Dad is Curious About the Internet - by Barbara Baker

 

My dad turned 90 in August. Mom passed away four years ago, and Dad is adamant he can take care of himself. He got a new knee, cleats for his boots and canes with pokey prongs that flip up when the sidewalks are clear of snow. We tease him about getting more steps in a day than we do. 

One of Dad’s recent interests is understanding the basics of computers, technology and Google. When he loses a game of chess on his iPad, he says Siri is in a bad mood. When Siri wakes him up from a nap to tell him it’s going to get cold tomorrow, Dad thanks her for the update and scrolls the Weather App to see what’s blowing in.

A few years ago, when the Sunshine Ski Resort posted free WiFi Hot Spots at the top of the lifts, Dad asked what WiFi was all about.

I told him, “It’s so you can use your phone and log onto the internet for free.”

“Up here?” His moustache twitched. “Why would you want to do that?”

On a recent visit with Dad, I sit in the living room scrolling through Google for blog ideas while he stretches out on the couch to read.

After awhile Dad points at my laptop and says, “What are you doing?”

“I’m working on my blog for next month.”

He closes his book and sits up. “You’re working on what?”

“A blog.” I smile. “It’s a short piece of writing. Hopefully I can make it funny, or entertaining, maybe informative, or insightful.”

“What do you do with it when you're done?”

“I post in on a website which puts it on the internet for people to read.”

He tips his head. “Who reads it?”

“I’m not sure.” I shrug. “People who read blogs, people who might be interested in what I have to say.”

“Do you get paid to do it?”

“Indirectly. Maybe. Sort of." I give him a bigger smile. "I hope some readers will check out one of my books, maybe buy it or get it from the library.”

I stare down at my laptop to hide my grin and continue the search for popular blog topics – expert insights (nope), science posts (nope), upcoming trends (nope), DIY tips (nope)…personal (possibly).

Dad clears his throat, and I look up.

“Let me get this straight," he says. "You find something to write about, you put it on the internet for the world to see but you don’t know who will read it and you don’t know if it will make you any money?”

I nod.

“Well,” he pauses. “Do you enjoy doing it?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Well,” he picks up his book, stretches out on the couch again and lets out a sigh, “that’s good.”

        Happy holidays and all the best of wishes for 2023. 

        You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

        Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

        What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

 

Leave It to Santa to Take Credit for Everything Us Moms Do by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

      It is December, which for most, is the month of holiday cheer, presents, candy canes and Santa Claus, but for me its the inevitable month of writer's block. Nanowrimo--which for those of you that don't know is abbreviated for National November Writing Month (I think...)--- is the month where we write a bunch of words as fast as we can, with the ultimate goal of acheiving 50k words.

So 50k. It's a goal I used to find feasible, but after having spawn, realized it was way too &5^$ing crazy for me to ever accomplish now. SO I aimed for 10K and hit the mark. Now it's December, and I feel like a deflated bag of goo, chock full of little hairs, rocks and whatever else you may find stuck to the carpet. 

Me.

Now how am I supposed to write when there is Christmas to think about? Not to mention that I used up all my good ideas in an effort to get my draft done (which it isn't, by the way). I figure I have about 10k more words to go, but all I want is a good hoodie, some wine and true crime shows. 

Merry Christmas! Next up on Cold Case Files...

And you know... It used to be that if you finished Nano, you got a sticker. Now they don't give them out (at least where I am) so I can't even do it for the bragging rights! Not to mention that they changed the website and I can't even see my past achievements... you know... the days when I WAS able to write 50k in one month. 

So I guess I'll just keep writing and figure it out later. Afterall, that's what I told y'all to do when you get a case of writer's block. Wouldn't make any sense for me to tell others to keep on truckin' right? 

Ughh... I hope Santa brings me a nap...

Santa's Reindeer by J. S. Marlo

 

Wounded Hearts

"Love & Sacrifice #2"

is now available  

click here 

 

 

  

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

‘Male reindeers lose their antlers in winter and females don’t, so Santa’s sleigh is actually pulled by a team of women…’

When I saw that quote on Facebook, it caught my attention. First, reindeer, like deer, don’t have an “s” in their plural forms. Second, it struck me as odd that the females didn’t lose their antlers, so I did some research.

