Stonehenge and other things By Nancy M Bell

Wow, it's February 18th already. Time flies, it seems like only a few days ago I was posting my January offering to the Books We Love blog. I have started an online course with the University of Buckingham on Stonehenge. It is delivered via iversity.org. The information is relayed via video clips followed by a quiz and it very informative. There is a discussion page where students can interact and share thoughts and ideas as well as ask questions. I'm in the fourth week right now and have just completed the first Project which will be judged by my peers in the group and then issued a grade by the course facilitator. I find the topic terribly interesting and intriguing. I've always been fascinated by the huge stone constructions in England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. There are so many theories of how they were built and why. When I was researching my first novel, Laurel's Quest, I had the opportunity to delve deeper into the reams of data available on stone monuments, structures and effigies. The more I read, the more it seemed there was to find out. Research can suck you in and make you forget you should be writing. I became enamoured with the stones in Cornwall which led me to source a couple of books by Ithtell Colquhoun which have been out of print for decades. The Living Stones deals with Cornwall and the author wrote it while living in Lamorna Cove which figures prominently in my Cornwall Adventures novels, especially my current work in progress, Arabella's Secret. The second is The Crying of the Wind which she wrote while visiting Ireland.

Her writing style is very similar to Canadian west coast author Gilean Douglas.

But back to Stonehenge... the bluestones in the smaller horseshoe have been sourced to the Preseli Hills in Wales.

The mind boggles at the size of the stones and how far they were moved. It is thought they were taken over the steep, rough uneven ground to the sea and then brought by boat up the Bristol Channel and then overland to the Salisbury Plain. The huge sarcen stones were brought from the Marlborough Downs, with the largest weighing more than 40 tons there has been much speculation on how they were moved. Personally, I believe that ancient man, or at least a segment of the society, had an advanced understanding of engineering and of the movement of the stars and planets. There are others who will refute this opinion quite strongly. Buy hey, everyone is entitled to their own opinion.
From Cornwall's multitude of stone circles and Stonehenge I found myself following the earth energy lines across Cornwall and southwest England. From Carn les Boels to St. Michael's Mount to the Cheeswring on Bodmin Moor to Glastonbury Tor and the Vale of Avalon. My research took me to Avebury, which I still have to visit in person, and the huge stone complex there. It covers much of the landscape and is watched over the flat topped conical presence of Silbury Hill. William Stukeley called the whole arrangement the Serpent Temple and believed it had been built by the Druids. I think these stone arrangements are much older. Interestingly, there are stone circles scattered across the prairies of Albert and Saskatchewan. One of the most enigmatic and hard to find is what is known as the Majorville Medicine Wheel. In reality, it is closer to Bow City than Majorville and sits high on a cliff overlooking the Bow River. It is not often visited but is still used by members of the Blackfoot Nation for sweats down by the river and as a sacred place. The stone arrangement sits on the same latitude as Stonehenge. 51 degrees north. The stones and lichen have been dated to before the building of Stonehenge and the pyramids of Egypt. Gordon Freeman has devoted many years to studying the sun dial as he calls it and has drawn many parallels with Stonehenge and it's solar and lunar alignments. His work can be seen in his book Canada's Stonehenge and his later work Hidden Stonehenge. It seems the more answers we find, the more questions and mystery there is.

Majorville Arrangement from the air

Standing on the central cairm and looking toward the Bow River

If you are interested in where all this research led, pick up a copy of Laurel's Quest and A Step Beyond. There you'll find all kinds of things woven into the fabric of the story. My current WIP, Arabella's Secret utilizes more Cornish myth and legend and Lamorna Cove and the cliffs near Land's End feature prominently. You can find Laurel's Quest and A Step Beyond by clicking on the title.

A bit about me;

Nancy M Bell has publishing credits in poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Nancy has presented at the Surrey International Writers Conference and the Writers Guild of Alberta Conference. She is currently working on Book 3 of her series The Cornwall Adventures.
Please visit her webpage http://www.nancymbell.ca
You can find her on Facebook at http://facebook.com/NancyMBell
Follow on twitter: @emilypikkasso

Casting Characters Part 2 - Aquarius

The Sun is the inner self. Here's what the Aquarian hero or heroine's inner self shows. A quiet, patient and determined person with a faithful nature. They are usually refined and humanitarian. They have a cautious intellect with strong likes and dislikes. They often have radical and advanced ideas. While they are easily influenced by kindness they are slow to anger and will not be driven.

The Ascendant is the face shown to the world. The Aquarian hero or heroine will be determined and try to be unnoticed. As a rule they are faithful. The mental world holds a great appeal to them. They can become an active reformer with progressive ideas. He or she is unusually sociable with many acquaintances. They may exhibit eccentric ways.

