BELLE CANADIENNE, an excerpt

        

Fly Away Snow Goose, NWT

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    Here is the first page of Belle Canadienne,  a new entry for the Province of Quebec 

in the Canadian Historical Brides series. Coming this year.

    Jeanne reached the top of the stairs. Her day had begun early and she was bone tired. 

Hefting the basket of fish she'd bargained for on the quay, she caught her breath. Although

she ought to hurry on to the fishmarket, bustling just above the quay, she stepped to one side, 

set down her basket of quivering silver, and turned back to face into the wind. 

       There was the cruel, blue-gray sea!

Gulls tumbled through the air above her head. Bolder ones began to land, shrieking and quarreling. Thieving beggars that they were, a few edged close to her basket. She knew it was risky to be abstractedhere; the fish had cost more than expected and she didn't want to lose any of them to these feathered free-loaders. Still, she took a minute to gaze out at the swells, coming in so steadily now, frothy manes tossing.

Five years ago, Pierre Dube, her young husband, had signed onto a ship that had sailed to the great northern fishing grounds that lay ever so far away west, across the dark Atlantic. Her father's words had proved prophetic, and events had unfolded exactly as he had warned Jeanne when she'd chosen to marry a sailor instead of one of those Saintonge cousins, the kind who (literally) kept their feet on the ground, working the profitable--and safe--salt farms.

Pierre's first voyage to the New World was also his last. According to another ship in their small fishing fleet, it had last been seen dodging through a maze of fog and ice bergs. 

Hard to believe that eight years had passed since Jeanne had left her home in The Saintonge and come to live with Pierre's his family in the port of La Rochelle, a thriving city that had once seemed so full of excitement and promise. For a few bright years, she'd been a wife and then a mother, but now she was neither, just another sorrowing widow.

As if losing her husband had not been sufficiently cruel, her fine, active little Michel had died last autumn. He'd followed older boys out onto the rocks and had been swept away by a rogue wave. A few days later, during a lull in the autumn gales, his small broken body had been found just a few miles down the coast, .

Remembering this, she felt the familiar pain in her chest, the terrible ache that would never go away. Jeanne managed to stifle a sob, but she was unable to hold back the hot sting of tears which went coursing down her cheeks. Not wanting anyone to see her, she wiped them away fiercely with the fishy apron.

 "Ha! Get! You dirty thieves!"

Startled by the shout, Jeanne spun around only to discover that the boldest of the gulls had snatched one of her fish. If it hadn't been for her sister-in-law, Sylvine, now rushing forward, waving her arms, the gull would have had his prize. Fortunately for Jeanne, the greedy pest had chosen such a heavy fish that he couldn't easily fly off with it.

Wielding a stick, Sylvine struck the bird as it stumbled along the quay, knocking free his prize. The gull flew up, releasing his displeasure in a splatter of white. The fish tumbled at her feet, all quivering silver.

"Get, you greedy bastards!"

Arms wide, Jeanne joined in, stamping and yelling, scattering the feathered pirates, who arose in a cloud of shrieking protest. 

"Staring out to sea again?" Her sister-in-law's tone, her grim expression, spoke volumes.

There is nothing for you among those waves. Trust me, sister! I know.

~~ Juliet Waldron

(For KFB) 

A Gift to My Readers---A Flash Fiction Story By Connie Vines #Free Read #Sweet Romance, #Warm Wishes and Gingerbread Kisses, #Flash Fiction

 A Holiday Gift to My Readers 

 

©Warm Wishes and Gingerbread Kisses

By © Connie Vines

He always ordered a slice of gingerbread and black coffee. Hearing his voice through the headset made my morning, which was why I volunteered to work the drive-thru.

Was it his southern drawl, his friendly smile, or the way G.B., the Irish setter, rested his chin on Mason's shoulder so adoringly that won me over? I'm not sure. I only know I developed an impossible-to-hide-crush.

Mason finally asked me out, and now we're engaged.

We're perfect together, like hot chocolate with whipped cream or gingerbread cookies and milk.

We are planning a small winter wedding. Our family organized a potluck reception. My dad will walk me down the aisle of the church. And G.B. (AKA Gingerbread Boy) is excited to be our ring bearer. 

I hope you enjoyed my Flash Fiction Story. 

🎅🎄🎁

Happy Holidays!

XOXO

Connie Vines

Remember: 

All of my books are on sale! 

