Music Hath Charms by Eileen O'Finlan

 

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It is well known that many authors listen to music while writing. For some, music serves as inspiration. Some use specific types of music to match the mood of their writing. Still others find that music helps their writing to flow. I have found that I fall into that last category. I can write with or without music, but I more easily get into a writing rhythm (no pun intended) while music is playing. 

The type of music authors use varies widely. Stephen King, for example, is known to play loud, hard rock or heavy metal music while writing. While that type of music is definitely among my favorites, it is banished during writing sessions. It's not the volume, it's the lyrics. I can't concentrate on my own words when other words are competing. For me, writing music must be instrumental.

Classical music is among my favorite writing music, especially Mozart. Most of us have heard of the Mozart Effect. Listening to Mozart's music for 10-30 minutes is known to temporarily increase creativity. I can attest to being susceptible to it. Other classical composers are also included in my writing playlist. I especially love violin music so I'm a big fan of Joshua Bell. His CD Romance of the Violin is probably one that I play the most while writing. In fact, it's playing as I write this.

My other favorite violinist is Eileen Ivers. Her electric fiddle playing is perfect for when I need to find a faster, edgier pace to my prose.

Occasionally, I like to write to CDs of nature sounds, especially if they are mixed with instrumental music.

I don't know what it is about music that aids creativity in writing. Perhaps those who have studied the Mozart Effect can explain it. All I know is that I feel a definite difference when I write with music on in the background. My words flow more smoothly, ideas come to mind more readily, and I feel more relaxed as the music weaves it's magic spell.

A small sample of my writing music

Summer Festivals

Find in print and ebook at 

https://books2read.com/Prelude-and-Promises

Summer often brings festivals to town, over and above County and State Fairs. Sometimes a state will host a festival year after year, becoming renowned for a particular event. For example, if you’re participating in RAGBRAI[1], you’ll be in Iowa, USA, in July. We also know the Calgary Stampede[2] is quite a bit further north and is not to be confused with the Country Stampede[3]. Other festivals, like the “Apple Cider Fest”, “The Great Chili Cookoff” or the “Annual Arts and Craft Fair” might occur in every other town across the state, or in several states congruently.

It's fun to visit festivals, especially if you’re not from that area because you get a taste of the town’s specialties, whether it be deep-fried pickles, motor boat races on the river, or hot air balloon competitions. As a writer, I love to incorporate celebrations and festivals into my stories. Depending on where the story is based, these festivals can be real or fictitious, but always fun to experience.

When writing “Prelude and Promises”, I knew the island community of Lockabee needed a festival; a cause for celebration. It would add action to the story, and give Jake a reason to take Cheyenne “out on the town” and share the reasons he preferred living there instead of Chicago. What could be better for a small island with a seafaring foundation than a Mermaid Festival?

_________________

¹ Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa (Register is a major newspaper)

² a variety of shows, including a well-known annual rodeo held in Calgary, Alberta, Canada

³ Kansas’ largest country music festival

_________________

Here’s an excerpt from Jake’s story, “Prelude and Promises” which is available in both ebook and print. Enjoy:

Jake shook his head. “This weekend is the Mermaid Festival, and I agreed to be on the committee. I can’t run out on that.”

“They celebrate mermaids?”

“From what I’ve heard, one of the first families on the island was Abel Lockburn and his brothers. They were shrimpers from the mainland, and the legend goes that once they were caught in a fierce storm. Their mast was broken and they were floundering at sea, far from the mainland. All was lost until a mermaid rose from the rolling waves and commanded the seas to calm, then she led them to this island, where they decided to settle.”

“Seriously?”

He shrugged. “Who am I to dispute legend? Besides, anything that helps the economy of small islands like Lockabee is cause for celebration. From what I understand, there will be several thousand people here over the two days.”

***

The heat assaulted her; the sun already bounced off the light colored walls of the buildings. She did have her sunglasses, which she hastily donned, but she could have used a hat.

Jake stood at the bottom of the steps. He wore ragged cutoffs, a tee with the sleeves torn off and tennis shoes with a hole in one toe. His ball cap was turned backwards, his mirrored sunglasses reflecting the bright light.

“You’ve only been here two months,” she said as she joined him and they started down the boardwalk. “How is it your clothes look like they survived every natural disaster known to man?”

