Life Beside the Sea...by Sheila Claydon

 

Find my books here

Several of my books are set on or beside the sea (Cabin Fever, Reluctant Date, Kissing Maggie Silver) while others are set in countryside close to the sea, including the three time travel books in my latest series (Mapleby Memories), where the sea is briefly a major player in book 3, (Many a Moon).  This is probably partly because I was born in a seaside town on the south coast of the UK, partly because my grandfather was a sailor with many sea faring stories, and partly because my earliest memories feature sand blown, windswept trips to the beach. 

When my husband and I married, however, we moved away from the sea and spent 25 years living  close to London, so nowhere near the sea at all, although we did spend some summer days picnicking on the banks of the River Thames as it meandered its way out of London into the Buckinghamshire countryside. It wasn't the sea though, so when we learned our jobs were moving north we decided we would look for a house as close to the sea as possible. We were lucky. The house we have now lived in for 35 years was a wreck when we bought it but it's on the edge of a nature reserve with nothing between it and the sea except fields, woodland, and rolling sand hills, so all the effort that had to go into renovating it has been worth it. Living so close to the sea does, however, have drawbacks as well as responsibilities.

Out of season it is wonderful. We can walk for miles and see nothing more than one or two dog walkers in the distance. In season, every family for miles around wants to visit, and who can blame them. So we are used to the parking problems and the piles of litter that pollute the area for a couple of months of every year. And, like most local residents, we consider clearing up the mess and the occasional traffic queues a small price to pay for the fact that we are lucky enough to be able to enjoy it everyday.

Sometimes though, the problems are more serious. This year we have already taken one visitor to the local hospital when he badly burned his foot on very hot sand after he moved a portable BBQ. We have twice been custodians of car keys when cars have broken down and the owners couldn't get them collected until the following day. We have also rescued lost dogs, one of which seemed to want to stay with us indefinitely! We have invited desperate mothers with small children to use our bathroom, and filled water bottles for others. We've had to sluice down the path outside the house when a small child was violently sick. And we have advertised many lost car and house keys on our local social media site and then held them until the owners could collect them. 

We also have to explain, myriad times, to families with pushchairs, wheelchairs, small children, and less than agile oldies, all wearing sliders or flip flops, that while the beach is close, it is a wild beach, so there are no paved paths, nowhere to rest on the way. No ice cream stops. No coffee shops. Just fields, woods with treacherous tree roots, and finally high sand hills to traverse before they climb down to the beach itself. 

We have twice had medical helicopters land in the field right in front of our house and watched the paramedics set off at a run to rescue someone who had been badly injured. Sadly there have also been a couple of deaths, one very sad one when an elderly person with dementia was lost in the sand hills. We have reported woodland fires and watched the rapid regrowth with fascination. Seen police on sand buggies drive down to the beach to break up the occasional fight. On one of our rainy days I even found an elderly woman and her dog hunched, dripping wet, under a bush, as she desperately tried to call the emergency services. She had slipped and broken her leg and was in a lot of pain. Directing the paramedics to the spot where she'd fallen, which was in the middle of unmapped woodland, took some doing with an almost non-existent phone signal, but we managed.

We've even had to help track an out of control dog that killed a mother goose and her 3 goslings, something that involved phone calls to others as we all covered the wide area surrounding the lake where the geese had been living peacefully all summer, much to the pleasure of the local residents. That was a sad day! 

Another day we had to persuade visitors to abide by the notice that asked them to keep their dogs on a lead in one part of the woodland, as a baby owl had fallen out of a tree and was being cared for on the ground by its parents until it was strong enough to fly. Most did as they were asked but some who didn't  understand the unspoken countryside code were not so helpful. Fortunately the little owl soon found his wings and flew away.

