Monkey nuts, lions and waterfalls...by Sheila Claydon

Find my books here

A lot of my books are about other countries. A few of them mention local traditions. The Hollywood Collection is one of them! 

* * * * *

In the fourteenth century a Sumatran prince sought shelter from a thunderstorm by sailing his ship into the protected inland harbour of a small island. The first thing he saw was a strange beast unlike anything he had seen before. He was told it was a lion - a Singa in Malay. He paired it with the Malay word for city - Pura. And from that time on the small island was known as Singapore. 

It is an unverifiable legend of course but one that is still told with relish today by Singaporeans despite lions never having roamed their island.

It would also be a wonderful beginning for a story of adventure and mystery, especially as in the fourteenth century that inland harbour was no more than a small fishing village. So many characters could be brought to life, so much history reimagined. It would take a better skill than mine to do it justice though, particularly  as modern thinking frowns on misappropriating cultures and ethnicities, so I will skip the intervening seven centuries and concentrate on Singapore today.

In my last post I said I would report back when I returned from visiting my son and family who now live there, and what an adventure it has been. Today it is very far from that small fishing village. Instead, as a result of a programme of land reclamation, the island is 25% larger, with plans for this to reach at least 30% by 2130. 

This reclaimed land has provided space for what will be the world's largest container port when it is complete as well as Jewel Changi, which is possibly the most iconic airport in the world as well as one of the busiest. It has the world's tallest indoor waterfall as well as a 50 metre canopy bridge, a terraced forest setting, petal gardens full of flowers from around the world, a topiary walk, and so much more. It is known as a place where nature meets retail and Singaporeans who are not travelling anywhere, visit it the same as they would any other shopping mall. 

Shopping malls, small and large, are everywhere. They are also an air-conditioned essential in a country that has an average of 83% humidity, which can even reach 100% during prolonged periods of rain. Although I've visited many countries, I have never felt as hot as I did in my 3 weeks in Singapore. I also learned, very quickly, that an umbrella is a necessity. Not just for the unpredictable rain but for the sun. Much better than a sunhat. An umbrella, sandals and cotton clothes are all that are required. Surprisingly, suncream is not such a necessity as it is impossible to sit in the sun for more than a few minutes at a time. There is, however, a lot of shade because, as well as a myriad of covered walkways, there are many well maintained parks and green spaces. One I visited was the Spice Garden, which was amazing, and it was there that I learned the history of the world wide spice trade that dates back centuries, and the part the nutmeg trade played in the development of Singapore. 

We saw and did so many things that it is impossible to list them here, but one of the most interesting places was Clarke Quay, especially as we were lucky enough to go there with a Singaporean who was passionate about its history. He told us that the Singapore River was the centre of trade from when modern Singapore was founded in 1819 for almost two centuries. Barge lighters would transport goods to the warehouses upstream from the ships moored in the deeper waters of Boat Quay. He could remember this still happening when he was in his teens, whereas now that cargo services have been relocated, the Singapore River, Boat Quay and Clarke Quay have become tourist centres. With warehouses redeveloped into bars and restaurants, and the weather at its best after sunset, it is a lovely area to spend time eating and drinking in the balmy air, or taking a river cruise to see more of the sights.

One of the differences in our time in Singapore, however, was the fact that we weren't really tourists. Instead, we lived like the Singaporeans, shopping for food, meeting neighbours, mixing with people from different nationalities, eating often at a Hawker centre, which is a very enjoyable Singaporean experience.These are  open air complexes that sell a wide variety of delicious multicultural food and drinks at affordable price as opposed to the more expensive restaurants and bars. We did manage a few of those as well, however, especially Raffles Hotel. 

Sir Stamford Raffles is known as the founder of modern Singapore. He signed the official treaty that gave the British East India Company the right to set up a trading post and raise the British flag. In his short time there he helped to remodel Singapore into a modern city, established the settlement as a free port, founded an administration of justice to ensure peace and order, abolished slavery, opened schools and established a national library. Although Singapore is now independent there are still many references to him as well as an imposing statue, but, apart from its name, the famous Raffles Hotel has nothing to do with him. 

