Thursday, December 5, 2024

Introducing Musician Scot Little Bihlman

 


https://bookswelove.net/bihlman-scot-little/

Hey everyone! I’m Scot Little Bihlman, an Emmy Award-winning musician who’s had the honor of working with legends like John Fogerty, Jelly Roll, and Buddy Guy, just to name a few. Right now, I have three songs featured on the hit Amazon Prime series Cross. I’m also excited to announce that I’m writing a memoir, set to be released by Books We Love in 2025. It will tell the story of my journey through the music industry—what it’s like to survive in this tough business, and the incredible people I’ve crossed paths with along the way. Recently, I landed an exciting acting opportunity in the upcoming Spider-Man Noir show, starring Nicolas Cage, set to release in 2026. How’s everyone doing out there? Feel free to reach out to me on Instagram or visit my website. Hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season!

 

Www.Scotbihlman.com

IG- Scotbihlman

 

Wednesday, December 4, 2024

Sneak Peak: Echoes of the Nokota by Julie Christen

 

Author’s Note

This book is a memoir. It reflects the authors’ present recollections of experiences. As time passes, memories are echoes of events. Some names and characteristics have been changed to protect privacy, some events have been compressed, and some dialogue has been recreated; however, the tone and emotions experienced remain true.

Nokota® is a trademark breed name developed by Frank and Leo Kuntz and the Nokota Conservancy in Linton, ND.

 ***

This is a success story. It may not seem like it at times, but I assure you, it is.

This is Frank Kuntz’s story. It is about how he and his family came to save the native horse – the Nokota®. It is my way of putting together a comprehensive collection of his memories and the events that led him to become the unsung hero he is today.

I have done my best to share both his story and the horses’ story in a way that helps people learn, understand, and empathize. What might look to one as a life of sacrifice and strife is, in truth, a story of love and faithfulness. It is about allowing passion to drive your choices in life.

Since I am, indeed, not Frank, I have taken some creative license (with Frank’s blessing) to fill in some gaps and bring his story to life. I have written in such a way that will allow you to walk next to him as you discover the man and the horses I have so dearly admired for over twenty years. Please allow a little grace and creative latitude should you encounter some muddy gaps or misaligned details. Know that, whether it be for loss of memory over the decades, purposeful omission due to emotional pain, or ensuring certain individuals are not painted in a negative light, the story runs true to that which I have learned from Frank and the few trusted individuals he encouraged me to seek out.

And sometimes, we must accept the fact that every person’s story deserves a resonating tone of mystery. We don’t need to know it all. Where would the magic be in that?

It is also worth stating that this book was written from Frank’s memories, Frank’s perspective. The opinions and attitudes expressed here are his. This is the way he sees things. This is his side of the story. He has a right to that as we all do.

Everyone knows you don’t accomplish great things alone. Many people have played a role in the preservation of the Nokota breed, and still do. Rightfully, they deserve their own story someday.

This is Frank’s story.

He saw something special in the native horses doomed for extinction in the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. He has spent over 40 years loving them and trying to find a way to help them. And even though the quest for a permanent home for his herd still goes on, the fact is, the Nokota® horse is here to stay because of Frank and his family. Maybe, just maybe, you and I can play a part of our own in helping Frank’s promise come to fruition.

Being a man who is kind, humble, and generous to a fault, Frank’s perspective is often hidden in the shadows. It is time for his story to be heard. He is, in my eyes, one of the greatest unsung heroes. So here, I will sing.

Prologue

June 4th, 1949

Standing strong on a prairie plain inside the fences of the newly dedicated Theodore Roosevelt National Memorial Park, black as a starless night, a wild stallion cleaves the spring air with his clarion whistle.

A blustery wind swirls the stallion’s mane up into a maelstrom of wildfire. His senses press out to the far reaches of the land. He is searching – always searching. His little band of mares and yearlings graze quietly below his overlook. They are safe, fed, and together. He makes sure of it.

The stud tosses his head and flares his nostrils. He seeks what he cannot take for himself – others like him. His ancestors. His family.

He cries out again. This time his call is threaded with lament – a cry for help.

He searches for one who would hear him. One who would fight for him. One who would make his family whole again.

 

April 4th, 1951

At the Kuntz family homestead in Saint Michael, North Dakota, a cry rings out from the upstairs bedroom in answer to that call. The fourth child, in the fourth month, on the fourth day, at 1:04 in the afternoon.

Frank Kuntz’s journey begins.

Follow Frank and the ponies on their journey from the beginning.

Sunday, December 1, 2024

BWL Publishing Inc. New Releases for December 2024

 Book 12 in our Canadian Historical Mysteries Collection - Alberta



The 1918 influenza pandemic strikes Calgary, Alberta, Canada. The Great War rages overseas. While her husband fights in Europe, Katharine works in a doctor’s office to support her children and her brother, a wounded veteran. One night their neighbour suddenly takes sick and dies. The attending doctor concludes the man died from influenza, but Katharine suspects someone laced his whisky with a drug that mimics the deadly flu’s symptoms. 