And as well as all that we have to let the National Trust that manages the nature reserve know if we find dead wild animals such as squirrels, seals, foxes etc., and also if we see live ones that shouldn't be here such as grey squirrels, as the area is a red squirrel reserve. If greys invade they kill them, not physically, but by bringing in viruses that the reds can't survive.  Once upon a time the smaller reds were too numerous to count until they were decimated by the greys squirrel pox.  The few remaining ones were captured and quarantined for 6 months. When they were released the National Trust stopped selling the small bags of nuts that visitors bought to feed them because they had by then realised that to survive healthily in the area the population needed to be less dense, so the squirrels have now voted with their feet and moved away from the visitor area to the more varied woodland at the edges of the reserve. If you know what to look for you can find still them, so showing small children how to identify chewed pine nuts and then watching them set off on a squirrel hunt is satisfying, although I'm not sure they are always successful.

So living in such a lovely area comes with responsibilities, especially on the sort of sunny days we have been enjoying for most of the summer. But it comes with so many pleasures too, such as being able to pick wild apples, blackberries, sloes, dewberries, damsons, rosehips and buckthorn. There are even nettles for those who want to make nettle soup. And while there are wild flowers in bloom for most of the year, the bluebells that cover most of the woodland in Spring are an amazing sight. Such pleasures far outweigh the occasional emergency or upset. And because it is a wild beach, dogs are allowed to run free, and the most joyous thing is to see a dog breach a sand hill, spy the sea in the distance and race towards it without a care in the world. And every dog and dog walker becomes a friend. I don't know whether it's the feeling of freedom that comes with wildness of the countryside, the unspoilt beach and the wildlife all around, but nearly everyone says hi or stops to chat. The dogs do too.  Long may it continue as it offers time out from an increasingly stressful world. 

A Little Patch of Green: a short story by Victoria Chatham

 

https://www.bookswelove.com/search?q=chatham

A LITTLE PATCH OF GREEN

 by

Victoria Chatham

 

If asked, Adele Fisher would have replied yes, of course she was happy. But lately, a nagging doubt had crept into her solitary lifestyle. She enjoyed her work, knowing exactly what she would do each day, and did not let anything disturb the balance of her daily routine.

And maybe that was it, she thought. She existed rather than truly lived. Life simply passed her by. It was as if she were moored in some quiet backwater while, beyond her, a river of excitement rushed past in full flood.

She pondered this as she walked through the park from her apartment to the offices of Simpson Sellers, Architects, where she had worked as an office administrator for the past eight years.

Each morning, more of the park looked fresher and tidier. At first, Adele barely noticed the landscapers, thinking that they, like her, were heading to work. It took her a few mornings to realise they had already been working, probably even before her alarm woke her from a cosy sleep.

She began searching for the two businesslike young women who were engrossed in the task of bringing life to bare patches of earth. They both wore white T-shirts and blue jeans, but that was where all resemblance ended. One was tall, blonde, and serious-looking. The other was shorter, red-haired, and hummed and sang while she worked, regardless of who might be passing by.

Adele did not usually speak to anyone as she walked, since she was not, as she put it, a morning person. She preferred to be left alone until after her second cup of coffee at ten-thirty, but there was something infectious about the cheerful redhead. Adele looked for her, caught her eye, nodded, and said “good morning”. In return, she received a broad smile and a cheery wave.

Somehow Adele felt brighter, lighter. She stepped out a little more confidently and arrived at her office a full five minutes earlier than usual. Slightly infected by the redhead’s cheerfulness, she hummed to herself as she removed her coat and hung it on her hanger in the staff closet. She la-lahed her way to the coffee machine and poured her first cup, unaware that she was receiving some curious glances from her junior colleagues.

Adele took her coffee to her office. Her seniority in the company granted her the advantage of having an outside office with a window. She did not often bother to look out of it, preferring instead to sit at her desk and start work immediately. But this morning, she was drawn to it and looked down into the street. The traffic crawled to a halt as the lights changed, and people scurried along the sidewalks.

What are they thinking about? she asked herself. Are they planning their days, recalling what they did the previous evening, or perhaps looking forward to meeting a friend for lunch?