Originally a privately owned beach house, it was named Raffles when it eventually became an hotel. At that time was considered the epitome of luxury as it boasted the only electric lights and fans in Singapore.  In its heyday it attracted the rich and famous. Nowadays it is the must go place for tourists and we duly visited to sample the required Singapore Sling! A gin based pink cocktail containing pineapple juice, lime juice, curaçao and Benedictine, it has an intriguing history. At the turn of the century ladies could not consume alcohol in public, so drank teas and fruit juices while their menfolk drank gin or whisky. A Raffles bartender, Ngiam Tong Boon, decided to create a cocktail that looked like fruit juice while being infused with gin and liqueurs. He used grenadine and cherry liqueur to make it pink, leading people to think it was a socially acceptable drink for women. How times have changed!

Raffles Hotel has one other tradition. On each table is a small cloth sack full of monkey nuts. Patrons may eat as many as they wish but only if they throw the shells onto the floor. Apparently this harks back to when the floors at Raffles were made of wood and became very dusty. The nut shells helped to keep the dust down and also made it easier to sweep. Nowadays, despite newer flooring, the tradition remains.

Visiting different countries and learning about their history, their culture and their quirky traditions from the people who live there is a privilege, and Singapore and its friendly citizens is certainly somewhere I won't forget.

Meet A Slayer by Helen Henderson

 

Fire and Amulet by Helen Henderson
Click the title for purchase information

Although Deneas is not the central character in the sequel to Fire and Amulet, her part in a scene I'm working on has me thinking on her past and her present so this month's post features an interview with the slayer Deneas.

Here are some fun questions to help us know her.

It’s late, she’s bored. What does she do?

She takes her weapons into the garden behind the house. Slow twirls with the staff start her practice routine, which then changes to figure eights. Slowly, then building speed, she’ll go through an intricate series of moves. The physical and mental effort not only tones her muscles and builds strength, it also return body and soul to a calmer state.

Describe the kind of clothes she prefers to wear.

Her style could only be described as fighting ware. A tunic that fell below her hips starts her wardrobe.  Depending on what activity she contemplated, either short or long pants is also part of the ensemble. Adding a headcloth completes the usual desert garb for when she goes outside the village wall. Ankle-high leather boots provides protection against the heat of the sand or sharp stones. She made leather sandals to wear around town.

Does she know how to fix things?

Deneas first and best teacher was her mother, a skilled slayer in her own right. It was from her mother that Deneas learned not only how to travel the road, but to survive when doing so. Although to some, Trelleir's knowledge was more scholarly, he did share what he learned in his books and on the road with Deneas. Her association with the town blackmiths provided her with a different type of skill. Replacing a wagon wheel or repairing horse tack are among the things she can fix. While it is not in the true definition of fixing something, she is a master at creating fire.

How does she act around children she doesn’t know?

Even though she was an only child and had limited interactions with children, Deneas shows kindness and patience with an instinct to what a child needs. When she and Trelleir rescued a small child from kidnappers, Deneas worked to reassure the child with a soft tone and kneeling to be at the child’s level. Rest breaks unneeded by the adults were taken to allow the child to rest. In a show of friendship, Deneas made a staff appropriate to the child’s size to use as a walking stick – and as a weapon.

How does she act around people who don’t know what she is?

Fading into the background and not making herself the center of attention is Deneas’ preferred manner when in a crowd. However, when needed, she will reveal herself as a slayer and take charge of the situation.

How does she handle things when in a “proper” social situation?

Since Darceth was so far off the beaten path and not welcoming for the few traders who did brave Caldar's "bargaining" techniques, Deneas didn't have much opportunity for social events. She falls back onto habit and the rules and responses of obedience drilled into her during her slayer training. Even as she stood before the Council of Elders when they sent her out on an impossible quest that was in essence a death sentence, she latched onto her training. Despite the wall of ice around her soul, she uttered the formal response of parting sufficiently well that the elders didn’t criticize her.

Earrings/piercings/tattoos or unadorned skin?

Traders in the caravans that used to pass through Darceth had piercings and tattoos, but not the village residents. Jewelry is a rarity in Deneas’ village. The closest thing she owns is a pair of jeweled hair sticks Trelleir made for her. Little did she know that the red jewels in them were actually dragon tears.

Carriage or horseback?

Caldar, leader of the Council of Elders of Darceth, was so uncooperative that trader caravans refused to stop by the town. This resulted in there being only a few wagons in the village and no carriages. Only a handful of underfed horses constituted Darceth’s herd and Caldar wouldn’t let a mere slayer have one. Reality made the choice for Deneas. Her preferred transportation is on foot.

