Was it age or was having the mystery explored that caused the problem? I'm not sure but back to the beginning I go. Then I will start the Regency story I began probably 20 years or more ago. Thi story was put aside when I was taking courses to finish my BA in Nursing. I found this and several other starting outlines for other stories when sorting out my file cabinet. So now it's off and running with romance on my mind.
 |
| The award-winning Twisted Climb series is available here: https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/ |
There are multiple definitions found in The Canadian Oxford Dictionary but I'll use the one that I'm referring to in this blog: pamper; pay attention to the comfort and wishes of a person.
My definition is similar - but more specific.
The J.C. Kavanagh definition of spoiled: doing your partner's laundry.
I've always been the 'laundry-lady' and am quite content to wash, dry, fold, and put-away all our clothes. So, after living in our new home for about five months, and after I'd spent the afternoon completing the laundry chores, my partner, Ian, walked in from the garage. He was quite dirty from cutting trails on our property.
He stood there for a moment, watching me fold the last of his gitch.
"Oh," he said. "You've done the laundry."
I nodded. Yah, I knew where this was going.
Ian smiled his best-winning smile. "I'd really like to wear these work clothes tomorrow."
"Sure," I replied, smiling back. "Yours are the only dirty clothes, so..." I waited a moment. "The machines are all yours."
His smile faded. "Oh," he repeated.
I watched him retreat to the laundry room. He remained in there for some time and finally came out, looking rather sheepish. Gone was the radiant smile.
"Um... well," he fumbled for words, then took a deep breath. "Which one's the washing machine?"
I burst out laughing.
"But they look the same!" His excuse made me laugh even harder.
 |
| Washer and dryer - I guess they do look the same :) |
Ah, life with Ian is always fun. (And I will spoil him as much as I can!)
 |
| Georgian Bay sunsets on our sailboat. |
Keep smiling and don't forget to tell the ones you love that you love them :)
Click to visit my BWL Author Page for details and purchase information
Hello
everyone. It has been a while since I was last here. My only excuse being busy
being a writer (lol).
I
am currently working on two stories; the first, a suspense novel set during the
Cold War, taking place in Canada in 1959. It follows RCMP Inspector Jesse
Thompson from the force’s Intelligence Section as he investigates possible
Soviet espionage attempts to acquire information on the latest Anti-Submarine
Warfare Systems being developed by the Canadian navy in Halifax.
As
you see, I am sticking with my interest in history and my home town. Remember,
I mentioned in a past blog that history, including your personal one, is a
fertile field for story ideas that cross all genres.
I
am also working on the next Matt Murphy novel set in the 1970s in Toronto,
Ontario. All this is on top of many hours of background research – my favourite
part of writing. Fortunately, I am old enough to have lived through a goodly
part of that history but I still discover and learn new things which often
culminate in new story ideas.
If
you are curious about these backgrounds may I invite you to take a look at one
of the Matt Murphy PI stories excerpts on the Author page listed on the BWL
website. I think you will like Matt, as I know some of you liked John Robichaud
(Robie). Matt is younger and living in a different city and at a different
time. But, like Robie, he is dealing with a universal truth: crime is still
crime; the ‘meat and potatoes’ of mystery writers.
As
a PI, he is not hamstrung by the rules and conventions of the regular law
enforcement agencies and as a result, his cases take him into various areas of
a major city’s underbelly as you see in the first book. He is drawn into the
world of aspiring and professional dancers with their high spirited sense of
self and sexuality, or as some might rather call...sensuality. He also
experiences just how fragile and sensitive their egos can be threatened and how
vicious they can become. He soon discovers the degree which their
competitiveness will push them to achieve ‘the role’ in a production.
To
illustrate the point, here is a brief excerpt.
‘The
woman sat at the dressing table, looking down at the pair of worn
pointe shoes and a small soft wooden box in
her hand. She knew what
she was about to do could possibly destroy
the girl’s future as a dancer,
but she didn’t care.
Opening the box, she extracted three
shortened sewing needles and eased
them into the stiff toes of the shoes one at
a time. When finished, she
slipped a finger into the shoe, making sure
enough of the pins protruded.
Satisfied with her work, she returned the
shoes to the locker then slipped
silently away.’
I
think you will also find the backdrop of Toronto during the years of the
counterrevolution as personified by Rochdale College and Yorkville – The
Village was then.
If
you read the story, I hope you enjoy it and, remember; history is calling.
‘Til
next time.
Paul
Welcome. We're happy to see you. Visit our website and if you like our books please do subscribe for our ebook special every month.