He laughed and she was glad to see he harbored no ill feelings for her having run out on him last night. “You can actually buy clothes this way.”

“The question is, why would you want to?”

“You need a hat,” he said instead. He grabbed her hand and led her into a souvenir shop.

She took a step toward the wide brimmed sun hats but he pulled her the opposite way.

“You’ll need something that stays on your head.” He grabbed one from the shelf. It had a fish coming out of water with a huge hook in its mouth. Embroidered in hot pink on the black material was “hook’er”.

“Seriously?” she choked out but had to laugh when he turned back around and she saw the front of his hat. “Chick bait” was scrawled next to a can of worms.

“Is there anything that doesn’t have to do with fish and sex?” she asked.

He looked at her with mock surprise. “This entire island is supported by fishing.”

“And the sex?” she questioned without thinking.

He wiggled his brows as he plucked another hat from a lower shelf. “How do you think they make the next generation of fishermen?” He started to put the white hat on her head, then reached behind her and pulled her pony tail out through the hole in the back.

“What does this one say?” She tried to pull it off but he caught her hand and held it tight. She noticed he had replaced his bandage with a brace that wrapped around his wrist and palm, leaving his fingers free. She momentarily forgot about the hat as she studied his hand, assuring herself the swelling had gone down.

He kept hold of her as he gave the cashier some money.

“Fitting.” The man nodded toward her hat as he handed Jake his change. “And not just because of the festival.”

Cheyenne pulled her hand free and sought a mirror. She wasn’t leaving this store with a derogatory saying on her hat. It took her a minute to read the word backward, then she smiled as Jake came up behind her. “Mermaid” was stenciled in emerald green, arching around a picture of the aforesaid, her long blonde hair barely covering lush breasts.

***

Before she could protest, Jake grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the street. Music still wafted across the breeze, and lights along Main Street were bright enough for one to think it was midday instead of midnight.

“Do you feel like walking down to the pier to see the flotilla?” Jake had moved his arm to her shoulders, holding her close.

Cheyenne’s feet hurt, her back ached, and she was sure she smelled like fryer grease. “Why not? I had nothing else planned for the middle of the night.”

He gave her shoulders a squeeze as he laughed. They stopped at one of the vendors along the way and he purchased a couple of bottles of water before leading her down the pier to where McNally’s boat had been earlier. The pier security lights didn’t reach quite this far, and the soft night closed around them.

“He’s no doubt trolling the flotilla,” Jake said as he pulled her down so their feet dangled off the end of the pier.

“Keeping everyone in line?” she asked.

“No. Probably partying along with the rest of them.” He laughed.

Cheyenne looked out over the glassy water and sucked in a breath. Hundreds, probably thousands of lights flickered across the harbor. Though most were white, every so often a boat was silhouetted in blue and red, green or purple. She glanced to the right where the lights appeared to stretch into infinity. When she turned her head to the left, she encountered Jake’s lips, close but not quite touching.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, afraid to break the spell.

“You’re beautiful,” he corrected, and then there was only the sound of lapping water.

***

For a complete copy of “Prelude and Promises”, click the link below the picture or visit my website at http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin  or my Amazon author site at https://www.amazon.com/author/barbarabaldwin. You will find not only this book, but others including historical and time travel romance.

            If you enjoy my stories as much as I enjoy writing them for you, I would love for you to leave a review on Amazon.

Have a fun, festival-filled summer,

Barbara Baldwin

 

---

 

 

 

Good Food and Good Reading

 

purchase at https://books2read/Prelude-and-Promises

Now that November is here, I begin thinking of holiday meals and can’t wait to fix such favorites as honey glazed ham, cherry salad, turkey and stuffing, sweet potatoes and all the desserts we’re always too full to appreciate until later. In fact, I was just talking to my son today about what salads and bread he wanted. What is your favorite holiday food? He said I needed to make bulgur wheat bread, for sure.

As a writer, I’m sometimes surprised when reading my rough draft because the question occurs to me, “did they eat?” I write romance, so I pay the most attention to my characters and their relationships, and I sometimes forget they need to eat and dress and go about daily business. These things add detail to the story and make the characters more “alive”, especially if one of them has an aversion or allergy to a food or has a particular way of dressing. However, details such as this are normally background and shouldn’t take over the story. (Example: have you ever read a story with page after page of furniture description and you find yourself skipping over it?)

