Introduction to Saturday's Child by Rosemary Morris

To learn more about Rosemary's work please click on the cover above.


I enjoyed writing my new novel, Saturday’s Child, set in Brighton on the south coast of England during the Regency era.
My research included interesting facts about libraries, boarding houses, fashion and much more.
Before I began the novel, I spent hours thinking about the characters. Then, from the first paragraph to the last, Annie took me by the hand and led me through the challenges she overcame.

“After the Battle of Waterloo, motherless ten-year-old Annie travels to London with her father, Private Johnson. Discharged from the army, instead of the hero’s welcome he deserves, his desperate attempts to make an honest living fail. Without food or shelter, death seems inevitable. Driven by desperation Johnson pleads for help from Georgiana Tarrant, his deceased colonel’s daughter.
Georgiana, who founded a charity to assist soldiers’ widows and orphans, agrees to provide for them.
At Major and Mrs Tarrant’s luxurious house, Annie is fed, bathed and given clean clothes. Although she and her father, her only relative, will be provided for there is a severe price. Johnson will work for Georgiana while Annie is educated at the Foundling House Georgiana established.
Despite the years she spent overseas when her dear father fought against the French, the horror she witnessed, and recent destitution Annie’s spirit is not crushed. She understands their separation is inevitable because her father cannot refuse employment. Annie vows that one day she will work hard for her living and never again be poor. It is fortunate she cannot foresee the hardship and tragedy ahead to be overcome when she is an adult.”

http://bwlpublishing.ca/morris-rosemary

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

Something to take your mind off our crazy world by Nancy M Bell

TO learn more about Nancy's work please click on the cover.

It seems the world has gone a bit crazy. So I thought I would take your mind off it for a bit by sharing some writing advice. I hope it works. I also everyone stays safe and healthy.

Building the backdrop of your story is a little different that wholesale world building. I liken world building to crating something piece by piece like Lego, where as I view building the backdrop as a less intense (but not less important)endeavour, more like creating a water colour with wide bold sweeps of creativity.



Building the Backdrop
Nancy M Bell

Where do our stories take place, can our characters exist in a vacuum? Of course not. Our stories need to play out against a rich and engaging background. The environment our stories take place in can become as important as the actual characters and an integral part of the reader’s experience. Examples of this are Tolkien’s Middle Earth, McCaffrey’s Pern, Graham’s portrayal of Cornwall in his Poldark books, Rowling’s Hogwarts and alternate London to name just a very few.
Whether we are creating a whole new world complete with maps and exotic flora and fauna or are just setting our tale against something that exists in reality (or close to it), the behind the scenes part of our creation needs to be the layered, deep and rich foundation upon which we tell our story.
As the creator/author you need a strong concept and vision of what your world consists of. Where is it located, what types of characters live in the background to give flavour to our main characters. Consider the weather; are there seasons, is it always hot or cold, is the environment harsh or lush, are you building a backdrop in a city or a town or a more rural area. Take the time to think about these things before you begin. Draw maps if you need to in order to give you a sense of scope and ground yourself in the environment. Those maps may never get into the actual book, but it will help the author navigate through the fabric of his story and weave his characters into that fabric in bright colours.
You need to develop a 360-degree view of your characters. What dialogue will they speak? Is it cultured? Rough? Upper, middle or lower class? Consider how and what they say and what they don’t say but can be implied by their actions/reactions or movements which may be enhanced or initiated by elements of your backdrop. Sometimes what isn’t said comes across more powerfully than what is said.
Mine the stories behind the main story without distracting or overpowering your main characters. This helps create a vibrant and rich tapestry for your story. An interesting experiment is to write the same scene from different character’s point of view. This often gives a deeper view into the circumstances surrounding your main story thread and enrich your world.
Another important thing to consider is how your characters react to these four things:
Money, sex, food and sleep. This is a good way to get into your characters’ heads and will aid in your development of the characters and the backdrop against which they play their parts.
You want to evoke in your readers a strong emotional connection to your characters and to the world through which they move.
The backdrop is important to your character as it will dictate how they behave; their personal motivation should be reflected in the world you create for them.
What is the economy of your world? Supply and demand is a concept that knows no barriers as to genre or length of story. Consider how the economy you create shape and affect your characters both primary and secondary and the world dynamics. An example of this would be the Avengers and the Blue Cube (Tesseract) all you need to know to grasp the essential concept is that people want the Blue Cube and that dictates the rules of the world. The basis of this world is the Tesseract is the containment Bessel for the Space Stone, one of the 6 Infinity Stones that predate the Universe they’ve created and possesses unlimited energy. This one concept is the basis for the foundation of the that world and the fabric of the backdrop for their adventure.

Be careful not to over explain things, show don’t tell is still a rule to live by.
Consider what the character wants- this algorithm will drive your story forward.
You can draw from history for the foundation of your religious and political systems, given you’re not writing non-fiction you can mix and match from different sources, taking what works best for your story.
Your economy isn’t just based on wealth or class- supernatural powers or lack thereof can enter into it, as well as exchange of power or energy.
Don’t forget the sensory issues when creating your backdrop, what are the sounds, smells, what kind of food, what tastes do your characters enjoy, how tactile is your backdrop, can your reader appreciate the feel of your world, smooth concrete, rough cobbles, deep sand, rolling surf etc. You reader need to feel “immediate” in your world. That is to say engaged in the whole experience of your story. Give your readers physical sensations they know intimately- we all know what a paper cut feels like, or burning your hand on a hot pot etc.
Be sure your created fabric isn’t too perfect or sterile- there must be costs attached to actions, consequences for things that do or don’t happen. The reader needs to feel and enter into the tension and care about the stakes.
There are three hills to die on. Three points of high conflict which helps define your world. Know what they are before you start and work from there.
Alternatively, there is Dan Harmon’s Story Circle consisting of 8 major points to hit. Not unlike the various versions of the Hero Cycle.
Remember to write the book. Don’t get stopped or hung up by the little things. Write the climax first if that is what comes to you.
Write with a ragged edge, release control and allow yourself to be nimble.
Don’t be afraid to kill or rehome your darlings.
Always think “what is the point of this scene.”
Does it serve to drive the plot forward
Be sure your backdrop doesn’t over power your characters or story line- they need to mesh and be compatible.