Since I first found out I was going to be a dad, I have been writing a book to my daughter. I am going to give it to her when she is older. This is the chapter concerning her birth.
April
19th, 2014. 11:30 p.m
Your mother's water broke a few hours ago.
We were with the rest of the family at Aunt Becky’s hiding Easter eggs and
playing board games. It wasn't even noticeable like in the movies. We headed to
the hospital just in case. Now your mother is lying in the electronic reclining
bed beside me, texting everyone she knows. I am writing this to you on the back
of a printed copy of a poem from my collection. You are slowly pushing your way
out of your mother’s uterus. We will be a family in a few more hours. I should
have known you would be born on Easter Sunday - the symbols of life and natural
creation are implied but its more than that. I was told. The doctor said you
were due last Sunday and while on a short walk, we found a tiny bird egg. It
was about the size of a quarter, light blue, and had speckles on it. I have
gone on countless walks in and out of animal habitats and never seen a bird
egg. I am not an expert but I think it was a robin’s egg. I knew then that you
would be born on Easter. Your mother’s contractions are getting worse now but
it's still bearable. Your grandma Sue should be here soon to do her best to
alleviate any stress she can for your mom.
April 20th, 2:00 a.m.
Though I am notorious for panicking in
stressful situations I feel surprisingly calm- maybe it doesn't seem real yet.
Soon the fluids will spill and the screams should start. Probably then my
anxiety will rise. But I’m not a doctor. I’m not Mother Nature. This process is
utterly out of my zone of control. All I can mitigate are my own responses to
stimuli. While we wait for you to arrive I am reading a book called Kabuki, the
Alchemy. In it, the protagonist says "If you are faced with a certain
challenge perhaps it is the universe’s way of trying to show you something. You
ask yourself, 'What am I meant to learn from this? How is this meant to push me
in the right direction?’ " I'd happily take this pain from your mother.
Pain and I are casual acquaintances. But chaos? Oh god no! Birth is chaos at
its most primitive. It’s all out of my hands, I must accept my helplessness in
this situation and let fate use me as it sees fit.
April 20th, 4:30 a.m.
Your mother has never felt pain. Not real
pain. Till now. No stitches, contusions or broken bones. To her credit, she
tried her best to avoid drugs during the labor, but couldn't handle it. I
wouldn’t have lasted as long as she did. Imagine the worst pain you can; that
feeling in your mind's eye is just a shadow of the real pain of labor. A doctor
gave her some drugs to numb her and I have no doubt it is worth the
astronomical price he is charging.
April 20th, 6:15 a.m.
The sun rises gold out the giant hospital
window as I watch numbers flash on a monitor by your mother’s bed. 135, 60,
101. I have no idea what these numbers are. They equal the sum of your life
plus your mother's. If these numbers are reduced to zero then a life will be
subtracted. I have never been much for math. I try to ignore the indiscernible
digits blinking on the screen and leave my stress there plugged into the wall.
Let science worry. Let technology do the hard calculations. My job is simple: love
your mother. Mine is the arithmetic of the soul.
April 20th, 7:45 a.m.
We’ve been awake for nearly 24 hours, and
now the hard part is about to begin. Your mother is working her damnedest to
push you out into this world. So much effort for such a tiny thing. All the
pain, the money, the planning. Every single day for nine months has led to
this. I am here, your grandmother is here, and several medical professionals
are here. But this is something you and your mother have to do on your own.
April 20th, 9:10 a.m.
Done. Over with. Here you are. Your mom
pushed you out with no problems. You have thick black hair and dark brown eyes.
As you suckled for the first time I read you poetry. Now, if you will let me, I
will get some sleep. Happy birthday.
My book, The
Remnants of Pryr, comes out this winter.
When one of the ancient founders of
Pryr returns after a long exile and claims the world will end, the nations must
adapt and learn to work together. If not, the Breath of Ruination will bring
about a world-ending catastrophe. The kaleidoscopic cast, including gods,
assassins, poets, and scientists, provides interlocking accounts in this
geo-political drama that dates back to the founding of civilization.
Welcome. We're happy to see you. Visit our website and if you like our books please do subscribe for our ebook special every month.
What is September like where you live?
morning had broken at the farm...
Here in Vermont it's a magical time. Each day brings surprises. It can feel like all of the seasons in a single day. Our mornings might hold the promise of spring, while the afternoon temperatures rise to the warm welcome of summer days. But by evening light we'll catch a glimpse of the vermillion color of the coming glorious Fall on the edge of a maple tree's leaf in the backyard. And deep in the night, it's time to haul out the extra quilt as temperatures dip into winter territory!