Once in a while, though, food and/or eating play a fun part of the story, such as in my contemporary novel “Prelude and Promises”. A restaurant--Brenda Kay’s -- is the site for several conversations between Cheyenne and Jake, so while it is story background, it also gives insight into the characters and their budding relationship. To give you an idea of how I use this in my story, here is the cover blurb and some excerpts at Brenda Kay’s.

Blurb:

            Pianist Joseph Donovan was tired of his uncle’s interference in his career. In fact, he was tired of his career, even if it had made him a millionaire. The concerts, recording sessions, and pressure to compose new musical arrangements meant he never had a minute to himself. He left it all behind, using his given name of Jake Smith to hide out on Lockabee Island, trying to be just an ordnary guy. And that worked very well, until his uncle’s executive secretary came looking for him, issuing an ultimatum and deadline for his return home. In the process of negotiating his “capture”, he found himself fascinated with her. More surprising was that the passion he felt inspired him to start composing again.

            Cheyenne knew Jake resented her presence on the island at first, but he soon sparked a passion that made her forget why she was there. When she discovered the real reason for his leaving Chicago, did she still want to convince him to return? As the days and nights swirled together in a symphony of passion, she was torn between her responsibilities to her employer and what her heart desired. If she had to return to Chicago without him, could she survive the heartbreak?

Excerpt 1: (He ran away when she found him and now he is trying to apologize)

“I’ll tell you what you want to know if you’ll have lunch with me.”

“It’s three in the afternoon. That’s too late for lunch.”

“Well, I haven’t eaten.” He put a hand to the small of her back and gently guided her into the restaurant they were passing, which was Brenda Kay’s, his favorite place to eat. She didn’t resist, which he took as a good sign.

Brenda Kay came over to wait on them as he slid into a booth opposite Cheyenne. She was a nice looking, middle-aged woman and had a friendly, outgoing manner. Jake had liked her from the first time they met.

“Hello there, Jake. Ever get that boat of yours running? Harvey thinks he’s ready to go fishing.” Harvey, her husband, had health problems, which was one of the reasons they had retired and moved to the island.

“It puttered clear across the sound today,” he said. “Old Hank wants to fish, too. Maybe I should start a fishing service. Might be able to make myself some money.”

He heard Cheyenne give a choking sound and turned her way, narrowing his gaze. He didn’t think she would give him away, but you never knew what went on in a woman’s mind.

“This is Cheyenne, a…friend of mine. We’ll have the fish and chips.”

“Excuse me, but I think I can order for myself.” She turned to Brenda Kay. “May I see a menu, please?”

Brenda raised a brow at Jake as though wondering where he had found her. He grinned and winked.

“You must be a tourist,” Brenda Kay said as she pointed to a chalkboard above the bar, which contained only three items—hamburgers, barbeque ribs, and fish and chips.

Cheyenne sighed. “Fish and chips will be fine, and whatever light beer you have.”

Jake was sure the surprise showed on his face. He was beginning to understand that the woman sitting across from him was extremely complex, and thought it might be fun to try and unravel and peel away the layers.

To begin with, he couldn’t let her out drink him. “One for me, too, Brenda, but not the light.”

She didn’t say anything until their beers arrived. She took a sip, set it down and stared at him across the table. He had never realized how blue her eyes were; light in the center with dark rims. They were framed by dark lashes.

“Ok. You’ve got me here, now talk.”

“We keep having the same conversation. You tell me why you’re so dedicated to my uncle that you would fly half way across the country to find me.”

“It’s my job, and unlike some people, I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“I have always taken my responsibilities seriously; until I decided enough was enough. Everyone’s entitled to change jobs.”

She sat with her mouth pinched as a waitress brought their food and another round of beers.

“May I have silverware, please?”

“You don’t need it and we don’t have it,” the young girl said. “Nothing served requires it.”

“Are you serious?” She gingerly fingered the brown paper wrap which crinkled as she opened it.

“It soaks up the grease,” Jake told her. “Enjoy.” He tipped his beer bottle toward her in salute.

He bit into a piece of the crisply fried fish and watched her eye the battered fish and golden French fries. She probably never ate fried food. Finally with a sigh she picked delicately at the fish.

“It is flaky and tender,” she admitted.