To purchase Fire and Amulet: BWL

~Until next month, stay safe and read.   Helen

Helen Henderson lives in western Tennessee with her husband. While she doesn’t have any pets in residence at the moment, she often visits a husky who have adopted her as one the pack. Find out more about her and her novels on her BWL author page.

Two Bits of Exciting News to Share with You by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about Nancy's books click on the cover above.

First, my contribution to BWL Publishing Inc. Canadian Historical Mystery Collection releases September 1, 2023. It is set in Winnipeg Manitoba in the late fall and early winter of the year 1869. The murder mystery is set against the backdrop of the Riel Rebellion which came to a head during this time period and into early 1870. It was a custom of the immigrating European men to take native wives. While they didn't marry them in a church, they were considered married by a la facon du pays, or according to the custom of the country. These country wives ensured the survival of the immigrants who were in no way equipped to survive the harsh Rupert's Land winters. However, once the settlement became more developed and expanded, the English imported women from the home country who were considered more acceptable in the increasingly European society. The new brides, dainty and refined, were married by clergy and usurped the country wives positions. These native women, both indigenous and Metis, were cast aside along with their children. Most of the women and children were absorbed back into their communities, some just disappeared. 

My second bit of good news. On the August long weekend, I had the pleasure of attending When Words Collide in Calgary. It was a wonderful time as always. I sat on three poetry panels with some amazing poets, and was on the panel for two slush pile readings, YA and Romance. We were treated to some amazing works in progress and invited to give our advice and feedback. 

It was great fun to touch base with old friends and make new ones. 

The poetry panels were Epic Poetry Readings and the audience was encouraged to share their poems as well, Cast A Spell with Poetry and Birth of a Poet. On the poetry panels with me were Jennifer Slebioda, Tammy Rebere, Josephine LoRe, Richard Graeme Cameron and Sandra Fitzpatrick. It was a lovely time and hopefully When Words Collide will continue to thrive under the new management. Registration for 2024 is open now online. 

Stay well, stay happy, stay safe.

 

The Joy of Aging by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Aging #Joy #Tongue in Cheek

 

There's the Joy of Cooking and the Joy of Sex books on the market. What about the Joy of Aging. The following is my first adventure on the Joy of Aging. This may be done tounge in cheek but using a writer's imagination, just believe this really happened but perhaps embroidered a bit.

The adventure began on my birthday when I turned eighty seven. I arrived with my son at the emergeny room. After giving my name and date of birth, the interviewer turned to my son. "Just what is your mother's complaint?" Son replied. "Don't ask me. She can tell you." The woman frowned but I went into the tale about how I felt. "Take a seat and we'll call you."

A short time later, I was taken to a room where someone asked many questions, drew blood and then doctors entered the room. The lead doctor, asked a question. "Do you want to live?" "Yes," I nswered. I wan set up for an ememgency dalysis treatment. So far things went well until they look out the special catheter for the dialysis. I lost a lot of blood and this meant a consent. Now came the Joy of Aging incident.

The doctor came into the room. "Can you give me the phone numbers for oneof your children?" "Why?" I asked. "I need to get a phone consent for a blood transfusion." "Why?" I asked. "You can't have a transfusion without consent." "Why can't I give the consent." I've been waiting for this moment for days. "I'm eighty-senen years and five days old." He looked at me and said  "You're not senile." I smiled but my thoughts took in his graying hair and I didn't say but thought. "It'll happen to you soon." 

This is my first Joy of Aging post. There may be more as the process continues.

Update on me Mather, by J.C. Kavanagh

 

Book 1 of the award-winning trilogy

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

It's been a trying time for everyone involved in the 24/7 care of my elderly mother in her home. She's in stage 4 bone/lung cancer. Meds have increased almost weekly and yet the fighting Irish in her marches on. 

Mom's many brothers and sisters phone regularly. I've sadly discovered that caring for the terminally ill can bring small, Canadian families together... and sometimes not. Nonetheless, we carry on. Mom, after all, is the priority.

All prayers and positive thoughts are welcome! 

In the meantime, below is Chapter One of the final book in The Twisted Climb trilogy. The book, A Bright Darkness, is a "grand and epic final to an award-winning series." Enjoy!

