A Little Bit About Herbs by Rosemary Morris

To find more of Rosemary's work click on the cover above.

Photo Credit- Nancy Bell

Borage ~ The Herb that Cheers

Herbs
Today, we are concerned about pollution, rivers poisoned by chemicals, the ozone layer which becomes increasingly thinner, etc., with the result that a simple lifestyle is becoming more popular. Wonder drugs and pills available over the counter from pharmacists often have unwelcome side effects, but many herbs from the kitchen, garden centers, greengrocers and supermarkets, or those grown indoors in pots or in the garden are easily available and beneficial for minor, everyday ailments.
A Brief History

During biblical days prophets sanctioned the use of medicinal herbs which grew in the Bible lands and throughout the Middle East where marjoram, mint, sage and thyme grew.
In Babylon circa 2000 B.C, the medicinal use of herbs was recorded with instructions for their preparation and administration.
The ancient Egyptians imported herbs and spices from Babylon and India. Through trade they learned how to use many including anise, caraway, fenugreek, opium and saffron from The Middle East.
Greeks studied herbal lore. The writings of Hippocrates, ‘The Father of Modern Medicine’, a physician and teacher, circa 400 B.C. was the pattern for medicine as we know it today. In the first century A.D. Dioscorides, the Greek physician listed more than 500 plants and herbs in his book Materia Medica, the standard work on the subject which Christian religious orders consulted.
Galen, a physician in Imperial Rome wrote medical books which were consulted for 1,500 years. Wherever Romans went they took medicinal seeds and plants. In Great Britain they introduced more than 200 herbs which included borage, betony, fennel, parsley, rosemary and thyme. After the Romans left, monasteries had ‘physick’ gardens. The monks became famous for their use of herbs to heal the sick. Herbal knowledge was mostly passed down by word of mouth until James Gerard, James 1st’s apothecary wrote his well-known ‘Herball’ in which he drew on the work of a Flemish physician, Dodens. Gerard wrote about plants in ‘that new lande’, America and mentioned the potato and the tomato - ‘The Apple of Love.’
The seeds and roots settlers took to America flourished. Native Americans introduced them to bergamot, discovered by the Spanish doctor call Nicholas Monardes, who wrote the first herbal recorded in America. In the 18th century the Shakers, whose influence lasted 100 years, grew and sold medicinal herbs, they included basil, borage, marjoram, horehound, hyssop, sage tansy and thyme with which they made ointments, pills, powders and salves.
During the Industrial Revolution in the United Kingdom, people moved into small terraced houses without gardens. The use of home remedies that required herbs declined. By the 20th century, scientific advancement meant there was no need to support an expensive herb industry. However, the use of herbs survived to this day in Mediterranean countries and elsewhere.
Ready made food made in large quantities to which preservatives have been added lacks aroma, colour and flavor, so many people try out recipes which include herbs and value their health-giving properties. They also drink herb teas and use other herbal remedies.

Herb Tea
In England a wide variety of herb teas are available from health food shops and supermarkets, and fresh herbs are available from greengrocers and supermarkets.
I often make a cup with herbs from my garden. One of my favourites is made with home grown freshly picked black peppermint or home- grown dried leaves.
To prepare most herb teas add a breakfast cup of boiling water to a sachet, to three teaspoons of fresh chopped herbs or one teaspoon of dried herbs and sweeten the drink to suit your taste. Leave it to brew for five minutes then strain it and drink it. To enjoy a refreshing drink on a hot day put a cover over the cup and put it in the refrigerator and enjoy your tea when it is chilled.

Novels by Rosemary Morris

Early 18th Century novels: Tangled Love, Far Beyond Rubies, The Captain and The Countess

Regency Novels False Pretences, Sunday’s Child, Monday’s Child, Tuesday’s Child, Wednesday’s Child and Thursday’s Child. Friday’s Child to be published in June 2019

Mediaeval Novel Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary

Can You Guess the Song? by Katherine Pym

 Pre-Order Here

~*~*~*~

Faerie Land

Faerie Dust

Can you guess the song?

Violet Snodgrass unfolded her wings and flew from the narrow, bell shaped flower. Pollen laden stamens tickled her toes as she glided by. Sunshine warmed her head.

She fluttered over their fairy village, a field of wild flowers that bordered a cotton field. She laughed at the children who giggled as they tumbled leaf-to-leaf. From open flowers, fairies waved at her when she passed. She floated toward the pond and soon found her chums on an old tree stump.

“What are you doing?” she asked when her feet touched the mossy wood.

“We’re going fishing,” Thorn announced, his black eyes gazing at the still pond. Short tempered, his words could stab an unsuspecting fairy into sudden flight.

“We found this long stalk with shrivelled flower petals at the end.” Marigold waved it above her head. Her button mouth curled into a pert grin. “The fish will love the taste.”