75% off until Jan. 1,2024

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/vinesbwl

Where's Connie?

https://bookswelove.net/vines-connie/

https://mizging.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorConnieVines/

https://connievines-author.com/

Is there an “X” conspiracy? The signs are here, but what does it all mean? – by Vijaya Schartz

Find these and many other novels of mine on the BWL site HERE

I’m not a conspiracy theorist, only a curious writer, whose creative mind notices clues and patterns. I’m always looking for fresh angles and new stories everywhere, and lately, I can’t help but notice the proliferation of “X” in everyday American lives. Is the X part of a secret equation? X = ?

 

It started years ago with the “X” Files, “The truth is out there.” Ominous, but not so far from reality, since in recent years, many governments around the world have opened up about an alien presence in our skies, and a few even claim to have reverse-engineered some alien technology.

As a result, more and more NASA and other astronauts, as well as Air Force and commercial pilots, are opening up about what they saw in space and in our skies. The US government finally admitted to the existence of Area 51, and briefed Congress about UAPs (Unexplained Aerial Phenomena), in 2023, in a secret session, which somehow leaked to the press, and contained military footage of UFO encounters.

Recently, we’ve seen Twitter become “X” under Elon Musk’s new ownership. Why? The symbol is ugly and gives me the shudders. Not a very good marketing move. The man also owns SPACE”X”. Is he signaling that Generation X is taking over the reins of technology? Or is there an X-File alien technology connection? Musk has also been accused of endorsing antisemitic posts on X, causing many advertisers to leave the platform. X was also accused of favoring white supremacist groups. Coincidence?

  

Many other companies in recent ads are prominently displaying the “X” factor. From pharmaceutical labs, AnolonX, AreXvy, or media companies like “X”finity internet or manufacturers like the X-chair, and TV shows like the X-Files and the UneXplained.

Celebrity X cruises displays an X that is not part of their name. When the public suggested it meant X-rated cruises for adults, their official rebuttal was: The big “X” on the funnel of the cruise ships represents the Greek letter chi for “Chandris.” Maybe it does… then again… maybe it means something else.

Conspiracy X is an RPG (Role Playing Game) based upon a secret invasion of Earth by aliens insidiously taking over the world. It is set in a world of dark secrets and hidden agendas where nothing is what it seems.

According to others, Disease X is the next pandemic.

Are we facing a new generation of X-men identifying themselves to each other? Or is there a secret “X” society manipulating governments toward an unknown destiny? It wouldn’t be so farfetched, since secret societies have been running the world from the shadows for millennia.

I guess we will find out… eventually, if we live long enough. In the meantime, I’ll keep watching for clues.  

My novels are full of intergalactic conspiracies, villains, strong heroines, brave heroes, and cats. Find them here:

amazon - B&N - Smashwords - Kobo

Happy reading!

Vijaya Schartz, award-winning author
Strong Heroines, Brave Heroes, cats
http://www.vijayaschartz.com
amazon - B&N - Smashwords - Kobo

Research is fun—Tricia McGill

Find this and all my other books here

My latest book to be released in January is set in Tasmania, or to use the fond name for this delightful island just off the coast of my home state Victoria, The Apple Isle. My hubby and I almost settled there years ago, but it was not to be, for job opportunities for him were scarce there back in the 70s. As luck would have it, I have spent many happy holidays over there and I have a friend of many years who lives there. 

A Troubled Heart is set in the Tasmania of the 1840s (Van Diemen’s Land as it was then), a far different place to that of today. Finn, my hero, spent years in the notorious convict prison at Port Arthur and when driving around this area today it is difficult to believe that such horrible confinement and unthinkable treatment took place there. The Government of the day considered it a perfect setting for a prison as the only road out to gain access to the rest of the island was via Eaglehawk Neck, just 30 metres wide and guarded by armed soldiers rumoured to have half starved dogs with them. Anyone who tried their luck in the sea bypassing this neck would stand a good chance of being eaten by sharks.

Hobart and then Launceston were settled well before it was decided that Melbourne would be a fine place to start another town. In 1835 John Batman and John Pascoe Fawkner left Launceston in separate expeditions to launch the first settlement at Port Phillip which developed into Melbourne, Victoria’s capital city.

 

Christmas Traditions and the meaning behind them by Joan Havelange

 

For details and purchase information check out my BWL Author page

Christmas Traditions and the meaning behind them by Joan Havelange.

Most of us have Christmas traditions. I took a little tour on Google. And here are some of the origins of some of our beloved Christmas traditions.

The Christmas tree.