In September we get our frolicking children off to school and happily anticipate welcoming visitors from all over the world coming to see the incredible crisp beauty of Vermont in the autumn. We're baking....apple cider donuts, cobblers made of our summer bounties of peaches and berries. The air itself is infused with plummy richness of it.
our town after a September rainstorm
And September is a time that the light creek or lakeside reading of summer transforms itself into deeper stories kept in happy anticipation of their company for longer nights by the fireside.
When I was a child, I read numerous novels written over a century ago, such as Anne of Gables, Emily of New Moon, and The Story Girl by L. M. Montgomery. Characters who got sick in these stories routinely mentioned taking laudanum. I hadn't heard of this medicine but assumed it was similar to our everyday modern drugs. So I was surprised to later learn that laudanum is essentially opium.
Anne of Green Gables took opium?
She almost certainly did. From the 18th to the early 20th century, laudanum was a common drug found in most household medicine cabinets. People took it for headaches, coughs, diarrhea, and "female complaints." They fed drops to babies to ease teething pain and colic.
Drawings reveal that the juice and seeds of the opium poppy were used as medicines in ancient Assyria and Egypt. Opium treatment emerged in Europe in the 1660s, when doctors dissolved opium in liquor and added cinnamon, cloves, other spices and sometimes honey to mask the plant's bitter taste to create a drug they called laudanum. The medicine worked quickly and more effectively than other drugs available at the time and came to feature in about 25 % of all prescribed medications. Opium was also the secret ingredient in 19th century drugs advertised and sold under innocuous brand names like Dover's Powder and Winslow's Soothing Syrup.
While doctors appreciated the value of opium, they were aware of the dangers. Overdose, called "acute poisoning," could be accidental or intentional. Opium was the most common method of suicide in the 1800s and too many drops of laudanum tragically resulted in infant deaths.
Addiction, or "chronic poisoning," was another problem. Poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge's medical treatments led to a life-long laudanum addiction. His famous poem, "Kubla Khan," was inspired by an opium dream.
 |
| The village of Nether Stowey, Somerset, UK, where Coleridge lived and wrote his poems "Kubla Khan" and "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" |
In the early 1880s, researchers isolated the active ingredient in opium and named it for Morpheus, the Greek god of sleep and dreams. Morphine is ten times as strong as the same amount of opium but can be more precisely measured, preventing overdose. Hypodermic needles were invented to inject morphine powder and soon people could buy hypodermic syringes in the Sears catalogue for $2.00.
Next Bayer pharmaceuticals developed the even stronger heroin and marketed it with its other new drug, aspirin. Some people thought aspirin carried higher risks because it caused bleeding.
But many doctors and members of the public pushed for restrictions on dangerous drugs. In the early 20th century, governments passed laws making opium and its derivatives only available by prescription and requiring companies to list ingredients on drug labels. Researchers gradually developed effective medicines with fewer serious side effects. Laudanum is still available today but is mainly prescribed to control diarrhea when other medications have failed.
Why am I interested in old time medicine? It's because my new historical mystery novel, A Killer Whisky, deals with common drugs of the early 1900s. These also included cocaine - great for nasal inflammation - and whisky. During Prohibition doctors were allowed to prescribe liquor to relieve stress, pain, and other physical and mental ailments. Many people took advantage of that legal loophole and enjoyed the medicine's intoxicating side-benefits.
References:
Halpern, John
H., MD and Blistein, David. Opium: How an
Ancient Flower Shaped and Poisoned Our World. New York: Hachette,
2019.
Inglis, Lucy. Milk of
Paradise: A History of Opium. London: Macmillan, 2019.
Malleck, Dan. When Good Drugs
Go Bad. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2015.
I am the author of six novels published by BWL Publishing Inc. Four are part of my Paula Savard Mystery Series set in Calgary, AB, Canada. The fifth, a standalone suspense novel, shifts between Calgary and California. My latest release, A Killer Whisky, is a historical mystery novel set in 1918 Calgary. My short stories and poems have won contests and appeared in magazines and anthologies. I have also published non-fiction articles and am a member of the Alexandra Writers Centre Society, Crime Writers of Canada, Sisters in Crime, and the Writers Guild of Alberta. A native of Montreal, I now live in Calgary, where I love biking and hiking in our nearby Rocky Mountains.