The moon shows the emotional nature. A hero or heroine with an Aquarian moon will be friendly and courteous. They are sociable but independent. There is an unconventional side to this hero or heroine. He or she likes strange and curious things and events. An interest in the occult and secret societies.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=Janet+Lane+Walters

The Man With the Hat by Roseanne Dowell

I remember moving into our first home. I was so excited it was difficult to sleep the night before. It didn't matter that it was an old house and needed work, it was ours.  My husband worked nights and had taken his vacation to start preparing the house for us. I was six months pregnant, but raring and ready to work and we got the keys on my birthday. Couldn't have gotten a better birthday gift. We spent two weeks scraping wall paper and painting. Moving day couldn't come soon enough. We moved in the first weekend in June and spent the weekend putting things away. Things were quiet over the weekend. We fell into bed exhausted.

It all started the  night Roger went back to work.  We put our children to bed and sat down to watch television until it was time for him to leave.   I had the most uncomfortable feeling someone was staring at me, but ignored it.  Roger didn't seem to notice anything. Our dog curled up next to me and seemed quite content.  About eleven o’clock he left for work, and I went to bed.

Just as I dozed off I heard a noise in the basement.  Our dog started barking. Not sure what to do, I picked up the phone and called my sister, who lived two streets away. She sent her husband, Doug, to check things out.

Doug looked around the house and of course didn't see anything. However our dog refused to come into the dining room.  She remained in the hall growling and barking. Doug went into the kitchen and called her. She didn't move. I went into the living room and called her. She refused to enter the dining room and wouldn't come to either one of us. 

Seeing my fear, Doug suggested we pack up the kids and spend the night at their house. I’m sure he just wanted to go home to bed.

In the morning we returned home and all seemed well. All day our dog ran through the house with the kids like normal..
That night the same thing happened.  I hesitated calling my brother in law again, but the noises wouldn't quit. This time, however, as Doug started down the basement steps, he stopped, came back, and took a knife from the drawer.

I must have looked confused; because he told me he had an eerie feeling like someone was watching him. He checked out the basement and everything seemed normal. And, again, we spent the night at their house. 

This went on for several nights. Doug came over and took us all to his house.  The nights Roger was home we didn't hear anything and the dog stayed calm.

The next night Roger went to work it happened again. This time Doug brought a tape recorder over and set it up in the dining room before we went to his house. I’m sure he was sick of coming over and set it up to prove to me there weren't any noises. Yet, he admitted to having strange feelings especially in the basement. 

The next morning, we played back the tape.  Sounds of our dog growling and barking were predominant, but in the background were sounds we couldn't identify. Sounds like something being dragged across the floor and others noises sounded like scratches and moans.

I knew I couldn't spend every night at my sister’s house so I made up my mind to stay home. Every night the same thing occurred. Somehow I tuned out the noises, quieted the dog and managed to sleep. After all it was my house.

One day, a few weeks later, my three daughters were playing upstairs in their room.  They screamed and ran down stairs.  “There’s a man up there,” they cried in unison.

Since we’d been home all day, I knew that couldn't be. But I went up to check out their story to appease them.  They pointed to the alcove where they said a man with a hat had been watching them.

Of course no one was there.  I explained it was a shadow of a bird going past the window.   Although I had an eerie feeling and the room felt extremely cold and it was a warm June day.

My daughters refused to accept my explanation. They knew what they saw and described him clearly.  He was a tall man, in a brown suit jacket and wearing a hat. They couldn't make out his face, but they said he watched them play.

Of course, hey refused to play upstairs, and I often had a hard time getting them to go to bed at night.

Up until then things remained normal during the daylight hours. Now it seemed our nightly visitor had decided to appear when it was light out, too.

Also until then, Roger thought it was my vivid writer’s imagination working overtime.  That is,  until one day he was working in the basement.  He came upstairs, white faced.

“What’s wrong,” I asked.

“I just saw a man wearing a hat in the basement. At first it was a shadow. But as I stared at it his form became clearer, and I could see the outline of his hat.”

That shook me up. When he described the man the same as the kids, I knew we had a ghost. Roger wouldn't lie about something like that. Now he realized the noises weren't my overactive imagination after all.

About a month after we moved in, I met some of the neighbors. I hesitantly told them of my feelings of being watched.  I didn't mention that my kids or Roger had seen a man.

The woman across the street laughed and said it was probably our nosy neighbor looking in the windows. She went on to explain how when they moved in the woman actually walked in and looked around.  I knew that wasn't the case but hesitated to tell her anymore of our experiences. After all I had just moved in and didn't want people to think I was crazy.

I asked one of the neighbors about the people who had lived in the house before us. It had been sold as part of an estate sale.  So I knew they had died.

“Oh, a nice old couple lived there. The wife died a long time ago. And John lived alone for a long time,” she said.  “He died in the house and it was several days before they found him because he didn't have a phone. When we didn't see him for a few days and his newspapers stayed outside we called his son.”

