Ideas at dawn--Tricia McGill

 

Find all my books here on my BWL author page

I’ve lost count of the times my Muse has jogged my early morning thoughts. My mind seems to work overtime between 4 and 5 am. The past few weeks have not been the best, so consequently writing has taken a back seat. My eldest sister passed away, just a week or so after her 100^th birthday. Then just last week my little shih tzu went to doggy heaven and the house is so empty without my companion. But true to form, before the sun came up this morning, the first line of my next book popped into my head, thus also giving me something to write about here.

I already knew the setting, which would be Tasmania (then Van Diemen’s Land), more specifically the convict prison at Port Arthur. Around 1848 the first stone was laid for this prison. The grand idea at the time was to shift from physical punishment to mental subjugation. Britain could no longer send convicts to America after the American War of Independence; therefore, male and female convicts (some who committed trivial crimes) were sent to Port Arthur. Every country has their own tragic history of such places. The prison closed in 1877.

Of all the tasks that convicts were forced to carry out at Port Arthur, timber cutting was perhaps the worst. Enormous trees were felled (no heavy machinery in those days) and a sawpit was dug under the log so that it could then be cut into smaller lengths. One man stood on the top of the log and one beneath in the pit—where, as they sawed across, the sawdust would land on him, filling his eyes. Once the timber was cut into rough pieces as many as 50 convicts (nicknamed the Centipede Gang) would carry this great weight to where the timber was then cut into planks, boards, spars etc.  over a larger sawpit. Large tracts of bushland were harvested in this way to feed a growing timber industry.

Years ago, my husband and I visited Port Arthur, and one of the tour guides, after ushering a group of us into a small cell that had been used as solitary confinement for misdemeanours committed by convicts, closed the door, switched off the light, and left us in total blackness. I screamed to be let out as my claustrophobia kicked in. Imagine how men must have suffered, and doubtless some went insane—I know I certainly would have after just a short time. The site for the prison was carefully chosen, for the 30-metre-wide isthmus of Eaglehawk Neck, the only land route to the rest of the island, was fenced and guarded by soldiers, man traps, and half-starved dogs. The prison closed in 1877.

So, there you are, I have my first line and my scenario mapped out, which just leaves the rest of the story plus characters to be created. Which doubtless will come to me from early morning.

For excerpts etc. visit my Web Page.

More Memories of the Queen

 https://bookswelove.net/martin-paula/ 

More Memories of the Queen

Last month I told you about my early memories of Queen Elizabeth II shortly after her accession to the throne in 1952. Here are a few more memories:

Two years after the Coronation, the Queen visited my home town as part of her tour of Lancashire. By then, I was a Girl Guide, and we formed a ‘guard of honour’ along one of the roads her car travelled into the centre of town. Being at the front of the crowds lining the route, we had a quite a good view of her – I remember she was wearing a purple coat. Once the car had passed us, my friend and I decided to run as fast as we could the half mile or so to the centre of the town in order to see her again on the steps of the Town Hall – and caught another (distant) glimpse of her from the back of the crowd there.

It was forty years later before I saw her again. By this time I was a Girl Guide Commissioner, and returned home from a Guiding event one Saturday to find a letter awaiting me from the office of the Lord Lieutenant of Manchester with an invitation to a Buckingham Palace Garden Party. About ten minutes later, I had a phone call from our Region Commissioner, telling me that she would be sending me an invitation to one of the Garden Parties. So you wait all your life for an invitation to Buckingham Palace – and then you get two in one day!

Anyway, on a sunny July day, one of my Guiding friends and I joined the queue outside the Palace, showed our tickets, and then we were free to wander around the Palace gardens – along with about 8,000 other people! We found it fascinating to see all the uniforms, traditional dress, and of course the hats of many of the other guests. The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh appeared about 4pm, and walked along a cordoned off area surrounded by crowds. We decided instead to stand next to the rope cordon near the Royal tea tent, so not only did we get a close-up view of the Queen, but also several other members of the Royal Family as they walked across the lawn to the tent. They included Princess Anne, and also Prince Michael of Kent who, with his full beard, was the spitting image of his grandfather King George V.

At the end of the afternoon, we exited through the Palace – through a hallway with wide, red-carpeted staircases at each side, then across the gravelled inner courtyard, and out under the arch into the forecourt of the Palace where there were several photographers offering to take our photos. Of course we said, ‘Yes, please!’