J.C. 

A Bright Darkness, Chapter One 

Patty pressed her body against the cold cliff wall, her hands searching for outcroppings and ledges. The ghostly rays from the moon above illuminated the jagged footholds on the rock wall above her and she pulled herself higher, edging closer to the top. Within moments, her fingers were touching the smooth top surface of the rock cliff. She peered cautiously over the edge. 

There they were – her teenaged daughter, Jayden; the handsome dark-haired dark-haired fellow; the carrot-haired guy, and a young curly-haired child – just a stone’s throw away. The flat rocky surface at the top of the cliff only spanned a mere three or four metres across. Beyond that, a yawning, deep blackness dropped into a steam-filled volcano vent. 

Ah - and there – there was the boy she followed so relentlessly. “Dick” they called him. The boy with the thick red scar etched across the top of his sickly, bald head. Patty was going to get rid of Dick once and for all. She lowered her head slowly, remaining out of their sight.

It was almost time.

She waited, panting with excitement, hands and feet braced, heart racing. 

Now. 

Patty raised her head and then gasped. The nerdy-looking, carrot-haired boy and the young child were gone. Had they jumped over the opposite side and into the volcano? Dick was standing at the opposite edge, his long, scarecrow-like arms dangling by his sides. At his feet lay the cable cutters he carried as his personal weapon. Maybe he pushed them into the abyss?

Her gaze shot over to Jayden and the handsome guy. Jayden was whispering and emphatically gesturing toward Dick. Before Patty could pull herself over the top, her daughter and the young man clasped hands. She watched in horror as they sprinted forward and picked up the scarred boy in an arm- tackle manoeuvre, just like the ‘red-rover’ game she used to play as a child. Before Dick could untangle himself from their grasp, they leapt off the cliff, taking Dick with them. 

Patty scrambled to the rock surface. All was quiet. White wisps of steam floated up from the hot volcano ahead. She was alone.

“Fools!”

Walking to where the kids had jumped, she picked up the long-handled cable cutters that Dick had dropped. Holding the tool up to the light of the full moon, she shook it angrily. A primal howl erupted from deep within her, the high pitch gaining intensity until she could hold it no more. As if on queue, a pack of wolves began a matching chorus of howls, echoing eerily across the valley.

Patty smiled – a cold, soul-less, unholy display. She manifested neither joy nor love nor sadness for the fate that had befallen her daughter, the scarred guy, and the handsome fellow. Instead, her green eyes were dark and malignant, reflecting a hatred that poured from within. She slapped the cutters across the palm of one hand and stepped toward the volcano’s edge. Steam and an orange glow came from below. She peered into the depths and the pupils of her green eyes reflected the hellish glow swirling beneath. 

“Fools!” she repeated.  “Dick was mine to destroy.”

* * * *

To purchase The Twisted Climb series, check out the links via BWL Publishing site: https://bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

J.C. Kavanagh, author of
The Twisted Climb - A Bright Darkness (Book 3)
and
The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2) voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada
AND
The Twisted Climb,
voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll
Voted Best Local Author, Simcoe County, Ontario, 2021
Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart
Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh
www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh
Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)
Instagram @authorjckavanagh

My Left Thumb: Philosophical Essays by Phillip Hoffmann

 

Click this link to purchase

https://books2read.com/My-Left-Thumb-Hoffmann

 

“It’s right in front of me as I type. Actually, it’s left. My left thumb. The thumbnail looks like one of those pictures in embryology textbooks of us when we were tiny cauliflowers. You see, I crushed it in a ladder accident a couple of months ago. It’s okay; renovator and thumb are doing fine and resting comfortably. The good news is that there’s no permanent damage, although the looks I get from the staff at Home Depot suggest that I need to sign up for Attention and Survival 101 at the University of Hard Knocks. 

I wouldn’t normally go on about the condition of my left thumb, but something puzzles me. There’s no lasting damage, but why not? If I’d lost my thumb altogether, which I was fearing at first when the ladder and I had our falling out, I would be living with a tangible and abiding disability in what is a resolutely digital world. As it turns out, I’m happy to report that my keyboard skills are no worse than they were before, and my thumb is working overtime on converting the sorry salad of keratin and skin tissue reposing on the space bar back into a normal nail. But how did my left thumb learn project management for thumbnail renewal? And why only the thumbnail but not whole thumb replacement? What does my left thumb know that I don’t?”