Later, I found out John died in the very bedroom I slept in.  Eventually I told my friend about some of the things we experienced, but didn't tell her about the man with the hat. I asked about John and she said he was a nice old man, kept mostly to himself. “He loved to work in his garden and yard. Funny,” she said. “He always wore a brown suit coat and a hat.”

So that explained a lot.  John was our ghost. He appeared many times after that. Roger often saw him in the basement, especially when we were remodeling the kitchen. One of my sons said John used to sit on a chair upstairs and watch him play.Strangely enough, my son wasn't afraid of him. 

I never saw John myself, but I sure heard him and sometimes smelled a sweet smell, like aftershave. One day he simply disappeared. I figured he must have approved of us and went on to a better place.

You can find Roseanne's books at Books We Love or  Amazon 

February Author Art Challenge

For this month, I challenged the authors of BWL to take the art process and reverse it.  Rather than me trying to put a picture to their words, I wanted them to draw inspiration from pictures.  To keep things fair and not have a massive time drain, I chose artwork rather than creating a cover mock-ups.

THE RULES:

Authors were instructed to ...

Select one of the suggested images, and tell us what is happening.  

Create a brief backstory, include needed dialog, etc.  

DO NOT FOCUS ON THE TITLE OF THE PICTURE!  

If you need to change the time period - do so, you don't have to keep it as a historical.  The focus should be on your interpretation of the characters, their emotions, etc.  

Now - the challenge?  Keep it to 1000 words or less!

THE INSPIRATION: 

 I am really excited to see what the creative minds at BWL come up with.  Who knows, I might try my hand at one of them as well.

Valentine memories by Sheila Claydon

At the end of my last post I promised to introduce you to Lady Sippington. Unfortunately she has proved to be a little shy and has begged me to keep her secret for a while longer. She will feature on the Books We Love blog eventually, however. Today, instead, I'll talk about something else and what better on 14 February than Valentine's Day because this year it is a very special day for me.

On 14 Feb 1965 my husband and I had our very first date, so Valentine's Day 2015 is the fiftieth anniversary of the first time we went out together. Now although I write contemporary romantic fiction I can't pretend that we are the most romantic couple. Valentine days have passed without us remembering. We've even managed to forget our wedding anniversary on more than one occasion, but I can still remember that first date as if it were yesterday.

I wore a Mary Quant little black dress (if you are as old as me you might remember her...very sixties) and a Mary Quant hairstyle of sharp bob and geometric fringe, and probably too much make-up. I really thought I was something. Fortunately my husband-to-be thought so too.  Also, somewhat shamefully, I was wearing a corsage of orchids that had been sent to me by someone else, but let's gloss over that.

My date, an older man by four years who actually owned a car, took me to a nightclub...my first. I don't suppose it was much more than a couple of smoke filled rooms and a bar that served little more than beer and soft drinks, but to me it felt like the most sophisticated date ever. I remember shuffling around a dance floor that was so crowded that actual dancing was impossible. Shortly before midnight, like Cinderella, it was time for him to take me home, but not before we enjoyed the ultimate in high cuisine...the bacon and egg sandwich with brown sauce which was the house speciality!

It didn't quite end there, however, because on the way home it started to snow. Of course we didn't think of the danger of driving in slippery conditions because at that age we were immortal, nor did we worry that the forty minute journey took almost two hours, but my mother did! She was waiting up for me and I can still 'see' the expression on her face when I opened the door. To say she was displeased is an understatement, especially as I was on a first date with someone she didn't know and he had delivered me home late.

Fortunately she wasn't someone to  hold a grudge and they eventually became firm friends. And in the words of Jane Eyre...reader...I married him...almost a year to the day after that first date. We have travelled a mile or two since then and are well past our sell by date now...but we still remember.

What about you?  What memories does Valentine's Day stir, and what about your first date with your partner? Do you still remember it?

Happy Valentine's Day.

First dates feature in quite a few of my books. You can find many of them at  http://bookswelove.net/# and all of them are available at http://amzn.to/ZSyLpf.  In Saving Katy Gray, Book 3 of my When Paths Meet trilogy, Katy's first date is not at all what she expected.

When it's time to say goodbye... by Sheila Claydon

At the end of my last post I promised to introduce you to Lady Sippington. Unfortunately she has proved to be a little shy and has begged me to keep her secret for a while longer. She will feature on the Books We Love blog eventually, however. In the meantime I'll carry on talking about Australia...well the tiny part of it that we are visiting...and the lessons I'm learning.

We have just returned from the small coastal village of Tea Gardens, a place delightfully and eccentrically named after a failed attempt by the Australian Agricultural Company to grow tea in the area. Situated on the Myall River, it is the southern gateway to the Great Lakes, and its waterfront meanders past sculptures and paintings by local artists, a war memorial that actually plays a tune, huge Norfolk pines, blue, blue water, and an eclectic mix of boats. It's a holiday area too, so thousands of visitors swell the small population of residents in the summer season, filling the restaurants and spending their dollars in the local shops.