The next event was again thanks to the Lord Lieutenant, who sent me two tickets for the Millennium Service at St Paul’s Cathedral on 2nd January 2000. Outside St. Paul’s, we saw that people were clutching yellow, green, and pink tickets. As our tickets were white, I joked to my friend that they probably meant we would be seated behind one of the white marble pillars, unable to see anything! Imagine our wide-eyed surprise, therefore, when an usher looked at our tickets and said, ‘Ah, white tickets. Go right down to the front, under the dome’. Which was how we ended up on the sixth row from the front, next to the aisle. It was a case of ‘spot the famous faces’ as the Prime Minister (Tony Blair) and his wife, and several other government minsters took their seats on the first two rows. Then the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh came down the aisle, escorted by the Archbishop of Canterbury. The service lasted about an hour, and as the Queen walked back up the aisle, she smiled at me! Maybe she recognised my Guiding uniform – or maybe she just smiles at everyone!

My last story is one of ‘just missed seeing the Queen.’ In 2002, we held an international camp at the Guide Activity Centre about 20 miles from Preston, and at the end of the event I had to take six Canadian Guides and their two leaders to Preston station in the minibus. As I approached the centre of the town, it was apparent from the crowds lining the pavements that something was happening. A policeman stopped me and said I couldn’t go any further because the Queen was due to arrive at Preston Station and all the roads were closed. When I explained that the Guides and their leaders had to catch a train in 30 minutes, he spoke to someone on his radio, and then told me which streets to use to reach the station. He added, ‘But you’ll have be quick. Drop them off at the top of the station approach and then carry on down Fishergate.’ The Guides delightedly waved to people as I drove along the crowded street to the station, and another policeman told me where to stop. After hasty goodbyes to the girls, I continued past the station, away from the crowds. Later, I learned that one of the station staff, recognising Girl Guide uniforms, very kindly took the girls onto the platform where the Queen’s train was due to arrive. The Queen actually stopped to speak to them, asking where they were from and why they were visiting England – a very memorable ending to their international camp. Meantime, I was frantically trying to find my way out of the town, avoiding all the streets which had been closed to traffic!

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The Scariest Night of the Year by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

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

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

It is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

My friends and I are trick or treating

When suddenly we hear.

 

A screech and a shriek

And out of the sky

A witch on a broom dives

At my friends and I.

 

We duck and we scatter

Consumed with great fear

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

“Don’t be afraid” she cackles.

“I’ve only come to see

If you want to go flying

On my broom with me.”

 

We stare at the witch

Not sure what to do

Her hat is all black

And her dress is, too.

 

Her nose is hooked down

With a wart on the tip

But there’s a gleam in her eyes

And a smile on her lips.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” she says

When we still hesitate

“My name is Kathy

And I don’t have time to wait.”

 

We look at each other

Then without any frowns

We nod and we grin

And jump up and down.

 

“How will we fit?”

I ask skeptically

For the broom is too short

To hold us all perfectly.

 

“Just hop aboard,” she crows.

“And you will see.

Climb one at a time.

Right up behind me.”

 

We all leap on easily

There is plenty of room

For the handle grows longer.

It is a magical broom.

 

When we are all settled

She gives a laugh and a hoot

And up into the sky

All of us swoop.

 

We zig through the buildings

Of the lighted downtown

We zoom up the Whitemud

And then back on down.

 

We stop at Fort Edmonton Park

An historic place that is so vast

The board sidewalks, the steam train

The covered wagons of the past.

 

There is a Ferris wheel

And a merry-go-round

With lots of pretty horses

Going up and down.

 

Kathy calls out with delight

“On to West Edmonton Mall.”

And with cheers and shouts

We whizz through the halls.

 

The stores are all decorated

The children dressed in creepy gear

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

We streak through the night

Down to the Edmonton zoo

To see the zebras and lemurs

And the pelicans, too.

 

But instead of the tigers

The camels and gibbons.

There are zombies and ghouls

And skeletons and goblins

 

They stretch and they reach

They lunge and they grasp

Trying to catch the broom

While my friends and I gasp.

 

But Kathy the Witch

Laughs out with glee

As we dodge and we dart

And get ready to flee.

 

“Come back, come back,”

One of the ghouls bellows.

“Yes,” pleads a skeleton.

“We are really nice fellows.”

 

Kathy turns the broom

As we cringe in fear.

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

“Ah, ha,” yells the goblin

And as we fly by

He scrambles to reach us

But Kathy stays too high.

 

“Nice try,” she chortles

And she waves goodbye

As we fly safely away

We all give a sigh.

 

“Where are we going now?”

I ask, looking around.

Then I see we are arriving

At our favourite playground.

 

My friends and I laugh

As we dip and we glide

Through the net climbers

And backwards up the slide.