It occurred to her that, compared to the hustle below her, her life was unbearably dull. From Monday to Thursday, she worked from eight-thirty in the morning until five o’clock in the afternoon, and on Fridays, she finished at four. On Saturdays, she cleaned her apartment, did her laundry, and shopped for groceries. Sunday was her catch-up day, when she made a full pot of coffee and opened all the mail received during the week, answering, paying, or discarding it. After a light lunch, she might read a book from the library or magazines picked up from the grocery store. If the weather was fine, she would take a walk or sit on her balcony. In the evening, she watched some TV—if there were programmes that interested her—then would run a bath and soak in it. It refreshed and revived her, preparing her for another week at work.

As she mentally reviewed her routine, Adele felt she should fall asleep standing up. When had she allowed herself to fall into such a rut? More to the point, why had she? Her life seemed dull, colourless, as empty as the wind-swept prairie from which she thought she had escaped. ‘Small town girl makes good’ had been the motto in her mind when city life beckoned, promising better things ahead. She worked tirelessly, took one educational course after another, and climbed her particular ladder. She was so busy studying and working that there never seemed to be time to accept the offer of coffee with a neighbour or a movie with someone from the office. Over time, the invitations gradually ceased.

She now thought that it would make little difference to the staff at Simpson Sellers whether she was there or not. Perhaps she should take some time off. That might clear away her mental cobwebs. If she just stepped off her particular roundabout for a short while, she might feel refreshed, less jaded, and discontented. Adele checked her wall calendar.

Her bosses, Henry Simpson and Jonathan Sellers, had no major meetings scheduled the following week. The junior architects Kirk, Taryn, Mike, and Boyd were all out of town working on various projects and would definitely not need her. In fact, it was not necessary for her to be there at all.

She picked up yesterday’s letters and took them to Henry’s office for his signature.

“Thanks, ‘Del.” He barely looked up.

“Think nothing of it, Henry. By the way, I won’t be here next week.”

“Eh?” Henry’s handsome head swung up. “Won’t be here? How come?”

“I’m taking a break. I think I need it.”

“Oh, well, I suppose that’s all right.” Henry frowned. “When was the last time you had time off?”

“Two extra days at New Year, and before that?” Adele’s brow creased in thought as she frowned. “I honestly can’t remember. Shall I ask Kelly from reception to help with some of your workload?”

“God, no.” Henry shuddered. “Get someone from Super Supply. I don’t want to deal with the mess Kelly will make, nor will you when you come back.” Henry looked at her suspiciously. “You are coming back?”

Adele giggled. “Of course! It’s just a week’s holiday, Henry, nothing sinister, I assure you.”

“Hmm. Well, okay. But what will you do?” Henry, a self-confessed workaholic, would only ever tear himself away from his drawing board for the odd round of business-oriented golf.

Adele thought of the colourful spots appearing in the park and immediately knew what she would do. She smiled and said, “I’m going to plant a garden.”

“Where?” Henry was again suspicious. “Don’t you live in a high-rise? Forteenth floor or something? How can you plant a garden there?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see, Henry. When it’s done, I’m going to have a garden party and I’ll invite you and Jonathan and a few of my neighbours.”

With that, Adele swirled out of his office.

Oh Lord, what have I done, she thought. Why did I open my big mouth?

Her only attempt at growing anything had been an unsuccessful Grade 4 science project. Her carefully planted apple pips failed to respond to her daily nurturing, and she was never sure if she had looked after them too carefully or not carefully enough. Her daily log entries had been as barren as the little pots on her windowsill. Now she had committed herself to planting a garden.

On Thursday night, Adele reset her alarm clock. She planned to wake up twenty minutes earlier on Friday morning. After giving it considerable thought, she realised the answer was right in front of her. Talk to the landscapers in the park. It wasn’t as if she would ask them to do it for her; she would just seek some advice about which plants might be best and where she should buy them. She showered and dressed with more purpose than she had in a long time. Goodness, she almost felt excited. She strode briskly across the park searching for the two girls and soon spotted them unloading trays of plants from a truck bed.

“Good morning,” Adele said.