We didn't go as tourists though. We went to visit friends who retired there a few years ago and, as is always the case with old friends, we picked up where we left off when we last saw them in 2010. Their lovely dog was the same. She came trotting up with her ball as if we'd only thrown it for her last week.

We did all the usual things you do with old friends: went out for a meal, raised our glasses in various toasts a number of times, talked about family and mutual friends, reminisced, and exchanged views about a whole lot of things. We also learned that they will be leaving Tea Gardens next year and moving into an apartment in a busy town about a hour's drive away. Age and illness are driving their decision and when they first told us we thought they would be sad.  Far from it. They are both excited about the prospect of planning a new home, replacing worn furniture, and leaving behind a garden that is becoming too big for them. They are looking forward to living close to shops, theatres, cinemas, a hospital, and the clinics they will need as their health deteriorates. Their attitude was inspiring and one I hope I can emulate if I ever have to do something similar.

I'm always intrigued by how differently people react to difficult life situations. Some are overwhelmed, others, like our friends, amazingly positive. Only by looking at what has shaped people's lives can we know why they react in the way they do. Our friends have lived  in many different countries during their time together, rarely staying in a house or apartment for more than five or six years, so their hearts are not entwined with their home. What about others though? What about people who have lived in their house for forty years, nurtured their garden with love, decorated every room, seen their children grow up, buried pets, grown old together...how do they move forward? It must be one of the most difficult decisions anyone has to make.

Knowing when to make it is also crucial. We have friends who have left it too late and who rattle around in a home that is far too big for them, fretting about the garden and the housework, but not able to gather the energy to make such a major move. We have others who moved too soon and who feel constrained by their new, smaller home and the fact that they no longer have a garden, and sometimes resentful of each other for making the decision. Then, of course, there are those who have lost their life partner and have to make such a decision alone. I don't know whether that makes it more or less difficult. Only someone who has had to face it knows the answer to that.

I was still ruminating on why and how people respond as they do and wondering if I would ever write about it when I remembered that I already have, in Saving Katy Gray, Book 3 of my When Paths Meet trilogy. Although it's a romance, there are important secondary characters in the book who have to make just this choice. I hope I got it right for them. This and many of my other books can be found at http://bookswelove.net/authors/sheila-claydon/

A Capital Offense by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

I wrote this short story many years ago. It has been published twice, once in a magazine in the US and once in a magazine here on Vancouver Island. The second time it won First Prize in the Flash Fiction Category. Last year I adapted it as a stage play and presented it in the Port Alberni Fringe.

 

 

A Capital Offense

 

I was dusting the living room one evening when Byron stomped down the hall, his housecoat flapping behind. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of beer and body odor as he neared.
     “I printed this off for you,” he yelled, throwing a piece of paper at me.
     I cringed. He never talked to me in a decent voice anymore. I hadn’t liked the changes in my husband while he’d struggled to become a published writer and I certainly didn’t like the person he’d become since getting his book contract.
     He’d quit his job because, “I have to finish my manuscript. I can’t continue to work and write, too.”

     I’d had to take a second, part time job to make ends meet.
     Byron had been using our kitchen table for his writing room but once the contract was signed he claimed the guest bedroom as his. “I need a room of my own where I can have some privacy,” he’d stated. “If I want to work into the night, I can lie down when I’m tired and not be disturbed.

     At first he seemed to be doing a lot of work but then one day I answered the phone and it was Mr. Higgins, Byron's agent. He wanted to speak with Bryon. I knocked on Byron's door and opened it. Byron immediately began yelling. "Would you quit interrupting me. Haven’t I told you not to bother me when I am working. I lose my train of thought."

     I handed him the phone. "Your agent wants to talk with you."

     Byron glared at me and grabbed the phone. He took a deep breath then said pleasantly. "Hello Mr. Higgins."

     He listened and I could see his face turning red. "Yes, Mr. Higgins. I know I am late with some chapters. I will get them to you by the end of the week."

     When Byron hung up he said to me. "From now on, when you have something to say to me, you write it on a piece of paper and slide it under the door. I don’t have time for interruptions." He threw the phone and me and slammed the door.

