The value (?) of junk, by J.C. Kavanagh

 

The award-winning Twisted Climb trilogy
(Book 1, The Twisted Climb, is also available in audio format)
Click here for the purchase link:
https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

It's valuable to you. At least you think it is. Or was. But junk is junk even if it has a special history and even if you love it and no one else does. 

Which makes giving it away that much harder. And selling it? How do you put a price on precious pieces of your history. Especially when it's something so old it actually is part of history?

Well, I've been navigating this emotional crisis for over a year - first selling our home and purging the least precious items - then un-packing two sea containers of our belongings and making them fit in a home half the size. Trying to, that is. And discovering that it just won't work. 

Those antique pieces? Too big. 

Those lovely framed pictures? Not enough wall space.

Those extra chairs? No room.

I tried selling the antiques on FB Marketplace. I researched the pieces and based the prices accordingly. There were a few quasi-buyers but nothing concrete. So I reduced the prices and still no bites. I even contacted a local antique dealer who said he didn't have the space in his store. Since I had the same problem with the size of my new home, I didn't pressure him.

I had to make a decision. A tough one. When does something precious become junk? Is it when nobody else wants it? 

Yeah, it seems that way.

So, I've been giving away the items that caressed my mind and soul, and hoping that the next owner will feel the same joy that I once had. 

After all, it's only junk if there's no value to it. Right?

1939 tiger oak hutch, hand engraved.

1920ish mahogany hall table and mirror

1910 Morris Stickley Lion Claw mechanical reclining armchair.
Just a few of the items that have found a new 'forever' home.

I can tell you with absolute certainty where you won't find junk. In my novels - The Twisted Climb trilogy. No junk. No no no. But you will find great characters, fantastic adventures, emotional drama and a story line that merits the "Best Young Adult" book status. Young adults and adults-young-at-heart give the series two thumbs up. And 5-Star ratings. Enjoy.

And remember to tell the ones you love that you love them.

J.C. Kavanagh, author of
The Twisted Climb - A Bright Darkness (Book 3) Best YA Book FINALIST at Critters Readers Poll 2022
and
The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2) voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada
AND
The Twisted Climb,
voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll
Voted Best Local Author, Simcoe County, Ontario, 2021
Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart
Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh
www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh
Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)
Instagram @authorjckavanagh

Robie’s World – The Backdrop for Detective John Robichaud by H. Paul Doucette

 

 

https://bookswelove.net/doucette-h-paul/

Hello again,

 

            It recently occurred to me that there might be some of you who would like to know more about the city that has played such a prominent role in many of my stories; my hometown of Halifax.

            The city is one of the oldest in Canada and was founded by the British in the early seventeen century, primarily as a base for their naval operations and as a counter to the French fortification at Louisburg, in Cape Breton. It also became key location for the British, notably during the American Revolutionary War and during the following world wars.

            It quickly developed into a major seaport because of its natural deep ice free harbour and its  access to the Atlantic trade route with Europe.

            The city, like so many in Canada, is a product of converging influences from both French and English colonial interests in the past. However, it is the Halifax of the twentieth century where I have drawn my inspiration. When I took up the pen I wondered what I ought to write; what stories did I want to tell? It did not take long before I saw my direction. Here I was, living once again in the city of my birth; a city rife with history and character. This, combined with my love of history and mystery stories was to good to pass up.

            Halifax from the turn of the twentieth century has been a ‘navy’ town. It has been and remains, the seat of political power for the province and the financial center for trade and commerce. Throughout the fifties Halifax thrived as a major seaport for merchant shipping with several of the larger steamship lines maintaining offices here. In addition to this, there also the navy and a major fishing company with a fleet of ships based here. This meant that there was almost as many foreign seaman as naval personnel on the streets, all looking for a ‘good time’ which often led to, ‘incidents’ that kept the police busy.

            The city itself was not unlike similar cities portrayed by Hollywood during its film noir period: dark, dirty, menacing. There were bootleggers, gin houses, back room poker games, sex workers. Everything you would expect to find in a seaport sans the gunplay. A perfect backdrop for building a series of stories.

