Happy Birthday by Roseanne Dowell

Today is my 2nd child's birthday. Forty-nine years ago today at 2:16 PM I gave birth to another beautiful baby girl. Funny how we never forget the births of our children. I can remember everyone down to the minute.
I was a bit anxious about giving birth. After all it was only 9 days until Christmas and I was already ten days late.  I didn't want a Christmas baby, nor did I want to be 19 days late, I'm sure everyone who has had a child can relate to that last month of pregnancy.
Back then they let you go late- ten days, fifteen days, didn't matter. My sister was almost a whole month late. But I digress.
I had a doctor's appointment on the afternoon of the 14th of December,  and hoped he'd  get the ball rolling so to speak.  After examining me, he said I was dilated and it could be any time, but if I wanted I could take a combination of orange juice, castor oil and baking soda. Never having experienced this or knowing anyone who did, I went to the store and purchased the items, came home and mixed them together. I proceeded to drink them. It only took a second or two for them to come up on me and I barely made it to the bathroom to rid myself of this awful concoction. Not one I'd recommend to anyone, by the way. Even thinking about it turns my stomach. I couldn't drink orange juice for years after that.
Okay so that didn't work.  My older sister who lived next door, and her fourth child just a month before, was all for giving advice to help me go into labor.
On December 15th, her first suggestion was to stand next to a chair and do knee bends - ten of them I believe. Rest, do ten more. After about twenty minutes of that, I asked for some other idea. Funny as it sounds now, she recommended my husband drive very fast over railroad tracks. Okay, that wasn't going to happen. I wasn't about to wreck our car just to go into labor. Besides, I doubted that would work either
So she came up with a plan, go to the hospital and tell them I was in labor. The worst they'd do is send me home. Okay, I admit, by this time I was desperate so that evening my husband took me to the hospital. As luck would have it, I was experiencing labor pains - even though I didn't feel them. Few and far between, but they didn't send me home. Since I'd slept through my older daughter's labor, it didn't surprise me that I wasn't feeling them. However, I didn't deliver that night.
My husband went home and the next afternoon around two o'clock the doctor came in and broke my water. I heard him telling my husband he stripped my membranes. Did my husband ask what that meant? Heck no.
At any rate, after checking me again, the doctor said it would be a while and left. No more had he walked out of the room, I looked at the nurse and said, "my baby's coming."
 She said, "no the doctor said it would be a while."

 I shook my head and said, "NO, my baby's coming now."
I think more to appease me than anything, she checked me and yelled, "Someone stop the doctor. Her baby's coming."
Things happened pretty quickly after that. They moved me into delivery, the anesthesiologist and doctor arrived pretty much the same time and put me out. Yes, this was back in the day they put you

to sleep to deliver
Next thing I woke up with them showing me my beautiful baby girl. I took one look at her and asked if they were sure that was my baby.
Of course they panicked and quickly looked at my wrist band and her bracelet and assured me it was my baby. I said okay and cuddled her close to me. After my first little girl being born pretty  with just a little fuzz of blond hair, I didn't expect a baby with dark hair, let alone enough to make a curl on top of her head.
So Happy Birthday to one of my beautiful daughters, Kimberly Anne (Dowell) Dibble. I hope you have a fantastic day.

Find all of  Roseanne's books at Amazon or Books We Love

Here comes the bride - wait, what???

By Michelle Lee

BWL Art Director

Finding images can be somewhat of a challenge - especially for historical fiction.  The costumes are just so expensive, and each time period had such drastically different clothing styles.  Plus there were different styles within each time period depending upon where in the world the story is set.

Yeah, historical fiction can be a challenge to create cover art for.

So I was tickled when I came across a suggestion for a simple and easy way around it (in some cases at least).  You ready for it?

BRIDES!

That's right, most bridal gowns are poofy and have those small beading details that just add so much depth to the image.  And they really are very versatile in what you can use them for - plus the women generally have intricate hair styles, which also adds to the appeal of the images.

