Saturday, August 27, 2022

Decluttering your life, your WIP, your closet – by Vijaya Schartz

Find all my titles at: amazon B&N - Smashwords - Kobo


Minimalism is on the rise. In the aftermaths of the pandemic, we developed an appreciation for uncluttered living spaces. Besides, clutter is unhealthy, can cause depression… or harbor ghosts of your past. After decluttering, you will be healthier, happier, and free to move on with your life.

Eight years ago, I left a husband and his big house to live with my cat in a tiny apartment. Since then, I moved again, and each move is an opportunity to get rid of clutter. And despite the fact that I am a minimalist at heart, I still have to remind myself to declutter from time to time. Usually, it’s when I run out of hangers, or I can’t find the top I want to wear in the impossibly tight closet.



As our body changes, we buy new clothes but keep the old ones. Just in case? Why? Get rid of the clothes you no longer wear, like old bras that don’t fit anymore. If you ever lose the weight to fit in those skinny jeans again, they will be out of style and you’ll want to buy new ones anyway. Get rid of the shoes that hurt your feet, tired flannel shirts, cropped tops from another decade, work clothes from a previous job, etc.

As I’m turning in my October release to the publisher, ANGEL SHIP, Book One of a new sci-fi series with romantic elements titled Blue Phantom, I thought a few days of decluttering would keep me busy while waiting for the edits.

Here is the stunning cover of ANGEL SHIP
Find other books in the Azura universe: 
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But this is easier said than done. I still have favorite shirts from two decades ago. I know I can never wear them in public, but I still love them. I don’t go out very often, and except for maybe four times a year, I only wear yoga pants, sports bras, and loose tops while typing away at my computer or going to my Tai-Chi classes.



To make it easier on your soul, start with a smaller space, like your car. Then you can move to the trash, the broken things, the chipped mugs and plates, the reminders of unhappy times, the junk drawer, old jewelry. Trash the unflattering photos and digitalize the good ones. Get rid of expired medications, expired food in the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Extra kitchen utensils, bowls, pans, spatulas. Donate, recycle the empty plastic jars, have a yard sale, sell the good stuff on eBay, etc.

My dilemma is often what do I trash? What do I donate? Sometimes, it’s difficult to be objective, and I need another pair of eyes. A friend can give you sound advice in that matter.



As a writer, the same goes with your manuscript. Clarity is key. You don’t want to confuse the reader with too many characters and unnecessary details. You can sometimes consolidate two or three secondary characters into one who will serve the same purpose. Also, if a subplot doesn’t enhance the main story, get rid of it. Give your characters breathing room, so they can be free to express their true feelings on the page.

In the meantime, enjoy the last of summer. Almost time to take out the Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations… Then it will be Christmas again… then New Year.

Happy Reading! Find all my books at:
amazon B&N - Smashwords - Kobo


Vijaya Schartz, author
Strong Heroines, Brave Heroes, cats


Friday, August 26, 2022

Tasmania, the Apple Isle—Tricia McGill

Find all my books here on my BWL Author page.

This post was supposed to be about Tassie’s past, simply because my next historical will be set there, but it is set in the not so glamorous past when Tasmania’s Port Arthur was a penal settlement and prison. 

However, while looking up just why the wonderful island that I have visited so many times that I have lost count, is called The Apple Isle, I came across this great site that listed many of the island’s awesome facts:

https://www.lifesanadventure.com.au/15-awesome-facts-tasmania 

I am certain they will not mind me borrowing from their information about the place.  It seems that there are two theories on why it’s called the Apple Isle. The first one is its former status as an important apple exporter; however, some say it’s because the island’s shaped like an apple. 

Tasmania isn’t as small as most people think. It’s about the same size as the Republic of Ireland or Sri Lanka, and is situated closer to the equator than Rome or Chicago (mind you it does get chilly down there at times), and is the world’s 26th largest island. Almost half of the state is World Heritage Area, national park, or marine and forest reserves, has water so pure it produces the only bottled rainwater approved by health departments around the world.

Holland actually imports tulips that are grown in Tasmania.

Very interesting fact: Tasmania used to be attached to Victoria via a land bridge until 10,000 years ago when the polar caps melted, making the oceans rise. All that’s left of this land bridge is the Furneaux Group of islands of which Flinders Island is the largest.

Tasmania has some of the world’s most hilarious place names. There’s Eggs and Bacon Bay, Trousers Point, Penguin, Milkshake Hills, Stinkhole, Granny’s Gut, Awesome Wells, Satan’s Lair and Lovely Bottom.