            As a writer, I relished this because of the wealth of story ideas across the spectrum of genres: romance, murder, mystery, military adventurism, political intrigue, whatever you can imagine. So began my first steps to becoming a novelist. I am also blessed because I had the good fortune to have travelled and lived throughout the world over the last fifty plus years which has contributed greatly to my life experience and overall understanding of humanity.

            I hope that you find the above of interest and will consider looking into your world. You may be surprised what is waiting there!

            Paul

Maps with the feel of the European Middle Ages by Tobias Robbins

 

I originally made this rough draft of a map just to help me visualize all the places in my book just for my personal story aid. These pictures are of the upgraded version of that original map. Because so much of my story involves the power of place on individuals and entire cultures, I wanted a way to see it. The places we’re born into have a lot of power over us. Whether we want to admit it or not. I’m not going to get into a nature versus nurture argument, but it feels safe to assume that our surroundings have an impact on our decisions. On the micro level, it helps us build an identity.  And on the macro level, I point to Jared Diamond's book Guns, Germs, and Steel, which reinforces the importance of natural resources for different civilizations. My story is told from dozens of different characters’ points of view and each of them are from different areas. I wanted to really make sure that I had an accurate continuity in how I described my setting. My map helps me do that. My only regret is that I wish I would’ve gotten a professional to help me illustrate the drawings on the map, I did them myself and they look a bit immature but it’s fine. I wanted it to feel like an old, illustrated map from the European Middle Ages so in a way the map’s simplicity fits that tone. Just like in our world today, locations have unique advantages and disadvantages. Some could be extremely technologically advanced, while others are still in the Stone Age.

To Story Is Human

 

my latest storytelling adventure

                   My page at BWL Publishing

My friend Juliene likes to say "we're hot-wired for story." I agree. It's one of the things that make us human. We find evidence for this in the very earliest cave paintings...daring tales and the handprints of those telling the story.

We choose our stories for many reasons...to inform and educate, to delight, to feel less alone.

We witness stories too...an argument at the grocery store, a look between lovers. Sometimes we choose to step into the stories going on around us and become part of them.

We think about stories, and allow them to change our perspectives, increase our understanding of an event, a person, a long-held belief.

We may even engage in the creative act of storytelling ourselves...in a heartfelt letter to a friend, a journal entry, a story to a child at bedtime.

And we support each other in our storytelling by sharing a treasured poem, novel, a performance.

My friend Juilene and I have been supporting each other over our 30 years of hot-wired for story friendship.. I hope you have a friend like mine.

Eileen & Juilene

                  As always, happy reading, friends!

 

---

Travels Through (Former) War Zones

                                        Please click this link for book and author information

My new novel, A Killer Whisky, takes place during World War One, and I've been doing a lot of reading on the subject for research. The books have made me realize my ignorance about the Great War, as it was called at the time, despite having watched numerous costume dramas set during that era (Downton Abbey springs to mind) and visiting sites on the Western Front during a 2015 holiday in Northern France.   

Canadian National Vimy Memorial commemorates the 1917 Battle of Vimy Ridge in France

This September, I travelled to Croatia and Slovenia in the former Yugoslavia, which was a battleground for three wars in the twentieth century. A Serbian nationalist set off the First World War when he assassinated the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia and, as part of the empire, Croatia and Slovenia were conscripted to the side of the Central Powers. Italy joined the opposing Allies and attempted to break through the Slovenian mountains to capture Vienna. The result was 12 Battles of the Isonzo (Soca) River. Italy's efforts largely failed -- the mountainous terrain favoured the defenders -- and accounted for half of the Italian military deaths in WWI.    

Our September drive through Slovenia took us by the Soca River, which originates in the Julian Alps and is one of the world's rare rivers that maintains its emerald-green colour for its full length. Today, the region is popular with hikers, kayakers, and others who enjoy wilderness activities. 

After WWI, the victorious Allies carved Yugoslavia ("Land of the South Slavs") from the Austria-Hungary empire. When WWII broke out twenty years later, German, Hungarian, and Italian forces invaded Yugoslavia and divided the regions among themselves. A Yugoslav resistance movement emerged led by Josip Broz Tito. After the war, Tito's communist party (the only party on the ballot) won victory. Tito served as national leader until his death in 1980.    