Both girls turned to face her.

“Hi,” they replied. The simple greeting sounded like a carefully rehearsed chorus. They looked at her expectantly.

“I hope you don’t mind, but...” Adele suddenly felt unsure of herself.

“Yes?” the blonde girl prompted, clearly eager to get on with her work.

Adele introduced herself.

“I’m Adele Fisher,” she said. “I’m at 1402 Park View apartments, and I want to brighten up my balcony. I thought about getting some plants, but I’m not sure which would be best. Would you mind recommending something bright and cheerful that wouldn’t mind living up there with me?”

Both girls turned towards the apartment building and looked up. The redhead smiled. “Your balcony faces west. Fill it with geraniums. Red, white, pink. All they need is sun and not too much water. They’ll look lovely.”

“Merle, don’t forget petunias and marigolds.”

“Mm.” Merle nodded in agreement. “Got a car?”

Adele said yes, she did.

“Then take a run out of town to Amberside Nurseries. Ask for Patrick and tell him Merle and Tanya sent you. He’ll look after you, probably give you a good discount too.”

Adele smiled. “I’ll do that. Thanks very much, and when it’s done, you’ll have to come to my garden party.”

“That’ll be neat,” Merle said. “Thanks, Adele, we’ll look forward to it.”

The day stretched out before her. For once, Adele couldn't wait for it to end. She planned the week ahead with Henry, quietly delighting in his consternation at what he saw as her neglect of duties. That alone gave her a boost. She was doing something unexpected, extraordinary. For once, she was making waves, as Kelly would say. A bubble of amusement rose within her and escaped as a giggle. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt like this.

During that week, she bought various gardening magazines and became intrigued by the different sizes and styles of tubs and planters. She thought she might even add a water garden, just a small one, naturally, but it would enhance the ambiance. Garden furniture would be enjoyable, especially if she planned to invite people to share in it. She chose a few select pieces, wicker rather than plastic, and instead of one large table that could be cumbersome, she decided on several small side tables.

Armed with a rough idea of what might work, she set out of town on Saturday morning to the garden centre. The sky was a clear blue, with a slight breeze that swept away all but a few high, wispy clouds. Merle’s directions were straightforward, and Adele was soon driving through the entrance of Amberside Nurseries. She wandered among stands of bedding plants, shrubs, and baskets — a confusing array of pots and planters in all shapes, colours, and sizes. She found a bench to sit on and gather her thoughts.

“Need some help?” A tall, slender man with a warm smile on his tanned face approached her.

Adele smiled in return. The Adele of last week might have said, “No, thank you." The Adele of this week said, “Oh, yes, please. I’m here to see Patrick. Merle and Tanya recommended him.”

“That was kind of them. I’m Patrick. How can I help you?”

Adele showed him her sketch and saw an expression of interest light up his lean face as he studied it.

“You’re really going all out on this, aren’t you?” he said.

“It’s time for a change,” Adele replied quietly.

Patrick marked her measurements on the pavement inside the greenhouse and arranged pots, planters, and furniture so she could better visualise how everything would look. She had even chosen a wooden, plastic-lined half barrel fitted with a bamboo spout and circulating pump. It was just deep enough for a water lily and a couple of goldfish, making it surely a conversation starter.

Before Adele knew it, the afternoon had flown past and her purchases filled two carts. Patrick asked her how she planned to get it all back to town.

“Goodness, I didn’t think of that,” she said. “I didn’t expect to get so much.”

“Tell you what. I’ll load it all onto my truck and follow you back. How would that do?” More than friendly interest shone in Patrick’s gentle brown eyes.

Something stirred in Adele Fisher’s heart, and a gentle smile spread across her face. “Thank you, Patrick. That would be very helpful.”

Patrick nodded, clearly pleased.

“And perhaps,” Adele added, surprising herself with her boldness, “you’d like to help me with my little patch of green?”

The smile Patrick gave her made her breath catch in her throat.

 “I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that very much.”