Add to all this you will meet some of the most welcoming and friendly folks. My first visit there was soon after I arrived in Australia many moons ago. I travelled with my friend who was born there and has since resettled there. We would stay with her mother who used to take us on hilarious outings where we walked for miles to find a river where she would likely catch fish. I cannot recall her catching anything, but we did see a pair of platypus swimming by. Her picnics were like no other experienced before or since. And I also saw a ghost in a tiny cottage where we stayed onone visit to the west coast.

Most international visitors seem to head north when they travel to Australia, but Tassie has plenty to offer in my humble opinion, but perhaps I am biased. Now I really should get back to my research on Tasmania’s past. 

Visit my web page for excerpts and reviews


Thursday, August 25, 2022

My Links with 'Jane Eyre'

 



My 'Links' with 'Jane Eyre'

I first read Charlotte Bronte's 'Jane Eyre' when I was about 11 and loved it. My mother took me to see a stage adaptation performed by our local repertory company, which was one of the events that led to my lifelong love of theatre, and I read the book more times than I can count.

About three years later, the story was serialised in 6 parts on BBC, in the old days of black and white television. Stanley Baker played Rochester and Daphne Slater played Jane. This was made doubly interesting by the fact that my class tutor at the time had been at school with Daphne Slater and used her 'connections' to get the autographs of both lead characters for us all (which I still have!) 

 



Fast forward about 30+ years. I started researching my family history and dscovered a link (in my father's family) to landed gentry in the county of Derbyshire. One of my ancestors was Robert Eyre (1390-1459) who fought at the Battle of Agincourt in 1415. He owned land in the county and married Joan Padley, the heiress to other estates. They lived in the small village of Hathersage and when they died, their tombs were surmounted with brass effigies. These are the most famous effigies in the church.


Even more fascinating (for me at least) was the connection between these brasses and Jane Eyre. 

In 1845 Charlotte Bronte went to stay at the Rectory at Hathersage with an old school friend, whose brother was the vicar. It was here she started to write her novel about Jane Eyre. It is said that she was inspired by the brass effigy on the tomb of Joan Eyre (nee Padley).

So it seems Jane Eyre was named after my 15-times-great grandmother! Maybe that is why I have always had an affinity with Charlotte Bronte's novel?

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Link to my Amazon author page:  author.to/PMamazon  

Wednesday, August 24, 2022

Hiking the Chilkoot Trail by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 


 

https://www.bookswelove.com/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

https://books2read.com/Romancing-the-Klondike

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

https://books2read.com/Rushing-the-Klondike  

My husband and I hiked the trail in 1997, on the hundredth anniversary of the Klondike Gold Rush. We were in the Yukon and Alaska so I could research the state and territory for my travel book Backroads of Alaska and the Yukon. That hike and my two trips to Dawson City were what made it possible for me to write Romancing the Klondike, book three of the Canadian Historical Brides Collection. The sequel, Rushing the Klondike, is out this month.

     Many of the men and women who went to the Klondike in the first year starved and froze because they hadn't brought along enough supplies. To combat that, the North West Mounted Police decreed that the prospectors had to have 907 kg (2000 lbs) of  provisions in order to cross the border from Alaska into British Columbia and then onto the Yukon. The NWMP set up a scale to weigh each person's supplies before letting them climb the Chilkoot Pass.

     My husband and I each carried about 16kg (35 lbs) on our five day hike up to and over the pass. Besides our food, we carried a tent, sleeping bags, two changes of clothes, an extra pair of shoes in case the pair we were wearing got wet or to change into in camp to give our hiking shoes a breather.

     The Chilkoot Trail was called the `poor‑man's route'. It ran from Dyea to Bennett Lake following an old, first nations path. The men and women who travelled to the Klondike in hopes of getting rich had to haul their supplies up and over the summit. Some were able to hire indigenous peoples to help but many had to do it themselves. They would carry as much as 36kg (80 lbs) up the `Golden Stairs' (steps cut into the solid snow of the pass) each trip, then slide back down to their cache and begin again. Most made 40 trips to do so. Once a miner got onto the steps he didn't dare get off until the top. If fatigue forced him to step out he seldom managed to make it back on.

     Most of the people who started for the Klondike were Cheechakos, a native word for `greenhorn'. It was after a person had spent a winter in the north that he or she became known as a Sourdough.