Tito's former summer home on Slovenia's beautiful Lake Bled is now a luxury hotel. You can rent an economy room at Vila Bled during this current off-season for about $230 CAD a night including breakfast. 

Vila Bled, Slovenia

Lake Bled, Slovenia

A decade after Tito's death, ethnic tensions in Yugoslavia erupted into civil war. During our trip, we encountered the most evidence of that war in Dubrovnik, Croatia. In 1991, the fortress on Mount Srd outside the Dubrovnik Old Town became the last stand for this southern part of Croatia against the Yugoslav army, composed of Serbs and Montenegrins. 

View of Mount Srd from the Old Town - the darker tiles on roofs have replaced tiles that were damaged during the war

When they couldn't capture the fortress, the Yugoslav army bombed and blockaded the Old Town, killing 92 civilians and damaging half the buildings. This map on a city wall marks the property damage. 

Most of the damage was reconstructed during the next 30 years. The city's Sponza Palace features a Memorial Room dedicated to the city's volunteer defenders who died during the seven-month siege. 

The fortress on Mount Srd now contains a museum depicting the war's events. We overheard a young tour guide point out her father in this photo of the volunteer defenders. 

The siege ended when Croatia finally got its army organized and drove out the attackers. Between 1991 and 2008 Yugoslavia became seven separate nations. The ones we visited seem peaceful now, but the war's history is startlingly recent.    

None of this detail appears in my novel, A Killer Whisky, which takes place on the WWI home front in Calgary, Canada. But the war in Europe is a constant presence in the story and my characters must deal with its impacts on daily life, the uncertainties the war creates for their futures, and sudden, unexpected deaths -- since the book is murder mystery. A Killer Whisky, the 12th and final novel of BWL's  Canadian Historical Mystery Series, will be released in December. 

Each November, Calgary's Field of Crosses commemorates Southern Alberta soldiers who died in wars 

      

        

UNDERWEAR IN SPACE by Karla Stover

https://bookswelove.net/stover-karla/

BY THE SAME AUTHOR:

A Line to Murder

Murder: When One Isn't Enough

Wynter's Way

Parlor Girls

  I've been worried about astronauts Sunita Williams and Barry Wilmore being stuck in space, worried that they have enough food, worried that they're on a spaceship built by Boeing, and worried about them having clean underwear. Putting together a number of articles on Google, a brief history of underwear in space is as follows:

    "In the 1980s, NASA designed disposable absorption containment trunks (DACTs) for female astronauts. In 1988, NASA created the maximum absorbency garment (MAG) to replace the DACT which was later adopted by male astronauts as well. Typically, astronauts bring extra cotton shirts and pants, sleep shorts, slippers, and lined jackets. They wear T-shirts and trousers with pockets and Velcro stripes to attach things, and multiple sets of underwear to change into every day. However, because there are no laundry facilities on the International Space Station, astronauts may wear the same underwear for up to a week. To get around the problems of zero-gravity bathroom breaks, a newly-designed vacuum toilet has been developed. It consists of two parts: a hose with a funnel at one end for urinating and a small raised toilet seat for - - I'll call it number 2.

    But getting back to underwear, according to Jeff  Owens, a scientist for the United States Air Force, "During Desert Storm, most casualties were from bacterial infections—not accidents or friendly fire."  So, scientists created a fabric for t-shirts and underwear so they can be worn hygienically for weeks without washing. The "technology" attaches nanoparticles to clothing fibers using microwaves. Then, chemicals that can repel water, oil and bacteria are directly bound to the nanoparticles. These two elements combine to create a protective coating on the fibers of the material. The coating both kills bacteria, and forces liquids to bead and run off. The soldiers who tested the underwear for several weeks found it remained hygienic and also helped clear up some skin complaints."

    And finally, all the dirty clothes are incinerated through atmospheric reentry and turned into dust. 

                                                AN AFTER THOUGHT

    On Tuesday, Oct. 1, the sun emitted a burst of energy that counted as a very powerful solar flare. Could it have been incinerating underwear?

                   NEXT MONTH: a bra that converts into a shopping bag. Ain't science fun?