Until next month, stay well, stay healthy. Please don't hoard food or paper products. Reach out to those vulnerable members of our communities. You can drop groceries or other needed items at their door without any contact if that is what is needed. Seniors are in the high risk group - as well as other vulnerable demographics. Let's all do our part to be sure everyone is safe and taken care of.

When it's Time by Nancy M Bell

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

One of the hardest things of having animals in your life is when it's time to say goodbye. In a perfect world our friends would lay down one day and move over the Rainbow Bridge of their own accord. In reality, this seldom happens. Old age, sickness, accidents often force us to make decisions we'd really rather not. November 8th was just such a day. Max, the horse pictured above, has been with me for the last 8 years. He came to me lame with navicular, which we have managed with shoeing and anti inflammatories. We kept him blanketed far more often than the rest of the horses as the cold and wet tightened his muscles up. The horses were in the barn overnight often solely because it was better for Max, who would lie down in the deep bedding when he wouldn't if left outside.
It became painfully obvious last July that our maintenance measures just weren't enough anymore. I called Moore and Company Veterinary and had x rays done of his left forefoot. They showed what I feared, his navicular bone, which is small crescent moon shaped bone located beneath the bulbs of the heel and just a bit above coffin where the deep flexor tendon runs over it, was mostly disintegrated and tendon was frayed. In some less severe cases a vet can perform a nervectomy which basically removes all feeling in the foot. However, Max was a poor candidate for this due to his advanced age of 25 years and the degree of damage in his foot.
After much discussion with two Board Licensed Equine Veterinary surgeons the decision was made to give Max the summer and manage his pain with medicine. It is only a short term solution at this point as the amount of medicine needed to mitigate the condition is also detrimental to his system.

For those of you not horsey, see the image below to give you an idea of the structure of a horse's lower leg and hoof. Photo credit Mid-South Horse Review

As fall rolled around I was faced with the fact I needed to make a decision that was in Max's best interest. Even though my head knew the facts and that this was the best possible outcome, my heart didn't want to listen.
I planned the day to be as stressfree as possible. The vet came to the farm, I called Just Passing which is a company that deals entirely with the respectful removal of dead horses. The only other option to me was to call Alberta Processors which is a company the will come and pick up dead livestock where the body is scooped up and dumped into the back of a high sided truck bed along with dead cows, pigs and heaven only knows what else. Just Passing moves the body as carefully as possible and it goes into a clean stock trailer bedded with clean shavings. I held Max while they sedated him slightly, and then the vet infused the Euthanol. I stroked Max's face and he gave two deep breaths and gracefully and slowly laid down. He was gone before his head lay on the grass. The vet confirmed he was on his way to the Rainbow Bridge and we waited a full fifteen minutes. Emily, his pasture mate of 8 years stood at the fence the whole time whinnying to him, she watched while he went down and then was put in the trailer. Once the trailer left she whinnied twice more and then wandered off. She was depressed for a few days and wanted more attention than usual. Horses grieve in their own way, this has been documented in wild horse herds. When a herd member dies the herd will form a circle around the fallen member and stand that way for long time. Then at some hidden signal they will move off together after touching the dead horse with their noses, each in turn.

I hate having to make the decision to steal the light from any animals eyes, but often it is the kindest thing we can do for them. I would never let any of my animals transition without me being there unless it was physically impossible. It is never a nice thing, but it is the final gift we can give them, to be there for them because they trust us and aren't afraid of strange surroundings or humans. I fight with the feeling that I'm betraying that trust each time. My head over rules my heart with the knowledge that Max was getting more and more unable to move around and I didn't want to come out one day and find him down and unable to get up, or with a broken leg or a catastrophically blown tendon. All things I discussed with the bet.

It sucks when it's time. There is another star in the sky now, shining from the Rainbow Bridge where Max will be waiting for me along with all my other loved creatures when it's my time.

Sorry to be so depressing, writing about things that touch us deeply is cathartic and it is a tribute to those we have lost.

Be well, be happy.

How To Get Away With Murder In Your Sleep by Stuart R. West

I murder a lot of people in my sleep.

Click on through to the other side for murderrrrrr...

Wait, wait, wait... Before you call the police, let me explain. No, I don't sleepwalk and stab snoozily away, nothing like that. Rather, I have a recurring nightmare where I've killed someone (that and the horrifying nightmare where I walk into the world's grossest public restroom barefoot, but that's a dream better left untold).

The odd thing is I never dream the actual killing, nor do I have any idea who my victims are. You'd kinda think those two issues might be important, but no my Id chooses to cut to the Dostoevsky-like chase: waiting for the noose to tighten around my throat as Johnny Law moves in.

What does this say about me as a person? According to the intronets, I have a guilt-ridden mind. Of what? No idea.

