Meet Aunt Beatrice Lulu

 I’m Beatrice Lulu Eberhardt. Some of you know me from my niece, Callie Johnson. Callie’s the police chief of our little town, and I first appeared in her book, All in the Family. 

Callie’s my favorite niece, but she doesn’t know it. I’ve annoyed her sometimes because I tried to fix her up with a nice young man, well several nice young men, over the years. I didn’t want her ending up an old maid like I almost was. I say almost because Ed came along and saved me that fate – I shudder to think what my life would have been like without him.  

Callie didn’t care for any of the men I introduced her to. Picky little thing in my opinion. Praise God, she finally met a nice young man on her own. 

But that’s neither here nor there. This story isn’t about Callie. It’s about me. 

That’s right, ME, and pretty much no one else. I consider myself a bit of a sleuth. Some call me nosy or a busy body, but honestly, I’m only trying to help. I don’t mean to interfere. I can’t help if I have a curious nature. I’ve always been that way but got worse as I got older.

 

It actually all started when Ed and I bought a cabin. It’s a beautiful place with its own lake because Ed loves to fish. We thought it would be fun to have a place just for us, away from everyone. You may not remember I’m from a large, crazy family. Crazy in a fun-loving way, of course. So Ed and I wanted a place to relax away from it all, not that it’s turned out that way. We’re seldom alone. Guess it’s because we genuinely like people. 

So nowadays when we go up there, someone always comes along. Usually Ethel and her husband, Greg. Ethel’s my sister, by the way. I have two other sisters, also – Charlotte, we call her Lottie, and Lillian. Lillian is Callie’s mother, and not as much fun as the rest of us. We also have a brother, Clyde, but we don’t see him as often. 

Anyway, we bought the cabin, and Ed and I went up there to clean it up. No one had been in it for years. Cobwebs filled more than the corners, I’ll tell you that. It was going to take days, if not weeks, to clean it. But Ed promised we could fix it up and Ed never breaks a promise. That’s one of the things I love about him. 

So there we were looking around, figuring out what to do, and Ed decided to build a fire to take the chill and damp out of the air. The place smelled musty, the way empty houses smell after being locked up for a long time. 

So, there I was, thinking about where to start when I heard a strange clattering noise. I thought Ed fell or something. I turned around and lying on the fireplace hearth was an arm – well what was left of the arm, bones and tattered flannel from a shirt, I assume. 

Although I’ve been told never to assume anything. 

If you want to know what happens next you’ll have to read about it in All’s Well That Ends Well published by BWL Publishing. 

 

 

 

If you haven’t read All in the Family – Book 1 of the Family Affair series, you can find it and all my books at Books We Love. Just click on the book and it’ll take you to the buy page. 

Going Off Script (Part 1) by Diane Bator

 

I've worked in theatre for over 4 years now and have met some amazing performers. I have also often thought of writing a script. I mean I've written a lot of books so how hard could it be? Last year, I actually started to write two plays but set them aside because of timing. Not many play performances going on.

Enter 2021.

January 4, I attended a virtual Write In and the leader of the group is a playwright. Cool.

January 6, my boss who is the Artistic Director in our theatre, asks if I've done any more with those scripts I started what seems like 10 years ago... We set up a meeting.

January 11, I get an email about a workshop with a playwrite whose work I admire. I sign up instantly. It seems this New Year isn't content with all the edits I'm currently doing. There is more to pile on my plate!

I have one thing going for me in the script department. I've always been better at dialogue than detail. I'm not ashamed to admit it takes several edits to add in a little extra oomph to my novels. Take All That Shines, book 2 in my Glitter Bay Mysteries that I am currently editing. My lovely beta reader asks, "How big is this room? That's a lot of stuff inside. Maybe you need to rethink this."

One thing with writing for stage: you have limited space where you can place your furniture, props, and performers. With novels, you can use the entire world--or even other worlds--to move things around at your leisure and whim.

Something both plays and novels do have in common is the basic 3 Act Layout. They both have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Both need to have more than one storyline going on to keep the audience/reader's interest. Both also need to keep the action moving along. No lulls allowed.

With playwriting and plays in general, one thing to be kept in mind is how superstitous theatre people are. For example:

• Never ever say the work MacBeth in a theatre. It is that Scottish play. If anyone does say it, they should exit the theatre, spin around in a circle three times, and spit. 
• No live flowers on stage.
• Whistling backstage is a jinx.
• Peacock feathers onstage are bad luck.
• Say "break a leg" instead of "good luck.
• Mirrors onstage are bad luck.
• Always turn on a ghostlight before leaving the theatre.