     Since then, there were many times I wished he’d never gotten that contract and, even some, when I wished I’d never married him.
     Now he glared at me as he said. “I want you to come into my office now and email your sister back.”
     I smoothed the paper and read. `Hi Sis. I thought we could go back to emailing. It’s quicker than a letter and I’m sure Byron won’t mind if we do it two or three times a week.’
     Rosemary lived across the country and we’d kept in touch by e-mail until The Contract when I was banned from Byron’s office. Neither one of us could afford the long distance charges so phoning was out of the question. I had to give up my cell phone so we tried writing letters but they were time consuming and not as immediate as email.
     Now in his office empty beer cans, plates with leftover food, and full ashtrays were everywhere and it smelled as bad as he did. On the floor I saw the many notes with messages from his agent that I’d pushed under the door. Obviously, he didn’t read them.
     “What do you want me to say?” I asked.
     “What do you think? Tell her not to send another email.”
     In my agitation, I hit the Caps Lock key, starting to type in capital letters.
     “Capital letters means you’re shouting, Dummy,” Byron laughed harshly.
     I finished and left the room in tears.
     I was tired and hungry and decided to make something quick and easy for supper. As I put the lid on the macaroni, Byron entered the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door. “Is that all the beer?
     “I guess so.”
     “Is it too much to ask that there be beer in the fridge?” He grabbed a can and opened it.
     “I bought a dozen yesterday.”
     “Are you saying I drink too much?”
     Byron had claimed other writers like Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler drank while writing and it made them more productive. From the number of phone calls from his agent about late chapters, I guessed it wasn’t working for him.
     “What’s for dinner?” He lifted the lid from the pot.
     “Macaroni and beans.” I answered.
     “Geeze.” He slammed down the lid. “Can’t you fix anything decent?”
     “I worked all day.”
     “Are you insinuating I didn’t?”
     I sighed and wished, again, that I’d never married him.
     The next evening I put oil on to heat for French fries then went to have a quick shower. It felt so good I spent more time than I’d intended. When I got out, I could smell smoke. I donned my housecoat and hurried to the kitchen. The oil had caught fire and it had spread to the cupboards and curtains. The living room and hallway were filling with smoke.
     I coughed as I warned Byron, then rushed next door to call the fire department. I returned but Byron was not in the yard. When the trucks arrived, I hurried over.
     “My husband’s still in there,” I cried.
     The firemen tried entering the house but were driven back by the heat and smoke.
     An hour later the fire was out and an ambulance had taken Byron’s body away.
     “I set the oil on the burner and went for a shower,” I explained to the police officer who was questioning me. “When I came out there was smoke everywhere.”
     “Then what did you do?” she asked.
     “I ran next door to call the fire department.” I dabbed my eyes.
     “Did you notify your husband?”
     “Oh, yes. I shouted at him,” I said, thinking of the word FIRE I’d printed three times in capital letters on a piece of paper and shoved under his door.

Gold Fever

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PEOSJR8

 

Books of The Travelling Detective Series boxed set:

Illegally Dead

The Only Shadow In The House

Whistler's Murder

http://amzn.com/B00KF07FQM

http://bookswelove.net
 

http://thetravellingdetectiveseries.blogspot.com/
 

http://www.facebook.com/writingsbyjoan
 

https://www.amazon.com/author/joandonaldsonyarmey

LET YOUR CHARACTERS LIVE THROUGH YOU BY RITA KARNOPP

To create exciting strong scenes – make sure they vary from quiet to loud.  Lackluster to exciting.  Emotional to in-control.  Highs to lows.  Happy to sad.  Yet, they all must fit together like pieces of a puzzle.  Everything should snap into place and fit – nothing should stick out at odd angles.  Every part of the story should contribute and move the story forward, making it complete.

I don’t know about you, but I like to put myself in my character’s body, living the scene with his/her baggage, experience, flaws, and attributes.  Do the situations or challenges feel ‘real’?  What doesn’t feel believable?  You will know what needs changing by running your scenes through your mind like a movie – you are the character – living, breathing, and experiencing each scene you’ve created. 

You’ll find yourself rewriting - adding spontaneity from the character you’ve become.  You’ll make changes that transition the story better.  Step-by-step, you’ll feel, hear, touch, taste, and see yourself in the scenes of your character.  Do you believe them?  Did you miss any of the senses?  Add them in and you’ll be surprised how this will improve your story. 

If a scene feels confusing or uncomfortable – fix them.  Never leave them in hopes the reader won’t notice – believe me, they will.  Add deep internal emotion and allow your characters to have flaws that hinder their goals . . . making them realize they must change to have what they need or want by the end of the book.

You should laugh, cry, and get angry if that’s what the character experiences.  If the words don’t evoke this . . . rewrite . . . rewrite . . . and rewrite until you find yourself crying . . . laughing . . . and ticked with the world if need be.  If you don’t feel it when you write it – the reader won’t feel it when they read it.  It’s as simple as that.

Grab your reader right from the beginning . . . and don’t let go until you type ‘the end.’  

Getting the Last Word by Karla Stover

“Romeo’s a rage-a-holic, which means he’s often pissed off, unlike the vast majority of us gliding along devil-may-care.”

                                                              Andy Sipowicz, NYPD Blue

I have been accused of being caustic and I admit to it. Sarcasm and cynicism—what I refer to as realism—make me laugh. Ambrose Bierce, Andy Rooney, and the fictional, Andy Sipowicz are my heroes. But it’s more than being caustic; it’s also about the clever words, what the French call bon mots.