A Line to Murder
Murder: When One Isn't Enough
Wynter's Way
Parlor Girls
https://bookswelove.net/stover-karla/
for information and books purchases
Once upon a time, an Austrian man was doing time in Landsberg Prison on charges of treason. Landsberg consisted of four brick-built cell blocks built in a cross-shape orientation.” This allowed guards to watch all wings simultaneously from a central location. The prison, which was used for holding convicted criminals and those awaiting sentencing, was also designated a Festungshaft (meaning fortress confinement). Its facilities were similar to modern protective custody unit. There was no forced labor, the cells were reasonably comfortable, and visitors were allowed. The Austrian’s sentence was five years and during that time, he received many visitors. However, his favorite pass-time was writing and he had plans for a two-volume book which the author wanted to call Four and a Half Years [of Struggle] Against Lies, Stupidity and Cowardice. When volume one was done, the editors were his chauffeur, Emil Maurice, and his friend and confident Rudolf Hess. The author was, of course, Adolf Hitler. At his publisher’s suggestion, the book was retitled Mein Kampf in which Hitler outlined his political ideology, his plans for Germany’s future, and the reasons for his antisemitism. The book came out on July 18, 1925 and, much to the prison governor’s disappointment, initial sales were disappointing. If the book ran into enough editions, it would "enable Hitler to fulfill his financial obligations and to defray the expenses incurred at the time of his trial. However, following Hitler’s rise to power in 1933, it became a best seller in Germany. In fact, it made so much money, Hitler eventually had a large tax debt which was wiped out (of course) when he became Germany’s chancellor.
“Through aggressive marketing, the publisher pressured the public, German institutions, and Nazi organizations to purchase copies. The Nazi propaganda machine's transformation of Adolf Hitler from a common German soldier and politician into an infallible, God-like leader greatly boosted sales as well. By the end of 1944, more than 12 million copies had been printed; most of them after 1939.” Eventually there were commemorative editions: for weddings, birthdays, Hitler’s birthday, and Braille editions. In 1934, the French government unofficially sponsored the publication of an unauthorized translation. It was meant as a warning. Since its first publication in India, Mein Kampf has gone through hundreds of editions, sold over 100,000 copies and has been translated into various Indian languages.
Then the war ended.
“In
May 1945, the Allies began to systematically remove Nazi propaganda (including
books, maps, films, statues, flags, and symbols) from Germany’s libraries,
universities, stores, buildings, and city streets.” They “removed Mein Kampf and other Nazi texts from circulation and
prohibited their re-publication. American authorities subsequently transferred
the copyright to the Bavarian government. The Bavarians “used their
legal power to prevent the re-issuing of Mein Kampf in Germany and
elsewhere, with the exception of the English-language versions. In spite of its
efforts, though, the Bavarian government was never able to fully stop the reprinting.
Up until 2015, when its copyright expired, Bavaria accepted royalty payments for the book
and then redistributed the money to various charities.
In the United States and “According to the Boston Globe, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt has been publishing "a greatly abridged edition" since 1933 but only began donating proceeds from the book to Jewish-related charities in 2000.” Recently, however, it began donating 'funds to projects having nothing to do with the Holocaust or anti-Semitism,” said actions angering many Jews and Jewish organizations.
It’s hard to know what to do with any literature of this
nature. The only person who
had a legitimate claim to the royalties was his nephew Leo Raubal
(Hitler's half-sister’s child), but Leo refused to have anything to do with the
book or the profits.
“Unfortunately, the publisher failed to recognize the sensitivity around this book," said Josef Blumenfeld, founder of PR firm EdTech180 and a former executive at HMH. "“I’m sure HMH was well-intentioned when it tried to broaden the use of funds"
This barely touches what is an enormously complicated issue. I suggest watching Mark Felton's YouTube video on the subject.
My grandson
hiccupped and said, “Who’s thinking about me?”
I turned to him. “Who taught you that saying?”
“You did.” He rolled his eyes. “You always say it.”
Well, blow me over. The fact anyone remembers what I say surprised me, let alone someone so young. And his response made me smile because I still ask the same question whenever I get the hiccups.
Once again, I trip down the Google rabbit hole but this time to find out where the saying came from. This is what I learned:
Folklore says getting the hiccups means someone is talking about you or missing you. It continued to say the trick to stop the hiccups was to go through all the people in your head and when you hit the culprit the hiccups would stop.
My mother never told me that part of the saying. Next time I get the hiccups, instead of holding my breath, I’ll recite names. Who knows, maybe someone important is thinking about me.
Since I was in research mode anyways, and because my grandson is responsible for this procrastination adventure, I check into the saying out of the mouths of babes. It owes its origin to Psalm 8:2 KJV where God ordains strength out of the mouths of babes. Today, the phrase has changed to praise a young person who speaks wisely.
