Holiday dilemma...by Sheila Claydon

 

Find my books here

I'm going on holiday, well to visit my son and family actually but I've been assured it will be a holiday. In Singapore. So much to look forward to...seeing my nine year old granddaughter again, catching up with my son and daughter-in-law in person instead of on WhatsApp or Skype, spending 3 weeks in the sun in what I've been assured is a lovely holiday destination. What's not to like? 

My dilemma? Finding the right clothes. It's not that I'm short of summer tops, shorts and trousers but they are all geared to a UK summer. With very little humidity and erratic weather, wearing synthetic fabrics is not a problem. Nor, except occasionally, do I have to slather myself in suncream or remember to wear a hat. In Singapore it seems, things are very different.

Added to this is the fact that because I live a mainly coastal/rural life where walking the dog through woodland or on the beach requires the most practical of clothes and shoes, as does gardening or meeting up with friends for a hike, my wardrobe is full of t-shirts, sweaters, jeans, cropped trousers, trainers and hiking boots. These are clothes that are also totally suited to sitting at the computer writing.  There's not a dress in sight although I do have a couple of pretty tops for the occasional party or dinner.

When I was working it wasn't like that. My wardrobe was full of formal working suits, dresses with jackets, skirts, even trouser-suits because it was a career that encompassed a lot of travel and Boardroom meetings. When I retired, however, everything hung unworn in the wardrobe for far too long until, eventually, I passed  them onto a charity shop. Not that they would have been suitable for Singapore anyway as they would have been too warm. So now I have to do my least favourite thing and go shopping to find clothes that I will rarely be able to wear in the UK.  As I have left it so late in the season, however, at least the prices will have reduced, and I'm sure I'll love them when I get them home.

Arabella, my heroine in Miss Locatelli faced the same dilemma. She was a jeans and sweater type of girl when she wasn't wearing motorcycle leathers, so when she suddenly had to travel to Italy to take charge of her grandfather's ailing jewellery empire she had to revamp her wardrobe in a hurry. With her best friend's help she initially managed to get it so spectacularly wrong that it was very nearly her undoing. I loved writing about Arabella's quirky take on things as much as Luca, the hero, did while falling in love with her. I especially enjoyed the fact that their story took me back to the times I visited Florence and saw for myself the elegance of  Italian business women and enjoyed the wonders of Italian food.  It's a book for anyone who either loves or wants to visit Italy.

Arabella knows her audacious plan to save her family’s century old jewelry business doesn’t stand a chance without Luca Enzio, she just wishes he wasn’t helping her because her grandfather asked him to but because he wants to.

 For his part Luca can’t remember when he was last so turned on by a woman and he doesn’t like it one little bit. Apart from being way too young, Arabella is the granddaughter of a client whose relationship with his family is complicated. The right thing to do would be to walk away but his heart has other ideas.

Then her life begins to unravel in a way that affects both of them and suddenly Luca finds himself fighting for his future as well as for Arabella’s heart.

While my small wardrobe revamp will be of no significance to anyone but me, of course, maybe Singapore will affect me the same way Italy does, and feature in my next book. Oh, and there's one other positive. As my new clothes will really only be useful for Singapore I'll just have to go there again!

This Or That by Helen Henderson

 

Windmaster Golem
Click the title for purchase information

The inspiration for this post came from a family member's new habit of watching old game shows as a means of relaxing before bed. Perry Mason had gotten too repetitive so Classic Concentration and Let's Make A Deal play for a few moments. So how does the choice of "this or that" enter the equation.

In Classic Concentration the contestants need to match hidden prizes. If you find one of the prized "take" cards, you get to take (aka steal) a prize from your opponent. The question asked is do you want to take "xxx or yyy?" Which translates to this or that. In each episode of Let's Make A Deal, contestants are asked whether to keep the money or trade it for a prize. "Keep or Trade" clearly matches the theme of "this or that."

The same dilemma of making a specific choice and the consequences of it can make like difficult for a character. Lady Kiansel, sister to the current Oracle of Givneh, is expected to one day assume the mantle and lead the temple’s followers. Her emerging powers force an impossible decision. To answer the siren call of magic requires she turn her back on her family, her heritage and the teachings of the oracle. Her decision and the consequences of it are in Windmaster Golem.

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 and a fesit who have adopted her as one the pack. Find out more about her and her novels on her BWL author page.

Sneak Peek! Manitoba Canadian Historical Mystery ~ Discarded by Nancy M Bell

 

To find out more about Nancy's books please click on the cover above. Discarded is scheduled for release in September of 2023.