The fir tree has traditionally been used to celebrate winter festivals (pagan and Christian) for thousands of years. Pagans used branches of it to decorate their homes during the winter solstice, as it made them think of the spring to come. The Romans used fir trees to decorate their temples at the festival of Saturnalia, which in time became Christmas. The Christmas tree became popular in the UK when Queen Victoria’s husband, Prince Albert, brought one to England from Germany in 1841 and placed it in Windsor Castle. The royal couple posed in front of it with their children for a newspaper article. And it soon became fashionable all over the country.

Carol Singing

Carols were once folk songs sung at celebrations throughout the year. Not just at Christmas. Later, in medieval times, they were adopted and adapted by churchgoers, and many of these carols still make up our most beloved Christmas traditions. The Holly and The Ivy is a medieval carol, for instance.

 

The Christmas Wreath

Even before the birth of Christ and Christmas as we know it. The wreath ideas have been used as a symbol of honour and victory.  In the Middle Ages, it was adopted by those of the Christian faith as a representation of the start of Christmas.

 

Christmas Card

 

A Victorian Entrepreneur, Sir Henry Cole, commissioned the first Christmas card in the UK in 1843, as he was too busy to write individual greetings to friends. A thousand cards were printed, and Cole sold those left over. When the Royal family started sending Christmas cards, their popularity grew enormously.

Christmas Stocking

St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children, was a 4th-century Christian bishop in what is now modern-day Turkey. Legend has it that he wanted to help a poor family who had three daughters; all the daughters needed a dowry before they could marry. To give charity without injuring their pride, he threw gold coins down their chimney on Christmas Eve, and the coins fell into a stocking that was hanging in the fireplace to dry.

Mistletoe

This hardy plant was revered by the Druids for its ability to survive and remain green without roots throughout the winter. They harvested it during the winter solstice and used it for medical purposes. The Romans saw it as a symbol of peace. The Scandinavians associated the mistletoe with their goddess of love. This led to the belief that a kiss underneath would lead to a year of good luck. And for young maidens. The possibility of marriage.

Thank you for allowing me to tell you some stories about the origins of a few of our beloved Christmas traditions. Merry Christmas from my house to yours. May peace and happiness be yours in the new year.

Joan Havelange is the author of six mysteries and has been writing fiction since her early twenties. She began with romance stories. But she discovered she’d rather have her protagonist pursue a killer than a romance. Always a fan of mysteries, she is an avid reader and writer of cozy mysteries. Her latest mystery is a thriller ‘Moving is Murder.’

Find her at: https://bwlpublishing.ca/havelange-joan/

 

Canada's Deserts by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

https://books2read.com/The-Travelling-Detective-Boxed-Set

https://books2read.com/u/bapW6a

Canada’s Deserts

Only forty-one of the one-hundred ninety-five countries on this earth have deserts but the deserts cover almost one-third of the earth’s land mass. I am a Canadian writer and all my mystery, historical, romance, and young adult novels are set in Canada. Canada is the second largest country in the world and home to one desert and three pseudo-deserts. A pseudo-desert is defined as an area that has some of the qualities that make up a desert, but does not meet the technical standards to be termed a true desert

There are three main features of a desert: less than 250 millimetres (10 inches) of precipitation each year; sparse vegetation; and severe weather changes. Other characteristics include humidity, high winds, little cloud cover, and aridity. The types of deserts are semi-arid, cold, coastal, and hot and dry.

The people of the Southern Interior of British Columbia claim that Canada’s only desert is in the Osoyoos area. Many of the businesses in the region have the word ‘desert’ in their names, such as the Nk’Mip Desert Cultural Centre and the Osoyoos Desert Centre. Tourists come to this part of British Columbia to see this popular desert.

But others say that, although it does have desert type plants like cacti and animals such as the sage grouse and tiger salamander, it is not really a desert because of the precipitation which is 323 mm (12.7 in) annually. It is defined as a pseudo-desert.

Another pseudo-desert in Canada is the Carcross Desert, located outside the community of Carcross in the Yukon. At 2.6 sq km (1sq mi) it is called the smallest desert in the world. But while it is termed a desert it is actually the remains of an ancient glacial lake which left the sand dunes when it dried up. In spite of the strong winds from Lake Bennett which bring in more sand, kinnikinnick, Yukon lupine, Baikal sedge, and lodgepole pines are able to survive.

The local people used the dunes for sandboarding, hiking, beach volleyball, and all-terrain vehicles and there are scenic tours for tourists.