I searched my back history for various explanations... Maybe that kid in Kindergarten who I helped to harass because everyone else was? Maybe how I rudely ghosted a woman I dated in college? How about when I used to smoke, I'd toss the butts out on the highway? Or perhaps Karma's getting back at me for cutting in line for a roller-coaster at Worlds of Fun. I don't know...

But these dreams are long, stressful and convoluted. The other night I had my victim all ready to go, trundled up in a plastic trash bag (I assume they were extra, EXTRA strength), and ready to put out on the curb for trash pick-up day. Once the body was picked up and put in the back of the trash truck, I'd be in the clear. However...dogs kept sniffing around the bag. I had to continue shooing them away. Then neighborhood kids kept circling on their bikes, moving in closer, wanting to know what was in the bag ("You kids get outta my yard!"). Then, cop cars started slowly crawling by my house...looking...

How'd it all turn out? Beats me. I ended up at some ridiculous bus station with a miles-long line of people waiting to board the bus, on the lam with my mug plastered on newscasts throughout the terminal.

Much scarier than any horror flick or current political administration.

Apparently, my "guilt-ridden mind" doesn't stop at nightmares, either. Whenever I see a cop, I break out into a cold sweat, start humming some nonsensical tune, hoping the cop will ignore me, view me as an inconsequential, law-abiding citizen. It doesn't matter that I am a law-abiding citizen. It's just one of those things. "Capiophobia" is what my research assistant, Ms. Google, calls this bewildering fear of cops.

Clicky for...um...murder most massagey.

So. I figured that's why I gravitate toward murder mysteries, both writing and reading them. Unlike my nightmares, I can control the destiny and fate of my characters (mwah, hah, hahhhh!), ensuring that justice is served, and that the good guy and/or gal (generally falsely accused) are cleared of any bogus murder raps. It helps to set my day world right, even if there's nothing to be done about my nightmarish night-life.

And like my nightmares, the murders are never gruesomely delineated. It's the aftermath that's important.

Huh. As a kid, I always thought episodes of "Columbo" were boring. Why? Because they always showed from the on-set who the killer was. It became ninety long minutes of watching the killer sweat it out while Columbo ("Just one more thing...") circled the drain. 

I suppose I might like Columbo better now as I can definitely relate with the killers' increasing paranoia.

Sorta like my character, Zach, in the Zach and Zora comical mystery series. Only he's innocent. You see, Zach (a vapid, but big-hearted male entertainment dancer--don't call him a "stripper!"), has an uncanny knack for stumbling across dead bodies, generally becoming blamed as the killer. It's up to his sister sleuth, Zora, to investigate and clear his name, usually with her entourage of four kids in tow. Together they traverse a warped path to the truth, complete with characters straight outta my nightmares: The hippy parents! The singing and dancing detective! Menacing nannies! The paranoid computer geek! Corrupt politicians! Frenzied furries! Rival strippers! Murderous televangelists! The list goes on...

So, take that, guilt-ridden mind! (Freud would be proud.)

Click it like it's hot!

The Fine Artistry of Citizen's Arrest by Stuart R. West

Click for Zach and Zora Book #2

"Halt! You're under citizen's arrest!"

Well. That's not the best catch-phrase, but by the time I pull a citizen's arrest, I'll come up with one. I will, oh, yes, I will. Something catchy. See what I did there? "Catchy?"

I'm a bit excited about this. The act of performing a citizen's arrest tops my bucket list, especially after researching the ins and outs of it for my next Zach and Zora comic mystery novel.

There are many worthy recipients of a citizen's arrest. I'd love to enforce my brand of martial law onto horrible and dangerous drivers. I mean, the other day I saw an idiot swerving lane to lane with his phone held in front of him. And there's the prob. How do I chase the offending moron down without Starsky and Hutching everyone else on the highway?

A bigger problem might be what to do with the guy once I catch him.

"Excuse me, sir, but I'm placing you under citizen's arrest. Um, could you come get in my car while I drive you to the police station?"

I don't see this working out in my favor. 

I need a better plan. Of course I certainly don't want to start lugging around guns, even though practically everyone in Kansas has one (and dang proud of it! Ram tough!). Not in this day of commonplace, nightmarish shootings. I could see myself adding to the problem. I've got that addictive sort of personality.

Frankly, I might not know where to draw the line in my impending career as a citizen's arrester. What do I do with those buffoons who wear shorts and t-shirts in thirty degree weather? Do I slip handcuffs on everyone who wears two different types of plaid? I'd be maxing the jail cells out with major fashion faux-pas offenders, a wardrobe-angry Charles Bronson. 

According to Ms. Google, my research assistant, I'm allowed to use "reasonable force" should I find it warranted. I'd say the above offenses definitely warrant a good kick to the hind-end. 

The law doesn't make it easy on we citizen arresters, either. The onus is on the arresting citizen to provide probable cause. Not a problem. One look at my captive's mesh see-through shirt and mullet, the police force will hand me the key to the city.

Now all I've got to do is detain the offender until the cops show up. Easy-peezy. I'll sit on him. I can sit like a champ!

There you have it. My solid plan is in effect. Don't cross me citizens! Stuart's on the job!

I'd probably arrest Zach, the "hero" of my Zach and Zora comic mystery series for being such a dolt. Find out if that arrest is warranted by clicking here!

A ghost on a military base? by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo BWL Author Page

During the Second World War, HMCS Cornwallis (later renamed CFB Cornwallis) was the largest naval training base in the British Commonwealth. Built on the southern shore of the Annapolis Basin in Nova Scotia and commissioned in 1942, the military training base closed in 1994.

