May Blooms; May Mourns

Kobo

Smashwords

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hail the Traveler." Safe journey. 

~~Juliet Waldron

Kobo

Smashwords

Amazon   

Barnes & Noble

Fly Away Snow Goose

Amazon

Kobo

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

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

 

Why Salem?

 In our research for our upcoming Canadian Mystery Spectral Evidence, co-writer Jude Pittman and I faced a confounding question:

Why did the witch hunt hysteria of 1692 take over Salem and the New England colonies and not their neighbors and trading partners in Newfoundland?

find Eileen's novels here

Newfoundland of the seventeenth century a multicultural society of indentured servants, planters (year-round settlers), merchants and their servants (some of whom were enslaved Africans) and seasonal fisherfolk from England's west country, Ireland, France the Basque region of Spain, and the Netherlands. Joining them were the Mi'kmaq and Beothuk people who had been living on Newfoundland for hundreds of years. All of these cultures had traditions of witchcraft.

Seventeenth century New England was dominated by a society of puritans. Their religion dominated government, ministry, education. The "other" was suspect, whether it be Quakers or Catholics, another country of origin, or another culture. Both Native Americans and the French were looked upon as "devils," especially after devastating raids that were the result of English incursions into lands claimed by the French or Wabanacki Confederacy.

Mix this with territorial disputes among neighbors, children suffering from the trauma of warfare violence, a bad harvest's hunger. The match was lit for neighbors accusing neighbors of witchcraft. Spectral evidence (actions and torments only the accusers could see) was used to hang devout grandmothers, homeless women, neighboring farmers, even one of Salem's former ministers. The accused included a four year old child.

Only when the governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony's wife was accused, did the fever that was the Salem Witch hunt break. 

Why Salem? It's a question that's been asked ever since. Jude and I hope to contribute to the debate in our storytelling. 

A Cover Story by Victoria Chatham

My new cover!

AVAILABLE HERE

We all know the adage that you don’t judge a book by its cover. I have, especially in my early days of purchasing e-books, done exactly that and then been hugely disappointed when the quality of the content failed to match the quality of the cover. These days I look at the cover and then click on the ‘Look Inside’ button and read the excerpt before I decide whether to purchase or not.

I must admit that the last thing I thought about when I started writing my first Regency romance was the cover. It was a tough enough job to get the words flowing without having the angst of considering how those words would all be wrapped up in a neat package. I was totally ignorant of fonts, colors, and layout and had no idea how to create an attractive, appealing cover. Thank goodness for cover designers and, in particular, Books We Love’s own cover designer, Michelle Lee.

First e-book cover

I was so pleased with the first cover because it contained all the elements I thought I needed. My heroine, Emmaline Devereux, had long black hair, so the image of the girl was bang on. I needed a horse because she loved horses, and the old house in the background depicting her family home was so reminiscent of a house I had loved and lived in for more than ten years. But then my daughter made the comment that the image of Emmaline looked more like a schoolgirl than a clever spy capable of surviving the Peninsula War 1807 - 1814 when Napolean clashed with the Spanish Empire. Oh, oh. One burst bubble as I reconsidered what the image was actually portraying. 

Thanks to Books We Love, I had the opportunity for a new cover design when the book went into print. Again, Michelle Lee pulled in all the elements I requested on my Cover Art Form.

First print cover

The result, as you can see, is a more adult female image. I still had to have a horse to convey her love of horses, plus my hero. A similar female image graced the cover of His Ocean Vixen, Book 2 in the series but with the third book, His Unexpected Muse, coming in February 2019, I thought a new look all round might better pull the series together.

By now a little more savvy about cover design, I looked at the covers of the Regency romance best sellers on Amazon and noticed that invariably there was just a female image against an attractive background. Publisher Jude Pittman was again in agreement with the update and I spent most of one Sunday scrolling through images until I found a few that I thought worked. I am now totally happy with the image and feel that, finally, His Dark Enchantress has grown up.

After I revealed it on my Facebook author page, I had quite a few people contact me to tell me how much they liked it, most much more so than the previous two. I'm now looking forward to the update for His Ocean Vixen and next year for His Unexpected Muse. 

Visit Victoria Chatham here:

 AT BOOKS WE LOVE

 ON FACEBOOK

 MY WEBSITE

  

Excerpt from Ursula, Sisters of Prophecy, Book 1 by Jude Pittman and Gail Roughton

Ursula, Sisters of Prophecy, Book 1

By Jude Pittman and  Gail Roughton

What’s a girl to do? Beautiful young artist Katherine Shipton has a painting that talks, an ancestor who won’t stay in her own century, and a former boyfriend with a serious ax to grind against her new fiancé. She already has a full plate, but when said ancestor sends her tripping back and forth between the 15th and 21st century without benefit of psychedelic drugs, the poor girl begins to doubt her own sanity. Then her best friend, a high fashion model with more than her own share of psychic energy, and her troubleshooting aunt show up on her doorstep in response to a psychic SOS Katherine swears she didn’t send. Life couldn't get more complicated. At least, that's what she thinks until her oilman fiancé disappears in the Gulf of Mexico and a DEA agent knocks on her door.
"A delightful read with twists and turns, quirky characters, a bit of darkness and some snappy dialogue. The authors maneuver between the 16th and 21st centuries with ease, adding authenticity through well researched historical data. While the characters from the two eras have their own stories, their lives are interlocked like the pieces of a puzzle. Putting those pieces together is much of the fun. Jude Pittman and Gail Roughton have successfully blended their styles into a rollicking good read . . . the first in a series. The closure at the end of Book 1 is much appreciated, as well as the tantalizing teasers which left me anxiously awaiting Irene's story in Book 2. I can easily recommend Sisters of Prophecy - Ursula, and after reading it, I'm sure you will, too." ~ 4 Stars, Deborah Sanders