 

We loop de loop

Holding on tight

Zagging through the swings

As we enjoy the night.

 

“On to your school,” Kathy calls

And we head on our way.

Flying to the building

Where we spend our days.

 

The doors swing open

Letting us in

We swoop down the hallway

Making a din.

 

Our teachers jump sideways

As we draw near

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

The flight finally ends

Kathy the Witch slows her broom

We all climb off easily

For there is plenty of room.

 

“Good night, my dear children.

It sure has been fun.

But I have to go now

It’s time that I run.”

 

“Thank you,” we call

As she flies out of sight.

We look at each other.

Wow, what a flight!

 

But our bags are empty

So to a house we scurry

All yelling trick or treat

We really have to hurry.

 

Someone opens the door

Their face full of fear

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

It's A Snow Day by Victoria Chatham

 

AVAILABLE ON THESE PLATFORMS

We knew our long, hot summer would not last forever. For the past week, I’ve been watching the weather forecast, mindful of the falling temperatures and gathering cloud cover.

Yesterday was one last brave hurrah of sunshine and mellowness, this morning we woke up to a winter wonderland with snow ten inches deep sitting on top of the cars. It doesn’t matter that what is falling now is a mix of snow and rain, today is the demarcation line between seasons.

My children, who all live in England, do not understand how their mother, who is so not a winter person, ended up in a country where there is so much of it. All I can say is that I make the most of it. On clear days I’m happy to go snowshoeing, but mostly I’m with the bears – hibernation sounds good.

I like to have a stack of books to read, titles by my fellow Books We Love authors, or thrillers by numerous authors like Lee Child, Anthony Horowitz, or Ken Follet.. I’ll compile a list of movies I’d like to watch, oldies but goodies (Casablanca, anyone?) as well as more recent heartwarming romances. Hot chocolate and a cozy fire add to the ambience, and on days when it really is too miserable to venture out of doors, it is time to get down to writing.

My next book, a contemporary western romance, is already underway, so being indoors writing will take up much of my time. Before I know it, the release date of September 1^st, 2023, will roll around, and I will have another title under my belt. I have to say, I love the writing life, whatever the season. How will you prepare for and deal with winter?

Victoria Chatham

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Connecting with a reader

 In "Deadly Mixture", the spouse of a character is presented with a breast cancer diagnosis. I'd hoped it would balance the somewhat dark plot, with the reality and compassion of the medical situation. I spent A LOT of time researching the breast cancer diagnostic process, treatment, and the psychology of the patient and her family. After the book went into print, I mentally set aside that subplot and the work that went into creating it. 

Until a book signing last week.

After discussing the writing process and offering a preview of the follow-up Pine County mystery "Fatal Business", I asked if the attendees had any comments or questions. A gentleman I recognized from a previous talk raised his hand. He'd enjoyed "Deadly Mixture" and wondered if I realized how close to reality the breast cancer subplot was. Before I could answer, he added that his daughter had been diagnosed with breast cancer shortly before "Deadly Mixture" was released. After reading it, he passed his copy of the book to her, hoping she'd enjoy the story. 

With tears in his eyes, he went on, explaining that his daughter breezed through the book, then called him. "Dad, who wrote this book? Do you realize how exactly the author described the pain of the diagnosis, the cycle of surprise, denial, dread, and fear I am going through?"

I know the reader thanked me for my genuine representation of the character's experience with breast cancer, and her psychological response to the diagnosis and treatment. Beyond that, I was left speechless by the depth and sincerity of his comments. I hope I provided adequate thanks for his comments and praise, but to be honest, I was somewhat in shock and don't remember how I responded.

In the days following the book event, I reflected on the man's comments. What had inspired me to include the breast cancer subplot? Obviously, the hours I spent researching the details of the medical treatment and psychology were well spent. But what inspired me to delve into it?

A woman approached me after a different book event sponsored by a local church. She'd read all my books, across all three series, and told me that God must be inspiring me. I believe my response was flippant, joking that I was reasonably certain that God didn't care what happened to my fictional Jill and Doug Fletcher characters.

Now I wonder why I'm drawn from my bed with the characters swirling in my brain, screaming at me to get onto the computer and capture their words before they're lost. Why spend the effort and time to research an obscure plot twist to make sure it's absolutely correct? 

Perhaps the answer is in the words of that reader's comments about "Deadly Mixture". I/we do it because our words have meaning. They're fiction, but there are times when we touch our readers. Sometimes we hope to make them laugh. Other times our words bring tears. Either way, it's become
a humbling responsibility.

Check out "Deadly Mixture" at Hovey, Dean - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)