In the late 1980s, my husband and I enjoyed a three-year posting at CFB Cornwallis. During that time, we attended many functions inside the Officers' Mess. It was a beautiful building (pic on the left), rich in history, and haunted by the ghost of a young woman. I was fascinated by the sad story of that young woman who allegedly hanged herself in one of the upstairs bedrooms after her lover, a sailor in the British Navy during World War II, abandoned her to go back to his wife.

The legend of her ghost was very much alive. While I didn’t know of anyone who had ever seen her, there were reports of strange activities inside the Mess, but was her ghost really roaming the Officers' Mess and only showing herself to unfaithful married men?

Despite all the research I did, I couldn’t find any evidence that a woman ever killed herself inside the Mess, but the basement of the Base Commander’s Residence did shelter grave markers. The dead no longer rest in the basement, their remains were moved to a different burial site, but two of the markers still stand side by side, each engraved with the names of two young children. The four siblings—Edward (1 month), Amelia (1 yr & 6 months), Gilbert (3 yrs), and W.C. (3 yrs)—died between 1850 and 1858.

The legend of the ghost and the grave markers inspired me to write Misguided Honor, my latest novel which was released last week.

In Misguided Honor, Becca Shea sneaks into Cornwallis and travels back in time to 1941 where she meets the young heart-broken woman in the days leading up to her tragic death.

To bring the story of the ghost to life, I took some liberties with history. Among other things, I gave Cornwallis a fictional past as a private shipyard, moved the buildings around, changed their layouts, and delayed the closure of the base. I wish I had unearthed the origin of the legend, and though I didn't, I'm convinced something dreadful happened a long time ago in the Officers' Mess—or else the legend wouldn't have been born.

Happy reading!

JS

 J. S. Marlo's Website

Bathing in the Sea during the Regency Period by Rosemary Morris

To learn more about Rosemary's work please click on the cover above.

Mermaids at Brighton swim behind their bathing machines. William Heath 1829.

18th Century to the 19th Century. In the 1730’s few people either bathed in the sea or visited the coast, where each of three towns Scarborough, Margate and Brighton, claimed to be the first seaside resort. By the 1750’s resorts developed in locations within easy reach of the capital and large cities. When sea bathing first became popular the advice was against swimming either after exercise or during warm weather when the pores of the skin were open. Members of the medical profession considered cold water during winter to be best. They advised bathers to swim before 10 a.m. to provide a good start to the day. By 1800 most people preferred to swim early in the morning, but some swam for pleasure all day in every season.

Bathers At first men and women bathed in the same areas but they were soon segregated. In Brighton ladies bathed to the east of the beach and gentlemen to the west.
However, in Bognor, nude bathing was not banned until 1868, and in 1882 byelaws were passed to ensure bathing machines were used to undress in.

Bathing Machines and Dippers. Those, who did not know how to swim but wanted to take advantage of the health benefits of sea bathing, took advantage of bathing machines attended by dippers who dunked their clients in the sea. The bathing machines were wooden huts on large wheels which the dippers or horses pulled in and out of the sea. Female dippers wore gowns with full skirts and hats. In Brighton, the setting for my new novel, Saturday’s Child, Mrs Martha Gunn dipped the Prince Regent and in Southend Mrs Glascock and Mrs Myall dipped Princess Charlotte. For some ladies being dunked was a frightening experience., for example, the novelist, Fanny Burney thought she would never recover.

Jane Austen at Lyme Regis. On the 14h September, 1804, in Jane Austen’s letter to her sister Casandra she wrote. “The bathing was so delightful this morning and Molly so pressing me to enjoy myself that I believe I staid (sic) in rather too long.”

Classic Historical Fiction by Rosemary Morris

Early 18th Century novels: Tangled Love, Far Beyond Rubies, The Captain and The Countess

Regency Novels False Pretences.

Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Books one to Six, Sunday’s Child, Monday’s Child, Tuesday’s Child, Wednesday’s Child, Thursday’s Child and Friday’s Child.

(The novels in the series are not dependent on each other, although events in previous novels are referred to and characters reappear.)

Mediaeval Novel Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk http://bookswelove.n1et/authors/morris-rosemary

Storm's Refuge and our foray into audio books by Nancy M Bell

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

The world of audio books is relatively new to me and I was thrilled when my publisher decided to put Storm's Refuge into production. It's kind of weird to hear my words spoken by someone I don't even know and to hear my characters come to life, so to speak. The whole process was pretty painless. First I chose a short excerpt as a sample, then it was posted on the ACX site as a proposal for narrators to consider. There are also many narrators to choose from with samples of their various 'voices' and accents to choose from. You can narrow it down to female or male, certain age and regional accents etc. It was pretty cool listening to how one person could change their delivery just by altering cadence and pronunciation of vowels etc.
Fortunately, someone liked Storm and agreed to narrate for us. All this was done through the publisher's ACX account. Georgia Bragg is my narrator, and I was thrilled to find out she is an Albertan and as my book is set in Alberta, the accent and manner of speaking rings true to the characters. I had the pleasure of meeting Georgia in the beautiful hamlet of Bragg Creek, AB. If any of you are familiar with the TV show North of 60, you'll be pleased to know that Bragg Creek and surrounding area was the stand in for Lynx River. If you're ever in the area be sure to visit Bragg Creek and nearby Elbow Falls.

This is just a taste of the beauty that awaits you. Photo credit High Country News

It took a few months to produce 6+ hours of narration. Georgia did a wonderful job of keeping true to my characters and infusing them with humour and tension in all the right places. After months of reviewing and listening I'm happy to say Storm's Refuge is live on Audible. If you're interested in listening click here.

Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

www.nancymbell.ca

Rosemary Morris talks with Janet Lane Walters by Rosemary Morris

To learn about Janet Lane Walters and Whispers of Yesteryear click on the cover above.

Whispers from Yesteryear by Janet Lane Walters is the novel I most enjoyed reading this year. The tale slips backward and forward from 1755 to July 2017. The past cast long shades over the lives of twin girls in their next reincarnation and those of those they knew in the past. The author led me by the hand through the ups and downs of their lives. Engrossed in the twin’s story I finished reading it in less than twenty-four hours desperate to find out how the havoc wrought by a heartless villain was resolved.

Janet Lane-Walters has been writing and published since the days of the typewriter. She has 30 plus novels and seven novellas plus four non-fiction books published. Janet lives in the scenic Hudson River valley with her husband, a psychiatrist who has no desire to cure her obsession with writing.
She is the mother of four and the grandmother of five with two children expected to arrive soon from China. Janet writes in a number of genres - Romance from sweet to sensual and from contemporary to fantasy and paranormal. She has published cozy mysteries and medical suspense. She also has a number of YA fantasies published.

Blurb
Not the children.” Willow Carey is awakened by the remnants of a dream she hasn’t had for years. Today she is to return to Indian’s Sorrow, a house she inherited from her aunt. The inheritance has caused a rift with her twin sister. Her father and stepmother have died in an accident. Though she doesn’t want to go to Indian’s Sorrow, she must take charge of her young half-sister and brother.
Reid Talbot, a man she once loved lives near the house with his family. Now a widower, he lives with his sons. Learning to trust him again is difficult but he also has dreams.
Together, they must learn the meaning of the dreams before the whispers of yesteryear destroy their newfound happiness.



I hope you enjoy this taste of Whispers of Yesteryear.

Chapter One
July 1755

Willow Who Bends stood at the entrance of the Long House and stared at the sky. Though the sun shone brightly, to the west dark clouds gathered and carried the threat of a storm like the one she felt inside. She knelt beside the father of her spirit. Corn Dreamer had raised her and taught her the ways of healing. She prayed he would wake but feared he wouldn’t. Sorrow rode the beats of her heart and threatened to spill in a rain of tears.
"Corn Dreamer, must you travel to the spirit world and leave this one behind?" Her voice cracked and she caught a breath to still the ache in her throat. "The men have taken the warriors’ path in answer to Waraghuyagey’s call. The-Man-Who-Understands-Great-Things speaks for the redcoats, those men who want our help. What have we to do with the ones who fail to live in harmony with the land?”
Not all the pale-skinned men, she thought. A smile crossed her face. There was one who often stayed in the village and sat at Corn Dreamer’s feet to learn.
Near a moon ago, a message had come for Hair of Fire. He had left the Long House and journeyed west. A shiver crawled up her spine. Was he safe? In these days, danger rode the currents of the air the way carrion birds circled a kill.
She returned to her teacher’s side and pressed her fingers against his wrist. What had made him fall into sleep yet not sleep? Why did his heart flutter like humming bird wings and then slow. She wished for a way to rouse him for he would know the answer.
"Corn Dreamer, spirit father, medicine man, this woman is not ready for you to leave. What can this one do to help?"
She closed her eyes and sought among the things he had taught her. An answer arose. "This one must go into the forest to gather fresh leaves and bark."
From her sleeping place, she lifted a bark basket by the carrying strap and left the Long House. As she stepped outside, she heard the children’s laughter and the voices of the women raised in the growing chant. The sound chased her sorrow.
Across the clearing, her sister sat with the ones too young to work how hard she tried, she never remembered more than the cry.
She stepped from the shower. After pulling on a blue terry cloth robe, she stripped the bed and stuffed the damp sheets in the hamper.
What had triggered the dream? With the thoroughness of a pathologist seeking the cause of death, she examined the past few days and found no incident that could be called a trigger.
As she made the bed, she recalled the first time she’d dreamed. She’d been sixteen. She and her twin had been at Indian’s Sorrow visiting their aunt. Willow had always loved staying there. This time had been different. One memory lodged in her thoughts.
"Willow, come here. This is so neat." Brooke had opened the gate at the side of the garden.
Willow halted at the opening. She looked beyond her sister. "Get away from the edge."
"I’m fine." Brooke leaned forward. "The rocks look like a giant’s teeth. Come see."
"I can’t."
Brooke laughed. "Chicken."
"Something dreadful happened here."
"And I thought I was the one with the imagination and you were the logical one." Brooke spun around. "I love this place. Do you think Aunt Willow will leave it to us? She doesn’t have kids."
"I don’t..." Willow had turned away. She hadn’t
with the women. Though born of the same mother and on the same day, she and Willow by the Stream had been raised at different fires. On the outside, they wore a single face as reflected in a still pond, but their inner natures were different. As the first born, Willow Who Bends had been given to Corn Dreamer to learn about the ways of medicine and the spirit world. Her sister had been raised as a woman of the clan.
She drank in the sight of her sister. Soon Willow by the Stream would take a husband. That was good and right, but the change would further separate their lives.