Writing Letters and More – My Writing Roadmap / By Barbara Baker

When I was a kid, I didn’t write stories. I wrote letters. A lot of letters. At first, I only sent them to relatives and Mom would dictate what I was supposed to write – We are all fine. How are you? Is everyone doing well? The weather here is cold … hot … wet (depending on the season) - you know, the riveting news people couldn’t wait to read.

After a few test drives, Mom stopped checking my letters. Fabulous. I added tales of family misadventures, after the mandatory weather report, and embellished details to ensure I came out as the heroine in all escapades. My newly added details which were not exactly accurate, in my head, were pretty darn funny.

When my grade five teacher asked the class if anyone was interested in having a pen pal, my arm flew up. Imagine the stories I could tell them? I ended up with writing pals in London (England), Lethbridge (Alberta) and Ottawa (Ontario) and for decades, we exchanged letters. 

In the 90s with the evolution of email, connecting with people became easier. I spread life events further and faster. Sometimes even instantaneously after said event occurred.

It wasn’t until 2009 that I wrote an actual story. A friend sent me the link to the CBC Ultimate Canadian Commuter story contest. At the time, I commuted four hours a day to get to work and home again. In Alberta. Where winter weather can happen in every month.

I whipped up a story about a bad weather driving day, sent my entry off in an email and carried on with life. What a surprise to get a call from CBC’s Shelagh Rogers a few weeks later asking for an interview because I was one of the three finalists. I didn’t win but wow, who knew writing was so easy?

After the interview I wrote dozens of short stories and submitted them to contests across North America totally anticipating a warm reception. Rejection after rejection rolled in. WTH? Was my CBC entry just beginner’s luck? I pouted for a bit and then decided I needed to figure out how to be a real writer.

Off I flew to a writer’s workshop to learn about story telling techniques and how to become a legit author. After I arrived and took in the sights at the facility, I thought if I failed at the writerly part of the retreat, at least my camera would excel at snapping images of the sunsets.

 

 

The first night, workshop participants gathered for introductions and supper. I sat at a table and listened to snippets of conversations from total strangers:

    -    who's your editor?

    -    congratulations on making the slush pile

    -    did you go hybrid or traditional? - it all sounded like a foreign language.

 

 

A friendly gal sitting next to me, turned and asked me, “What are you working on?”

As I forked through the colourful salad on my plate, I said, “Do you think there’s raspberry vinaigrette dressing on this?”

The table erupted into an animated discussion about the salad dressing and its possible ingredients. Yes, call me the Queen of Deflection. And thank goodness it worked.

The following days were filled with writerly information:

    -    show don’t tell when writing – there’s a difference?

    -    use an active voice – what would a non-active voice sound like?

    -    use powerful verbs, avoid ‘ly’ endings - why?

    -    less is better – really?

    -    read your writing out loud - what if someone hears me?

    -    discover your own unique voice – how is that different from my normal voice?

    -    pantser versus plotter - pardon?

    -    how to beat writer’s block – do I use a chopping block?

    -    decide on your genre – how?

So much to learn since my letter-writing days of embellished heroine antics … and the learning continues as I debate working on my next novel about Jillian. 

 

Baker, Barbara - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

Write about what you know by J. S. Marlo

 

Undeniable Trait

is available now!

Click here

   

 

  

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

I'm a Jill-of-all-trades. If there's something needing repairs in the house, I will fix it. Not much deter me.

Six years ago, my daughter, her husband, and their little one moved in with us until their new house was ready. My little granddaughter has asthma and I had carpet all over my first floor, so before they arrived, I ripped the old carpet off and replaced it with laminate planks. Not only did it look amazing, but it was so easy to clean and keep clean. A few years later, I got rid of the carpet in the basement and installed vinyl planks instead.

Cutting the laminate planks was messy. Very messy! If I'd known how much easier it was to install vinyl planks, I would have installed vinyl planks everywhere.

They say a writer should write about what she knows, so I'll introduce you to Violette, my main character from Mishandled Conviction. She's a middle-aged woman, a Jill-of-all-trade, a mother, and I know she can't wait to become a grandmother. This is her story, and it starts with her installing vinyl planks in an escape room...

~ * ~

Down on one knee on the mock jail cell floor, Violette Hubert measured another vinyl plank. “Once I’m done, Phantom, inmates all across the country will be jealous of your accommodation.” Her voice echoed in the small escape room, designed to challenge any wannabe jailbirds’ wits and skills. “Though I doubt any of them aspire to die in their cell and become a ghost.”