With those things in mind, I've set off to write a play about a ghost haunting a theatre. Yes, there is a ghostlight involved and some superstitions could come into play. (yup, bad pun!) I also have a couple great mentors to help me write and later workshop my play.

My workshop began January 26 and runs until February 16. I'll fill you in on how it all goes!

Have a great month until we meet again!

Diane Bator

https://www.bookswelove.com/bator-diane/

Monday Was Wash Day

Bright and early every Monday, Mom and I went to the basement. As I stood by her side, she taught me the proper way to sort clothes-whites, towels, colors, work pants and jeans. We pulled the old wringer washer from the corner to the stationary tubs,

she filled it with scalding hot water, and turned the machine on to start it agitating. After she added whatever soap was on sale at the time, she always added a bar of Fels Naphtha that she let me grate on an old grater. The long curls of soap slid off the grater into the water. I loved watching the scorching water swallow them up as it agitated into suds. Once the soap dissolved, we put the white clothes in first. Mom pushed them into the water with her wash stick, an old broom handle, being careful not to splash herself with the steaming water. She closed the lid. While the clothes washed, we strung the clothesline in the basement on cold or rainy days and outside in the warm sunny weather, which was limited in Ohio. 

• Back in the fifties, we didn’t have a dryer, so everything had to be hung. Besides, Mom said there was nothing like the smell of fresh laundered clothes straight off the line in the warm weather. She climbed on a stool made especially for her and pulled that line so tight someone could walk across it, and then gave it another yank before securing it with a knot. 

• Back into the basement, we scrubbed the two stationary tubs, and filled them with water. Mom added bleach to the first tub and the other held plain rinse water. After the clothes washed for about10 minutes, Mom used the wash stick and pulled them out of the washer, the water still being too hot to touch. She put them carefully through the wringer. 

• My job was to make sure they didn’t wrap around the rollers, which sometimes

  
  
  happened anyway causing them to pop, separating the rollers. We untangled the clothes, and she retightened the knob. It was always very frustrating when that happened and took valuable time away from a busy day. 

• We let the clothes soak for a few minutes in the bleach, pushing them around with the stick, so we wouldn't slop the bleach water on ourselves. After we rinsed them, we drained the bleach water and added fresh water and rinsed the clothes again, changing the rinse water after every load. 

• We rinsed the clothes thoroughly by lifting them in and out of the water up and down repeatedly. It looked like fun until she let me do it. I found out how hard it was and how heavy wet clothes were. It was back breaking work. After the last rinse, Mom sent the clothes through the wringer, and I guided them into a basket that sat on a bench next to the washer. The next load to go in was the towels, as most of them were light colors or white. While they washed, we hung the first load. I helped by handing my mom clothespins and the clothes, saving her from bending over. She always tried to make a game of it, singing and teasing to help make it fun. 

• About halfway through she sent me to the garage for the wooden clothes props which we hooked under the line and raised it up, so the clothes didn’t hit the ground. No

  
  
  matter how tight Mom pulled that line, the wet clothes made it sag. The clothes props had a groove in them to hold the line so it couldn't fall out as it flapped back and forth in the breeze. 

• She hung the work pants with pant stretchers in the legs, to keep them taut and made the crease. As soon as the clothes were dry, we removed them to make room for next
  ones. Most days the last load of laundry was on the line by noon. 

  
  

• It usually didn’t take them long to dry. We snapped them hard when we removed them to get rid of excess wrinkles and folded them immediately, then Mom sorted them onto piles for each of us kids to put away. The clothes that needed ironed were sometimes taken off the line damp or sprinkled with water, rolled into a ball, and stored in a plastic bag. Tuesday was ironing day 

BWL Publishing Inc. February New Releases

  

Fourteen-year-old Jillian has no idea who her dad is but uses her banishment from summer parties in Toronto to isolation in Banff National Park to track him down. But it’s not easy. A reclusive log cabin, a grumpy aunt, few trips to civilization and seriously—no cell phone reception?

When she’s not searching for her dad, Jillian pursues an elusive girl, Mika, who lives on her own in the wilderness. Together they track down a poacher and Jillian reunites Mika with her family. All should be well - but it isn’t. Big secrets in Jillian’s family surface, Jillian’s boyfriend ditches her, and her dad wants proof he’s her dad. Like she’d make this up?