She sensed the undertone in his voice, and in that exhilarating moment, Adele Fisher realised that life was no longer passing her by.

 

END

Jessie's Cafe by Nancy M Bell

 

Click the image to find out more about me.

https://www.bookswelove.com/search?q=bell

Hello, Usually I would use one of my book covers as the image, but I wanted to share this old building with you as it will figure prominently in my next book. This is Jessie's Cafe on main street in Castor, Alberta. This building has a long and storied life being built in the early 1900's when the railway was coming to Castor from Stettler and beyond. It is now empty having been many things in it's past including  a great place to have coffee and gossip, excellent Chinese cuisine and the upper floor was a boarding house in the far distant past. It was once known as The Golden Crown in later years (note the 'crowns' on the corners of the roof) There is even an outhouse on the flat roof of the cement block addition at the back of the building for the use of the boarders. I kid you not!

Jessie's Cafe is the working title of the new book and will involve some time travel and some interesting twists and turns. Stay tuned, Jessie's Cafe is due out in May of 2026.

Here for your viewing pleasure is the outhouse on the roof of Jessie's Cafe. Bet it was a might chilly in the winter. 

Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

A Bit About Plot by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthors #MFRWAuthors #Plot #Phone Call #Voice From Past

 

I've recently had several ideas and had to decide which kind of plot to use.  The History Author's Snuff Boxes was the idea.

Snuff boxes were popular years ago and people used the to carry snuff with them so they could take a sniff when they wanted. I looked at many and saw they were small and sometimes very beautiful. At first I thought a historical story particularly in the Regency period would be the setting. But I didn't really want to put snuff boxes into a story and for them not to be the focus. That eliminated one kind of plot.

Remember this. A plot is just a plan to take a story from the beginning to the end. Something I've heard many times since I began writing.

I looked at other kinds of plots. Contemporary romance. I didn't think snuff boxes would work. Not would, at least for me, paranormal. Not fantasy or science fiction.

Actually as I considered how to use the snuff boxes, I could probably figure a way to put them into most genres. Then one hit me and seemed to be the way for snuff boxes to be featured in my book.

At the present time, the idea is swirling in my thoughts adding bits of ideas that will eventually become the book I've dreamed of. Not until I finish the book I'm currently working on - a medical romance at present called A Voice From Her Past triggered by a phone call I received from a friend I hadn't seen or heard from for years.

The sailing adventure continues, by J.C. Kavanagh

 

Click on the link below to purchase this award-winning series!

https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

The Murray Canal - anyone know about this place in Ontario, Canada?

I knew very little about this Canal until I began my sailing adventure from Georgian Bay, Ontario, on our way to the Bahamas. Me and my partner, Ian, are sailing on our Beneteau 423, which weighs roughly about 20,000 lbs fully loaded and has a draft of five-and-a-half feet (that means our cast iron keel measures 5.5' below the boat's water line. Oh and the keel itself weighs about 6,000 lbs or 2650 kg.) 

But getting to the Bahamas is no easy feat. There is much planning to do! Because our sailboat has a deep draft, we are not able to travel on the Trent-Severn Canal which is the quickest route from Georgian Bay to Lake Ontario. Instead, we have to travel north on Georgian Bay then south on Lake Huron, through the St. Clair River to Lake St. Clair, then continue south on the Detroit River to Lake Erie, then east to the Welland Canal. From there we reach Lake Ontario and head east to the Bay of Quinte and the Murray Canal. This little trip takes us 650 nautical miles around three of the five Great Lakes. If we took the Trent-Severn Canal, we would have saved 550 nautical miles of travel. 

The Murray Canal

As early as 1796, plans for the canal were proposed and a total of five surveys were undertaken: in 1824, 1833, 1837, 1845, 1866 and 1881. Finally, in 1882, construction of the canal began and was completed in 1889. It is located between the Bay of Quinte and Presqu'ile Bay on Lake Ontario and is approximately 8 kms in length (5.5 miles). It was named after Sir George Murray, a British Secretary of State for War and the Colonies in what was then called Upper Canada. The canal provided a 'safer' shipping route as it shortened the journey around the dangerous shores off the peninsula of Prince Edward County. When I say 'safer,' I also mean safe from the threat of war with the United States (check out the history of the Empire Loyalists). The seven-year project cost $1,272,500 to build, which is approximately $32.6 million in today's dollars.