Now I am not saying that will work for all historical fiction (it will work best with romances), but it does offer some more options.  Like I mentioned in a previous post, not all details are going to be time period exact.  So sometimes you have to overlook the fact that some details won't be perfect ... and look at the cover and evaluate the images as a whole.  

Now for an example of how a wedding gown can be used ...

When the dress is white, it is very obviously a wedding gown.  But how I have modified it to dark blue?  It has the look of a ball gown ... and with that hair-do, she could easily fit in several different time periods.

Thoughts?

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If you are interested in other rambling about cover art by Michelle Lee, check out the following Inside BWL Blog Posts:
Alas Poor Images, I Cannot Find You
Fonts, Fonts, and More Fonts

and other Behind The Cover Art posts ...

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Michelle Lee is a self-taught cover artist who has an opinion on pretty much everything, and a love of the natural world that often means tidbits and trivia are shared on a whim.  You can check out her portfolio at: Stardust Creations

Sepia Photos and Other Stories by Sheila Claydon

I was sorting through family photographs a while back when a picture of a group of young people caught my eye, or, to be more exact, a girl in the centre of the group. The photo, which was well over one hundred years old, was in faded sepia, so it wasn't possible to know the exact colour of her hair or eyes. They looked dark though, and her hair, which was twisted up on top of her head in the complicated style of the nineteenth century, was curling and abundant. She was laughing and dimpled and looked the picture of health and energy.

Smiling at her was a young man. He was wearing a straw boater and had a curling moustache and a wicked grin. He looked extremely dashing. Between them stood a beautiful little boy. He was wearing a white smock and his head was a tangle of blonde curls. He was probably about three years old.

Eventually I found out who they were, and because they were so beguiling I set about tracking their life. I discovered that the little boy, whose name was John, was eventually joined by two little blonde sisters. So far so good.

Then I found out that the young man was a cobbler, as were his father and grandfather before him. At this point I also discovered a poignant coincidence. Although this man was not related to me, the tiny shop he once owned was the very one where I used to take my own family's shoes to be mended when I was a child. He was long gone by then but the shop was still there and the wooden lasts hanging on the wall were the very ones he used when he was repairing shoes.  Another thing remained as well, the compassionate kindness he had shown to everyone who came to him. Somehow it had seeped into the very walls of the little shop and transferred itself to the new owner, a gentle man who always had time, kind words, and a candy for the little girl who came to collect her father's shoes.

In the case of my sepia gentleman, however, the compassion had come at a price. His kindness meant that he frequently mended shoes for free if his customers couldn't afford the leather, or he agreed to wait for their payment if it meant they were able to better feed their children. He also supported his two unmarried sisters financially for the whole of his life.  This generosity meant that his own family sometimes had to go without, something that was a bitter pill for his beautiful wife to swallow once her own sister married a wealthy man. She hated being the poor relative, and hated even more that her children were often dressed in their rich cousins' hand-me-downs.

Eventually I found a picture of that lovely girl and her dashing young husband when they had grown old and their family were long gone, and it was so sad. This one wasn't sepia, instead it was the grainy black and white of the twentieth century. In it, my lovely gentleman's boater had been replaced by a sensible cloth cap and his curling moustache had gone, as had most of his hair. As for the beautiful, vibrant girl, she had become a thin, sad-faced old woman.

When I saw it my heart went out to both of them, and yet at the same time everything I'd learned about their lives began to weave itself into a story in that part of my brain that collects and sifts ideas. I am a writer after all, and it has been said that all writers have a splinter of ice in their heart because  how else can they use what they see around them, so one day I might write their story, or maybe I will I just use the photograph and give them a happier ending. At the moment I have no idea, but it's amazing what one sepia photograph can do, and I still have a trunk full of family history to be sorted through.

My books have been triggered by the oddest things: a campaign to open a bridle path, a celebrity photo-shoot, a chance conversation on board a cruise ship, and other, even more unlikely happenings. They can be found at http://bookswelove.net/claydon.php