Female reindeer can grow antlers, making them unique in the deer world. However, not all females have antlers since growing them costs lots of energy. In habitats where food is scarce or of poor quality, antlerless females dominate.

The female reindeer use their antlers to dig through the snow in search of food and to defend themselves. Those with the largest antlers tend to be socially dominant and in the best overall physical condition, but they still shed their antlers every year. Unlike male reindeer who lose them late autumn after the rut, female reindeer retain their antlers until spring because access to food is critical during their winter pregnancy.

Does that mean female reindeer are pulling Santa’s sleigh?  Not necessarily. Most of the reindeer used to pull sleds are castrated males because they are easier to handle than “full” males. Castrated reindeer have antler cycles similar to those of the females, only losing them in the spring.

Conclusion: Santa’s reindeer are either female or castrated male.

101100508 © Publicdomainphotos | Dreamstime.com

Other interesting facts:

– There are more than 15 subspecies of reindeer, some of which are extinct. 

– Reindeer are domesticated or semi-domesticated caribou.

– They live primarily in the Arctic, where winter is drastically colder and darker than summer.

– Their hooves are soft during warmer months, but in winter, they become hard and sharp for breaking through the ice to forage vegetation.

– To adapt to seasonal changes in light levels, the part of their eye behind the iris changes color from gold in the summer to blue in the winter.

– They travel up to 3,000 miles and swim long distances.

– They have two layers of hair to keep warm: a dense woolly undercoat, and a top layer of hollow air-filled hairs which float. Their hair have been used to fill life jackets.

– The Finnish Forest Reindeer is one of the rarest subspecies of Reindeer.

In my 2021 Christmas mystery The Red Quilt, Grandpa Eli is marooned on a potato farm with his five-year-old granddaughter. On Christmas Eve, Eli ventures outside to draw reindeer hoof prints in the snow. Here’s an excerpt:

The two forward toes made prints resembling curly teardrops with the tip pointing ahead, toward the carrot underneath the branch. He added a dot behind each teardrop design to account for the two back toes.

A vehicle turning into Lana’s driveway diverted his attention from the second print he was drawing. When blue and red lights began to flash, Eli dropped the carrot and the branch, and raised his hands as he straightened to his full height beside the bush.

The door of the patrol car opened and a silhouette stood behind it. “Mr. Sterling?”

“Yes.” The female voice jogged his memory. “Fancy meeting you here tonight, Constable Davidson. May I lower my arms?”

“Yes, please. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The lights stopped flashing, but the door remained opened as she walked toward him. “The lights were on so I thought you might be up, but then I saw someone hunched by the bush, so I overreacted.”

“I’d rather you overreact than ignore a suspicious guy making reindeer hoof prints in the snow in the wee hours of the morning,” he teased.

A smile enlivened her face as she shone the beam of her flashlight in the snow. “It’s small for a reindeer, but otherwise, it’s pretty accurate.”

Stumped by the remark, he squatted the snow. “What do you mean by small? Do you masquerade as a biologist in your spare time?”

Her laughter rose in the crisp air. “No, but I have an older sister who’s a conservation officer in the north. She spent years following the caribou herd’s migration. I know more about caribou than I ever wanted to know. For accuracy’s sake, you want them to be about four inches long.”

Click here to buy The Red Quilt, and give it to someone you love for Christmas.

Happy Holiday 2022!

J. S.

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

 

The Beauty of Book Covers by Eileen O'Finlan

                    

                        Click here for purchase information     Click here to visit Eileen O'Finlan's webiste

As I write this blog post, it is less than a week since our celebration of Thanksgiving here in the U.S. That holiday always brings with it a time for reflection on the people and things for which we are thankful.

As I thought about my own debts of gratitude, I could not help but include the extraordinary art director who creates the amazing covers for BWL's books, Michelle Lee. Not only do I love the covers Michelle has created for me, I have yet to see a single BWL book that doesn't have an outstanding cover. Click here to check them out for yourself.

Whether it's rational or not, book covers are widely considered to be the most important factor, or at least the first one, in whether or not a reader decides to consider a book. That makes covers extremely important.