Me at the helm, travelling through the Murray Canal

Our adventure to the Bahamas continues! And, if you're looking for summertime, adventurous books to read, look no further than the award-winning Twisted Climb series. As one reader wrote in a five-star review, "the series would be perfect for a movie!"

Stay safe and don't forget 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
Instagram @authorjckavanagh

The Joy of Dialogue by A.M. Westerling

 

bookswelove.com 

search Westerling

The Joy of Dialogue

 

            Recently, I had one of those A-HA moments. You know the ones, where you feel as if you have been bopped over the head with a big foamy hammer. And my epiphany?

 

Dialogue is my friend.

 

            Oh, how I used to fret and fuss over dialogue, agonizing over every word, forcing out sentence after sentence.  Introspection, back story, no problem. Description? Bring it on. But dialogue? It was like pulling teeth. Which is probably why my first manuscript had pacing issues. I much preferred to spend my words describing the scenery and clothing than have my hero and heroine actually talk to each other. 

 

But all of a sudden, one day I clued in - dialogue is a very, very powerful tool. Why is that?  Because:

 

1.         It breaks up narrative.  It happens in real time.

 

2.         It presents information. You can use it to tell the back story (one character talking to another.)

 

3.         It develops character. By word usage and slang, you can identify characters.

 

4.         Use it to move the plot along. The characters tell what’s going to happen rather than the author.

 

5.         It can also develop conflict – one character arguing with another.

 

            Now that I have more writing experience, I know how to build a scene with dialogue. Everyone has their own method but for me it is to write the conversation first, then go back and fill in the quotation marks, tags, emotional response, setting, gestures, etc. I might have to go over it a few times until I get the balance that I want but even so, I can write a few pages of dialogue a lot faster than a few pages of narrative.

 

Tips:

 

-       Get to the point – don’t waste time saying hello, talking about the weather, etc.

-       Don’t have the characters call each other by their names – we don’t talk like that in our everyday conversations

-       Identify pet phrases, expletives, etc for your characters – we all have them (see #3)

- If you’re in a public place, listen to people conversing around you.

 

 

A.M. Westerling, a writer of historical romance, is currently working on her tenth book for BWL Publishing and now finds that she can’t get her characters to shut up!!

 

Storytelling Magic

 

Find "I'll Be Seeing You" here

You're never going to kill storytelling, 

because it's built into the human plan. We come with it.
~ Margaret Atwood 

As I complete my third book in my award-winning Navajo Code Talker Chronicles series (All of Me...coming in November), I am, as usual in awe of the power of storytelling. It's the power of the creative spirit... the ability to make something out of nothing that we all possess. We express it in many ways... a well-tended garden, a dance or song, a painting, a family. And it is nothing short of magical.

Our grandson is at an age where he's starting to get the mechanicals behind creating magic. He loved joining his mom to create beautiful illusions to benefit our local Friends of the Library. I enjoyed that spark in his eyes as he pulled a bouquet of flowers from a silk scarf...astonishing even himself. I recognize the same in me as I stand back from a section of dialogue that seems to come from my characters themselves or plot twist that even I didn't see coming. Wow. Moments of magic.

Our young magician

Evan our six-year-old knows that making magic requires craft...presentation, patter, storytelling... and practice, practice, practice with the tools of magic. 

So too for his grandma and her tools of storytelling magic: character development, plotting, dialogue, narration, description... and edit, edit edit!

I hope you'll find the results as pleasing as my grandson's magic!

3 generations of magicians

Book 1

  

Book 2

Book 3

My Changing Author Photo

Please visit my website or click this link for book purchase information.