     The 53 kilometre (33 mile) long Chilkoot Trail is called the `Longest Museum in the World'. There are 10 campsites along it so we had plenty to choose from. We wanted to make sure our daily hikes weren’t very long.

     The trail started out with the Taiya River to our left. We were continually climbing and descending beside it through a rainforest whose tall trees created a nice, cool shade. We had to watch for tree roots, stumps, and rocks and in places there was a drop-off so we made sure our packs were secure and didn't wobble. We crossed a number of bridges, made of metal, split logs, planks or boardwalks.

     At kilometer 8 (mile 5) we reached Finnegan's Point, the first campground on the trail. This was named after Pat Finnegan and his two sons who set up a ferry service here in 1897. Later they built a road through the damp, boggy areas and charged a toll. This worked only in the summer because the prospectors pulled their goods on sleds on the frozen ice in the winter. This point was also used as a cache where the stampeders left their first bundles of supplies while they went back to Dyea for the rest.

     4.8 kilometres (3 miles) from Finnegan's Point we reached Canyon City campsite our first stop. We set up our tent then cooked our supper. Once we had washed our dishes, we drained the water down the screened-in pipe for gray water and scrapped the small food particles off the screen into our garbage. This we hauled out with us. At the time we had to hoist our food and garbage up on the bear pole to keep it from attracting bears into the camp. We also made sure not to keep any food with us in our tent.

     To reach the actual site of Canyon City, we continued down the trail 0.8 kilometre (0.5 mile) past the camp until we reached a sign with the distances to places: Canyon City Shelter 0.5 mile; Dyea 8 miles: Sheep Camp Shelter 5 miles; Chilkoot Pass 8.5 miles.

     We followed the path to the left, crossed over the suspension bridge and came to a sign that stated: Canyon City Historical Site. We were now walking where Canyon City stood over 100 years ago. We passed an old, rusted, cook stove and come to a huge, rusted boiler. This 50 horsepower steam boiler was used to operate an aerial tramway between here and the Chilkoot Pass. It cost 16.5 cents per kilogram (7.5 cents per pound) to send goods over this tram. Few of the Klondikers could afford it.

     Stamped on the boiler was: Union Iron Works SF 1886.

     The next morning we headed to Pleasant Camp which was 4.5 kilometres (2.7 miles) from Canyon City. The climb out of the canyon between the two camps was thought to be the worst part of the trail by some stampeders. A little ways past the Pleasant Camp we crossed a suspension bridge over a series of cascades. And in 2 kilometres (1.2 miles) we arrived at Sheep Camp beside the Taiya River. This camp is the last stop before the Chilkoot Pass and a ranger gave a talk about the conditions of the pass at 7:00pm Alaska time. Other words of advice were to leave by at least 7am, drink 2 litres of water on the trail and expect to take 10 hours to reach Happy Camp.

     When we left Sheep Camp the next morning the ground was level for the first bit and we came across a building that looked almost like a train station. After we began climbing there was an old log building with glass windows, little patio, and cooking utensils hanging on the wall. We were climbing mainly on a path but sometimes over boulders and we left the trees and were in alpine meadows.

     The bears like to use the trail so we had to be on the lookout for them, since they own the trail. It’s best if one gets far off into the trees and let them have the right of way.

     It was a 6.8 kilometre (4.2 mile) climb to the Scales. This is where the prospectors who had hired professional indigenous packers had to reweigh their goods. The packers wanted more money, up to $2.20 per kilogram (1 dollar per pound) to carry the supplies up and over the pass. Consequently, many items were left behind and some still can be seen.

     From the Scales we could see the Chilkoot Pass and we crossed alpine tundra to reach the base. Past the Chilkoot is Peterson Pass, a longer but easier alternative to the Chilkoot which was used by some Klondikers.

     Those who travelled the trail in the winter climbed the 'Golden Stairs' cut in the ice and snow up the side of the pass. Those who came in the summer, when the snow was melted, had to traverse over the huge boulders and loose rock left from a slide. That was what we climbed on.

     The climb was steep and we had to lean forward as we went from solid rock to solid rock. If we straightened up the weight of our pack threatened to pull us over backwards. Other hikers walked up it as if they were on stairs. Near the top we reached a plateau. To our right was a cairn marking the border between Alaska and BC.

      When we reached the top we had climbed 823 metres (2700 feet) from Sheep Camp. At the summit was a shelter and outhouse. We stayed only long enough to use the outhouse and take pictures because it was still a 6.4 kilometre (4 mile) hike to Happy Camp.

