Monday, February 24, 2020

Canadian Authors Past and Present by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey--Ontario



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



Canadian Authors Past and Present
Canada celebrated its 150th anniversary in 2017. To commemorate the occasion my publisher, Books We Love, Ltd (BWL) brought out the Canadian Historical Brides Series during 2017 and 2018. There are twelve books, one about each province, one about the Yukon, and one combining the Northwest Territories and Nunavut. Each book was written by a BWL Canadian author or co-authored by a Canadian and an international BWL author.
Each province and territory of Canada has spawned many well-known authors and my series of posts this year will be about them-one or two from the past and one or two from the present, the present-day ones being the authors of the Brides book for the corresponding province or territory. The posts are in the order that the books were published.

Ontario
William Robertson Davies was born August 28, 1913 in Thamesville, Ontario (ON). He grew up surrounded by books and he participated in theatrical productions, developing a lifelong love of drama. He attended Upper Canada College then studied at Queen’s University at Kingston, ON. He moved to Oxford, England where he received a Bachelor Degree in Literature from Balliol College in 1938. His thesis, Shakespeare’s Boy Actors, was published in 1939 and he began acting in London.
     William married Brenda Mathews, an Australian who was working as a stage manager. They moved to Canada in 1940 and he began a career as literary editor at Saturday Night magazine. Their first child was born in December 1940. Two years later he accepted the position of editor of the Peterborough Examiner in Peterborough, ON. During this time he wrote humorous essays under the name Samuel Marchbanks and wrote and produced many stage plays.
     In 1947, several of his essays were published in The Diary of Samuel Marchbanks, and The Table Talk of Samuel Marchbanks came out in 1949. Davies used his early upbringing to provide themes for his novels and his first novel Tempest Tost was published in 1951. His second, Leaven of Malice, came out in 1954. In 1955 he became publisher of the Peterborough Examiner and his third novel, A Mixture of Frailties was published in 1958.
     Besides novel and play writing, and being a newspaper publisher, Davies taught literature at Trinity College at the University of Toronto from 1960 until 1981. He left his post as publisher of the Peterborough Examiner in 1962 and became a Master of Massey College, the University of Toronto’s new graduate college, in 1963. Along with his father William Rupert Davies and his brother Arthur Davies, William bought the Kingston Whig-Standard newspaper, CHEX-AM and CKWS-AM radio stations, and CHEX-TV and CKWS-TV television stations. His third book of essays, Samuel Marchbanks’ Almanack was published in 1967.
     William Robertson Davies wrote a total of eighteen fiction and non-fiction books, plus fifteen plays. He won many awards for his writing including the Governor-General’s Literary Award and the Stephen Leacock Award for Humour. He was named a Companion of the Order of Canada.
     William Robertson Davies died on December 2, 1995, in Orangeville ON.

Josiah Henson was born on June 15, 1789, into slavery in Port Tobacco, Charles County, Maryland. When his family was separated by each being sold to different plantations, his mother pleaded with her new owner, Isaac Riley, to buy her youngest son so she would have him with her. Riley agreed and Josiah came to work for him. Josiah was twenty-two years-of-age when he married. He also became a Methodist Minister and was made the supervisor of his master's farm.
     In 1825, Mr. Riley fell on hard times and was sued by a brother-in-law. Henson guided eighteen of Riley’s slaves to Riley’s brother’s plantation in Kentucky. When he returned and asked to buy his freedom from Riley for $450.00 (350.00 cash and $100.00 IOU), Riley added an extra zero to the IOU. Cheated of his money, Henson returned to Kentucky. In 1830, he learned that he might be sold again so he, his wife, and their four children escaped to Kent County, in Upper Canada (now Ontario), which had been a refuge for slaves since 1793. That was the year Lieutenant-Governor John Graves Simcoe passed: An Act to prevent the further introduction of Slaves, and limit the Term of Contracts for Servitude within this Province. While the legislation did not immediately end slavery, it did prevent the importation of slaves and so any United States slave who entered the province was automatically free.
     Josiah Henson worked on farms in Upper Canada before moving with friends to Colchester to set up a Black settlement on rented land. He eventually was able to buy 200 acres in Dawn Township and made the community self-sufficient. The settlement reached a population of 500 at its height, earning money by exporting black walnut lumber to the United States and Britain. Henson purchased an adjoining 200 acres for his family to live on.
     Henson served in the Canadian Army as a military officer. He led a black militia unit in the Canadian Rebellion of 1837-38. When slavery was abolished in the United States many residents of the Dawn Settlement returned to their original home. Josiah Henson and his wife had eight more children in Upper Canada and he remarried a widow from Boston when his first wife died. He continued to live in Dawn for the rest of his life and many of his descendants still live in the area.
     Henson wrote his autobiography The Life of Josiah Henson, Formerly a Slave, Now an Inhabitant of Canada, as narrated by Himself. It was published in 1849 and many believe he inspired the main character in Harriet Beecher Stowes’ Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852). Henson then expanded his memoir and published it as Truth Stranger Than Fiction. Father Henson’s Story of His Own Life which came out in 1858. Since people were still interested in his life, in 1876 his story was updated and published as Uncle Tom’s Story of His Life: An autobiography of the Rev. Josiah Henson.
     Josiah Henson died on May 5, 1883 at the age of ninety-four.