“Brenda Kay’s is the best around.”

“Sans silverware,” she retorted with a laugh, picking up a piece of fish and finally eating. She licked her fingers free of tartar sauce.

Jake watched her tongue snake out and everything in him tightened. 

Excerpt 2: Cheyenne has found it hard to maintain a professional demeanor around Jake, thus causing a bar fight and a night in jail:

Cheyenne took a last glance in the mirror before heading downstairs when Jake texted that he was waiting. The floral sundress she had purchased fit snuggly across her breasts and flared from the waist to end just below her knees. Her heels didn’t seem quite appropriate so she settled on sandals. She would have worn her linen slacks and cashmere sweater but after his comment about her clothes, she had decided to dress casually. The bright red, blue and yellow flowers suited her, she thought, as she touched up her lipstick, this time a pale pink shade.

She was glad for the sandals when he insisted they walk. She was happy to be casually dressed when he turned into Brenda Kay’s.

“Again?” she asked as they slid into a booth near the back.

“It’s rib night,” he said in explanation as Brenda came to the table.

“Well if you don’t look a sight.” She set water glasses on the table. “Heard there was a ruckus at the Pelican. Damn it, the one night I didn’t get down there, but it was too busy for me to get away.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Jake said and Cheyenne coughed.

Brenda looked at her and back to Jake’s bandaged hand. “I can see that. How are you going to eat ribs with a broken hand?”

“Carefully.” He smiled, then grimaced and touched his bruised cheek.

Cheyenne was surprised by his good nature. Granted, he hadn’t spent the night in jail, but he had been injured and she didn’t know if he had gotten any more sleep than she had. He sported his wounds like a banner, almost as though he were proud of the fight he had been in.

She could only shake her head and shrug when Brenda looked back at her.

“Beer?” she asked.

Cheyenne shook her head again. “Not for me. I’ll stick with water.”

Jake laughed lightly and ordered a soda.

While they waited for their meal, which Cheyenne assumed was ribs whether she had ordered them or not, she studied Jake more closely. The split in his lip looked better, but she could see the fingers on his right hand were slightly swollen. She reached over to lightly touch the scabbed knuckles.

“Does it hurt badly?” She felt so guilty at having caused him injury.

“Cheyenne?” He didn’t say any more until she raised her gaze to his. His brown eyes were intense, his smile gentle. “None of this,” he gestured with his other hand, “was your fault.”

“But I—”

“You were being accosted. Every other man in the bar would have done the same thing. I simply got there first.” Irrationally, she heard pride in his voice.

“Your hands are your life, you idiot,” she said without thinking, but he only smiled wider.

“You have no idea what I am capable of with only one hand,” he whispered across the table and she could feel a blush rising. Honestly, she had never blushed so much in her life until she encountered him.

“Whatever are you thinking, Miss Tucker?” he teased. “I might have simply been implying I was ambidextrous.”

She changed the topic instead of bothering to comment. “Tell me what happened after I was hauled off to the slammer.”

Their ribs arrived, served up on brown paper as had the fish and chips. The waitress set down a pile of napkins, refilled her water and took Jake’s glass to get him another soda. Jake waited until she left before answering her.

“The excitement was over by the time I came to.”

She gasped. “You were knocked out completely? Damn it, I told the sheriff to let me see to you, but he hauled me off like a common criminal.”

He grinned as he picked up a rib. “Well, actually…”

“You know what I mean.” She looked at the pile of ribs, wished for silverware, then with a sigh, picked up the sauce-slathered meat and took a bite. A moan of pleasure escaped. They ate in silence for several minutes. When the waitress brought another serving of ribs, Cheyenne looked at her in surprise.

“All you can eat,” she replied as she set that down along with Jake’s soda.

“One serving is all I can eat,” she said.

Once again, Jake was silent as he cleaned off rib after rib, licking his fingers in-between bites. By the time he was done, he had barbeque sauce smeared all over his bandage as well as his mouth.

She bit her lower lip as he licked sauce off his lips.   

Excerpt 3: Things are getting serious!

Her phone pinged.

Jake: Have dinner with me tonight.

Cheyenne: Come back to Chicago with me.

Jake: It wasn’t meant to be a negotiation. L

Cheyenne: I had to try. ;)

Jake: Please have dinner with me?