When my first novel, A Deadly Fall, was published in 2011, I decided to get a professional author photograph for book promotion. A friend recommended her friend, Deb Marchand, a local Calgary photographer who specializes in portraits, family pictures, and special events like graduation photos. 

I contacted Deb, found her cost reasonable, and arranged a photo session. Deb likes to shoot outdoors and prefers the evenings for better light. We picked a date, but that summer kept getting hit with evening thunder showers, and we had to cancel our first date. The next time, another storm loomed, but we agreed to chance a downpour. 

Deb chose a location on a park ridge. I had asked her advice on clothing for my portrait. Since it would be a head shot, clothes only mattered from the chest up. Deb said a plain coloured top with a rounded neckline would be best. I had also read that it's best to avoid jewellery in portraits since it detracts from the face, which is what people most want to see about the person. 

I looked through my wardrobe, couldn't find the perfect top, and threw a bunch into a bag with the plan to discretely change on the ridge until we found the top that worked. Fortunately, on that evening of looming clouds few people were out walking in the park. After taking numerous photos of me in several tops, I went to Deb's house, in the rain, to go through the selections on her computer. An agonizing choice when so many photos looked similar and I'm not the biggest fan of pictures of me. 

In the end, I settled on a photo of me wearing a white top with a V-neck. I liked the look so much that I had the photo enlarged for my family room wall. 

Deb and I became Facebook friends. She came to my book launch and read A Deadly Fall and my next two novels. In 2019, I realized my eight-year-old photo was out of date and asked Deb if she'd be interested in another photo shoot. This time, we met on a clear, spring evening in Calgary's St. Patrick's Island Park, and I had the perfect top--red with a rounded neckline.  

 

Six years passed. I published three more novels, let my hair go naturally gray, and. thanks to cataract surgery didn't wear glasses anymore. Every time I sent out my author picture, I felt it didn't look like the current "me." I messaged Deb who was enthused about working with me again. She suggested Prince's Island Park downtown for our third photo shoot.  

Deb asked if I'd prefer a city or nature backdrop. I chose nature because I liked the greenery in my past photos and thought high rise buildings in the background would portray the wrong image for my shift to historical fiction. Deb thought a light-coloured top would be a good contrast to nature colours. I chose a pale pink rounded-neck T-shirt top. 

On a warm, slightly windy and smoky evening in June, we walked around the Prince's Island Park and caught up on each others' news. Deb photographed me on a staircase to the Bow River and in front of trees and flowerbeds. She had me do models' poses--chest out and swish your arms down your hips to your thighs--and fussed with my windblown hair. It reminded me that I wouldn't want to be a model. 

After the session, Deb emailed me a longlist of photos as well as her five personal favourites, from which I chose my two author photos. Here they are:

  

When I want, I can crop the bottoms of these photos for more close-up views, which works especially well when the promotion image will be small.  

Deb also sent black and versions:   

 

Deb and I shared a few laughs during the photo shoot. She said that, as a bonus, she'd add a joyous portrait as her gift to me. "It will be one of those great laughing photographs that makes me smile as big as your smile in the photo." 

I was touched when she gifted me with two joyous pictures. Thanks to Deb Marchand Photography for all these years of great author photos. 

  

  

 

                                 

 

Tulip Mania? but What About Onions? by Karla Stover

 

Click link to purchase Parlor Girls by Karla Stover

https://books2read.com/Parlor-Girls

                

    History tells us that tulips arrrived in Holland in the 16th century, having come from the Ottoman Empire, ie: modern Turkey. At the time, native plants in Holland included Swiss cheese plant, Yorkshire Fog, Bigleaf hydranges, and creeping buttercup. Not the most exciting, so when Tulips showed up, the people went wild. The price of a rare, coveted bulb skyrocketed, sometimes selling for the same price as a house.The Tulip Mania market ran from 1634 to 1637 before collapsing. 