Happy to report Discarded is almost ready. It's been an interesting journey and the more I read and researched the more I realized how much the British have to apologize for with regards to the high handed arrogant way they ran roughshod over the peoples already living in the areas the British colonized. However, this is not the place for political discussions. Just let's leave it at this: Louis Riel was a good man who stood up for his people. We should celebrate him, not villainize him as they did in my elementary school History class.

Discarded, the title, refers to the women who were married to the men who came to settle in Rupert's Land in an arrangment called 'la facon du pays' (according to the custom of the country). Without the help of these First Nations and Metis women many of these men would not have survived the harsh conditions. However, when the settlement grew larger the English and Scots brought women from Britain to Rupert's Land who they married in churches as the Catholic and Presbyterian clergy did not recognize the arrangements of la facon du pays. The women who had sustained the first arrivals were cast out and left to fend for themselves and their children by the men now married to 'more suitable wives'. 

Here is a snippet of the first chapter.

Chapter One

“Marguerite, you must go to him. Etienne needs medicine, the fever is eating him up,” Marie Anne urged her sister.

The younger woman shook her head, wringing out a cloth in cold water to soothe her child. “How can I? The English woman, she is there now, I doubt Miles will even speak to me.”

“He must, Etienne is his son!” Marie-Anne insisted.

“No longer.” The words were bitter. “He has disowned the bebe and me, discarded us like so much offal. Now that his fancy English lady has arrived.”

“Still, Marguerite, you must go and ask. I will come with you. Together we will convince your Miles to either send the British doctor or give us money for the medicine.” Anne Marie pulled the dripping cloth from Marguerite’s hand and threw it on the pounded earth floor. “Look at him! You cannot just let him die. If you won’t go yourself, I will go in your stead.”

Marie-Anne whirled around, grabbing two thin shawls from the back of a chair, and wrapping them around her shoulders. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at her sister. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, oui, of course. I know you are right. It is just my pride that stops me. For how long was I his wife in every sense of the word? If not for me, and you, and others like us, those soft Englishmen would never have survived their first winter. It was our relatives who brought them buffalo and other provisions to see them through, and us who cared for them, chopped wood, carried the water, bore their children…” Marguerite broke off, her throat closing in frustration and sorrow for all that they’d lost. Angrily, she swiped the moisture from her cheeks and straightened her back. “Come, we go. Alexandre! Come watch your brother while I go to your father to ask for help.”

The older boy poked the dying fire one more time before crossing the small room. He picked the sodden cloth up from the floor and wrung it out. After rinsing it with some water from the bucket by the bed, he wiped his little brother’s face.

“Maman, he’s burning up.” Alex looked up at her. “Will Papa come and take him to the doctor? Why hasn’t he come to see us lately?”

“Your papa will not be coming, nor will he take Etienne to the doctor. The best we can hope for is that he will send the doctor or at least make provision for the apothecary to give me some medicine for him. I have tried the best I can with the willow bark, but it isn’t enough.”

“Will Eitienne die like Elizabeth?” Alex glanced at the empty cradle still sitting by the hearth.

“Not if I can help it,” Anne Marie promised. She took Marguerite’s arm and pulled her toward the door. “Put this on against the cold.” She thrust a Hudson’s Bay blanket into the other woman’s arms.

“Oui, yes, we must go. You are right.” Marguerite wrapped the woolen blanket tightly around her, and after one last look at her children, followed her sister out into the bitter wind blowing down the Red River, howling around the eaves of the small buildings and sending snow flying into their faces.

Alex’s last words echoed in Marguerite’s head as she shouldered her way against the wind. “Tell Papa I miss him.” She snorted, as if Miles cared about them anymore. Even little Elizabeth, dead at six months of age, hadn’t moved him to contribute to her burial. It was the English woman’s fault. She was the one who turned Miles against them. Charlotte Windfield, what sort of name was Charlotte anyway? Grief stabbed her for a moment, not Windfield anymore, oh no. Miles married her in the church two weeks ago. So now she was Charlotte Ashmore. Lady Ashmore.

“Marguerite, come on, hurry up.” Anne Marie looked over her shoulder and waited for her sister to catch up.

“Sorry, the wind is stealing my breath.”

“Here, take my arm. It’s only a little way more. Surely Miles will ask us in and let us get warm before we go on.”

The walk from the Metis community to the more substantial homes of the British and Scottish population was a long one on a good day, for the two women walking into the teeth of the northwest wind it seemed interminable. Marguerite pulled Anne Marie to a halt in the lee of the church.

“A moment, I need to catch my breath,” she said, also needing to strengthen her resolve not to do damage to either Lord Ashmore, her erstwhile husband, or the English woman now ensconced in the fancy house just up the street.