Cheyenne: Can we go somewhere that has silverware?

Jake: J See you at eight.

 

To find out whether Cheyenne can entice Jake to return to Chicago, get your copy of “Prelude and Promises” in print or eBook today at: https://books2read.com/Prelude-and-Promises.

Being thankful, today and always,

Barb

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

https://bookswelove.net/baldwin-barbara/

PS – If you’re in the mood to start your holiday reading, “Snowflakes and Kisses” my Christmas novel, is on sale in eBook format at Amazon! Amazon.com: Snowflakes and Kisses eBook : Baldwin, Barbara: Kindle Store.

 

 

Fascinating & Fun Facts about Babies by J. S. Marlo

 

Wounded Hearts

"Love & Sacrifice #2"

is now available  

click here 

 

 

  

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

Two weeks ago, I was blessed with a second grandchild. Another gorgeous baby girl. I'm counting the days until I get to hold her in my arms.

The new parents didn't know, and didn't want to know, the sex of their first baby. They picked two names which they didn't share until after baby was born. If anyone had any objections, no one would dare to share it once it had already been given to the baby.

While I was searching for the meaning of her name--it means weaver--I stumbled onto fun facts about newborn babies. Whether I believe all of them is different story, but one of these will eventually appear in one of my stories  LOL

- Newborn babies' kneecaps are made of cartilage, not bones. The cartilage will harden into bony kneecaps around six months of age.

- Babies born in May are the heaviest. Apparently someone looked at the average weight of babies born throughout the year, and discovered that babies born in May are 200g heavier than babies born in any other months. That's 7oz bigger. That's actually a big difference.

That being said, I have no idea how many babies were parts of that, but that's a fun fact.

- Newborn babies have no tears. Babies' tear ducts aren't fully developed until three weeks of age, so they won't shed tears in these first few weeks, but it won't stop them from crying.

I wonder if the tear ducts start to develop three weeks after they are born, or three weeks after they should have been born...

- Babies are born with 300 bones. An adult has 206 bones. Over the years, baby's cartilage will harden and bones will fuse together. By the time she reaches early adulthood (20-25 years of age), she will have 206 bones.

- Most babies are born with a birthmark. They are different types of birthmarks. Most of them are harmless, and a few will fade as the child grow, but most birthmarks will be permanent.

- Babies' hair falls out. A newborn tends to lose the hair she was born with and grow new hair over the first year of her life. The new hair may be very different from the one she was born with.

One of my daughters was born with red hair. By the time she was a few months old, she was blond.

- A newborn baby is born with around 70 reflexes.

I'm impressed, and I bet they are faster than mine too LOL

- Babies know your taste in music. Unborn babies start hearing sounds and music at around seventeen-eighteen weeks. By the time they are born, they apparently recognize your taste in music.

The research doesn't say if they also acquire your taste in music, but it may explain why my daughters love ABBA as much as I do.

- Babies are born with taste buds throughout their mouths. By the time they reach adulthood, about a third of these taste buds will remain, and they will be mostly on their tongues.

- Babies' eyes change colours. At birth, a baby's eyes may appear grey or blue due to a lack of pigmentation. Once exposed to light, the eye colour will start to change, but it may take six to twelve months until baby has gorgeous blue, green, hazel, or brown eyes.

- Babies grow fast. Most babies will double in weight the first six months, and quadruple in size the first two years.

Yeah, they grow way too fast. Next thing you know, they start having little ones of their own.

I'm enjoying every moment of grandmotherhood because I know it will be over in the blink of an eye.

Enjoy the small blessings that life brings every day & stay safe!

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

 

Love, Madness & Mozart

 

https://bookswelove.net/waldron-juliet/

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0089F5X3C

 

That persistent character who keeps coming back; I think most writers have a few of them. Sometimes they inhabit a book that can’t, or won't, ever be satisfactorily finished. These conundrums are in every writer’s desk drawer and on every hard drive. 

My particular dark horse always returns around her birthday, at the end of April. She’s here, hanging around, just behind the curtains, even during day-light. I’m once again re-re-imagining scenes I’ve already visited many, many times. I’ve journeyed to her world for forty years now.

My Mozart is the first book I ever completed. A satisfactory ending, I think, still eludes me. Like Konstanze of Mozart’s Wife, this young heroine insists on speaking in the first person, which both narrows and deepens her POV. It’s like writing while pinned inside her dress. 

