Too many plots. So little time.

 

I am truly blessed with a great group of readers, editors, proofreaders, and media experts. That said, I have to single out Brian Johnson, who is not only a tuba-playing character in the Whistling Pines books, he's also a friend and my Whistling Pines muse.

I'd completed the Whistling Artist outline, an opening chapter, and had a few characters in mind when I received an email from Brian. "Here's a plot for our next Whistling Pines mystery. The title will be Whistling Fireman, and it's going to feature the fire chief you introduced in Whistling Artist."

"Sparky, the quirky fire chief?" I asked

"Quirky isn't the right adjective for Sparky. Maybe eccentric or unusual would be more fitting."

Trying to refocus, I replied. "Brian, I'm only 60 pages into Whistling Artist. Can we focus on that for now?"

"But Dean, I've got this great plot and if I don't tell you now, it'll slip away. It's going to feature..."

At this point I was looking for an "eye roll" emoji to insert in my reply. As usually happens, Brian ignored my pleas for him to set aside the new plot while I wrote Whistling Artist. I filed Brian's 3-page (Yes three pages of plot, characters, settings, and twists) and continued my efforts to complete Whistling Artist.

I truly appreciate Brian's enthusiasm. And his plot ideas are always wonderfully twisted. I rearrange his random ideas into a cohesive story that both of us feel good about releasing.

What's even more fun is getting to the end. I send him the first draft for comment. He always responds, usually offering clarification on locations or plot issues. With Whistling Artist, I got an unexpected correction. "YOU CAN NOT USE..." He went on to explain that I needed to rename the fictional art instructor. "I don't know where you came up with that name (I often pull names out of phone books and obituaries to get the regional feel correct). You used my high school art teacher's name for the instructor. Change it! She was a teetotaler and to use her name as the drunken art instructor would cause no end of chaos in town.

I laughed, then changed the name.

Brain's response was quick. "Thanks. By the way, I have a plot of the book after Whistling Fireman."

That three-page email is saved. I'll look at it at some point in late 2023 after Whistling Fireman is complete.

In the meanwhile, I'm preparing for the January release of The Last Rodeo, the next Doug Fletcher mystery set in the Black Hills, the May release of Taxed to Death, a Pine County mystery, and Peril in Paradise, a Doug Fletcher mystery set in Hawaii.

Then I read about rangers finding an abandoned campsite in a remote part of Glacier National Park. It appeared there were two campers staying in the site, there were signs that a Grizzly bear had shredded their tent, but the campers hadn't been seen since the previous spring. A great opening for the next Doug Fletcher mystery. I told Deanna, my cop consultant about it. Her response, "Focus! You've already got plots for two 2024 Fletcher mysteries."

Hovey, Dean - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

The Tribulations of Female Doctors in History, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

"Ring of Stone (former title) is an entertaining read, combining accurate historical details with a fast-paced plot and a number of credible characters." Historical Novel Society

A young woman strives to be a doctor in eighteenth century England, but discovers evil village secrets instead.

To purchase, click HERE

When writing this novel, I dug deep into doctors in the eighteenth century. I found that women were excluded from formal study and earning degrees or licenses in England and America. Although, in other countries this wasn't the case.

Recently, I read a non-fiction book on Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman to earn a medical degree in America in 1847. She fought hard to get into medical school with several rejections. Her entrance into one small college was considered a joke, and no one thought she would succeed. But they ended up shocked by her tenacity and intelligence.

Elizabeth went on to found a woman's medical college, because the major colleges and universities balked at allowing women to attend. That finally changed in the later decades.

In reading about the Victorian medical practices, I was surprised that little had changed since the eighteenth century. Blood-letting, cupping, and other bizarre treatments were still common.

Elizabeth's sister, Emily, also studied to be a doctor, (at her sister's insistence) and she eventually became known as a skilled surgeon. Emily had the people skills that the rigid Elizabeth lacked.

The sisters were still regulated to treating women's problems, as in childbirth and other gynecologic issues. And much of their work was for poor women in underserved communities.

My heroine, Rose, longs to study as a physician, and comes up against a brick wall in a male dominated occupation. It's unfortunate that sixty years later, women were still being denied access to medical degrees.

Rose meets a female doctor who only succeeded by subterfuge. And in reality other women practiced as doctoresses, attended classes and lectures, but without any degree or license.

Rose studies the important medical tombs of the era to keep up on practices, such as the famous physician William Hunter, 1718-1783. I too read his works through library loans. His most famous being, The anatomy of the human gravid uterus exhibited in figures (1774). 

Men believed that women couldn't handle the gore of surgery, or master the intricacies of learning medicine. Women were fickle and flighty, so the men in charge insisted.

Even as a child, I thought it strange when I was seen by my first female doctor. The doctors on TV were always men. Prejudices run deep. 

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.

To find out more about her books: DianeScottLewis 

Christmases Past...by Sheila Claydon

Find my books here

One of the first of my books published by Books We Love is Cabin Fever. It is the story of Ellie and Drew who both chose to work at Christmas rather than spending time with their loved ones. Instead they joined the ship The Osprey as Cruise Director and lead dancer on its journey from Aukland to Sydney and back. Thinking back to how the story came to be written set me thinking about Christmases past. Then I read fellow writer Nancy M Bell's post of 18 December where she reminisced about the changes we have all experienced in the last 50-100 years, and even more memories returned.