Those are the opening paragraphs of the title essay of “My Left Thumb: Philosophical Essays 2nd edn,” BWL’s first, brand new venture into the non-fiction market! I’m honoured and excited to be part of this latest stage in the ongoing BWL success story, although this title is something of a one-off, as BWL intends to focus primarily on genres such as biography, memoirs, history and travel writing on the non-fiction side. As for my collection, I hope this sample gives you a glimpse of my own interests and approach to writing. I have always appreciated essays as a writing form, and I’ve attempted to mirror qualities about the form that grab me most as a reader: lively, engaging, entertaining bite-size writing that illuminates philosophical topics that fascinate me, from science (in this case, biology) to free will to existence to truth and beyond. I hope you’re as interested in finding out more about me and my left thumb as I am finding out about you and your writing!

Phillip Hoffmann 2023 

 

Libraries in August

 

Find my books here

While others may think of the seashore or a cozy mountain cabin in summer, I think of the cool refuge of my local library.

Welcome to Vermont visitors with baked goods!

Our library is a true third place--not home or work, but another domain: one of learning, peace, gathering, discussion, and enjoyment. Perhaps a local politician is on a listening tour, perhaps it's story hour for some enchanted toddlers. A local author or artist may have some new work on display.

Young readers helping out at our plant sale

Visit these cherished places often. Better yet--support them. Most libraries have a Friends of the Library that help sponsor events and pay for extra supplies or needed improvements. They raise money too. We have sponsored a classic move night at our local theater, had plant and bake sales, run a trivia contest at a local restaurant. 

Classic movie night, anyone?

It's all enjoyable and a great place to meet fellow bibliophiles!  

A Fun and Inspiring Writers' Weekend

                                       Please click this link for author and book information

I'm still recovering from my hectic long weekend at Calgary's When Words Collide Festival for Readers and Writers. After three years of attending the festival online, it was great to see familiar faces in-person, make new connections, and participate in panels in front of live audiences. I also enjoyed spreading the word about BWL and Bouchercon Calgary 2026 at their Merchants' Room tables, which were conveniently located next to each other.  

BWL authors Astrid Theilgaard, Vicki Chatham, and me at the BWL table. 

As usual I especially enjoyed WWC's opening evening keynote addresses. The four Festival Guest Authors were each given twenty minutes to talk about anything they wanted. This year's speeches were intensely personal and brave. Writing coach and international speaker Angela Ackerman shared her struggle with imposter syndrome despite selling almost a million books in ten languages. I'm sure every writer in the room could relate. Stacey Kondla spoke about her stroke, which prompted her successful new career as a literary agent. Nicole Baart, author of "race-to-the finish family dramas," discussed how her need for multiple surgeries during childhood led her to becoming a writer. 

On my seven panels I discussed such topics such as creating characters, writing mental health, fiction in a world with COVID-19, putting your characters in danger, and how to write a series without losing your way (or your mind). About the latter, I confessed my method of combing through my notes and earlier series novels to recall a character's eye colour, age, or divorce date wasn't the most efficient way of keeping track of continuing series characters and suggested authors use a spreadsheet. Fellow panelist Cathy Ace prefers a series bible, which she described as a word document that she searches for a character's pertinent details. Whatever works for each writer. 

At the keynote event, WWC chair Randy McCharles passed the torch (a dragon statue) to the festival's new management, the Alexandra Writers' Centre Society. The AWCS was busy taking registrations for next year's festival in the Merchants' Room. WWC 2024 is already 70 % sold out. AWCS has put together an interesting lineup of Guests of Honour and Special Guest authors. Check their website for updates and to register for When Words Collide Volume Two: Every Chapter Has Another Great Story.

        

Thanks to Diane Bator (above) for organizing the BWL table. Author Layton Park stopped by to chat with Diane and do a table shift. Diane went home with ideas for sprucing up the BWL table next year. Even the Merchants' Room can be inspiring. 

WWC panel with mystery writers PD Workman, BWL author Joan Donaldson-Yarmey, Jonathan Whitelaw, and Cathy Ace. 