I’ve heard authors talk about having a “channeling” experience with their characters. There are many accounts of automatic writing and spirit dictation, some sounding as if they should be taken with salt. At least that's what my day-light self thinks. However, after the experience of writing this initial, and, perhaps never-to-be-finished story, I believe other-worldly communications can happen. Ordinarily it takes a period of concentration and study to make your characters  ("the dolls") get up and move independently, but in the case of a channeled story, they arrive fully realized, walking and talking.

So here's what I've learned, forty years after my attempt to tell this ghostly story. For a while, at least, after Mozart's death, Miss Gottlieb coped with her tragedies, until, in a final cruel blow, she lost her voice. After that, she appears to have lived on, among of the walking wounded, enduring a life of poverty until her death. Such was the fate of the first Pamina, pure heroine of The Magic Flute.

I'm glad I hadn't known her true ending before I wrote the one for this story. I was willing to follow the fantasy of a limited kind of HEA , not only for my sake, but also, the rational self argued, for marketing reasons.  Any darker ending was too painful--for me, for prospective readers--and, no doubt, for my spirit informant herself.

Wild Tulips 

 

So now it’s tulip-time April, and Green May is on Her way again. Tomorrow is Miss Gottlieb’s birthday, and once more I have glimpses of her spring-time, numinous world, animated by youth, love, and music. It makes sense that the “old” holidays too are upon us, Saint Brigitte’s Day, May Morn, Saint Walpurga’s night, Beltane, and all the other Divine Feminine Maidens who rule the second Cross-Quarter Day of the year.

   

My Mozart is “romance” in the original sense of the word, in the much the same way Romeo & Juliet  may be called "romance." Not romance in the commercial sense, but the old-fashioned bloody insanity of love, the madness which can, so easily, end in tragedy. The true domain of "Romance" is Castle Perilous, which makes drawing a final line under a tale of a hopeless passion so very hard to do. 

~~Juliet Waldron

All my historical novels @ Amazon:   http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS  

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?Query=Juliet+Waldron

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https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Juliet+Waldron?_requestid=1854149

Never too old for a challenge...by Sheila Claydon

 Click here for my BWL page

I've just been given a musical challenge by my 7 year old granddaughter! She is 7 years old and lives in Hong Kong. Coronavirus restrictions mean that we haven't seen her in person for a very long time. Two much anticipated long visits have had to be cancelled and we can't yet be sure when we will meet up again. This is not quite as bad as it seems, however, because she is in contact frequently, sometimes multiple times a day, via her parents' smart phones or iPads or her own child's smart watch with its iMoo app. Technology is truly wonderful.

This morning, for example, I watched her play tennis. Then she watched me feed my dog and we discussed the medication the visiting dog which is holidaying with us at the moment has to take. She also sent me a video of what looked like a very scary cliff walk, telling me that because her Dad's friend had put it on YouTube she is now as famous as a film star! With this sort of regular contact we certainly don't feel we are missing out on too much of her life although the lack of hugs is an entirely different thing.

Nor does she let only being able to talk on screen curtail her activities in any way. Instead, she sets challenges. For example she will draw something and I have to copy it. Or we read to one another, page and page about. Or we might play UNO or Chess. I've learned to watch her very closely when we do this, however, because she is very good at somehow miscounting the moves I ask her to make on my behalf:) Her latest challenge, however, is in a whole new ball park. 

She is learning to play the piano and in addition to her lessons uses the SimplyPiano App. She enjoys it so much that she has now decided it would be a good thing if I did the same. We bought a piano when our children were young, something that led to our daughter having a musical career, but which I've never tried to learn. Apparently I am going to now, however. And it will be a competition between my little granddaughter, me and her mother. I'm not entirely sure what form the competition will take - I think it's more about how often we practice than how well we play. It's a clever way of keeping her practicing but now I've been challenged as well. According to my daughter-in-law, 10 minutes a day is enough. Granddaughter is more exacting though. She says I will need to practice all day if I want to catch up!

From my perspective, although it's just meant to be a bit of fun, I've decided it is also a really positive thing. As the years advance I insist that writing and crosswords are the two things that keep my brain sharp. Now I've completed my first piano lesson, however, I can see how much more it will be exercised by learning to do something completely new. There is another benefit too and it is the same that writing my books on the computer helps with. Using a keyboard. Both activities will keep my arthritic fingers moving and therefore pain free and reasonably supple. 