Taking advantage of an unwelcome sick leave, Joe Kearn, the owner of the Escape Code Six Zero, had decided to add a fourth theme room to his selection of escape rooms. The story behind his new theme room, Haunted Jail Cell, was based on Phantom, a real inmate who haunted a condemned penitentiary in Ottawa after dying in his cell almost thirty years ago.

Even though she lived less than an hour away from Phantom’s alleged haunting ground, Violette had never heard of his ghostly legend until Joe invited her over for coffee a few weeks earlier. The invitation had taken her by surprise. Though unsure of his intentions, she’d crossed the street with a spring in her step and knocked on his front door with a touch of dread in her heart. Within minutes of walking into the kitchen—a kitchen she’d often visited under different circumstances—Joe had uttered the words flooring and extra money, quieting her misgivings.

Not only had he hired her on the spot to redo the flooring in his new theme room, but Joe had also added an extra five percent to the amount she’d quoted him. In normal times, she wouldn’t have taken advantage of his generosity, but with her first grandchild’s imminent birth, Violette needed all the money she could earn to help her daughter, Sophie.

Sophie had reached her third trimester. How her fiancé, Elliot, could suddenly abandon her and their unborn baby boy baffled Violette. The young couple had lived in Violette’s house for the past two years while they saved money to buy their own place. If Elliot’s behavior had raised any red flags, Violette had missed them. Her daughter had never been happier in her life, and Violette could have sworn Elliot felt the same.

A loud thump resounded in the room. Startled, Violette dropped her knife before scoring the vinyl plank she held in place with her knee.

“Joe?” Violette looked around the mock cell. “Is that you?”

When working alone on the premises, she kept the front and back doors locked. At this time of day, no one but Joe could, or should, venture in unannounced.

The uneasy feeling churning in her stomach abated when her gaze settled on the red brick that landed on the newly installed floor, leaving two damaged planks in its wake. “Swell.”

The vinyl floor, designed to withstand years of abuse at the feet of Joe’s customers, wasn’t supposed to be ruined in an instant by a rogue brick that shouldn’t have dislodged itself from the ledge of a fake barred window. “If that’s your idea of a joke, Phantom, I’m not amused.”

“What happened?”

At the sound of his voice, Violette dropped the brick, missing her boot by an inch but adding a dent to a third plank. It’s not going to be a productive morning.

“Sorry, Violette, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Joe entered the mock cell in his police uniform, slowed down by the stab wound he’d sustained to his left thigh while responding to a robbery. “As of noon today, I’m back on full duty. Still can’t run very fast, but it feels good to be useful again.”

A crown of grayish hair and a sharp, navy-blue uniform added a dash of sophistication to his imposing physique. He’d lost his wife last winter, and though he excelled at concealing his feelings, she suspected he hadn’t stopped grieving since the day they laid Adele to rest. Violette wouldn’t mind dating a nice guy like Joe for a change, but such a catch deserved better than to get involved with a woman who possessed a long track record of disastrous relationships.

“I’m happy for you, Joe.” Using his impromptu visit as an excuse to take a break, Violette sat on her toolbox and grabbed a bottle of water. “So you know, I’m blaming your ghost for everything that goes wrong...and the guy who laid the bricks.” In his place, she would have plastered thin decorative bricks under the window, not cemented real ones. “I’m not replacing the damaged planks until he comes back and fixes his sloppy work.”

A frown creased Joe’s forehead. “I’m afraid it won’t happen. The guy is in the wind after breaking the conditions of his probation. Do you know anyone handy with a trowel?”

When the need arose, Violette also leveled surfaces, capped pipes, redid plumbing, removed and adjusted doors, and fixed anything that prevented her from installing flooring. There weren’t many tasks she couldn’t tackle, but there were some she wouldn’t get caught doing even if her life depended on it.

“Well, I’m better with a trowel than your jailbird, not that he set the bar very high.” She hadn’t planned on mixing mortar, but by the same token, to be able to afford a car seat for her vehicle as well as Sophie’s would be awesome. “But it’ll cost you.”