One of the most exciting moments for an author with a new book about to be released is his or her first look at the cover. So when I knew the cover for my next release, All the Furs and Feathers Book 1 in the Cat Tales series was on the way I could hardly contain myself as I waited to see what Michelle would create. Just as I expected, I was not disappointed. The cover is fantastic!

I am not quite ready to do a complete cover reveal yet. That will come when the pre-order is available and I have it to link the cover to. But meanwhile, here is a sneak peek at what everyone will see when All the Furs and Feathers is released on February 1, 2023.

How a quirky vagabond woman presented herself in my story by Jay Lang

 

Impulse 

By Jay Lang

Click this link to purchase book

http://bookswelove.net/lang-jay/

 

I write frequently about homeless people and the dark corners where they frequent. I guess I do this because of how dismissed and judged this sector of our society is. In this chapter, a quirky vagabond woman presented herself to me as I wrote. I loved her energy and sense of self.   

Chapter One

 Weightless with fear, I step into the eerie silence of the dark alley. If it weren’t for the buzzing from the neon lights overhead, I would guess that I wasn’t really here. 

A few feet in front of me, there’s a dull flickering from behind a dumpster. My knees shake as I cautiously approach. Sticking out into the narrow pathway are two worn ankle boots. 

The nearer I draw, the more of the person I see. Dressed in layers of tattered clothing, an aged woman sits on a piece of wet cardboard with her back resting against the cracked stone wall. As I pass, she stares straight ahead. Her eyes are dark, lifeless and hollow—she’s no threat to me. 

A few feet down, a red door appears. Searching my mind for another alternative but knowing there isn’t one, I move closer to the door. Before grasping the black steel knob, I force air into my restricted lungs, my head reeling with the terror of what awaits me.

* * *

As soon as I pass the ferry turn-off, I pull onto the dark coastal road. On one side there’s a sheer rock face. On the other, a steep drop to the Pacific. The treacherous road is a witness to many summer fatalities where overzealous speed freaks race their overpriced hot rods, winning them a free ride in a meat wagon. The steady stream of tears and the hard rain on the windshield make it almost impossible to see the yellow line on the road ahead.

The above paragraph was an image I had of Horseshoe Bay, a beautiful cove just outside of Vancouver B.C.

Searching through my CD case, I look up just in time to crank the wheel and avoid the guard rail. The jerking of the car causes the case to slide off the seat and empty onto the floor. I look down at the mosaic of albums, scanning for something up-tempo and distracting. Reaching down, I snag a CD with the tips of my fingers. I’m disappointed when I read the words Air Supply’s Greatest Hits—too sappy, too forgiving. I toss the CD back onto the floor. Right now, I need music that mirrors my rage, something angry and defiant like Dream Theater or Metallica. 

Streams of tears sting as they roll down my cheeks. I wipe my face with my sleeve, leaving smears of makeup on the new sweater I bought special for tonight. What a waste of money. I never buy myself new clothes. Why would I? I live my life between working at the library, where my usual ensemble consists of earth tone separates and functional shoes, and then at home where I live in my Roots joggers and my mother’s old housecoat. But tonight...tonight I wanted to look classy and astute, like I really had my shit together. 

I envisioned strolling into the upscale venue at the posh Hotel Vancouver with his book, or should I say my book, under my arm. I wanted to walk up to him and watch the guilt rush over his face. Instead, I stood in a long line of book groupies and waited an unbearable hour and a half, forced to stare at walls lined with oversized posters of Joffrey holding his best seller novel, a big shit-eating grin on his face. It made me sick. 

The Scarlet Pimpernel ~ Baroness Orczy ~ Fact and Fiction By Rosemary Morris

 

To learn more about Rosemary please click on the image above.

“They seek him here, they seek him there,

Those French men seek him everywhere.

   Is he in Heaven? – Is he in hell?

       That damned annoying Pimpernel.”

The Scarlet Pimpernel, Baroness Orczy’s most famous character, is Percy, the gallant daredevil, Sir Percival Blakeney Bart, the hero of her novels and short stories set during The French Revolution, aptly nick-named The Reign of Terror.   