Book 2 of the Canadian Historical Brides Series:  His Brother's Bride (Ontario) - Nancy Bell - March 2017

Nancy M Bell calls herself a proud Albertan and Canadian. She lives near Balzac, Alberta, with her husband and various critters. Her fiction novels include three historical romances, three young adult, and twelve romances. Laurels Quest (2014) is the first of three young adult novels in The Cornwall Adventure Series. Another young adult series, Arabella’s Secret, has two novels.

     Nancy has also written numerous articles, short stories, and poems. Her first book of poetry Through This Door was published in 2010 and she has read her poetry at the annual Poetry at Stephan’s House, at the Stephansson House Provincial Historic Site in Markerville, Alberta. (Stephan G. Stephansson was born in Iceland. He and his family moved to Canada and settled in the Markerville area in 1889. He is considered to be Iceland’s greatest poet since the Middle Ages. His popular, Andvokur, or “Wakeful Nights,” is a 6-volume set of poetry. His historic house has been restored to its 1927 look and the annual poetry reading began in 2003.)

     Nancy is a presenter at various writers’ conferences and has won many awards. She is a member of The Writers Union of Canada and the Writers Guild of Alberta. When she isn’t writing she works with, as well as, fosters rescued animals.

http://www.bookswelove.com/canadian-historical-brides-collection/

http://www.nancymbell.ca/

Sunday, February 23, 2020

You Know You Are a Writer When... by Victoria Chatham



Kissing Beach, Mexico

…you are lying on a beach, soaking up the sun, listening to the soft murmur of the waves, drink within hand’s reach—and then it starts. The voices in your head. That one character, who has been giving you gears because she’s not doing what you had in mind, telling you clearly what she is going to do. The sudden visual of the staircase in the house where your character lives. Where does it lead? Is there a purpose for it?

Sigh. Yes, the magic of that sun-kissed moment shatters as your analytical brain nods off allowing your creative brain to burst into life. You pull your notepad from your beach bag and jot down those intrusions because, if you don’t, you know the rest of your afternoon will be more of the same.

Friends who do not write do not get the concept of what populates your head. They don’t understand your need to be alone or that when you sit staring into space, your mind is going a mile a minute, bursting with ideas for which you need more time alone to formulate into words on the page. Then those words need to be organized into scenes or lines of dialogue. They need to paint pictures for readers to see the settings you have created for your characters are and what they are doing.

And when all the words are written, when all the threads weave together to form a beginning, a middle, and an end and you think you are done, there’s a sinking feeling because you know the real work is about to begin.

Whether they like it or not, authors must contend with feedback from critique partners, editors, and beta readers. There are copy and line edits, and revisions as characterizations are strengthened and plot holes plugged. There is often weeping and wailing as beautifully written paragraphs which, though the prose may be perfect does nothing to further the story, are cut.

Writing is not for the faint-hearted. But, if you have ever read a book and thought ‘I can do better than that’, then maybe you have what it takes to write one. What are you waiting for? Sit your butt in a chair, write longhand or type, whichever is most comfortable for you, and get that story idea you’ve been toying with written. When you type THE END, congratulations. Whether your story gets published or not, congratulations - you are a writer.




VICTORIA CHATHAM

Saturday, February 22, 2020

There's a leap year in 2020. One more day in the month of Love to visit our BWL Publishing free reading book club and read some of the terrific romance excerpts the Books We Love authors are sharing with us.

Just pop on over to Facebook and join in the fun.
February is Romance month on our Facebook Group page where you'll find fabulous excerpts from our romance authors being posted every day and enjoy some great reading. 

https://www.facebook.com/groups/BooksWeLovebookclub/


February New Releases

Friday, February 21, 2020

The Hoyden and the Revolution by Diane Scott Lewis



Last month I interviewed the mysterious Welshman, Derek Pritchard, who spies for the British during the American Revolution. Today we'll talk to Rowena Marsh, the leading lady and his possible love interest. When my novel, Her Vanquished Land, opens, Rowena is nearly eighteen and her father is being tarred and feathered.