    I already knew the "Tulip" story when I was studying for my stock broker's license and strangely the tulip frenzy was included in the correculum. During my brokerage house years, I worked through a number of these Bubbles, as they're called: The Soybean Bubble, 1972 - 1973 after which the United States government banned soybean exports; The CB Radio Craze, 1974 - 1977 before interest faded; Silver Mania, 1979 - 1980 forcing the commodities market to initiate new trading rules; The Japanese Bubble, 1986 - 1991 which resulted in interest rate hikes, and The CD Rom Multimedia Startups Hype, 1993 - 1996 which was killed  by that new kid on the block, The Internet. There were a bunch of other Manias: Beanie Babies, Ostrich Farming, all-things Thomas Kincade, and the Y2K Survival Goods Panic, for example. However, the I mostly remember the Japanese Bubble because where I worked, if a stock, bond, or mutual fund included anything Japanese, the brokers were all over it.

 What I missed, though, maybe because it was well before my time, and only just learned about, was the Great Onion Manipulation (read scam ) of 1955 - 1956. 

 Here's the story. In late 1955, traders, Sam Siegel and Vincent Kosuga bought so many onions and onion futures they soon controlled 99.8% of all the available onions and onion futures in Chicago which gave them control of 98% ( In stock market parlance, a Future is a financial contract whose value is derived from the performance of an underlying asset ). Then Siegel and Kosuga put the moves on onion farmers by threatening to flood the market, and "persuaded" them to buy their inventory. After that, they began short selling onions. In a short sale, you borrow something and sell it hoping the price will drop when you buy it back. With all 98% of the onions in stashed away in storage, they were able to short sell onions at a high price, then take their onions out of storage and flood the market with them, which drove the price down. They then bought sufficient onions to cover what they'd borrowed and made a butt-load of money. 

And now, sixty-eight years later, thanks to Congress and the Onion Futures Act, you cannot legally trade onions futures contracts in the United States. 

Will there be a Cryptocurrency Mania? I'm waiting.

Comfort Zones and a Writer’s Conference - by Barbara Baker

 

Jillian of Banff XO — BWL Publishing

I’ll be attending the When Words Collide writer’s conference in five days. Yes, I’m on a countdown. Five more sleeps. I’m excited and nervous.

In 2023 I was there with over 780 people. The energy throughout the weekend was palpable. I heard snippets of chatter about best seller details, landing book deals, acquiring agents and contracts – all music to a writer’s ear. Unfortunately, I was hesitant to step into the circle of conversationalists.

I did attend numerous sessions on learning the intricacies of writing a great book and the struggles an author might need to overcome. I also listened to speakers who shared a roadmap of their writing career and sat at the back of the room during discussions about networking and promotional ideas. My notebook was full.

But during the breaks I hightailed it out of the building and went for a walk. Alone.

This year I told myself it’s time to put on the big girl panties, immerse myself in the excitement and energy of the conference and start to network with other writers, authors, agents, publishers, illustrators, educators … the whole spectrum of folks engaged in storytelling. This time, I shake a finger in the air, I promise to be an active participant – an extrovert trait which scares the bejesus out of me.

Don’t get me wrong. The people that attend this conference are engaging and enthusiastic and helpful and clever. I have nothing to be nervous about except myself. None of them bite. It’s just my approach. Or better yet, my lack of approach.

I’m challenging myself to make six significant writerly contacts. Why six and not 10? Because 10 seems unattainable which reduces my drive to attain it. Six is still a stretch for me to achieve even though it’s daunting. As I’ve said before, it can be a scary place inside my head when I process information and act out scenarios.

If you have any tips on how to walk up to another conference attendee and start a delightful exchange that will be memorable, please send them my way. Help me to not stick my size nine foot in my mouth and frighten anyone. At the very least, help me to say something engaging beyond ‘hi’. If it’s my only chance to make a significant impression, I want it to be a good one. And if you’re going to the conference, I hope to see you there.

In five days, away I will go, pushing myself far out of my comfort zone and since I’ve told you all about it, I feel accountable to succeed. Wish me luck.

 

Contact info: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies by Barbara Baker — BWL Publishing

What About Me? by Barbara Baker — BWL Publishing