Orczy was a royalist with no sympathy for the merciless Jacobins who spared no efforts to achieve their political ambitions.  Historical accounts prove everyone in France was at risk of being arrested and sent to the guillotine. Orczy’s works of fiction about the Scarlet Pimpernel display her detailed knowledge about Revolutionary France and capture the miserable atmosphere which prevailed in that era.

Waiting for a train the author saw Sir Percy dressed in the exquisite clothes of a late 18th century gentleman, noted the monocle he held up in his slender hand, heard his lazy drawl and quaint laugh.

In August1792, Percy founded his gallant League of Gentlemen. Eventually, there was “one to command and nineteen to obey.” Percy and his league cheated French Revolutionary Government’s tool, Madame Guillotine of their prey. London’s high society speculated about the Scarlet Pimpernel’s identity.

Percy, an influential, wealthy nobleman man married Marguerite St. Just, a French actress. When he discovered she was responsible for an aristocratic family’s death, for fear she would betray him, he kept his alias secret. Loving Marguerite, despite her crime he feigned indifference, treated her coldly, shunned her company, and acted a fool’s part so successfully that he bored her. However, Marguerite discovered the truth about Percy and saved his life. After the couple’s reconciliation, Marguerite is mentioned as a member of the league in Mam’zelle Guillotine.

At the beginning of each of the series the current events are summarised. Orczy weaves fact and fiction by featuring English and French historical figures such as Robespierre, d’Herbois, the Prince of Wales, and Sir William Pitt, the younger, and historical events. For example, in Eldorado Orczy describes the Dauphin in the care of brutal shoemaker, Simon, who teaches the prince to curse God and his parents. 

In the horror, depicted in her novels, Orczy uses romance and heroism to defeat evil, as she did as a child when playing the part of a fearless prince while her sister acted the part of a damsel in distress.

Orczy spent 1900 in Paris that, in her ears, echoed with the horrors of the French Revolution.  Surely, she had found the setting for her magnificent hero The Scarlet Pimpernel, who would champion the victims of The Terror, but why did she choose an insignificant flower for Percy’s alias? It is not unreasonable to suppose a Parisian royalist organisation’s triangular cards, hand painted with roses that resemble scarlet pimpernels, fuelled Orczy’s imagination.  Further fuel might have been added by a young man called Louis Bayard with similarities to the Sir Percy Blakeney Bart’s life. And the author’s imagination might have  been ignited by nineteen-year old Louis Bayard engaged by William Wickham, the first British spymaster. Louis as elusive as Percy, also had many aliases, and fell in love with an actress. Both appeared and disappeared without causing comment.  Real life Louis’ and fictional Percy’s lives depended on being masters of disguise. 

In disguise, Percy fools his archenemy, Citizen Chauvelin, who Orczy gives the role of official French Ambassador to England in an interesting example of her distortion of historical personalities and incidents. It is doubtful whether Bernard-Francois, Marquis de Chauvelin, ever assumed a false identity as he did in Orczy’s novel, The Scarlet Pimpernel. Another example is Louis-Antoine St Just, a revolutionary, who Orczy gives the role of  Marguerite’s cousin. Louis-Antoine St Just, a young lawyer, was Maximillian Robespierre’s follower. He supported the punishment of traitors and of anyone who was a ‘lukewarm’ revolutionary.  In The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel  her character, Armand St Just, Marguerite’s brother, meets with Robespierre and other Jacobins. Orczy portrays him as young, fervent, and articulate as the Louis-Antoine St Just.

* * *

 

Of Further Interest, The Scarlet Pimpernel series, Links in the Chain of Life,  Baroness Orczy’s biography. A Gay Adventurer. A biography of Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart written by ‘John Blakeney’ pseudonym of Baroness Orczy’s son John Montagu Baron Orczy Barstow.

The links to online bookstores to buy Rosemary Morris’s   novels are at:

https://bookswelove.net/morris-rosemary/

 

The first three chapters of each of my novels may be read on my web site.

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

 

Why the Nokota Horse for Paisley Noon and Julie Christen?

 Why the Nokota Horse?

    In anticipation of Paisley Noon's arrival, check out this video about the Nokota horse - 
the inspiration behind the story.

    I was once told that you can always research the details - write what's in your heart. And that's what I did with Paisley Noon. I did the research (so much to the point I now own three of this rare breed), but mostly I used how they move me, deep down, in places I never knew existed in my soul.