A disconcerting smile curled his well-trimmed mustache. “I trust you not to take too much advantage of my wallet, Violette.”

Her name rolled off his tongue, unsettling her. “Fine. I’ll bill you once I’m done. I should go get some cement now unless you wanted to talk to me about something else?”

“No.” With a sweep of his hand, he encompassed the entire room. “It looks great. If you need anything or run into any problems, send me a text. I’ll be at the station, but I can swing by on a dime.”

~ * ~

As far as my house is concerned, there's no flooring left to upgrade, but my oversea daughter just bought herself a house and she can't stand the old carpet in her smallest bedroom, so... I'm flying to Norway to help her rip the carpet off, install a vinyl floor, and spend time with her.

By the time you read this post, the new floor should be all done and I should be heading back to Canada.

Happy Fall!

J. S. 

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

How to Write a Book Review by Eileen O'Finlan

 

Click here for purchase information

Book reviews are very important for authors, especially those of us who are not household names. Not only do they help potential readers decide if a book might be to their taste, they also have an effect on the algorithms. The more reviews, the more a site promotes it.

One of the most common reasons readers don't leave reviews is because they have the mistaken idea that they are expected to write it as though they are a professional literary critic. Nothing could be further from the truth.

To write a book review, the reader only needs to keep three questions in mind:

1. Did you like the book?

2. What was your favorite part? (no spoilers!)

3. Would you recommend this book to others and why?

Putting the answers to these questions into a coherent paragraph is all an amateur reviewer needs to do. Failing that, at least leave a star rating. Even a review that consists only of "I really liked this book" is better than no review at all.

Another reason some might not leave reviews is because they are intimidated by the technology and don't know how to do it. It's actually very easy. Here is a Youtube video explaining step-by-step how to leave a review on Amazon. The steps for leaving reviews on other sites are similar.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyXrmVZv21w

Happy reading and reviewing!

Welcome to Fall

 

https://books2read.com/Loving-Charlie-Forever

Welcome to Fall

            I know Fall is well underway, but the weather in Kansas has been more like summer than autumn, so it’s been difficult to think that Halloween has passed and Thanksgiving is around the corner. I love to incorporate fall into the settings for my stories -- the changing colors of the leaves, the smell of wood smoke on cooler nights as people light up the firepits, football games and bringing out sweatshirts and sweaters.

    On past holidays, I cooked and baked for days before the kids came home from college, making all their favorites. Now, the kids have families of their own, and my son enjoys hosting Thanksgiving dinner. Last year, there were over thirty people at his house – parents and in-laws and siblings and nieces and nephews from both sides of the family. This year there will even be some new babies to cuddle. Everyone shares in making a feast with traditional smoked turkey and dressing and all the side dishes you could possibly imagine.

            Everyone has their favorite Thanksgiving dish, and while some are the same nationwide, others vary according to location. You can imagine with me being from the Midwest and my daughter-in-law being from the south, we get an extra-large variety. But until a year or so ago, I had never heard of Macaroni & Cheese being a holiday dish.

    One Thanksgiving dinner staple is bread, in all its many shapes and forms. Last year, my son wanted me to make Bulgur Bread, a long time favorite at our house, so although I live in Kansas and he’s in Tennessee, I checked the ingredients and packed what I knew he wouldn’t have when I boarded the plane. (I didn’t make it until I got there because there is nothing better than fresh baked bread.) For those of you who enjoy the art of kneading dough and the smell of it fresh from the oven, I am putting the Bulgur recipe here. It’s a coarse texture, crusty bread that I know you’ll enjoy. (BTW, you can usually find Bulgur—cracked wheat – in the organic or health food section of the grocery store.)

Bulgur Honey Bread
1 cup bulgur (dry)
3 cups boiling water
½ cup honey
2 Tbsp cooking oil
1 Tbsp salt
2 packages dry yeast
½ cup warm water
6 ½ -7 cups flour

Combine bulgur, boiling water, honey, oil and salt in a large bowl. Cool to lukewarm. Add yeast to warm water. Stir to dissolve. Add to cooled bulgur mixture. Blend in flour in 3 parts, beating after each addition until dough leaves side of bowl. (Dough will be soft.) Turn onto lightly floured surface. Knead until smooth, elastic and doesn’t stick when pinched with the fingers. Put in a greased bowl and let rise until double (about 2 hours). Punch down, divide in ½ and shape into loaves. Put in 2 loaf pans. Cover and let rise until double. Bake in 350 degree oven 45-50minutes or until done. Brush with butter.