                  

Kutock vs Kennedy by Karla Stover

 

Visit Karla's BWL Author page for book and purchase details

REGARDING CLOTHES

KUTOCK vs KENNEDY:  The Lengths to Which Women Will Go

 

            On March 21, 1922, actress Frances Kennedy raised her right hand to God, promised to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and took the stand in an Illinois courtroom. Facing her from the right of the room’s center aisle was the plaintiff, tailor Morris Kutock, and his attorney.  On the other side of the aisle were her defense attorney, Harry N. Pritzker, her husband, Thomas Johnson, and her witnesses. The witnesses included costumer Mme. Maebelle, model Doris Faulkner, Robert D. Boniel, a newspaper critic for the Dramatic Mirror, and designer, Lester Essig. At the turn of the 20th century, Essig owned Lester, Ltd. and, under the name Mr. Essig, was a famous Chicago costume and theatrical designer, dressing some of the most celebrated names in the country, including Ginger Rogers, Joan Crawford and other stars of that caliber. Presiding over the case was Justice of the Peace Max Witkower, who had impaneled an all-woman jury ranging in ages from eighteen to twenty-two.

            The issue was $175 owed for a dress ordered by Miss Kennedy, delivered after the agreed-upon date, and for which she refused to pay. And under consideration was how long women’s fashions remain in style.

            On the stand, Miss Kennedy crossed an elegantly, silk-stocking-clad leg, stated her name, and batted her eyelashes.

            “How old are you, Miss Kennedy?” asked Attorney Pritzker.

            The defendant lowered her lashes, fingered the folds of her mink, and glanced in panic at her for husband for help.

            “I just never can remember,” she answered at last. “Whenever I want to know my age I have to phone my sister, but the last time I phoned her she said she had forgotten, too.”

            By mutual agreement, it was decided she was over twenty-one.

            “And how long have you been an actress?”

            Again, she looked helplessly at her husband, then at the judge. The issue was dropped.

            Testimony began.

            “I ordered this green, sequined gown for an Irish number I had to sing at my opening (on

 St. Patrick’s Day) in New York,” she testified. “It was to be ready on February 5^th. I left the city

 on February 6^th without the gown because it wasn’t done. I had to hurriedly order another one somewhere else. I had to wear a green gown, you see?”

            “You couldn’t possible have sung an Irish song in another colored gown, orange, for example?” Asked the judge.

            “Not without running into danger. Besides, dresses go out of style about every three weeks. An actress can’t appear in old models. The public looks to her for the (current) styles.”

            Kennedy went to say that Kutock wanted to deliver the gown when she got back to town and, of course, expected payment. However, she refused to take delivery or pay him.

            At this point, her husband brought into evidence a black suitcase that he proceeded to unpack. Three gowns were held up for both the judge and the jury to inspect. The most recently-purchased gown was distinctly longer than the other two.

            Kennedy turned to the female jury. “See what you’re coming to, girls?” She indicated the change in lengths.

            Rather quickly, the judge intervened.

            Model Doris Faulkner then took the stand and wowed the courtroom with lipstick, earrings, hat, shoe heels, and buckles all of a matching shade of carmine, made, in part, from powdered insect bodies.

            “Styles change weekly, sometimes,” she testified. “Of course an actress couldn’t be expected to wear a dress that is four whole weeks behind the style.”

            One by one, Mm. Maebelle, Robert Boniel, and Mr. Lester all testified, saying essentially the same thing.

            Following this “expert testimony,” Attorney Pritzker made an impassioned closing argument on behalf of his client, Miss Kennedy.

            “Remember that this is a momentous occasion,” he said. “You are here to determine whether styles do change every few weeks and, that when a woman’s dress is new in April, it has no value in May.”

            He then did a bit of an about face, sounding more like the prosecution than the defense.

            “Remember, too,” he said, “the economic crisis were emerging from. (Did he mean World War I?). Consider what effect it would have on all the women in the country if they had to have a new gown every thirty days or be guilty of the heinous offense of being out of style. Think of the misery of the countless husbands who would be unable to provide these numerous gowns for their beloved wives. In short, it is a most important matter. Consider carefully your answer, young women.”

            And deliberate they did—for four whole minutes. After all, as the women well knew, “It might be possible to get away with a tweed suit that was a year old, but wives were expected to reflect their husband’s wealth and position. All the dressing up—the new clothes and jewelry—was a marital duty, a silent advertisement of status. Furthermore, actresses had replaced royalty as the pinnacle of fashion. They were the vehicle for showing clothes to a wider audience than ever before.”