The third pseudo-desert in Canada is the Great Saskatchewan Sand Hills covering 1,900sq km (734 sq mi). Like the Carcross Desert they are desert-like sand dunes situated just north of the village of Sceptre in southwestern Saskatchewan. Also like the Carcross Desert, the hills were left when glaciers melted 12,000 years ago and are home to a variety of plants and animals that have adapted to the dunes.

The Canadian Arctic Tundra is considered the only true desert in Canada. However, it isn’t a hot desert; it is a cold polar desert and covers a large area in northern Canada. The land is covered by thick layers of ice instead of sand and has a cold, harsh climate with temperatures dropping as low as -40 degrees Celsius (-40F). Trees have a difficult time surviving in the permafrost during the short growing season so the tundra is covered mainly by small shrubs, mosses, and lichens. A number of animals--arctic hares, muskoxen, polar bears, arctic foxes, and caribou--manage to live in this cold desert in the far north because they have thick fur coats to keep them warm.

The Gift by Victoria Chatham

  

 AVAILABLE HERE

 

It might be Christmas, but Suzie Castle felt no cheer or goodwill to all men. Losing her parents this year within months of each other weighed heavily on her, as did having her art class budget cut. She worried for her students, who had left before she did today with cheery Christmas greetings and shouts of ‘see you next year’ as they filed out of the classroom before her.

Cold from riding the train and then taking a bus from the school where she taught to her home, her feet wet from walking through slush and snow from the bus stop, she trudged up the stairs of her three-storey apartment building, wondering why she’d insisted on having a room with a view when an apartment on the main floor would have been so much more convenient right now.

Stopping at her door, Number 304, she set her grocery bag down and searched her purse for her keys. Why hadn’t she thought to find them while sitting on the train or the bus? She fitted the key in the lock, turned it and pushed her door open—then stopped.

Pale blue light flooded her open-plan kitchen, dining, and living room.

Had she left a light on? She didn’t think so. Besides, all her lights were practical, white LED bulbs. This morning, she had switched them all off and opened the drapes before leaving for her journey to the school. Now, not only was there light, but her drapes were closed against the wintery night. She stepped inside, her jaw dropping as she looked around.

The blue light came from an acrylic Christmas tree on her coffee table. Who had put it there? And when had all those cards been set up on her mantle shelf?

Suzie toed off her wet boots and wriggled her toes into her welcome mat as she unzipped her coat. Who on earth had been in her apartment? She hung her coat in the hall closet. As she approached her coffee table, she noticed several wrapped gifts on the floor beneath it. Frowning, she picked one up and looked at the label.

Happy Christmas, Miss Castle. See you next year. Best wishes, Jorge.

She picked up another.

Thank you for making the last term so fun. Love, Beccy.

Thinking of the bright, difficult fifteen-year-old with whom she’d had more than one skirmish, tears pricked Suzie’s eyes. She brushed them away and picked up another gift.

You helped me see things differently. Thank you. Love, Donny.

Donny. Suzie laid the gift on the table. She’d crossed words with him, too.

Suzie ran her gaze along the row of cards, stunned to see herself depicted on each one. She picked up the biggest, showing her in her toque and muffler with a big smile. She ran her finger over it and opened it.

Hope you like my drawing of you. Happy Christmas. Peter.

Peter. Her most talented pupil.

On another card, she was pointing something out to a figure she was sure was little Mary Brown. Whose easel had been behind Mary’s? Suzie couldn’t remember but thought it might have been Devon Jackson. She turned the card over. Sure enough, there were his initials and the date.

Suzie swallowed the lump in her throat as she remembered some of the casual, throw-away questions and comments from the last few weeks in the run-up to Christmas.

What do you do at Christmas, Miss Castle?

“Snuggle up in a big blanket with a book and drink hot chocolate.”

Do you have turkey and all the trimmings?

“Good gracious, no. It’s just like another day for me, although I sometimes buy myself a box of chocolates.”

Have you ever locked yourself out of your apartment?

“Only once, and then I left a spare key with my neighbour.”

Why did that question and her response suddenly spring into her mind?

Who had asked it? Suzie’s brow wrinkled as she thought back. It was Beccy. She was sure of it. At the time, she’d been busy suggesting a correction to the shading in Beccy’s drawing and not thought anything of it. Now, she saw clearly how her students had been cleverly gathering information all this time.

A knock at her door startled her, but she went to open it, only to find her elderly next-door neighbour, Mrs. Delaney from Number 306, outside.

“Mrs. Delaney,” Suzie said, welcoming her with a smile. “Please come in.”