July 2017
Chapter Two

"Not the children!"
Willow Carey jerked into a sitting position. Her heart thudded in her chest. Waves of terror flooded her thoughts. She gulped deep breaths of air.
She stared at the familiar surroundings and wondered why the bedroom seemed alien. Like a shroud, the sheet had twisted around her legs. She tugged it free. Her sleep shirt, soaked with perspiration, clung to her skin. She shook her head to dislodge the fragments of the nightmare that had awakened her. Terror, grief and rage had followed her into consciousness. What? Why?
Once her heart rate slowed, she reached for the alarm clock. Too late to go back to sleep and too early to get ready for work. As the effects of the adrenaline rush faded, her sense of uneasiness grew.
She hugged her knees. Once again, she had failed but she couldn’t remember who or how.
Moments later, she stood in the shower. Warm water washed away the sour smell of fear. The nightmare wasn’t new. Six years had passed since the last time the cry had jolted her awake. Always the same urgency and the same surge of emotions. No matter how hard she tried, she never remembered more than the cry.
She stepped from the shower. After pulling on a blue terry cloth robe, she stripped the bed and stuffed the damp sheets in the hamper.
What had triggered the dream? With the thoroughness of a pathologist seeking the cause of death, she examined the past few days and found no incident that could be called a trigger.
As she made the bed, she recalled the first time she’d dreamed. She’d been sixteen. She and her twin had been at Indian’s Sorrow visiting their aunt. Willow had always loved staying there. This time had been different. One memory lodged in her thoughts.
"Willow, come here. This is so neat." Brooke had opened the gate at the side of the garden.
Willow halted at the opening. She looked beyond her sister. "Get away from the edge."
"I’m fine." Brooke leaned forward. "The rocks look like a giant’s teeth. Come see."
"I can’t."
Brooke laughed. "Chicken."
"Something dreadful happened here."
"And I thought I was the one with the imagination and you were the logical one." Brooke spun around. "I love this place.”

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary

Armchair Travelogue: Touring England--The Cotswolds with J.Q. Rose

Terror on Sunshine Boulevard by J.Q. Rose
Paranormal mystery
Click here to find more mysteries by J.Q.
at BWL Publishing Authors Page 

Hello and welcome to the Books We Love Insiders Blog!

Many readers are experiencing a very tough winter in their part of the world. Books and movies are a great way to escape the reality of freezing weather, ice, rain, floods.

Today, I'd like you to sit back and relax in your favorite chair and escape with my husband, Gardener Ted, and me for an armchair travelogue of the Cotswolds when we visited England in June 2018.
Watch the video below. If you have more to add about the Cotswolds or want to ask a question, please leave a comment below.

VIDEO: Touring England--The Cotswolds

Video: Touring England The Cotswolds

Thank you for joining us. I'll be sharing more videos about our trip in upcoming blog posts.

Toodle pip!

About J.Q.

Author J.Q. Rose

Whether the story is fiction or non-fiction, J.Q. Rose is focused on the story. She offers readers chills, giggles and quirky characters woven within the pages of her mystery novels. Her published mysteries are Deadly Undertaking, Terror on Sunshine Boulevard and Dangerous Sanctuary released by Books We Love Publishing.  Blogging, photography, Pegs and Jokers board games, and travel are the things that keep her out of trouble. 

Click here to connect online with J.Q. at her blog, Focused on Story.

Ham House near Richmond Surrey by Rosemary Morris

Click on the cover to discover more about The Captain and the Countess.

Built in 1610 for Sir Thomas Vavasour, Knight Marshal to James 1st, and subsequently owned by the Duke and Duchess of Lauderdale, Ham House is now owned by the National Trust.
During my visit, I imagined the hero, Captain Howard, and the heroine, Kate, Countess of Sinclair, in my novel, The Captain and The Countess, taking the air in the magnificent formal gardens, which stretch down towards the River Thames, and treading the floors of Ham House.
I also imagined them in small rooms called closets. There are six closets at Ham House, which are more intimate than the larger ones such as the North Drawing room. One is ‘The Green Closet’ the walls hung with green damask and furnished with display cabinets that contain exquisite miniatures. Another is ‘The Private Closet’ which contains lacquered furniture, where the Duchess of Lauderdale, who inherited Ham House, kept books, tea and valuables.

www.nationaltrust.org.uk/hamhouse

Extract from The Captain and The Countess

Kate, Countess of Sinclair, attired in a pretty nightgown, sat by the fireside in her closet, where she kept money and jewelry in a strong box. Before settling down to work, she glanced around the small room crowded with chairs, a desk, sofa, bookshelves, and her sewing basket, the contents of which she occupied herself on rare occasions.
With impatient fingers, Kate sorted her correspondence: a sheaf of bills, invitations, begging letters, and other communications. After arranging them in four groups, she rose and placed them on her desk, a pretty piece of red-lacquered furniture from China inlaid with mother of pearl.

Five Star Review by N.N. Light

From the moment Captain Edward Howard lays eyes on Kate, Countess of Sinclair, he realizes he must do everything in his power to make her happy. There’s pain behind Kate’s façade and he’s determined to help her in any way he can.
Kate likes Captain Howard immediately, even when he’s forward with her and seems to disregard propriety in search of the truth. The attraction scares her, and she guards her heart against the young Captain’s desire. Her past comes calling and she must choose between what her heart wants and what society expects of her. Will she and Edward have a future or will her past continue to haunt her?
This is the first book I’ve read from Morris and I really enjoyed it. Morris is a historian at heart, and it shows in her writing. I kept pinching myself, to make sure I wasn’t in 18th century England. Every detail, from English customs to costume and speech was historically accurate. The dialogue was spot-on, and I found myself caught up in the emotional tension between the characters.
If you’re a fan of historical romance (especially Pre-Regency), you’re in for a treat with The Captain and the Countess. The writing style of Rosemary Morris is reminiscent of Edith Wharton (The Age of Innocence) and I look forward to reading more from her.