"I've got to say that there is some dialog between a savvy female police interrogator and a cocky, not so smart male criminal that I thought was just the BEST and left me howling. Holy mackerel, that was just fabulous! I am glad there will be more to this series & look forward to Irene's story in 2015. Rest assured there is more to come but this book ends on a satisfying high note and NOT one of those pesky cliffhangers. Nice start to a series that celebrates the powerful love of "Sisters" no matter how they come into your life." ~ 5 Stars, Lomg Time DF Fan

 

"It was quick, but it was also exciting and interesting. I think many readers will find it enjoyable and a good read for a sunny afternoon or an evening indoors. It’s definitely a fast read, and it will entertain without eating away your entire day." ~ 4 Stars, OnlineBookClub.org

Excerpt:

Katherine flew through darkness. Dream darkness. Toward something. Sound barely audible coalesced and rose in volume, forming words. Beneath these gray stone walls I stand, an ancient gypsy king… The darkness lightened into shades of gray and a tower loomed.

A boat approached the tower. Inside, a woman, in Katherine’s likeness. Not her, but near enough to be of her lineage. Floating over the woman, Katherine watched. A man, dressed as an ancient workman, fixed the boat against the steps leading up to the looming tower. Reaching down, he helped the woman from the boat, and pulled her toward a dark stairwell.

Another, in uniform, nodded to the oarsman, and took the woman’s hand. His flickering torch gave barely enough light for the woman to make her way up the stone steps as she groped along behind him. The steps crumbled, and twice the woman almost fell when her feet slipped on the damp stone.

A fierce roar sounded in the night and Katherine knew it as a lion. The guard stopped in front of a scarred wooden door, and pushed it inward. The flicker from his torch revealed a small barren chamber, with scant furnishing and a stone floor. Against the wall stood a crude bed with a single bed covering. The guard motioned the woman inside. She stumbled across the room and sank onto the bed. The guard used his torch to light a single candle. Then without a word, turned and left the cell.

The woman curled into herself. Great sobs shook her body.

Katherine floated back out into the courtyard. Standing in the corner an old man, dressed in the garb of a medieval gypsy, chanted.

“With heavy heart I bear the words of cruelest Mary Queen…”

Mary Queen? Tower? The scene changed in an instant, dream-fashion. Now she floated back to the cell. The same rough cot and threadbare blanket covered a still figure.

“These words I take in sorrow drear unto a lady fair…”

On cue, the woman rose from the cot and entered her dreams. Nobility for certain, possibly even royalty. Her time in the cell had dulled her eyes and matted her hair but yes, the chant was right. She’d been a lady fair. She would be so again, given fresh air and sunshine.

A lady who from birth was blest with visions strange but rare…

The door of the cell opened and the old gypsy entered the cell.

“Tarot! My dear, dear friend! How good it is to see you!” The lady ran into his arms, and he held her to his breast.

“Milady.”

“My grandmother. My husband and son. Is there news?”

“Your grandmother is well and fights ceaselessly for your release. Your husband—there’s been no news from Russia. Except that he pleads for intercession from the Russian Court.”

She smiled sadly. “I can just imagine how much he pleads. He is afeard he’ll be tainted with the same brush that’s painted me.”

“No, Milady! He is doing all he can.”

“Tarot, dear friend, ’tis a very bad liar you are, but I love you for it. Prince Frederick makes no effort on my behalf. He has abandoned me. As have all, in the face of the Queen’s disfavor. All but you and Grandmother. And I bear them no ill for such. ’Tis asking too much to expect them to stand with me and risk a charge of witchcraft.” She shrugged. “And for the prince, a chance to rid himself of a disappointing wife who only bore him one son.”

“Oh, Milady! It hurts me so to hear you speak as though resigned to fate.”

“Dear friend. Do not despair. My heart has always belonged to another, that fate sealed from childhood. If only I’d been stronger, surer! If only I’d followed my heart and run away with my Toby when—”

She broke off, her face losing all expression.

“Milady? What—a vision! ’Tis a vision you’re seeing. Cease fighting them! Use them! Use the power!”

“I—Tarot, someone’s watching us.”

“Watching? I bribed the guards well. They have no cause to—”

“No, not the guards! Someone from—someone not here. Someone who sees us, who knows me. Knows me in her soul. Someone who can—dare I say it? Someone who can help me! Help me change the start of this disastrous path!”

In her dream, Katherine tried to leave, to get away. Enough of this misery that wasn’t hers. Except it was. Somehow it was hers.

“Oh, please! Please don’t leave! Help me! Help us!”

“How?” The dream Katherine spoke. “How do I help you?”

“I cannot tell you!”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“The portrait! Yes, I see it. There’s a painting, a painting yet unfinished! ’Twill show you the way! It must show you the way, or you will never be.”

“Milady? Your vision speaks to you?”

“The portrait! The portrait will know!”

The portrait will know…the portrait will know…the portrait will know…

The words followed Katherine back through the depths of the dream and echoed in her ears when she woke, gasping into wakefulness.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00O2DTE1M