Having grandchildren is a blessing at any age and we do have equally loved older ones. But to have such a fearless and extrovert little one is a double blessing as the years swiftly mount up behind us, because she keeps us young. Goodness knows what her next challenge will be. Learning to play the piano is enough to be going on with!

In the meantime, if you enjoy music then take a peek at my book Cabin Fever. It is the only one I have written where music features. Ellie, the heroine, is a professional singer and a dancer, and the hero, Andy Smith, is a very good amateur pianist. It was fun to write but by the time I finished I was a bit jealous of their talent. Yes, that can happen even with imaginary characters. They were right, too, in saying we all need music in our lives, and my little granddaughter is now making sure I have more of it in mine. 

The Osprey cruise ship is in trouble. Can Ellie Masters and Andy Smith solve the problem? When they join the ship in New Zealand they soon discover that it’s going to be hard work all the way to Australia. Not that either of them intend to let long hours get in the way of their blossoming love affair...until Ellie develops feet of clay..or is it Andy who is the problem? Is he really who he says he is? They joined the ship to help the crew, but now it’s Ellie and Andy who need help. Will they get it or is it already too late?

If music be the food of love—Tricia McGill

 

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I’ve not thought about Shakespeare’s quote that finishes with, “play on” for years. It comes from his opening scene in Twelfth Night where this phrase describes Orsino’s poor lovelorn heart. Presumably, what he wants is for his hurting heart, brought about by his unrequited love for Olivia will, much like the music, get such an excess of it that it will die.

Music plays an enormous part in most people’s lives, be it to serenade the love of your life, or simply to have fun. The choice of music, even at the funerals of our loved ones, has a deep meaning, and often gives the mourners a clear picture of the character of the deceased. These days the guitar seems to be an instrument that many young people learn to play. Going back to my childhood, one of my aunties, who happened to live in the same house as my family owned a piano. At most of our family get-togethers—if we happened to end up in her front room—she would be urged to give us a tune. Sadly, that old piano was slightly out of tune, but who cared? Auntie would bang away on the keys and everyone would play the guessing game about what she was actually playing for it took her a while to get into the music. Her eldest daughter was—let us say—forced into taking lessons, likely because Auntie never had the opportunity to have such tuition. My cousin admitted to me that she hated it and I longed to learn the piano but we couldn’t afford such a luxury. That is why to this day I cannot play an instrument, and to be honest cannot sing in tune either—so I have been told. But this lack of a musical ear does not stop me enjoying music. Life would be empty without it.

What brought about these musical thoughts is that the characters in my latest work in progress were about to have a romantic evening alone, and every couple under these circumstances would like a slow dance together. For this, you need music. In the 1940s when London was in the midst of the Blitz, this family did not possess a piano, so the next best thing was a gramophone. My hero Bill comes home with one and a few borrowed records, so the evening is complete with Bing Crosby crooning in the background.  My two eldest sisters owned a gramophone plus a couple of records that I remember clearly to this day. One was Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1, the other Gershwin’s - Rhapsody In Blue. I recalled that this marvellous gadget didn’t run on electricity, so therefore I relied on good old Google to remind me how the spring inside had to be tightened, which required a wind up handle.

All this got me to thinking about early musical instruments and where they originated. Flutes made from bird bone and mammoth ivory found in a cave in Southern Germany proved to be 42 to 43,000 years old, so showed evidence of modern humans in Europe that long ago. I am still trying to imagine these Homo sapiens dancing to the music of the flute. They were more than likely used as a ceremonial instrument or a warning signal. 

A pair of trumpets found in Tutankhamen's tomb were proven to be over 3,000 years old. These finely engraved instruments depicted images of their gods.

This proves that mankind has almost always craved music in their lives. The number of instruments invented to fill this craving is endless. We all have our favourite type of music, mine is Country. My husband and I met at a local dance hall on Christmas Eve many years ago, and from then on spent most of our nights out rocking and rolling, perhaps to Bill Haley and the Comets or even The Rolling Stones. One of my sisters was a talented, mostly self-taught, keyboard player.

Enjoy your music--and what is that saying? "Dance like no one is watching." 

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