Her voice carried over the pond. A fish jumped. Water splashed.

“We don’t eat fish,” Daisy said, her fair skin bright in the sunlight.

Thorn raised the flower stem like a battle-pike. “It’ll be fun. We shall conquer this pond, and enslave the fish.”

My daddy has plenty. My mama is beautiful.

“Our parents will be cross if we torment the shy beasties.” A cautious lass, Azalea’s namesake only flowered for a short time each spring. She must live her life carefully.

Leif shook his head. “We’ll only coax them to the surface and talk to them.”

Violet smiled at the gentle lad who loved to explore tree roots for the crawly things they provided.

“How will you do it?” Camellia, the sweetest of them all, ran her finger down the bent stalk that would be their fishing rod.

“From the lily pads. The fish live under them. Who’s coming with me?” Thorn flew to the lilies and settled on a pad. He sank to his knees and looked into the water. “Hey, there’s something down there, and it’s big.”

Everyone flew to the lily pads. Violet wondered what could be under the water, for they rarely saw anyone from outside their world, except when the big people planted or picked cotton, a gruelling job by the look of it.

Burr dunked the flower into the pond and waggled the shrivelled petals. Insects swarmed, then settled closer to the water. Suddenly, something big rose to the surface. His snout emerged to nibble the insects. He sank, again, to the bottom of the pond.

“Oh no! A trout,” Burr cried as if frightened. “They eat fairies.” He smirked and Violet frowned. His prickly wit annoyed her most of the time.

“I’ve never heard that.” Daisy took a step backwards, her heel on the edge of the lily pad.

Burr waggled his brow. “They do.” He pushed the stem deeper, wiggling it in front of the big trout.

Please protect me

I will be strong. I will not cry.

“You are trying to scare us,” Violet snapped.

“Ha!” Burr jumped up and down on the pad.

“Stop it. Stop it right now,” the fairies cried. “You’ll make us fall in the pond. Our wings will get slimy.”

He fell on his back, laughing and kicking his feet. Wilted petals floated in the pond. Insects danced in a cloud above the water.

The big trout’s snout broke the surface. He bit off the soggy petals and chewed. Burr jumped to his feet, his curly red hair in sharp spikes about his head. “Why did you do that?”

The fish gazed at them, his eyes sad. “Why do you torment me? I am the king of trout, and this pond is my castle.” He spat a bead of water. It arced and hit Burr on the nose.

He scrubbed his face. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Burr, you are not nice,” Violet scolded. She turned to the king of trout. “How big is your kingdom?”

He waved his fin and water rippled. “My kingdom is as far as you can see.”

I rise on the morning mist, and sing.

Violet fluttered into the air. The area lush with trees and flowers, a stream bubbled from the pond, a path that flowed beyond reach. A gate of treacherous rocks protected the entrance, with a big fish guarding all who would enter. Many waited at the gate, their tails swaying in the current.

She flew back to the lilies where the king of trout spoke in a low, rumbling voice to her chums. They sat on the pads and listened intently to his majesty’s wisdom.

Her eyes met King Trout’s. He nodded at her.

My wings will take me into the sky.

“My kingdom protects your kingdom from the pixies that live in the moorland beyond this pond.”

“And our kingdom protects yours,” Leif interjected. “We keep the bears and humans away so that you may live in peace.” 

Violet smiled. She remembered Dad telling her this one evening as they sat down to a supper of nectar and seed cakes.

The king of trout regally nodded, then he took a bite of swirling insects. He winked at Violet.

As if the fairies suddenly realised the danger, they jumped to their feet. Their wings buzzed and whirred. “Pixies are wicked creatures. They tease everyone.”

Fat tears dropped onto Camellia’s pale cheeks. “I want my mum and dad.”

“But we need their pixie dust to fly.” Azalea’s wings thrummed. Sparkling dust flowed from gossamer feathers.

Burr and Thorn stood with their wings tucked together; their fists jabbed the air. “We’ll protect you.”

King Trout banged his tail on the muddy pond floor, summoning his army. Soon, the water darkened with sleek bodies, side-by-side, heads-to-tails as they gave homage to their king.

“The pixies will come soon,” his majesty calmly said, his snout and eyes surrounded by other noses and eyes.  

I am strong

I am safe with my daddy and mama at my side.

The bright sun dimmed as a cloud of chattering pixies rose in the sky. Their sharp teeth glistened, their beady eyes full of mischief, they swooped over the pond, menaced Violet and her friends.

Trout soldiers jumped out of the water, their jaws snapping at the pixies, who screamed and laughed. They swiped at the fish’s snouts, grabbed Violet’s and her friends’ hair and clothes. The trout spat pebbles at the pixies, who leapt out of the way with shouts of glee. Pixie dust rained on them, fell into the water and onto the grasses that lined the pond.