For those who celebrate – Happy Thanksgiving. For those who simply enjoy good food, Bon Appetit!

 

Barbara Baldwin (whose story characters often have favorite foods, which are actually mine and I sneak them into my stories.)

www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

www.amazon.com/author/barbarabaldwin

 

The Great BB King by Scot "Little" Bihlman

 

Despite our attempts to understand and make sense of the world, humans are unlimited in our knowledge and understanding. We are constantly influenced and distracted by external factors, and struggle to see the truth that lies beyond the tangible and temporary. We are caught in a cycle of constant change and growth, striving to reach a state of absolute and eternal transcendence.

~ SLB

I hear a worn out guitar case full of old stickers slamming shut and rattling the buckles like a mislaid tambourine piercing the green room with a bombshell. Looking up through my long curly hair I feel the unrelenting and merciless high frequency hit my psyche with a cosmic bucket of ice water. All my hypnotizing anxiety runs with the vengeance of a ghost train shaking loose lost memories to all the gigs that finally brought my band and I to this time and place. My band and I, we got the BIG call for the BIG show at the BIG venue on the BIG night!

Our “green room” which is technically a fancy name for a dressing room is very small with very little catering, and the backstage guests and crew have already rifled through our deli tray like sleazy robbers from a cheap hotel. It’s all pretty funny and concerning at the same time. I mean depending on your mental constitution as you sit there watching and hoping for someone to say, “hey hands off, that stuff’s for the opening band.” However no one ever does and like good soldiers everyone in the band just makes sure to grab their setlist, water and hopefully a towel that doesn’t look like it came out of yesterday’s dumpster. In Lehman‘s terms It’s technically, the bare essentials to have with you on stage as a safety net.

The temperature in the green room is always hit or miss depending on what part of the world you’re in and the size of the venue. It’s now time to start thinking about warming up and getting my physical and mental faculties together. This is where your mind starts to wonder about the bullshit soundcheck we received when we showed up which is literally par for the course on shows like this. Are the monitors  loud enough? Could you hear everyone on stage? Are the vocals loud enough and balanced with the guitar?  Well according to the stage manager the only criteria for our soundcheck was how fast we can mimic a NASCAR pit crew by getting on and off stage in seconds flat, and the only thing we can really do is dig in and stay focused – execute, execute.

* * *

However, tonight is a whole different kind of experience. Tonight we ride with the King on the coattails of a giant. It’s his people that have come in droves to witness a true king of his people and his artistry. We are more than grateful to be on this bill and let me tell you we are more than happy to oblige!

As I start to reel in my psyche and call upon my previous life as an outside linebacker, it’s time to join the tribe backstage as we get ready to flex all the musical muscle we have. Walking to the venue through the door and down the dark hallway, it starts twisting, and turning. I navigate the crowd as best I can while wondering who the hell all these people are and how they come to be backstage. And then I hear that unmistakable voice. The voice the whole world has come to know and love as the king of the blues. Mr. BB King. The master and commander and his incredible blues army. Like a big Buddha, he sits in the center of his green room swarmed by his loved ones. His children, grandchildren, nieces, cousins, friends and even his ex-wives are all there to be at the feet of the king. It is a sight to be seen and a memory that will stick with me forever. You see I was only 26 years old and for a young long haired motorcycling midwestern boy coming up through the ranks it was priceless. As I passed by the door of his room unnoticed there was only one thought I had. Go BIG or go home! It’s time to kick ass and anything lower than that bar line would be unacceptable. To whatever moving parts, the universe made for us to share the stage in this particular time and space we could not fall short of incredible. The pressure is on and we have to leave it all out on the stage every night. And we did night after night.  Everywhere we went every last drop of blood, sweat and tears was left on stage. It was one of the greatest experiences of my professional life. The feeling one gets digging deep and rising up proving time and time again, that if people pull together with a beautiful vision we all might have what it takes to be in the white hot spotlight and walk among giants….