    Their story is heart-breaking and uplifting all at once. Learning about how this special breed chooses its person, not the other way around, felt like a magical mystery I had to explore. Once I delved into the Nokota world, I found more than just facts about a type of horse. 

    I found the people behind them. 

    That is where the true heart of the story lies - in the people and the love they have and the passion they act upon daily to preserve the future of this breed. They are selfless. They are genuine. They are humble. They are reflections of the Nokota horse itself.

To learn more, go to https://www.nokotahorse.org

Down the Research Rabbit Hole by Diane Bator

 

To buy:  Click Here

Spoiler Present Alert!!

This time of year, many writers are reeling from the challenge of National Novel Month (Nanowrimo) in November. The big goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days. Or whatever challenge writers would like to do. Some choose to write less and some push themselves to write more. Either way, the month ends with all or part of a great new novel or novella.

One of the challenges of Nanowrimo is not to spend time doing research, but actually writing – with a little research on the side!

So here I am. With a great new novel (Book 3 in my Glitter Bay Mysteries!) and had time to do some research. Not for the book I was working on, but for the one I want to write next.

I have an idea to write a Hallmark-style book about a woman who runs a small business making and selling candles and bath items. My research has run the gamut from learning online to playing with essential oils, bath salts, and candles. I figure if I’m going to go that far down the rabbit hole, I might as well have fun with it and create a few Christmas gifts while I’m at it!

Have I tested my creations? Oh, yes! There’s an old adage that nearly every writer has heard:  Write what you know. How could I possible explain the scents or the textures of the items my character creates when I have no idea how they actually smell or feel? I've even figured out a name for my brand - and might even use it in the new book.

That and I have a good excuse to make a mess and some gifts.

My favourite items so far is a lovely Pink Lemonade Sugar Scrub and a simple bath salt that you can scent with any oils you like. The recipes are below!

Pink Lemonade Sugar Scrub

1 cup of sugar

½ cup oil (almond, olive oil, or coconut work best)

½ teaspoon vitamin E oil (optional - helps preserve your scrub and provides extra softening)

15 drops lemon essential oil

1-2 drops red food coloring (optional if you want the pink color)

 

Place all ingredients in a bowl and mix, adding more or less oil to your liking.

Store in an airtight container.

Since this recipe doesn’t contain preservatives, use it within a month or two

To Use:

Scoop a small amount of scrub in your hands with a spoon.

Scrub all over your hands or feet – or wherever you’d like a little extra softness. Allow your scrub to sit on your skin for 3-4 minutes. Enjoy this time to rest and relax.

Rinse well, and then pat dry with a soft towel.

https://www.suburbansimplicity.com/pink-lemonade-sugar-scrub/

Simple Bath Salts

1 cup Epsom Salts

½ cup Baking Soda

15 drops of your favourite essential oil

Combine all in a mason jar or bowl and pour into the tub under running water.

Sit back and enjoy!

 

I found my bliss – in the bathtub by donalee Moulton

 I found my bliss – in the bathtub

donalee Moulton's BWL Author Page - Coming in 2023 - Hung Out to Die 

This article of mine appeared in The Globe and Mail. I wanted to share it with you at this time of year when life is bustling and busy. May you find joy.

 I understand the appeal of showers. There is a functionality and practicality to stepping in, under and out. How efficient. How equally unimaginative and boring. In the shower, there is nothing to savour except getting the hell out from beneath 50 pounds per square inch of pulsating water. The fact that showers are measured in psi (as opposed to bubbles) speaks volumes.

But I am a splish-splash person. I relish the warm web of water that embraces you in the bathtub. I enjoy being able to put my head back, relax and wash away the day. I like taking my time, meandering in my mind and humidifying at my own pace.

 Baths were a way of life in our house. Growing up, showers were simply something other people took, mostly people we did not know. I kept this tradition up even after I moved out of my parents’ house, into a marriage and through the divorce that followed. But it wasn’t until years later that I discovered my understanding of the bath and its possibilities had been severely limited.