            The jury found on behalf of Miss Kennedy whereupon she hugged and kissed the ladies, gave them autographed photographs of herself, and invited them to her show. That brought on such a cacophony of female voices that a complaint, forwarded to the Chief of Police, resulted in Judge Witkower’s court being evicted from its City Hall premises.

            As unimportant as the case may seem today, the actions of the all-woman jury fired up the doubts of those who already questioned women’s competence to “Handle the rights of full citizenship, unconvinced that women could be trusted with weighty matters of state when they so blithely and indecorously handled their own affairs.”

            As it turned out, though, seventeen years later the verdict was vindicated. In 1939 members of the Paris couture refused to participate in the New York World’s Fair. The reason given was that the clothing on display would be out of date within one month of arrival.

Do Something that Scares You - by Barbara Baker

I'm sure you've heard the expression "do one thing every day that scares you." The quotation is often misattributed to Eleanor Roosevelt who said, "you gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face." Although her quote is lengthy, it doesn't sound as flippant as running around doing scary shit every day just because.

A few weeks ago, my adventure on Shuswap Lake became my scary event that will last for months. 

The first night out, I relax and float around. I’m a huge fan of bathtub warm water and lake is ideal. My life jacket is snug. The lake is calm. And I’m with friends who abide by my ‘no splashing’ rule. Life is perfect as the sun sets on Copper Island.

The next day a new water toy to pull behind the boat comes out. The guys watch a few YouTube videos of a teenager doing handstands and spins on the water disc. They grin and say he makes it look easy.

Fastening my life jacket up tighter than usual, I lower myself onto the disc, get on my stomach and grab the two handles in the middle. I rock side to side. Feels stable. I stick an arm straight down into the water to see when it gets cold. It's warm right up to my elbow. Works for me. I’ll just stay on top. 

With my thumbs up gesture, the boat moves forward, and the rope tightens. The guys say the boat shouldn’t go faster than 15 km/hour. Heck, I go faster than that when I’m biking downhill.

Once I’m skipping across the wake, I loosen my grip on the handles. The tension is less than water skiing. Nice. I scootch my legs up and wiggle around until I’m sitting. When I let go of both handles, I still stay on the disc. Easy-peasy. Feeling like a rock star I wave at my friends on the boat.

 Now I just have to stand up. 

I get into a crouching position. Almost there. I lift one leg up and move it forward. My foot steps over the centre line and the front of the disc tips down. Darn it. I know what’s coming but I try to shift my weight back in hopes I can compensate and counterbalance. Not a chance. My rock star status (with me right behind) fly over the front of the disc and I torpedo headfirst through the warm water into the cold. 

 

With lips shut tight (to keep the minnows out) I thrash my arms above my head to find the surface. When I pop out, water gushes out my nostrils. Hair clings to my face. Holding my chin up, I gasp a few good breaths and pat my life jacket. It performed well.

The expressions of the people at the back of the boat indicate I performed an awesome wipeout. If getting up and standing on the disc had to be unsuccessful, it’s good to know I can amuse people.

I wait for the boat to circle around and pick me up. After drying off, I assume a more relaxing position on the deck and watch the scenery pass by. So much for doing scary shit just because. 

 

With only a few weeks of summer left, have a few adventures everyone. If you try something scary, stay safe, and don’t be afraid to look fear in the face - even if you end up getting wet.

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

Summer Vibes by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

    

Summer is always a busy time for me. Book wise, there is just a ton going on. This summer, I have already had several book signings and a few conventions. But now that the season is winding down, I have a writing retreat, which if you have been following my blog, know that I attended last summer! 

I. AM. SO. EXCITED. 

But on top of that, I have been invited to host a workshop for Wordsfall, which is an annual writing event in my hometown province. I'm pretty excited about it, as I get to talk about writing fantasy with a group of aspiring writers. I have also been invited to read that night. Then there is horror fest, and an upcoming release of a new novel, and finishing up the draft to Twice Hung, which is part of the Canadian Historical Mystery series. 

I'm pretty pumped. But also going crazy with all the writing projects that I have going on. Three novels, an upcoming project to be announced, as well as a workshop, reading, and keeping up with life in general. 

I guess... whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger? 