Jillian swaps her English saddle for a western one as she unravels the truth about who she really is. What she learns changes everything she knows about herself and demands an inner strength she never knew she had.

A honeymoon couple disappear while canoeing the St. Croix River. With visiting VIPs due in days and quick searches revealing no sign of the missing couple, U.S. Park Service Investigators Doug and Jill Fletcher are dispatched to the scene. The Fletchers quickly determine the honeymooner’s disappearance is not an accident and the search becomes more complicated than the simple rescue everyone hoped for. Jill and Doug are caught on the river as thunderstorms loom on the horizon. With lightning crackling around them, their canoeing skills are pushed to the limit.

 

After taking the fall for her former lover, Paisley Stewart comes out of a stint in prison only to stay in another: her childhood home on Vancouver Island, where memories of her homophobic childhood linger. To her relief, her parents plan to vacation in Florida for part of the summer, leaving her to take care of the rental cabins. However, the relief is short-lived. She has a co-landlord: the know-it-all Ivy Logan, a family friend and childhood enemy. Little do they realize that their friction is setting off sparks, and a summer romance blooms.

However, their happiness doesn’t last. Ghosts from Paisley’s past emerge, and what was once an idyllic dream becomes a living nightmare. The girls find themselves in a desperate fight for their lives, and Paisley must decide—how far will she go to save the woman she loves?

 

A head teacher trying to escape from a tragic past, two sons about to hit puberty, a five-year-old girl who talks to a ghost, and the unwelcome reappearance of her ex. These are just a few of the things single mother Millie Carter has to cope with. But with no qualifications, no prospects and her self-confidence at an all-time low, she isn’t sure she is up to it until help comes from an unexpected source.

 

Also, don't forget that BWL Publishing Inc. gives away one free novel download each month.  All giveaways are full length novels from our library of BWL authors.  Visit https://bookswelove.net and click the free novel book cover to download your pdf copy.  A different novel is a free feature every month.  

Tackling Weeds is Like Editing Novels

   

 

For mechanic Billie, repairing cars is easier than perking up her love life, 

until a chance encounter with an old friend races her under-nourished hormones into overdrive.

 https://books2read.com/Finding-Billie

 

 I do like the garden to look clean and tidy, but I don't particularly enjoy the processes necessary to achieve that condition. And weeding is perhaps the most disliked garden chore. Where do they all come from, these unloved unwanted plants?

As I grubbed out unidentifiable green shoots from the gravel path, dug out more robust specimens from the rose bed and dumped the detritus into the compost bin, my mind was not on the possible virtues of dandelions or the suspicious appeal of a thistle, but on how much work, 'weeding', I need to do on the draft of my current contemporary romance novel.

Revising, and later editing, fiction writing can be considered similar to weeding the garden, getting rid of those irrelevant words, phrases, sentences, perhaps whole chapters or a character or two. I've found that some 'weeds' belong not in the novel in which I've placed them but elsewhere, in a completely different story where they can be re-categorised as 'wanted'. I transcribe others into my hard cover notebook for possible future use, while scraps are simply junk dealt with  by the delete key.

Weeding, both the garden effort and the written endeavour, is hard work, but what satisfaction when both the vegetation and the creative writing have been successfully tackled! I know which I'd rather do, so while the exterior weed population is probably already re-asserting itself, my story in progress is benefitting from a targeted weed attack. 

If you're a gardener with weeds that bother you, good luck with getting rid of them.

Best wishes and happy reading, Priscilla 

https://bwlpublishing.ca

https://priscillabrownauthor.com 

Featured Author - Barbara Baker

 

Barbara Baker grew up in Banff, Alberta and spends her free time racing up and down the Rockies to keep up with an active family of outdoor enthusiasts. Her passions include writing, photography, exploring landscapes and time with her grandchildren. Many of her short stories are published in magazines and anthologies. Carousel Pictures made a mini film of her essay, Life Support, which played in the Toronto International Film Festival (fall 2019). You can contact her at bbaker.write@gmail.com

 

 

Fourteen-year-old Jillian has no idea who her dad is but uses her banishment from summer parties in Toronto to isolation in Banff National Park to track him down. But it’s not easy. A reclusive log cabin, a grumpy aunt, few trips to civilization and seriously—no cell phone reception?

When she’s not searching for her dad, Jillian pursues an elusive girl, Mika, who lives on her own in the wilderness. Together they track down a poacher and Jillian reunites Mika with her family. All should be well - but it isn’t. Big secrets in Jillian’s family surface, Jillian’s boyfriend ditches her, and her dad wants proof he’s her dad. Like she’d make this up?