Fairy adults swept into the fray. They fought the pixies with their wands. Sharp petals poured over the pixies who brushed them away. “We like heather, not these spikey flower petals. Stop. Stop, we say.” They shivered and more fairy dust fell.

Shamans and priestesses held diaphanous veils aloft to catch pixie dust. When piles and piles of sparkling dust filled the veils, ready to drop off the edges, and into the pond, they lugged away their catch.

Violet’s father and mother flew over them, Dad’s arms outspread. “Halt!”

Mum smiled and nodded.

The trout and fairy realms grew tired and frail in the gathering dusk. Pixies floated above the pond. Fairies fluttered about the grassy verge, their breaths heavy from battle. The trout army sank beneath the surface, their ripples producing little waves onshore.

Violet sank onto the lily pad and smiled at her dad. Proud of him, she wanted to fly into his arms for a gentle hug, but as their leader, it would have to wait.

“This battle is finished. We will now go to our dinners of berries and perfumed honey.” With confidence and pride, her parents’ larger than normal wings took them away from the lily-pond. They led the way to their village in the flowers that surrounded the cotton field.

Violet’s wings took her into the air. They buzzed her past the villagers to her father where she took his hand.

He gave her a little squeeze and a wink. “Well done, sweet daughter. Well done.”

Did you guess the song?

Summertime by George Gershwin

The Who, WHAT, Where, Why and When of Writing - Part 2

In Part One, we reflected about who we are and how much we wanted to write. In short:

A lot of writers just dive in when the muse strikes and we reach for laptops, paper, receipts, napkins...whatever is as hand to put our thoughts into written form. Some writers practice writing every day, using morning pages to empty their minds of doubt and rambling thoughts before they get to the task of creating. Yet others, ponder the universe and wait for divine inspiration before they are able to sit down to write. Personally, I've been known to scribble ideas into a notebook while cooking dinner. Sticks of spaghetti do not make good pens.

In Part Two, we're moving on to WHAT??? We've identified the urge to write and create, now it's time to take it a step further and discover what you want to write?

What do you like to read?
A lot of writers tend to read all sorts of genres before they settle into an area - loosely defined at times - that they enjoy reading and eventually writing. I worked my way up though the Dick and Jane series back in elementary, then graduated to Wind in the Willows before I discovered The Hardy Boys alongside Nancy Drew, UFO books, and anything else that made my creativity soar. I dug into Sidney Sheldon novels before I'd even hit high school.

What if I like more than one genre?
Chances are you like more than one type of fruit or candy. Just like in the food world, there are no rules that say you can only read or even write only one genre. Writers mix them up all the time.
Romantic suspense, Erotic fantasy, Paranormal mysteries, the combinations are limited only by your own imagination.

What if I have no idea what to write?
At very basic, write about your life. Start with a childhood memory and exaggerate it. Write about the brother you wished you'd had. About the house you wished you'd lived in. About how your grandfather smoked a pipe after dinner every night and you would sit close to him and watch the smoke swirl around his head while the sweet scent of his tobacco tickled your nose.
Then take it up a notch and create a story around it.

How do you come up with ideas?
Writing prompts are a great starting point. You can find them on web sites, at writing group meetings, and in any endless number of books on the subject. (Oh look, something to write about!) One method we use in our writing group is to choose a book then turn to a random page, find a sentence, and GO!

Conversations are you may have or overhear during your day are great sources of inspiration as well. I've had ideas come from lines on television shows or even whole shows may spark a fresh novel. The whole idea isn't to copy someone else's work. Plagarism is a no-no. It's completely allowable to use a line, an image or a phrase as a starting point to grow your own work.

What if I don't like what I wrote?
Then congratulations. You're just as insecure as the rest of us!
Seriously, though. Once you start a poem, short story, or even a novel, you don't have to live with it if you don't like it. Sometimes it helps to put it away for a while and take another look at it weeks, months, or even years down the road. If you still don't like it then, shred it and start over. In the meantime, don't sit idle. More ideas and inspirations will strike. Eventually, you will write something you will love and turn it into something you want to share with the entire world.

What if my mother doesn't like what I wrote?
Once more we go back to a Who question. Who are you writing for? You? Your mother? Your grandpa? When I was starting out writing as a kid, my mom would say my stories were good, BUT.... I'd go back to my room and vow never to show her my stories again. It didn't take me long to realize I wrote my stories for me. Not for anyone else. Now that I have books published, that doesn't change. Yes, I want to entertain people and have them read my stories, but if I don't like what I write, I'm very sure they won't either.

How do I get published?
First you write. Then we'll talk...

Diane Bator
Author of Wild Blue Mysteries, Gilda Wright Mysteries and Glitter Bay Mysteries
Mom of 3 boys and 2 cats and a mouse we can't find...