 

Katharine convinces the police to investigate. Worried about her brother’s involvement with a suspect, she delves into his secrets and comes to fear he’s connected to the murder. She grows disturbingly attracted to the investigating detective who returns her affections. He’s convinced her brother or someone else close to her is a killer and risks his career to pursue the crime. Katharine must discover the truth so she can move forward in a world that has changed forever.

 

Editorial Review, Nancy M. Bell

The Scots call whisky Usige beatha, the water of life. But what if  whisky becomes Usige bas, the water of death? It's the last winter of WW1 in Calgary, although the citizens don't know that yet, and prohibition is imposed on the population. The trade of illegal liquor is alive and well, the tendrils of that activity reaching into even the higher echelons of society. Two seemingly innocent, but connected deaths send Detective Tanner on a quest that leads him to rely on information provided by Katharine, an attractive neighbour of the deceased men whose brother may or may not be the murderer.  Calder has weaved a web of deceit and intrigue while salting the path with an array of red herrings, but in the end leads the reader to a satisfying conclusion.


Saturday, November 30, 2024

Those Magnificent Riverboats by Eden Monroe

 



Find all of Eden Monroe's Books here

The age of riverboats began in the Eastern Canadian province of New Brunswick in the early 1800’s. Heretofore relying on sail or small personal crafts such as canoes, dugouts or rowboats, the steamboat era made for an elegant chapter in the province’s history.

It even found its way into the romantic suspense novel, Bound for Somewhere, Book One of The Kavenaghs (1870-1879):

“The woman, along with two hundred other passengers, made her way up the gangplank to board the stern-wheeler, The Bluebird, for the trip up the St. John River. It was a sultry August morning, with a mere wisp of a breeze to stir the air. It promised to get warmer as the day wore on, and they got further inland. Being on the water would be much more pleasant than travelling upcountry over rough dusty roads.

And then with a great bellow of steam they were on their way and a cheer went up from the crowd at the rail. Such was the jubilant mood of those onboard as they chugged out into the river headed toward Washademoak Lake. It was not a true lake at all, but a widening of the Canaan River the captain pointed out.

To say the scenery was breathtaking would be an understatement. The water was the deep blue of the finest aquamarine, a brilliance matched only by the sky above. Trees, of every shade of green stood proudly at shoreline, farmlands rolling back from the water’s edge every mile or so. She thought about being cooped up in that stuffy old stagecoach on her trip to St. John. This was absolutely heavenly compared to that.

        Luxury and comfort were at the passenger’s fingertips everywhere you looked. This was the way to travel! She joined a tour of the ship when it was offered, and passengers were treated to a seemingly never-ending abundance of sophistication. From the lushly carpeted dining room to the one hundred and fifty foot grand saloon with its marble topped tables and generously carpeted chairs for maximum comfort, the elegance was awe-inspiring. That included Victorian-influenced décor of tassels and fringes, even sofas were spared no detail of grand style. There was even an exquisite circular stairway, and she felt like a queen when she descended to the group that had gathered below to admire its unique construction.

        For lunch she was able to secure a coveted seat in the dining quarters on the saloon deck. There she could not only continue to appreciate unparalleled scenery and the clean fragrance of the river, but enjoy a mouthwatering luncheon menu as well.

        And at the end of it all awaited Garrett. This time she would not let him walk away. She would make it work.”

Riverboats were of course before my time, but my Great Uncle Walter who lived to be a hundred and six and a half, remembered them well. For many years he operated a general store at a place called The Narrows (now Cambridge-Narrows), and his supplies were delivered by riverboat on the Washademoak Lake. Actually a worldwide phenomenon, riverboats also became hugely popular with tourists in the province, and indeed those boats did more than carry passengers on idyllic cruises to various destinations along the picturesque waterways of New Brunswick. They also provided freight service, delivering goods to farmers and shopkeepers upriver, and carrying farmers’ wares to market back downriver.

    These boats plied several New Brunswick rivers during their heyday, including the Kennebecasis River.



The Kennebecasis River on a windy day.

        A rise in rail travel rang the death knell for the days of the riverboat in New Brunswick, the last of its kind, the SS Majestic, decommissioned in 1942. Some of those splendid old vessels met a difficult end, several destroyed by fire or other mishaps, while others just ran the course and were finished. Many became dance halls. To this day the rusted hull of the SS Majestic lies in shallow waters in Darlings Lake, Nauwigewauk, Kings County. It was towed to the area to become one of those popular riverboat dance halls, but was unfortunately the victim of a hurricane in 1946. An inglorious end indeed for such a distinguished piece of history.

        At one time the Majestic and her illustrious counterparts ruled New Brunswick waters, and stately hotels were erected nearby to accommodate their legions of passengers. The Washademoak Lodge and the Cambridge Hotel on the Washademoak Lake are both long gone now, as are most of the others. But the years have been kind to the Eveleigh Hotel (now Evandale Resort & Marina), still standing in all its Victorian charm on the beautiful St. John Rover at Evandale. It truly is a wonderful step back in time, with most of the old steamboat wharves still in place to remind us of those halcyon days.

        While there are those who currently conduct aquatic tours, and certainly countless pleasure craft enjoy the incomparable scenery along New Brunswick rivers, the years of those magnificent old riverboats (seventy-three in all over the years) was truly a high point in our history.