Friends by J. S. Marlo

 

Seasoned Hearts

"Love & Sacrifice #1"

is now available  

click here 

 

 

  

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

Over the decades, I've made many friends. Some have faded in the background or are resting in peace, others are very much present in my life, and a special few are closer than family.

Many, many years ago, I'd stumbled on a lovely poem by an unknown author about friends. It talked about friends for a season and friends for a lifetime. Well, I rediscovered the poem a few months ago, and it was much more meaningful and powerful than I remembered.

Reason, Season, Lifetime Poem

People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime.

When you figure out which one it is, you will know what to do for each person.

When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty; to provide you with guidance and support; to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be.

Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered and now it is time to move on.

Some people come into your life for a SEASON, because your turn has come to share, grow or learn. They bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it. It is real. But only for a season.

LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons; things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person, and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life. It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant.

— Unknown

If that poem touched your heart, you will enjoy reading "Seasoned Hearts".

Enjoy the people in your life. Hugs! 

J. S.

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

Coming October 1, 2023 - The Folklorist by Eileen O'Finlan

 

Click here for purchase information

I am excited to announce that my next historical novel, The Folklorist, will be released on October 1, 2023, by BWL Publishing just in time for Halloween! Charlotte Lajoie, a young professional folklorist, struggling to build her career in 1973, is given the 1839 diary of her ancestor Jerusha Kendall. Reading the diary leads her to believe that Jerusha and her family were involved in what would come to be known as the New England Vampire Panic. And it seems that at least one of Charlotte's ancestors is still angry about it. 

Jerusha Kendall was only nine years old in 1832 when something awful happened in her family, but she has no idea what. She has grown up knowing that not only her family, but the entire village of Birch Falls, Vermont is keeping it a secret from her. By 1839, when she begins keeping a diary, she's determined to learn what happened that caused her mother to stop speaking to her dearest friend, isolate Jerusha from all but her own family, and withdraw from their close-knit community.

As Charlotte studies Jerusha's diary, she starts to believe that she knows what happened even if Jerusha never figured it out. Meanwhile, Charlotte has her hands full trying to juggle work for an insecure, infuriatingly sexist boss at the New England Folklife Museum, decide on the way forward in her own career, and find a way to bring peace to an aggrieved ghost.

If you're interested in finding out what folklore, ghosts, and vampires have in common, check out The Folklorist in October.

The Making of a Trilogy by Eileen O'Finlan

 

Click here to download a FREE pdf of this book during the month of August!

When I wrote my debut novel, Kelegeen, historical fiction set in Ireland during the Great Hunger (aka Potato Famine) I wasn't planning on writing a sequel. I thought all the way through that it would be a stand alone. It wasn't until I completely rewrote the first draft that thoughts about what might happen to the characters after the story's ending started coming to mind. I was nearing the end of the rewrite when I made the decision that a sequel was necessary. I even ended Kelegeen in such a way as to lend itself to a continuation.

Next came Erin's Children. Erin, in this case, is not a character, but refers to Ireland (think erin go bragh), and her children are those who emigrated to escape starvation. 

Click here for purchase information

My first inclination was to set it in Boston as many Irish settled there at the time. I live in central Massachusetts so Boston is just under two hours from me. I figured I could get out there a few times as part of my reseach. Fortunately for me, I mentioned it to someone at work who told me of a great book about the history of the Irish in Worcester. 

Worcester is the city in which I work and very close to where I live. I changed my mind and, instead, decided to set it here, and I am so glad I did. What a great time I had researching the history of the city in which I've spent the majority of my life! I learned so many fascinating things, many of which I was able to incorporate into the story. After publication, I even had a request from a group of readers to give a walking tour of one of the sections of the city in which a large portion of the book takes place. It was a real joy and a wonderful way to connect with readers.

As with Kelegeen, when I finished Erin's Children I thought I was done with these characters. But, also, as with Kelegeen, they refused to let me go. So now it's on to research for the third in this Irish trilogy. I can hardly wait to dive into more of Worcester's past. This time the focus for the book will be on the next generation, so I'll be looking at the post American Civil War era of the 1870s and 1880s. 

For many writers of historical fiction the research is just as enjoyable as the writing, and I am no exception. Now that I have completed work on my next historical novel, The Folklorist, which will be released by BWL Publishing in October of 2023, I can focus on a deep dive into late Victorian-era Worcester. Yes!