There was an answering smile in Mrs. Delaney’s kind, blue eyes. “Don’t mind if I do, but I won’t keep you a moment. I only wanted to make sure you weren’t cross that I’d used your spare key to let the young ones into your apartment, and of course, I stayed with them while they decorated. They were such polite young people and wanted to do something nice for you so you wouldn’t feel lonely at Christmas.”

“How could I be cross about that sentiment, Mrs. Delaney?” Suzie motioned her to sit down. “This is the nicest thing that has happened to me in a long while. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“If you’re sure it’s no trouble, dear.”

Suzie went into the kitchen to fill the kettle and switch it on, but right beside it, a mug with two single sachets of gourmet hot chocolate sat on top of a box of chocolates.

“Mrs. Delaney,” Suzie called. “Would you like a mug of hot chocolate instead? Irish cream or salted caramel?”

“Irish cream would be lovely,” Mrs. Delaney said, and Suzie unhooked another mug from her mug tree.

When she had made the drinks and carried them into the living room, Suzie sat opposite her neighbour and smiled at her.

“Thank you for helping my students set this up,” she said. “This is the best gift anyone could have given me.” She raised her mug in a salute to Mrs. Delaney and each one of her students. “Happy Christmas!” 

THE END

Victoria Chatham

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"Western Justice"

 Book titles are sometimes elusive. I sometimes spend days thinking about the book's plot, the characters, and the location, struggling to find an engaging name that reflects the plot. Other times, the title hits me like a bolt of lightning. "Western Justice" was a bolt of lightning. Allow me to digress...

My first trip to the Black Hills of Western South Dakota was when I was 12. Dad packed the family into our new Ford, and we drove to The Black Hills Roundup. That's the official title of the annual July 4th rodeo in Belle Fourche, South Dakota. Being a flatlander and a city kid, the experience was eye-opening. I'd never seen a bull rider or watched a cowboy trying to stay on a bucking bronco for eight seconds. To be honest, the closest I'd come to those experiences was being set on the back of a black angus calf by an uncle who thought it was hilarious to see his nephew bucked into the manure pile. I didn't last eight seconds, as is required to "place" in either the bull or bronc riding competitions.

Since that first trip, I've been back to the Black Hills more than 40 times. It shouldn't surprise my readers that one of my protagonists is a ranch girl from Spearfish, South Dakota. My fictional Park Service Investigators, Doug and Jill Fletcher return to a Back Hills US National Park Service sites to solve a mystery close to Jill's family in one book each year.

This past August, my wife and I loaded ourselves into our Ford pickup truck and headed west and spent a week scouting locations for future Fletcher books. Along the way, we visited the Vore Buffalo Jump, where we got a VIP tour from Jackie Wyatt, the president of the Vore Buffalo Jump Foundation. With her assistance, I located the perfect place to dump a dead body. Yes, that's really what I do on my "vacations". Don't worry, my wife is accustomed to my questioning of rangers and local folks about unsolved mysteries and stories behind local dead bodies. She generally wanders away while I ask questions about likely places to dump bodies, intriguing causes of death (thank you Crook County Coroner, Mike Frolander), and I grill park rangers, waitresses, and store clerks for juicy bits of local gossip that I weave into my plots. I get local color by watching people and listening to diner conversations.

As you may have guessed, "Western Justice" involves the discovery of a body in the pit of the Vore Buffalo Jump, near Aladdin, Wyoming. Other parts of the book are set in Aladdin, population 15, Devils Tower National Monument, and the Black Hills National Forest. One of my beta readers just texted to say she finished reading the book and was ready to pack her bags for a Black Hills trip. Yes, she was that intrigued by my description of the Vore Buffalo Jump. 

I sincerely hope I've done justice to the natural beauty, and unique "Western" feel of the region. Everyone I met on our trip was warm, friendly, willing to share thoughts and plots, and was pleased to meet someone who was trying to capture their region in a book.  In "Western Justice", the victim dies in a manner common to the punishment of wild west horse thieves and cattle rustlers. When I spoke about the plot of the then unnamed book to a Wyoming rancher, he nodded and said, "You're writing about Western justice in this one." There was the title!

"Western Justice" will be released January 13, 2024. If you check out my page on either the BWL site or on Amazon, you'll find the book synopsis and a link to pe-order an eBook. Consider it a Christmas gift to yourself.

Books We Love author page Hovey, Dean Doug Fletcher series - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

On Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Western-Justice-Doug-Fletcher-Book-ebook/dp/B0CQ6GLV6D/