     As we hiked down the Canadian side of the summit we had the most magnificent view of Crater Lake, the short purple, white, red, yellow, pink flowers of the alpine tundra, and the mountains. We didn’t walk on the tundra because it’s not easy for the flowers and grass to grow that far north. At Stone Crib there was a pile of rocks that anchored the cables for the aerial tramway on this side of the summit. Here also is a large saw blade from a saw mill that someone decided he didn't need any more.

     Happy Camp is on a river between Crater Lake and Long Lake. After spending the night we continued our hike and when we reached a sign pointing for Deep Lake we turned in that direction and climbed above Long Lake. We came over a rise and saw a lovely lake, a bridge over a river, trees, and a camp in the centre of the mountains. We crossed that bridge and arrived at Deep Lake Camp. A wagon road ran from here to Lindeman City and we could still see some old sleigh runners.

     As we left Deep Lake Camp we walked beside the lakeshore and came upon a metal boat frame. Then we left the lakeshore and followed along Deep Lake Gorge. The further down we went the more trees there were. It was very beautiful and peaceful as we walked through the tall pine trees and finally reached Lake Lindeman Camp (4.8 kilometres (3 miles) from Deep Lake Camp.

     Some Klondikers set up a tent city here and built boats during the winter for sailing across the lake. At the other end of the lake they portaged around the rapids between Lindeman and Bennett lakes. Others carried their supplies along frozen Lindeman Lake and built their boats at Bennett Lake.

     We visited the museum near the river and looked through the gold rush exhibits. A Rufous hummingbird flitted in front of me attracted by the red hoodie I was wearing.

     The next morning we passed Bare Loon Camp and made it to Bennett Lake. The largest tent city in the world was set up here during the winter of 1898. In the spring, the residents of this tent city built boats from the trees around the lake. Over 7100 crafts set sail down Bennett Lake, beginning the 900 kilometres (560 miles) journey to Dawson City. Records show that about 30,000 people travelled from Bennett Lake to Dawson City in 1898. Sadly, when they arrived they found out that the best claims had been staked by the prospectors who already lived in the north.

     Bennett grew after the railway reached it from Skagway in 1899 and it had warehouses, shipping offices and steamer docks. The St. Andrews Presbyterian Church was built in 1898 by volunteer workers and it is the only gold rush building still standing in Bennett. There is also a train station and a train that takes hikers back to Skagway.

Tuesday, August 23, 2022

August Days by Victoria Chatham



August is a month of long, hot days when the cats stretch out lazily in the sun. Raspberries ripen seemingly by the hour, Saskatoon berries hang heavy and black on the bushes, and the day bleeds into balmy evenings. How idyllic is that?



It is a month that means many things to different people. It might be baseball played on community diamonds, boating on lakes, soaking up the sun on the dock or a beach, or leaning on a farm gate inhaling the scent of freshly mown hay.

Image courtesy Claire E Henderson

My most memorable August was the summer of 1960, the month between leaving school and starting work. The August when I told my mother I would enjoy four weeks of doing exactly what I wanted to do before beginning job-hunting the first week in September. I hung out with friends in the daytime, feeding jukeboxes in coffee shops to hear ‘Cathy’s Clown’ by the Everly Brothers or ‘Shakin’ All Over’ with Johnny Kidd and the Pirates. We crowded into jazz clubs in the evenings to listen to Acker Bilk or Chris Barber.

According to Sue Monk Kidd, author of The Secret Life of Bees, “The month of August had turned into a griddle where the days just lay there and sizzled.” How vivid a description is that? It makes me wish I had written it. Hers is not the only quote from literature about August. Here are some more:

“Leaving any bookstore is hard, especially on a day in August, when the street outside burns and glares, and the books inside are cool and crisp to the touch.” – Jane Smiley, author of One Thousand Acres.

But my favourite August quote is this from Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt. “The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot.”



And yes, this year, it has been and still is hot. We open all the windows at night to let in the cool air, close them in the morning, and pull the blinds to keep the heat out. Fans keep the temperature bearable. All too soon, August will become September, and the fall will be upon us. Oh, and that job hunt my mother was so insistent about? In the first week of September 1960, I had seven job interviews and five offers and finally entered the workforce as a hospital records manager.




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Monday, August 22, 2022

Is true crime unbelievable as fiction?


 While using some version of reality in a story adds relevancy and urgency, there are some real crime scenarios that are far too crazy to be credible. In Fatal Business, I used a possible deer hunting accident as the hook. For much of the US, that fall deer hunt is an annual occurrence, and accidental shootings are totally plausible. 