Here’s a good line
for my procrastination endeavors – don’t put off until tomorrow what you can
do today. Benjamin Franklin created the original phrase - never leave
that till tomorrow which you can do today. That’s a tough one to abide by when procrastination mode is in full gear.
Don’t count your chickens before they hatch is said to be from the Aesop Fables although there is no confirmation of that. Hmm. I thought Google knew all.
You’re no spring chicken originated in the 1700s when farmers needed to sell their chickens while they were young and tasty. If they couldn’t sell them, they’d age through the winter and be less profitable. I’m not sure how I’ll react the next time I hear someone use the expression. It will probably depend on what time of year it is.
It seems chickens take a lot of heat as far as old sayings go. Here’s another one:
In the 1920s in the United States, a chicken dinner from a casino cafeteria cost under $2. And $2 was the standard bet for gamblers. When someone won a bet, they could buy a chicken dinner hence the phrase winner winner chicken dinner. Well, that one surprised me. My grandkids say it every time they win at cards or soccer or running races. I was positive they were the originators.
The knowledge I acquire when I procrastinate boggles my mind.
Here's a final one which has nothing to do with chickens, but you might think about it before you go to bed tonight.
Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is said to be a Roman superstition. They were always careful to get up on the correct side to ensure that good luck would follow them throughout the day. If they got up left foot forward or on the wrong side of the bed, they believed they would be surrounded by negative energy and have an unlucky day of it.
I hope you got up on the right side of the bed and have minimal hiccups throughout your day. Enjoy the September weather. Winter is always just around the corner in Alberta.
I hate writing introductions because my first thought it how can I make this as extra as possible. Honestly, I'm not that interesting. I write books sometimes and hang out with my family and eat nacho's on Friday nights when my daughter goes to her Grandparent's house. Sometimes I dress spooky, but lately because of Covid (yeah... Covid. Right...) I've become too fluffy to fit into my goth clothes. I'm married. I like comics, and I like sleeping in, though I rarely get to do it these days.
.jpg)
J.S. grew up in Shawinigan, a small French Canadian town, married a young military officer, and raised three spirited children. Over the years, she enjoyed many wonderful postings in many different regions of Canada. After her children left the nest, she began writing. Three years later, she captured her dream of becoming a published author. She writes a blend of romantic suspense and murder mysteries. Most of her stories are set in Canada, and if they are not, they feature Canadian characters. J.S. isn't sure where time flew, but decades later, she ended up writing under the Northern Lights in Alberta while spoiling four adorable grandchildren.
R
Here is the cover of my new book which will pre-release
in October. Isn’t it great? I love the idea of the window because my main
character, Bonnie, is in the process of lifechanging events and the window is
so symbolic of looking outward, or looking beyond the walls that have held her
back.
Windows are often overlooked (no pun intended). They
are just “there”. We look out a window, we look in through the window. We window-shop,
yet sometimes we need to just see the window. I like the way Sydney J. Harris makes
a comparison between us and windows:
“People are like stained - glass windows. They sparkle
and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty
is revealed only if there is a light from within.”
Perhaps a more well known “windows” expression is “The
eyes are the window to the soul” or as another author said, “They say
dreams are the windows of the soul--take a peek and you can see the inner
workings, the nuts and bolts.” Either way, there is much more to
each of us than window dressing, and sometimes we have to look deep to find it.
At the same time, we need to be careful, or as Benjamin Franklin said:
“Don't throw stones at your neighbors if your own
windows are glass.”
As writers, it is our job, and responsibility, to show
our readers what is beyond those windows; to open the world for them and take
them places they can’t go on their own, and to describe it in such rich detail
they feel as if they are indeed in the middle of a flower garden.
“Short stories are tiny windows into other worlds and
other minds and dreams. They are journeys you can make to the far side of the
universe and still be back in time for dinner.” Neil Gaiman
I love to write, sharing stories with my readers that
will make their days a little brighter, like light through a window. My love
for the written word “unlocks doors and opens windows that weren't even there
before.” (Mignon McLaughlin)
Erma Bombeck, one of my favorite columnists, once said,
“Never have more kids than you do car windows.” This does not apply to books,
because the more books you have, the more windows to open; the more worlds to
explore.
So open this browser window and explore worlds I have
imagined just for you. https://bwlpublishing.ca/baldwin-barbara/
I hope your day is as bright as a freshly washed
window!
Barbara Baldwin
www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin
www.amazon.com/author/barbarabaldwin