Favorite Character: Kate. I loved everything about her, from the way she carried herself in society to the way she cared for her children to the way she fell in love with Edward. She’s a victim of an abusive husband yet that didn’t stop her from living life to the fullest. A woman after my own heart.

Favorite Quote: “She was a lady without comparison, beautiful, mysterious, and vivacious. After he dined, he would take the air in Hyde Park in the hope of encountering her.”

Rosemary Morris
Best-Selling Novelist

There is a gigantic canvas for a historical novelist to choose from. My novels are set in the early 14th century during the reign of Edward II, in that of Charles II’s niece, Queen Anne Stuart, who reigned from 1702 to 1714, and the ever-popular Regency era.
I chose those periods because each of them affected the course of history. world. If Edward II had won the Battle of Bannockburn, it is feasible that he would have conquered Scotland and, perhaps he would not have been deposed. Had the Duke of Marlborough lost The War of Spanish Succession, and The Duke of Wellington had been defeated by Napoleon at The Battle of Waterloo, the history of Britain and that of Europe would be different. Defeat would also have had far-reaching consequences for the rest of the world.
The more I read about my chosen eras the more fascinated I become, and the more aware of the gulf between the past and present. Those who lived in the past shared the same emotions as we do, but their attitudes and way of life were in many ways very different to ours. One of the most striking examples was the social position of women and children in in bygone ages.
My characters are of their time, not men, women and children dressed in costume who behave like 21st century people.
Research of my chosen eras sparks my imagination. The seeds of my novels are sown, and from them sprout the characters and events which will shape their lives.



Novels by Rosemary Morris

Early 18th Century novels: Tangled Love, Far Beyond Rubies, The Captain and The Countess

Regency Novels False Pretences, Sunday’s Child, Monday’s Child, Tuesday’s Child, Wednesday’s Child and Thursday’s Child. Friday’s Child to be published in June 2019

Mediaeval Novel Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary

Settings - Attention to details by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo BWL Author Page

A new year begins and a new story unravels in my head. The first thing I ask myself when an idea takes flight is Where am I going to set that story? To be honest, I'm partial to Canada. First, because I'm Canadian, and second, because of the its changing landscape, cultural diversity, and extreme weather.

There are oceans, beaches, lakes, forests, prairies, mountains, snowy mountains, tundra...but no volcanoes. I like to create fictive small towns within two, or five, or eight hours from an existing real city. That way I can pretend there is an hospital (or no hospital) in my little town, or I can set a charming café next to a library. I can imagine whatever fits the needs of my story instead of relying on an existing town where many of the facilities are set in stone. The Calgary airport is located in the northeast of the city. I can't just pretend it's in the southwest because it's more convenient for my characters. I would get email from my Calgary readers saying "Hey, I live in Calgary. You got the airport wrong". But I can write that my character is driving three hours to catch a flight from the Calgary airport.

For me, a good story blends fiction and reality in such a way that readers can't easily tell where one stops and the other begins.

Once I chose out the Where?, I need to figure out the When? I can play with four seasons, from scorching heat to biting cold. Now depending where or when I set the story, I can add either thunderstorms, snowstorms, northern lights, gentle rain, blizzard, fog, tornadoes, earthquake, mud slides, sinkholes, glaciers, icebergs... Again, I can brew any storms I want, but it should also be realistic. In my little corner of the world, I can't possibly see northern lights at 11pm at the end of June because the sun hasn't set yet, but I could see them around suppertime in December assuming the sky is clear. I'll grant you it's a detail, but it's the kind of details a reader from a northern community will catch.

If you set a story in a real town or a country you've never visited, make sure you get the details (language, customs, time zones, weather, money, distance, etc...) right. Canadian dollars, Australian dollars, and American dollars aren't the same. Canada and Australia have one-dollar and two-dollar coins, but unlike Australians, we called them loonies and toonies. If in a story, a homeless person stops the hero on the sidewalk and asks if he has a toonie to spare for a coffee, the story doesn't take place Down Under. It takes place in Canada!

Over the summer, I was editing my romantic suspense taking place in a nursing home in Northern Ontario. At one point, my editor (who's not Canadian) commented that I needed to be consistent in my units of measurement, that I couldn't switch back and forth between inches, feet, and kilometres. A long conversation followed during which I explained that even though we converted to the metric system in the mid-1970s, we still use both systems in different circumstances. We measure long distances in kilometers but short distances in inches and feet. My son lives 800 kms away but my guestroom is 10'2" x 12'8". We weigh our food in kilograms but people and pets in lbs. My Chrismas turkey was 5.6kg but my granddaughter is 33lbs and my granddoggie is 14lbs 5oz. The indoor and outdoor temperatures are in Celsius but I set my oven in Fahrenheit. It was -33C on Christmas morning (that was cold!) but I cooked my turkey at 325F. Milk comes 1-litre, 2-litre, and 4-litre cartons but when I make a recipe I measure in cups, tablespoons, or teaspoons. It may not make sense, it may not be consistent (actually it is not consistent), but this is an authentic Canadian setting...and this is so much fun to write, so in the end, the inches, the feet, and the kilometres...they all stayed in the final version of my story.

Be creative and have fun writing, but don't forget to pay attention to details.

Happy 2019!
JS

Correction: A dear reader pointed out that we do have volcanoes in Canada, and the last eruption took place about 150 years ago at Lava Fork in northwestern British Columbia. I should have written we do not have any "active" volcanoes. So I stand corrected. My apology!