“A moment, then. But we mustn’t waste time. Come.” Anne Marie grasped her arm and towed her sister out of the lee of the building into the wind once more.

Marguerite led the way up the path to the front door, pausing before the two steps up to the porch to take a deep breath and straighten the blanket around her shoulders. Head held high, she mounted the steps and rapped loudly on the door. Anne Marie hovered at her side; shoulders hunched against the wind.

“Yes?” Lord Ashmore’s man servant opened the door.

“I need to speak with Miles. Immediately.” Marguerite blinked in light spilling over the man’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid that is impossible. You should know better than to come here where you are not welcome.” He made disapproving noises with his tongue and made to shut the door, his strong London East End accent making it difficult for her to understand him.

“No!” Anne Marie thrust forward and stuck her foot in the door. “A child’s life is at stake. We must speak with Lord Ashmore.”

“Who is it, Gregory?” Light footsteps and the clicking of heels on the polished wooden floor proceeded the voice.

“Nothing for you to worry about, m’am.” He moved to block the woman’s view of the porch.

“I need to speak with Miles,” Marguerite shouted. “His son is very ill.”

“Oh!” Charlotte Ashmore topped in her tracks and took a step back. “My husband has no son. I’m afraid you are mistaken. Now leave this place immediately.”

“I assure you Miles does have a son, two of them in fact, and a dead infant daughter. Now let me speak to him,” Marguerite insisted. 

Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

Nancy

After the Idea, Plot Comes Next by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #writing #plot

 

 

Once I've spend days of hours with the idea for a book, I then decide what's next. For me, that's the Plot. While there are many types of Plots, I must choose the one that's right for the book. For a fantasy story, I usuallt choose the Quest plot. This emns sending my characters out into the world in search of something. Sometimes a physical thing and sometings more of a growingup quest. These are fun to write.

The story I'm talking about today is pursuing Doctor West. This uses the chase plot. That's often the case of a romance, at least the romances I write and enjoy reading. In this story, Zelda has loved Doctor West since they were children and next door neighbors. Her attempts always seem to be futile. How can she win.  The opening scene shown him returning home as a surgeon and joining and group of doctors. He learns Zelda is the nurse manager of the surgical unit. He wants to avoid her but tha doesn't seem possible. Zelda sees him andknows what she wants. The middle of the book is the chase and her many failures to succeed. Then comes the twsit as the middle comes to an end. Zelda decides she will never succeed and she decides to leave. Suddenly the reverse happens and he decides to chase Zelda.

So having decided on the plot, I begin the process of writing which ever book I've decided to write.

The Joy of Packing House (said no one EVER), by J.C. Kavanagh

A Bright Darkness,
Book 3 of the Award-winning Twisted Climb series

My partner Ian and I are in the process of selling our country home. It's been on the market for a few months and though we've had some offers, they were in the 'low-ball' range. But then we received a decent offer, which we accepted. The potential buyers are city folk and had fallen in love with our home and property - until they discovered, during the home inspection, that there is no secret 'world' that happily and greedily accepts all water being poured down the drains. But the showstopper was the horror that there's no secret 'poop world' where - like magic - the contents of a toilet drop into a mystical nether region. That discovery was so un-nerving that the buyers backed out of the deal. They just couldn't wrap their head around the idea of a septic system. Their loss.

Home sweet home

In the meantime, and having lived in this lovely home for 12 years, I had to get serious about eliminating excess material, or as Ian calls it, junk. The very cheek!

I'm also starting the packing process. Our realtors have stressed the importance of a clean, tidy and clutter-free home, ready for a showing at any time and at short notice. 

How do you do that, you ask?

Well, first you think of a place to 'hide' your stuff on short notice. Actually, you need to find several places. But the key thing about that, and I stress 'KEY,' is making sure your other half knows where the hiding places are. Oh, and a side note: knowing how to read minds is helpful.

For example - where do you put the cellphone charging cords? Inside the small pot in the pots and pans drawer, of course. Who wouldn't think of looking there, right? 

And then there's the place to hide your hygiene items (shaving kit, deodorant, etc.) Well, depending on how quickly I have to stash the stuff, Ian's kit could be in a) his armoire, or b) the linen closet, or c) his clothes closet. You can't even imagine the level of patience he's acquired while finding his stuff. So great.

Where to put the shower items hanging on the shower stall? Inside the laundry hamper, silly. 

And what about work-related bags? They go in the dryer, of course.

After all these months, I can say with absolute certainty - there is no joy in packing house. It's hard work and something I hope we don't have to do again for a very, very long time.

If you're not busy packing your home, take the chance to read The Twisted Climb trilogy. You will find great satisfaction in a good read. That I can say with certainty. Enjoy!

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

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www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh

Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)

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