Jillian swaps her English saddle for a western one as she unravels the truth about who she really is. What she learns changes everything she knows about herself and demands an inner strength she never knew she had.

 

 https://youtu.be/croxBeIBpUE

 

Mozart's Birthday, 2021

~~Juliet Waldron

See all my historical novels @

 

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When I began Mozart's Wife, I was madly in love with the composer's music--which conflated to being in love with the man himself. His youthful music is so sensual, so bright and shiny, so full of optimism--it probably sounds like what the flowers must sing to lure the bees. it is green leaf and blue sky music--just the kind to accompany springtime and young love.

Mozart's Wife began like that, full of the romance that bloomed between Mozart and his Stanzi Marie. Pop songs from my own teen years filled my head while I wrote--songs which were likewise full of longing and desire, ones like "I think we're alone now" as the lovers seek a hiding place in which to express their body longings.  

"Little sister don't you do what your big sister done" was the song in Mozart's head, I'm sure, for he'd first loved Stanzi Marie's big sister, Aloysia. This pretty, talented young woman instead  had given herself to an aristocrat who obtained for her the prima donna's roles she craved.

Mozart's height of popularity is on the horizon. He and Stanzi marry, overcoming his father's objections. He composes operas for the court theater and is welcome at the soirees of the rich and famous. Stanzi, hitherto her family's Cinderella, shares in this--she has clothes, maids, lovely apartments, parties--all the perks of having a successful husband. 

Babies come, as they do. A "Blessed event" used to be the euphemism. In the 18th Century, however, childbirth was "travail," a danger through which women passed with trepidation. If she was both lucky and healthy, she might escape unscathed, but death in childbirth was a real hazard. (In my own experience, a gentle, kind family friend disappeared from my childhood when she died in hospital (1953) three days after an apparently uneventful childbirth.) Back in the 18th Century, which had no knowledge of hygiene or germ theory, midwives and doctors alike transmitted puerperal fever and other forms of sepsis from one new mother to another. 

Mozart concealed his acute, feminine sensitivity within his music, only expressing these culturally forbidden aspects of his personality through the female characters in his operas. Although the plots toe the patriarchal line-- i.e., his opera, Cosi fan Tutte--So do they all--these weak women--he certainly endows his female characters with engaging, memorable personalities. There are heroic women, conventional women, mad women, love-sick women, as well as power-hungry, manipulative women, women of wit, of humor and admirable gumption. 

Like his wickedest creation, the rake, Don Giovanni, Mozart knows and loves them all. Once I understood that about him, even the episodes where I conjecture infidelity on his part, have a certain inevitability about them. 

While writing Mozart's Wife, I discovered I did not want to take sides. I understood and loved both my leading characters. 

So Mozart does what men of his century were permitted, stabbing Stanzi to the heart. Being a woman of spirit, and comforted and advised by her cynical sister Aloysia, she hardens her heart and pursues an amour her own.  

In this section of the novel, I moved onto fictional ground, although plenty of rumors from which I drew my inspiration are recorded in letters and diaries of the contemporaries. Meanwhile, there are operas and orchestral pieces being written, some with no buyer in sight, created simply because Mozart's evolving genius compels him. At the same time, there was less recognition and they were falling headlong into debt; there was no stability for the little family. Despair over his faltering fortunes sends Mozart to the bottle.

Babies are born and die, famous and infamous real life characters pass through their lives--Lorenzo DaPonte, the renegade Italian priest and lyricist for Mozart's big three--Cosi fan Tutte, Don Giovanni, The Marriage of Figaro--as well as the real life Casanova. There is also a large cast of musicians, male and female, who sing or play his music. Some were friends, some were false. Some were lovers--of both his music and of the man. And all through these years immortal music was being written.  

While writing Mozart's Wife, I discovered I could not take sides. I understood and loved both my leading characters, despite their failures and flaws. I hope, if you read Mozart's Wife, you will too.

Here is a group of Mozart fans from twenty years ago, at the yearly birthday party I used to have for my hero. We drank syllabub and champagne and consumed all manner of party goodies. We swapped stories that we'd read about Mozart all while listening to his blissful music. Dear friends!

Happy Birthday, Wolfgang Amadeus!

~~Juliet Waldron

http://www.julietwaldron.com

See all my historical novels @

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