 It started with a gift of life-altering implications. Inside the present I discovered bubble bath, a bath bomb, exfoliating lotion and glove, and moisturizer. Two of these I’d heard of. The scent was lavender, which I associated with wrinkled aunts and my grandmother’s underwear drawer.

Turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I filled the tub with steaming water, poured in the bubble bath and the most wonderful scent filled the room. I smiled, bent down and breathed deeply. Not my smartest move. Inhaling bubbles is not recommended. But it didn’t matter. I was happy. And about to get happier.

I stepped into the tub and unwrapped the bath bomb. This is never as easy as it sounds. They often come in a plastic sheath that has no identifiable opening and the tensile strength of tungsten. I persisted. The result was a round, heavenly little orb that exploded when it hit the water. Gently, of course, and with a colour infusion that filled the tub with a lovely glow. The exfoliating lotion and glove were next. I felt the resistance of the glove on my skin. Perhaps even a snag or two. Then, softness.

This time I spend with bubbles, bombs and bath salts is as much about ritual and reverence as it is about self-care and luxuriating. I realized this one blissful Saturday night as I was about to lower myself into a meringue of eucalyptus suds and my husband strolled into the bathroom, lifted the toilet lid, and got ready to whizz.

He won’t do that again.

There is a rhythm to my bathing ritual. There is a pattern and a process. Nothing is rushed, there is room to inhale and time to exhale. The rhythm has become more sophisticated over time. I once received a candle but admitted to my husband that I was unlikely to use it. He suggested I light it in my bathing shrine (and all was forgiven).

Today, my bathing shrine includes 10 burning candles: five small, three medium, two large. There is also a tealight candle that burns inside a Himalayan salt holder, another gift from a good friend. (I am blessed with friends who indulge my bathroom bliss.) In addition, I discovered aromatherapy. And there is music, most recently with the chirps and tweets of birds in the background.

I doubled down on my commitment to ritual and reverence when my husband and I decided to do some redecorating. My bathroom tub is now no ordinary tub. Who knew paradise came in porcelain? This tub has jets that shoot heated streams of water at select body parts, LED lights infuse a delicate glow in the water and there is a heated backrest. An aromatherapy unit sends little fragrant clouds aloft every 20 seconds. Poof!

The bathroom, and the tub in particular, is an expense I no longer attempt to justify. But I have spent some time trying to understand it. Logically I know that self-care is important. Taking time for oneself is time well spent. I’ve read the books (okay, an article or two) about the benefits of finding space from the pressures of daily life. But that sounds clinical and what happens in my shrine is anything but. It’s about connection – and distance. It’s about finding oneself – and forgetting about the self for a few hours. It’s about feeling pampered – and humbled.

One night, I turned on the tap, poured the juniper bubble bath and Epsom salts into the tub and waited to be enveloped in a fragrant mist.

And waited.

I did not have hot water.

Ultramar’s message centre assured me help was on the way. I felt a nudge of joy.

That did not last. The repair guy wasn’t ruining his Saturday night because some woman’s bath water wasn’t hot. He eventually showed up but he needed a new part. Bottom line: I had to wait several days.

I did not hide my disappointment. The repairman did not hide his indifference. I was not happy about the emergency call service fee that still left me without hot water. I think he flipped me the bird on his way out.

But Monday came, the water heater was fixed and the bath was full of hot, inviting H²0. But this time I breathed in more than the latest release from Bath and Body Works. I realized at that moment that my shrine, wrapped in relaxation and reverence, is really about gratitude. It’s about being thankful to be here and thankful to be. Gratitude isn’t just about being personally thankful and appreciative, though, it is about extending that thanks to the world around you. It’s about grace.

I have taken that insight to heart. I remind myself now to smell the rose water before I speak out; to soak up the moment before rushing to the next task.

And I have apologized to the man from Ultramar.

donalee's novel, Hung out to Die, is coming from BWL Publishing Inc. in 2023

Meet Riel Brava. Attractive. Razor-sharp. Ambitious. And something much more.

 Riel, raised in Santa Barbara, California, has been transplanted to Nova Scotia where he is CEO of the Canadian Cannabis Corporation. It’s business as usual until Riel finds his world hanging by a thread. Actually, several threads. It doesn’t take the police long to determine all is not as it appears – and that includes Riel himself.