 J. S. Marlo's Website

The Poultry Conundrum by Stuart R. West

Visit mysterious, alluring, scenic, and dangerous Peculiar County! Just a click away...

I'm from Kansas and I'm apparently quite a dumb Kansan at that.

You'd think I'd know the distinction between a turkey and a chicken since I live in the Midwest. You'd be wrong. I mean, okay, everything I taste is formulated around the ground zero of chicken. It's like six degrees of Kevin Bacon, minus the actor, minus the bacon, add the chicken. Very complex equation (but if you add a side of bacon in again, you might have something. Hold the Kevin.).

So, over the holidays, my wife brings home a turkey, cooks it up. Tastes great. I like turkey "drumsticks." Anyway, I've eaten two of the drumsticks outta' the refrigerator and then I find another. And yet another. From the same turkey!  THE SAME TURKEY, YOU GUYS! Four drumsticks!

What?

Did this turkey grow up by a chemical waste plant or something?

I asked my wife why our turkey has four legs. After much eye-rolling, pantomiming and frustration from her, I sorta' intuited the answer.

I guess the turkey is the stronger of our fowl brethren with buffed-up, muscular upper arms that I mistook for bonus drumsticks. And it gets even stranger. The turkey apparently has many more bones in its legs than chickens do. New one on me! Why in the world would a turkey have more bones in its legs then a chicken? Do they bully the barnyard? Are they brutal fowls with thighs of thunder? Femurs of fury?

Edible nature sure can be kooky.

No matter what you celebrate or where you live, happy holidays everyone!

How about stuffing some Banana Hammock into your stocking?

It's Almost Christmas by Nancy M Bell

TO find out more about A Longview Christmas and my other books click on the cover and then scroll down in the website to see the Holiday titles.

Christmas is one of my favourite times of year. I thought I would share some childhood Christmas memories.


The Rafter Family Christmas Eve was always a variation of the same theme.

My parents would pack up the two youngest children, myself and my sister Wendy, and set off in the car to visit my Dad’s sisters ( my aunts) who lived in various parts of Toronto and the outlying area.
My Aunt Ola and Uncle Bunny lived near Whitevale, Ontario with my cousins Rose and Fred. They lived on a farm and had the most amazing white farmhouse. The floors always were polished to diamond brilliance and I loved their kitchen. Lots of room and tons of windows, it was a wonderful welcoming place. The adults would visit and we would play with Rosie and Freddy our cousins, either outside in the snow or inside on the floor. We would drop off our gifts and receive the ones that went home to go under our tree.

After eating Christmas goodies we would all pile back into the car and head off to the next aunt’s house.

Auntie Joy and Uncle Norm lived in the west end of the city with a house full of our cousins. Glennie was the oldest and then Charlie, Suzanne, Wayne, Billy, Dennis and Brenda. There was always lots to do at Auntie Joy’s, we played games and one year when they lived in Streetsville we played in the ravine near their house and got totally covered in burrs. We were not popular children when we got home. There was great food and the cousins always had the latest in games and toys to play with We dropped off the presents and packed the ones for us into the car and we were off again.

Next stop Aunt Loral and Uncle Bob and cousins Debbie and Lori. Aunt Loral’s was usually the last stop in the early years.

My Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy and Cindy and Tammy Lori lived in Caladar, which was up near North Bay when we were young, we would go and visit them on New Year’s Day every year. Later years they moved to Toronto, not far from Aunt Loral and we stopped there on Christmas Eve as well. Aunt Irma ( who later changed her name legally to Rocky) and Uncle Wally lived near Ottawa and we did not get to see them as often, or our cousins Gary and Scott.
Aunt Loral had a very small house and it always seemed so crammed full of Christmas. The living room was usually quite dark and the tree seemed to fill it up totally. She had the most amazing tree topper that was all the colors of the rainbow and it sent the colors all over the room, reflecting off all the walls and the front room window. As this was our last stop Wendy and I were both tired and didn’t spend too much time actually playing with Debbie and Lori. It was also getting late and near bed time so that Santa could come and leave his gifts for us. There was always time for yet more goodies and more pop. Aunt Loral always had great fruit cake at her house. Dark and moist. She also had a zillion of the little statues that used to come in Red Rose Tea. They were lined up on the top of the door frames in her kitchen and just about anywhere that you looked We always put the tree up on December 20th as that was my birthday. Mom and Dad never wanted to put the tree up earlier than that as we always had a real tree and they worried that it would dry out.
We had these really cool bubble lights that were all different colors but got really hot when you left them on too long. There was a fluffy white angel on top.
One Christmas Eve when we were still outside in the driveway just getting out of the car Wendy and I got a huge surprise. There, coming down the Cooney’s driveway, who were our next door neighbors, was Santa Claus!

We both screamed and then bolted for the back door. If Santa came while were still up and awake he wouldn’t leave us anything. We tore through the back door into the kitchen and down the back hall to the bedroom. With our wet snow boots and coats still on Wendy and I scrambled into bed and pulled the covers over our heads. I had a harder time getting into bed as I had to climb up into the top bunk, but I made it. Mom and Dad came in and tried to get us to take off our coats and boots and change into night clothes. Wendy and I wouldn’t budge, we were pretending to be asleep so that Santa would leave our presents. We were sure that he was coming to our house any moment because we KNEW he just next door and he hadn’t been to our house next. He must have already been to Jo-anne and John Lee’s place because they lived on the other side of the Cooneys, so we had to be next. Mom and Dad must have removed our boots after we were asleep because they were gone in the morning. And Santa did leave our presents for us that year.