While perusing the news, others pop out that are just too crazy to put into a fictional mystery:

A few years ago, there was an article about an abused woman who'd killed her husband during a domestic dispute. Her abuse was well documented, and the neighbors reported frequent loud and apparently violent arguments coming from her residence. The district attorney said he was inclined to accept the defense's contention that the woman was acting in self-defense...if not for the fact that she'd killed two previous husbands under nearly the same circumstances. It sounds like a great fiction plot, but who'd believe that?

While doing research (I do A LOT of research, the topic of an earlier blog) I read an article about "Burking" as a murder technique. The term was coined when a pair of 1800s Scottish miscreants developed a business of supplying bodies to a medical school for dissection. The school, being upstanding and ethical, wouldn't accept the body of an obvious murder victim. So, our miscreants, Mr. Burke and his partner Mr. Hare, resorted to grave robbing. When the demand for cadavers outstripped the rate of "natural deaths", the partners devised a plan to procure more cadavers. They identified homeless people and drunks; people who wouldn't be readily missed. After Mr. Hare knocked them down, Mr. Burke, who was apparently a very large man, sat on their chests until they suffocated. The medical school apparently accepted these victims as natural deaths, providing Burke and Hare with a good business until their landlady found one of their victims stored under a bed. She alerted the police who arrested the pair. The official cause of the victim's death was traumatic asphyxia caused by pressure on the chest, but the verb "Burking" is now applied to deaths caused by manual asphyxiation.

As with the woman who had killed off three husbands, I balk at using Burking as a cause of death in my books. Who would believe a modern victim had been killed by a very large person sitting on the victim's chest? I mean really, does that even seem plausible?

Hmm? Maybe if the killers were parked outside a secluded bar at closing time....

Excuse me. I have a book outline to write.

Check out my books at:

Hovey, Dean - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)


 

Sunday, August 21, 2022

The Long, Extremely Hot Summer by Diane Scott Lewis



 


Last year I welcomed into my repertoire of published novels, my oyster war story, based on true events, Ghost Point. A love triangle complicates my characters' lives as they battle through history in 1956 Virginia.

Someone told me this scenario would never happen, people shooting each other over oysters. But truth is stranger than fiction.

"The reader is thrust into what happens to both Yelena and Luke with emotional tension. The plot moves at a good pace. If you're a fan of sagas and dramatic fiction, you'll enjoy Ghost Point. Highly recommend!"    ~ N. N. Lights

Purchase here, ON SALE! on Amazon


Climate change is scorching us, the summer heat index up to 110, or is that just because we went camping.

Fires everywhere, burning up California, my home state. Friends evacuated. My oldest friend has had to leave her home, twice.




We drove to Nashville, TN, for a reunion of ex-sailors stationed in Nea Makri, Greece. Three years ago, we traveled to Greece after a forty year absence. We loved it.

In June we camped outside of Nashville in torrid heat. You couldn't breath in the thick humidity. An outside plug on our RV melted in the high temperature.

Runways in England were melting, that's how bad it got. 

It sounds like a dystopian novel, or for us older folk: The Twilight Zone.

Here is the Greek reunion in the air-conditioned hotel. My hubby and I are in the back row. I'm sixth from the left. Story of my life, (the back row) for being tall.



In July we traveled to Gettysburg to visit with his niece and sister. His niece has a camp and a beautiful outside set-up. But again, the weather turned scorching, the humidity impossible.

I sat in front of the fan and let it blow through my blouse. There's me on the far right. My husband is enjoying his home-made pina coladas, something he learned to make in Puerto Rico.



The earth seems to be melting, but the winters in Pennsylvania can still be harsh. Too many believe climate change isn't happening. But something is pushing nature to extremes.

Fires are everywhere in summer, in Greece as well. Now there's flooding in Kentucky. Lives were lost. Yosemite National Park is threatened by fire. Last year, Yellowstone was flooded. 

I rarely drive anymore, so I'm doing my part in cutting down on emissions. But the United States is so vast, it's difficult to function without a car. Are electric cars the way to go? But fossil fuels generate electricity.

Now our stream is running dry, the one that we get our house water from. My son's well is almost dry, too. We desperately need rain.

The weather has gone berserk.

Of course, all this would make a great novel: the future is now, upon us, not a millennia away.


Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.

To find out more about her and her books:  DianeScottLewis





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