        And there is plenty of colourful history, much of it kept by those who were involved in this seasonal industry (May thru October). According to kingstonnb.ca/steamboat-stories, the following is one of those lively accounts:

         “This is a story by steamboat captain and historian Capt. Donald F. Taylor based on letters from Captain Fred Mabee.

        The captain and officers of the steamboat usually stayed the full season. In many cases the entire crew not only stayed the entire season but returned year after year.

        Occasionally did real illness necessitate that a person go ashore. Once such occasion arose on the Hampstead.

        Captain Maybee writes:

       ‘ It was mid summer 1896. The stewardess became quite ill during the night while the steamer was at Wickham and there was no time to get a girl even for a waitress on such short notice.

        ‘It so happened that our fireman had some restaurant experience and offered to help if a deck hand could assist him in maintaining the steam at its usual pressure. Very soon after leaving Saint John the fireman came to the wheelhouse and told me that there was a young lady on board that would make the trip up just to help out. “Very well”, said I, “you may tell her to go to work.”

        ‘The girl seemed to do very well. I told her that she could occupy the room used by the stewardess. In the middle of the night I was awakened by someone running around and around the saloon deck. It really sounded like two people having a race. After they went by my door twice I thought that I had better see what was going on. I opened my door and lo and behold the fireman was chasing the new table girl around the saloon deck outside the cabin in the moonlight. It was quite evident that both were nearly naked.

        ‘I shouted and spoke quite sharply to them. I told them that we were not going to have such antics going on and that a lot of unnecessary noise when others were trying to sleep must stop immediately. The turmoil was over and the performers disappeared very quickly and quietly….”

        For sure those were gentler times (usually), unhurried compared to how we are slaves to unrelenting punctuality today. Says cbc.ca/news/Canada/new-brunswick/roadside-history-ss-majestic:

        “While travel time was relatively quick on the steamship, a May 1946 Evening Times Glove interview with the Majestic’s final captain, M. C. McMurtry, illustrates how pastoral the line once was.

        “We were never in a hurry, and many times went back for folks who arrived late,” said McMurtry.

        “We even went back for the occasional hat which had blown overboard. We just considered that common courtesy, and usually recovered the hat before it got too wet.”

Friday, November 29, 2024

Hamilton Parking

 


Historical Novels @

Kobo


As I've been fascinated by Alexander Hamilton since my eleventh year, I've always known about his contributions to the founding of the American Republic. However, I've always been aware too that most of my countrymen hadn't a clue who the guy on the ten dollar bill was.  Our nation wouldn't have survived the first twenty years without his financial knowledge. The framework he set in place at the Treasury Department was so carefully thought out and implemented that even his Jeffersonian successor finally decided to just "go with it" because his creation did the job it was supposed to do. 

In short, the original government only functioned because of Hamilton's construction. Jefferson, Hamilton's great antagonist, would never have been able to finalize the Louisiana Purchase, which brought a good chunk of the center of the country, if Hamilton hadn't made the government solvent and also respected as a reliable client among the wealthy European financial markets, which had financed the Revolution. 

However, it was Jefferson who lived long years after the Revolution, and not Hamilton. "History" is written by the survivors/winners, as everyone knows. As a result, the star of this Founder set quickly. I used to take a perverse pleasure in asking people if they knew the identity of the man on the ten dollar bill, and watching them either shrug, or tell me "Benjamin Franklin" or something else equally wide of the mark.   

I wrote my novel back in the 90's, but it was roundly rejected with a lot of "who cares" or "you can't make a romantic hero out of a Founding Father" from editors. Books We Love took it up, though, and so my long labor of love did eventually get placed between covers. In the meantime, however, the brilliant artist Lin Manual Miranda had also been at work on his musical, and so, finally, the name of "Hamilton" made a triumphant return to public consciousness. 



A few days ago, a traveling NYC company brought the musical Hamilton here to my town. The tickets for that performance were being sold at more than twice the usual price, because even though this is not brand new, it is still in vogue, especially here in the country outside the Big City. On my trip to the grocery store, passing through town, I noticed signs over the restaurants that read "Welcome Hamilton." On my way back, I also saw traffic signs, assuring the folks who were coming to the theater that evening that this was the way to "Hamilton Parking." After all those years of obscurity, it tickled me to see my childhood hero's name all over my town, and to know that at least one version of his remarkable story had put his fame back in lights.

What political party of today could claim him? Probably neither, although one in particular would have been anathema to him. After all, he died in a duel with a man who, he firmly believed, wanted to overturn the Republic and crown himself King. 

Aaron Burr, whom he'd called "An embryo Caesar," made no bones about the fact that he wanted to kill Hamilton. No one really knows what exactly Burr, who was usually not particularly easy to rile, had against Hamilton, although they had years of vitriolic political rivalry behind them. To be fair to Burr, the offense that sparked the challenge must have been keenly felt and excruciatingly personal, as he pursued it to that fine July morning, when the gentlemen were rowed across the Hudson with their seconds, to fight in New Jersey where dueling remained legal.  

~~Juliet Waldron

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