If you've read the first book in the Cat Tales series, All the Furs and Feathers, you'll know that Jasmine is a Russian Blue cat and Smokey's best friend, and you may remember Louisa who made a very brief appearance as part of Jasmine's web design team for Oneness Park. In All in the Furry Family, Jasmine and Louisa have teamed up to form Blue Landing Web Design. Smokey's not sure how she feels about Louisa. She finds her standoffish, but if she's being honest with herself, she's really a little jealous of Jasmine's growing friendship with Louisa and worries she'll lose her best friend.

Vivian is a flamingo and an old college friend of Louisa's. When she stops by to visit Louisa on her way to meet her dance troupe for a competition in the Canary Islands, Louisa brings her to a Hunter's Moon Night party at Smokey and Autumn Amelia's cottage. 

In this excerpt from All in the Furry Family, Louisa and Vivian regale their hosts and the other party guests with tales of their college exploits. Vivian has just described a prank Louisa pulled on one of her professors. The guests ask for more stories and Vivian obliges:

"Well, there was the time she had a huge test she was not ready for. So, on the morning of the test, instead of studying, she made a huge banner with the words, 'All classes canceled this afternoon' and flew over the campus with it tied to her tailfeathers, hoping no one would show up for class and the test would have to be rescheduled."

"Did it work?" asks Rivet.

Vivian snorts and Louisa groans.

"No," says Vivian. "But she did get out of the test after she flew straight into a tree and spent the rest of the day in the infirmary."

"Louisa!" Jasmine exclaims.

"Don't remind me," says Louisa, covering her face with her wing. "That was the worst headache of my entire life," she tells Vivian. "You were at that party, too."

"But I did not have a test the next day."

"Oh, yes, the model student. But what about the time we went to the Bahamas?"

Vivian sits taller. "We had a lovely time."

"Sure, until the last night. Remember the beach party?"

"Oh. That," says Vivian, trying to stifle a giggle by wrapping a wing around her bill.

"What happened?" asks Sam.

If you'd like to know what happened, you'll just have to read All in the Furry Family, but let's just say when you party on the beach with drunk iguanas things can get out of control quickly.

If you'd like a chance to win a signed copy of All in the Furry Family, go to the "Giveaways" page on Goodreads to enter anytime before March 30, 2025. Winners will be chosen in April.

Click here for purchase information (just the book, not the cat!)

Further Adventures in Historic Canada by Diane Scott Lewis

 

After a long hiatus due to personal and health problems, I am excited by the new Canadian Historical Mystery series. I 'm posting a post about my Canadian historical On a Stormy Primeval Shore, the establishment of New Brunswick, mixed with danger and romance. Part of the Canadian Historical Brides series. 

I hope you enjoy this foray into the eighteenth century right after America's revolution chased the loyalists to Canada.

To purchase this novel, click HERE

Amelia: an 18th century Englishwoman in the wilderness of New Brunswick.

In writing my Canadian-based novel, On a Stormy Primeval Shore, I wanted not only a strong heroine, but not the usual ‘beautiful’ woman who strikes every man to his core with her ravishing looks. I wanted a woman not considered beautiful by traditional standards, but one who must struggle and fight her way to be taken seriously, and forge her own happiness.

Amelia Latimer arrives in New Brunswick in 1784, just as this western portion of the colony is breaking away from Nova Scotia. Her father is a captain in the British army stationed at Fort Howe. He’s requested her long journey from Plymouth, England, to betroth her to one of his officers, Lt. Harris.

           
                                    Fort Howe Blockhouse

Amelia, because she isn’t beautiful, at four and twenty years had few marriage prospects in England; but she still hated to leave her mother who is ill with consumption. She's also intelligent, spirited, and determined to find happiness and a purpose. Her first meeting with Harris doesn’t go well and deeply insulted, she plans to return to England.

But soon New Brunswick, with its startling beauty, rugged shoreline and pastoral interior, charms her.

Captain Latimer wants her to return home on the next ship since she’s refused his choice of a husband, but after hearing of her mother’s death, Amelia has ideas of her own.

The remote colony is a mixture of many cultures. The aboriginals, mainly the Mi’kmaq and Maliseet tribes, who settled the land first. The French Acadians, in what was once New France, who were expelled—even slaughtered—when the English took over, then slowly allowed to return. And the Loyalists who fled north after the American Revolution, and now flood the country in need of land, food and occupation.