I went to see The Imitation Game with a friend last week. When the previews came on, she turned to me and said, “Did you ever wonder why movie trailers are called previews?” which I thought was pretty funny. I almost never have a clever comment when I need it—but I did have two, back when I was working, and I savor them to this day.

For quite a few years, one of my bosses read children’s Encyclopedias. He wanted to learn something about as many things as he could and, because he knew I was a non-fiction reader, he would quiz me. For example: every March 15^th he would stop at my desk on his way to his office and say, “The ides of March are come.” And it was my job to remember the response: “Ay, Caesar, but not gone.” Or, on April 1^st it was, “April is the cruelest month,” to which the second line is, “Breeding lilacs out of the dead land.” Then he hit the American history portion of his reading and one day said to me, “Karla, what is the largest piece of land the United States ever acquired and who was the president?”

Yikes!

So I thought about the Louisiana Purchase and Alaska and then, for some unknown reason and from unfamiliar part of my brain, I came up with, “The swath of land that includes New Mexico, and Polk was the president.” And I was right. It blew both of us away. Who even thinks about James Polk? He’s like Martin Van Buren—largely forgotten. But I was in my glory until July 14^th when, alas, I forgot it was Bastille Day and couldn’t remember the response to: “The secret of freedom lies in educating people.”

The next time was at a Christmas luncheon for the bookkeeping staff. My brother had been studying engineering and at breakfast one day told Mom and me that the word, LASER is an acronym like SNAFU. There were about a dozen of us at the luncheon, sitting around a lovely table at the Country Club and for whatever reason my boss mentioned laser beams, whereupon I said, “Oh, do you mean light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation?” (LASER). People mumbled and wouldn’t look me in the eye and at that moment my reputation for not being one of them was firmly cemented.

While not quite bon mots, these were my days in the sun as far as wowing people with my remarks went—two in a life time. Perhaps, that’s why I write, so I can give my characters the final word.

 

Missing You by Cheryl Wright

You may already be aware I make greeting cards as a hobby.

You may also know I make and donate cards to some community groups. One of those groups is Combat Cards Victoria, which is similar in nature to Operation Write Home (OWH).

Community members make cards that are then sent to our military personnel overseas, which are then used by individual military members to send back to their families. It's a very small way of saying thank you to our troops, and helps them keep in touch with those who mean a lot to them.

I make a variety of cards to send, but particularly birthday: kids, female, and male. I have recently begun making "Miss You" cards, which are very popular, and much sought after.

I recently bought a new embossing folder from Stampin' Up! which fits perfectly for this line of cards.  (It's a brand-new folder, and totally gorgeous!)

This was an extremely quick and easy card to make, but I believe, very effective. (The individual heart was cut from a strip of discarded hearts.)

I will be making a variety of these cards to send, because I know how much they will mean to the recipients.

In addition to the above solid colour card, I tried the 'shaving cream' technique for the first time ever, and made the following card using the results. (If you would like to learn more about this technique, go here.)

Thanks for looking!

Til next time,

Links:

My website:  www.cheryl-wright.com 
Blog:  www.cheryl-wright.com/blog
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/cherylwrightauthor

New Releases From Tricia McGill, Ronald Ady Crouch and Books We Love

A Dream For Lani
Beneath Southern Skies, Book 2
By Tricia McGill

Cosseted all her life, Lani Moore inherits a fortune, but yearns for a loving family. The chance to grab that arrives when two youngsters talk her into taking a flat in their house. Their father, Ryan, is enchanted by the air of intriguing melancholy about his new tenant. Will Lani’s lonely heart find the love she wants above all else?

Previously published as A Lonely Heart
 

“I believe this is the best book I have ever read! I probably think something similar when I finish a book, but I have never before printed the words. Ms. Tricia McGill keeps enticing us into the story with her wit and charming manner of writing. Of course, there is love and there is disaster. The love ebbs and flows and the “near hits and misses” just tug at the heartstrings. The ending may be predictable (after all, who wants a bad ending) but the journey is unforgettable! I urge you to read this winner!” ~ Brenda Talley, TRS
 

“Tricia McGill’s lonely heiress is so real that when she is being deliberately willful I just wanted to reach down through the pages and smack some sense into her. But, I kept reading faster and faster because after all, in spite of Ryan’s calloused moods, Lani is the heroine, and things just have to come out happily-ever-after for her.” ~ JoEllen Conger CTR, 5 Cups

http://amzn.com/B00T2GNKIW 

The Weatherman
By Ronald Ady Crouch

When adults tell young men, There is always someone bigger than you, Sam Stephens is the guy at the end of the line. He is a fiercely proud member of the First Nations, serving as a soldier on the front line in the Canadian military, stationed in Afghanistan. Because of his courage and bravery, his close friends call him Warrior. An improvised explosive device is detonated by the Taliban as his convoy is returning to base. His best friend is killed. Sam does not believe in turning the other cheek. His actions save the platoon. Privately he is thought of as Einstein in Rambo's body.
 