I was born when rationing and shortages were still very much part of life in the UK, so Christmases then were very different from now. Parents, unless they were wealthy, had to be inventive when it came to presents, and mine certainly were. I remember the doll house they made me. It was no more than a box divided into 4 rooms. The outside had stick on paper bricks and the roof had stick on paper tiles.  Somehow they had found scraps of carpet and wallpaper to cover the floors and walls, and there were handmade curtains on the painted on windows. The couch and matching chairs were made from matchboxes covered in a blue floral fabric and the painted chest of drawers was made from matchboxes too. The wooden bed had a knitted blanket and tiny pillows stuffed with cotton wool. There were other things, including a family of tiny dolls, and I absolutely loved it. I didn't worry that there were no stairs or internal doors. Nor that when the front was closed I couldn't see inside. I cherished that doll house for years and it was only when I was much older that I realised how much love had gone into the making of it. 

I remember, too, the blue pinafore dress that arrived one Christmas. It was  dark blue with bright pink daisies embroidered around the bodice and I loved it. It was much later that I discovered it had been made from my mother's airforce uniform and that she had sawn it together and embroidered the daisies. My father, who had worked in the northern mills before the war as a cutter, had made the pattern and cut it out for her.

When I see what my grandchildren receive now at Christmas, I don't begrudge any of it, but I do wonder if they enjoy their Christmas stockings quite as much as children did when there was so much less to be had. Then, the tangerine in the toe together with a small bar of chocolate, a packet of wax crayons, a colouring book and maybe some plasticine and a few other things were the highlight of the year. I remember a mouth organ, a set of dibs or jacks (does anyone play that now?) a skipping rope, a drawing pad, a small box of watercolour paints, and of course books. Books were read again and again and if they began to fall apart they were mended and covered with brown paper. I still have a very battered book that was my mother's when she was a child and which she read to me, one chapter every Sunday, until we finished it. Then, when I was older, I read and re-read it for myself. It is one of the original copies of Anne of Green Gables, and it is still one of my favourite stories.

Nancy is right. Times have certainly changed but they have left behind some lovely memories.

Happy Christmas everyone. May you all be blessed and may 2023 be good to us all.

It's Not Downtime by Helen Henderson

 

Windmaster Legacy by Helen Henderson
Click the title for purchase information

Recently, while scanning the local paper, a particular piece caught my eye. The author had some great advice. During the holidays, he suggested creating a home inventory by videoing each room and closet, and reviewing life insurance beneficiaries and automobile policies. As a historian, I especially appreciated the recommendation to label black and white photographs. (I would add any other family-heritage images.) I have to admit that I am guilty of not following the advice myself. The article was correct when he stated that while you may know the people in the image, not everyone else in your family does. Which can lead to information being lost and images tossed away.

In the same vein, making a video recounting family events, your childhood, thoughts on the year past, or inspirational hopes for the future makes a special present for future generations.

There was one thing in the article that I disagree with. The implication that the time between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day is "downtime." True, there might be a day or two off from work or attendance at a football game, but that "extra" time away from the office is not spent on the couch eating bonbons.

Decorating the tree and the house, shopping for meaningful presents, and maybe a party or two eat into the time away from the office. The holidays no longer mean cooking for a crowd of twenty or thirty. I have to admit reaching the age when I am not the invited elder expected to do nothing but show up, however there are still special dishes to be prepared.

Whatever your holiday traditions, may your holidays be full of peace and joy. And from Lady Ellspeth, Lord Dal, and the rest of the characters from the Windmaster Novels, a Turn's End Wish.

To purchase the Windmaster Novels: 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.

The Things We No Longer Do by Nancy M Bell

 

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

I was contemplating the wintry weather outside my window while snuggled under a blanket and somehow started to think about how things have changed. There are so many things that as a society we don't do anymore. These changes have happened in my own lifetime. But when you think about how much has changed in just the last hundred years, it is mind boggling.

In the 1920's, only the rich had cars, horses still pulled plows and wagons. Tractors and farm equipment was starting to evolve, but when compared to the giant machines that can now plow, manage and harvest millions of acres complete with air conditioned cabs, wifi and satalite radio it is hard to comprehend how things have changed so much in so short a time.  

In just the average household, washing machines and dryers spin and whirl on their own. I remember using a wringer washer to wash cloth diapers when my kids were young in the 1980's, I still hang my laundry out on the line in the warm weather, but also remember bringing in frozen clothes off the line in my younger days. Central heat is a wonder in our cold Canadian winters, I love the smell of a wood stove but the chore of keeping it stoked and minded can be overwhelming when it is the only heat source. 

Even our clothing has changed. There are not many people who make their own anymore. I used to work for a company called Reader Mail. They were a mail order company dealing solely in dress and embroidery patterns. A huge warehouse lined with banks of shelves filled with patterns. The centre part held tables for sorting the envelopes which were then put on trolley and wheeled between the shelves while we picked the correct patterns that were ordered. Another part was taken up by the desks of the women who opened the mail, and in those days women still sent money including coin in the envelopes. Labels were stuck on the aforementioned envelopes by two girls using an antiquated machine and if you had long hair you had to be careful it didn't get caught in the mechanism that drove the glue wheel. The company went out of business in the 1990's as the demand for dress and embroidery patterns dried up. 

Now we buy items made in far away countries by underpaid, often underage workers. The world is much smaller now with the advent of the world wide web as we used to call it in the early days. Now internet or wifi is used. Now we have 5G speed, but how many of us remember the squeal of the dial up connections? It was not so long ago. Makes a person wonder where we are headed as a society and a species.

Anyway, enough of that. Just food for thought. 

Wishing everyone Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, Happy/Merry whatever holiday you celebrate at this time of year.

Until next month, stay well, stay happy