                          Saint John harbor from Fort Howe's hill.

Amelia wants to cultivate herbs for medicinal purposes, but can she survive the harsh Canadian winter, and will a most unsuitable man steal her heart?

Gilbert is an Acadian trader, one of the original French settlers. He is fighting to keep his and his mother's land. Land the incoming Loyalists want to appropriate. Then he saves a young woman from a marauding bear. Her bold spirit sparks his interest, but she is off-limits being the daughter of an English soldier. Does he dare meet her in private as his feelings grow?

Diane lives in western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

Character Birthdays & Akashic Records

 

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My childhood hero, Alexander Hamilton, was born on January 11th on the little volcanic island of Nevis. Carrying the Edwardian novel I'd discovered in a used book store, I traveled with my mother to the place of his birth. Mother had her drawbacks, but she certainly took me to some interesting and (by Americans) rarely visited places back in the 1950's, for which I remain grateful. January cannot pass without a retelling. 

I hope you will forgive me for this often told tale, but I am getting older and there is a certain compulsion to leave something behind which someone might remember. That Edwardian novel, short on facts though it proved to be, gained us entry to a little "hotel" on the island, because the owner regularly refused would-be guests if they had children. Being a quiet, polite child with a passion for this illustrious native son got us in the door, even though the lady of the house was quite ready, upon seeing me, to cast us out, literally, into the night. 

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January 27th is Mozart's birthday, so his natal day has just passed. Here's a character who took over my life for years--and years. Recently, I had an Akashic reading from a clairvoyant, who uncovered some material relating to this long obsession. I have never ventured into this territory before and had absolutely zero expectations. 

First, however, I need to talk a little about what I understand concerning the Akashic records.  I will quote Wikipedia: "In the religion of Theosophy and the spiritual movement called Anthroposophy, the Akashic Records are believed to be a compendium of all universal events, thoughts, words, emotions, and intent ever to have occurred in the past, present or future..." This includes all sentient entities and life forms, not only "humans." Akasha is a Sanskrit term meaning "aether", sky or atmosphere and the foundational notion came West from Buddhist philosophy. 

Akasha became Akashic via Helena Blavatsky, founder of Theosophy, who spoke of "indestructible tablets of astral light." Later esoteric philosophers, C.W. Leadbeater, Rudolf Steiner, Alice Bailey and Edgar Cayce, enlarged the concept. Akashic Records were likened to the entire experience, past, present, and future, of every life form in the universe--a kind of vibrational, spiritual "cloud" storage for infinity. These "files" could be retrieved by skilled practitioners and revealed to individuals.

You can go further down that particular rabbit hole and never escape. For instance, Ervin Laszlo's 2004 book "Science & the Akashic Field": An integral Theory of Everything, which attempts to explain mysteries of quantum physics via this philosophical structure. Therefore, I'll return to the original subject, my unexpected experience with an Akashic reading. 

Many people seek Akashic readings hoping to find connections with famous historical heroes/heroines, but I wasn't one of them. The whole idea seemed absurd to me. If we are reborn, why shouldn't most of us have been some kind of working stiff, just one of the "cast of thousands" "another brick in the wall" character? 

Here's what happened to me. I was told I had spent many years reliving and remembering a past life, evading the tasks of my present soul/life on this planet. Long story short, my informant said it would be best to stop. I could honestly reply I'd left that "addiction" behind, because I knew exactly what the clairvoyant was talking about, the decade spent exclusively on  all those Mozart books/research/music. Apparently, according to the reading,  I was, a few lifetimes ago, a part of his circle. The feeling was not "wow!" but more like the calm which descends when you find a puzzle piece for which you've been searching and snap it into place.

Don't misunderstand, those "Mozart" books are the first born of my novels, and I love them--and their characters--dearly. However, becoming a slave to a compulsion which drove me to total immersion did some real world, actual, harm. Jobs were lost; security endangered, important relationships neglected, while I spent all my time and energy "in" the 18th Century. 

This, of course, sounds more than a little unhinged, but I intend to read more on the subject, especially the recent material linking systems theory to "reverence for natural systems."

"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy..." 

~Juliet Waldron

Sources: Wikipedia articles on Theosophy, Collective Unconscious, Anthony Peake, Ervin Laszlo, Rudolf Steiner, Madam Blavatsky, Edgar Cayce et al.

New Age, New Answers to Deep Questions by Ruta Sevo, PhD

momox.org/pythia  Akashic Readings