Sam joins the Toronto Police. At the Police Academy he is a force to be reckoned with. When an instructor begins to sexually harass a beautiful female student, Sam becomes personally involved. On his first tour of duty with Toronto, he becomes the Subject Officer in an investigation by the Special Investigations Unit. He remains one step ahead of them.
 

On a trip to the red light district, he and his new coach officer learn that one of the hookers has been badly beaten by four men, but will not complain to the police. She too is First Nations. Sam begins his own investigation. When he discovers that the same men are responsible for the violent rape of a veteran police officer's daughter, Sam formulates a plan to deal with them himself. 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TBDPA9S

Romance and Chocolate

Valentine's Day is right around the corner and with it comes the time to celebrate romance. Although it's unknown where the exact origin of where the first Valentine festivity began, it's still a favorite holiday for many people. Especially for those who look forward to the gifts from a loved one. Say...a beautiful bouquet of flowers and large delicious box of chocolates.

Chocolates....yum.  When you bite into that scrumptious melt in the mouth chocolate do you ever think about where it came from? Probably not, but before Nestles, Hershey, See's and all those that followed you can thank the Olmecs from the Mexico area. They were the first who discovered the cacao bean to be a delicious treat.

The Mayans came later.  Mayans loved chocolate so much they wrote about the cacao on their stone tablets referred to as "the food of the gods".

The Aztecs, 1420-1520 used cacao as currency. It is written they fed chocolate to their human sacrifices before killing them. A last treat. Not exactly romantic.

Then when Conquistador Cortez was served a cacao drink by Aztec Montezuma in 1519, he loved it so much he took it home to Europe and the love of chocolate quickly spread through Europe.

What have you planned for your special Valentine Day? Since it falls during the week it might not be as easy as if it fell on a Saturday of Sunday, but you can still make it special. You can always do the old standby breakfast in bed.  If it's only a muffin and a glass of juice or a cup of coffee it can still be a nice surprise. Or a nice dinner for two even if you stop on the way home and pick up something.

If you have time and want to bake something special there's always a red velvet cake, or cherry pie. Perhaps cookies cut in the shape of hearts, or chocolate brownies. We bet your mouth is now watering for a yummy piece of chocolate, or maybe a chocolate covered strawberry. Now, that's a good idea, a chocolate covered strawberry. With a glass of bubbly champagne. That's always special. Scatter rose pedals across the bed. We might be getting a little carried away. How about just a nice card for your honey and some pretty flowers. Works for us. But we still want the chocolate.

Here's an easy recipe for a chocolate dessert.

Yummy Devil’s Food Toffee Trifle Recipe

Ingredients

Duncan Hines Devil's Food Cake Mix

1 cup Kahlua (coffee-flavored, rum-based liqueur)

1-2 bags of small Heath candy bars (or 8 large Heath bars)

2 family size whipped topping

Instructions

Bake Devil's Food cake in a 9 x 13 inch pan the day before you plan to serve the trifle.

After cake has cooled, cut it into squares about 1½ to 2 inches square.

Leaving cake (sliced up) in the pan, pour Kahlua all over the top of the cake, getting the liqueur down in-between the slices.

Cover with plastic wrap and put in refrigerator overnight.

Next day, 2-4 hours before serving time, assemble trifle in a large bowl or trifle dish as follows.

Layer of cake (one third of cake)

Layer of whipped topping

Layer of Heath bar 

Repeat above layers twice more but only put a light sprinkling of Heath Bar on the top when completing the last layer.

We shortened this recipe a bit but you can see all the directions along with pictures at: http://betweennapsontheporch.net/yummy-devils-food-toffee-trifle-

Whatever you do we hope you have a wonderful day filled with romance and of course chocolate.

Tia Dani

Visit us at  http://bookswelove.net/authors/tia-dani/

Publisher Unleashed! In Hawaii!

By Gail Roughton

Jude Pittman and I have a multi-faceted relationship.  She’s my publisher, my writing partner, my friend.  Our lives have the most fascinating mixture of similarities and differences.  The foremost difference is she’s West-Coast Canadian and I’m Deep-South American.  The foremost similarities are two-fold.  We’re both writers, and we’re both paralegals with extensive legal backgrounds who’ve spent more years in law offices than either of us care to admit.  Unlike many cyberspace friends, we’ve actually met.  That’s because Jude masterminded a wonderful ten-day vacation to Hawaii (specifically Maui—she’d been offered the use of a friend’s condo for two weeks) last April that included me and her daughter Roxanne, who’s also a Books We Love editor.  Roxanne’s also my editor because she refuses to let anybody else edit me.  I'm not sure if that's because she loves my books or because she's scared of what I might come up with unsupervised.  I protested that no, I couldn’t come.  And Jude refused to let me not go.  That’s not awkward phrasing.  That’s the literal truth.  She refused to let me not go.  It wasn’t just a vacation, it was a writer’s retreat.  An opportunity to brainstorm on our then in-process project, Sisters of Prophecy – Ursula.  Then my husband chimed in.  “You might not ever get the chance again!”  So I went.  Jude’s a steam rollin' jauggernaut, an immutable force of nature. Don’t believe me?  I can prove it.

Let me tell you an Hawaii story.  She'd booked us a tour, "The Road to Hana", which is a scenic highway along the coast of Maui, 30 miles or so, that takes three hours to drive. That's us over there in the picture, waiting for our tour bus to pick us up at the condo.  There's a reason it takes three hours to drive the Hana Road.  It has about 300 hairpin turns and 50+ single lane bridges where one side of traffic has to wait for the other side of traffic to come over.  Beautiful beyond belief with such stops as waterfalls, the legendary “Painted Forest”, pounding surf, black sand beaches and occasionally, absolutely hair-raising.  Check out the pictures scattered about this blog. Anyway, she booked the three of us for a tour on a 12 passenger van, the deluxe tour.  And the 12 passenger van picked us up at our condo.  The problem arose when the passenger van connected at a Mall where they were feeding us breakfast  with a big  bus, Greyhound size,  with 25 people taking the tour. And indicated that we were to get on it.  

Now, the guy driving the mini-van that picked us up was great, the guy driving the big bus wasn’t.  Let’s just say his people skills were challenged.  He wasn’t native Hawaiian, or even native American, and please note I didn’t capitalize the ‘n’ in native.  I don’t mean he wasn’t American Indian, I mean he wasn’t American.  Imagine, if you will, taking a tour of Maui with a running commentary delivered in the accents made famous by the movie “Fargo”.  This driver proceeded to "assign" seats because "we can't separate the newlyweds, now can we?"  In other words, he was splitting me, Jude and Roxanne up.  How did this play with our Jude?  Not. At. All.  She refused to get on the thing.  "If I'd wanted a Greyhound bus, I'd have booked a Greyhound bus. And I frankly don't give a damn about the newlyweds as I paid considerably extra for the deluxe tour."  

Needless to say, we exited the bus and Jude called the tour company.  The conversation proceeded as follows:  "I paid for the deluxe tour on the 12 passenger van with captain's seats, which is what picked us up.  I am NOT getting on a bus the size of a Greyhound with 25 passengers and assigned seating."  They put her through to the home office.  The original driver of the twelve-passenger van who picked us up waited, as did the other bus.  Roxanne and I just sat down on a planter curb in the parking lot to watch the show.  Like I said, we were with an immutable force of nature.  Jude went through the whole process again with the home office. This time she added that if they couldn’t accommodate us, she expected to be taken back to the condo and did not expect to be left in a Mall parking lot. She further advised there was no need to hold the other bus up because she was NOT getting on it and if they couldn't get it resolved, they needed to have someone take us back to our condo and she'd take it up through her law office when she got back home. The home office said they'd call us back.

Through all this, our original mini-van driver enjoyed himself hugely.  It was very obvious.  He loved it.  The tour company called back and said there’d been a mix-up due to the on-line booking.  (Though I have a private suspicion the fact that neither the deluxe van nor the Greyhound size were quite full as things were and the Greyhound would be completely full if the tours were consolidated, thus obviating the need to run the smaller bus at all, might have had more to do with it.) But to their credit, they rectified the situation quickly.  The big bus pulled off without us, and our charming driver of the mini-van pulled off with the nine people he'd picked up. Thus we enjoyed our own tour in the deluxe van.  With Captain's seats.  Jude sat down beside me and said "And that's why Books We Love has survived when so many other small presses haven't."

Indeed.  And that’s Jude Pittman for you.  It was a fabulous day, my personal favorite day of our entire Hawaiian vacation.  Our bus driver Ben was a native Hawaiian, very handsome, very charming.  He treated us like queens and thought Jude was the bomb.  At one of the stops I told him I was sorry he didn't get his day off but was really glad he was our driver.  He laughed and said he wasn't sorry at all, he got paid more for driving this van anyway. He further assured me Jude was one of the greatest characters he'd ever met.  And I do believe my southern accent made a big hit with him, too.  I’ve often found that most folks are fascinated with a southern accent and believe me, nobody I met in Hawaii had the least trouble peggin’ the approximate site of my birth.  All in all, it was a memorable day with memorable people, and Jude made certain to give the tour company and driver Ben a stellar review on their website. They deserved it.  They gave us a day of stories and memories the three of us will never forget.  But my favorite story of the whole day?  You read it here first, folks!

Oh, and as to how much actual writing we got done--well, let's just say we brainstormed a lot.  Jude and I can be found at http://bookswelove.net/authors/gail-roughton/ and http://bookswelove.net/authors/jude-pittman/