Rowena, your family's stubbornness to remain with the King has caused them to be persecuted. Why choose this side and not the Patriot's?

"My poor father!" Rowena sits quickly; her brown curls bounce. She isn't beautiful but radiates a determined spirit. "He believes we can't survive without the support of England. And I too can't fathom how these rebels will be able to form a new country. But by the by, we should be allowed our own choices."

The Patriots have hanged the Loyalists for not joining them. And burned their homes. Aren't you afraid?

"It is terrible. We're worried our farm will be confiscated...if not burned. But how do you change your loyalties? I understand the high taxes from England are wrong; that's what we should fight to eliminate."

Are you joining the fight?

"I have to. But since women aren't allowed to be soldiers, I dress as a boy." She arranges her long skirt and petticoat as if it offends her. "Other women on both sides have done this. I've decoded messages in ancient Greek stolen from the rebels. I've done well to aid our side, though my aunt calls me a hoyden."

Have you seen battle?

"Yes and it was horrible. For both the Loyalists and Rebels. I've been captured, but I escaped." She turns her head away. "The second time, with the help of Derec."

Ah, the handsome Welshman. How close are the two of you?

Rowena's freckled cheeks flush. She raises her chin. "His presence has stirred feelings in me. But he's a man on a mission and has little time for...love. I may be a hoyden but I'm not a light-skirt."

With the rebels finding more successes, what will you do now?

"I don't know if my family has a future in America anymore. And...I often think of Derec as we flee to safety. I'm now tired of war. I want a home and family, and a husband who appreciates my strength." She sighs, more frustrated than sad. "Major battles are to come, and I will join in if needed. But will there be hope for us?"



Purchase Her Vanquished Land and my other novels at BWL
For more info on me and my books, check out my website: Dianescottlewis

Diane Scott Lewis lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty puppy.

Thursday, February 20, 2020

The Month for Romance and Romance Novels by J.Q.Rose

Deadly Undertaking by J.Q. Rose
Mystery, paranormal
Click here to find mysteries by J.Q. Rose at BWL Publishing
#BWLPublishing
💗💗💗💗
Hello and welcome to the BWL Publishing Insiders Blog! 
Because Valentine's Day is February 14 in our corner of the world, February is the month for romance and the perfect time to read romance novels. However, I enjoy reading romance twelve months out of the year! How about you?

Dangerous Sanctuary
Romantic Suspense

Deadly Undertaking and Dangerous Sanctuary are romance novels, but also mysteries. In the writing business, they are known as romantic suspense because a mystery is included within the romantic story.

Below are the elements which romance readers expect:

💗 a spark ignites between two characters 
💗 the conflict that keeps them apart
💗 Happily Ever After (HEA) ending

Romance is the biggest selling genre and also the most checked out books in libraries. It is a broad genre because romance can be found in paranormal, sci-fi, fantasy, historical, mystery, thriller, and literary romance stories. What a rich menu of choices for romance readers. 

At BWL Publishing, you will find entertaining novels in each of the above categories penned by excellent storytellers. Click here to go to the main page and notice all the different genres available for you.

Here are the Top Five All-Time Romances 
according to Reader's Digest--Do you agree?
1. Vision in White--Nora Roberts
2. Pride and Prejudice--Jane Austen
3. The Wedding Date--Jasmine Guillory

In the comment section below, tell us if you are a romance reader. Do you like your romantic story mixed in with another genre like mystery, fantasy or the paranormal? Share your favorite book written by a BWL Publishing author. 

Thank you for visiting.
💗💗💗💗

Click here to connect and like JQ's Author Facebook page.




Wednesday, February 19, 2020

The Treadmill is my Enemy by Stuart R. West

Great to read while on the treadmill!
I hate the treadmill. Yet I try and get on it three to four times a week. Obviously I must be some sort of masochist, because, honestly, how else do you explain how something so horrendous is supposed to be good for you? Pure agony.

Whoever said exercise is good for you is a huge liar.
Every morning I wake up, knowing I should exercise. "Just five more minutes," I tell myself. It's particularly hard to rouse on those dark Winter and Fall mornings when the only ones up are insomniac serial killers and vampires. Yet, eventually, I get up.

You know, the magical number of "50" is usually a milestone to be celebrated. The human body, on the other hand, has very different ideas. If there's a party being thrown, it's purely a pity party, the body mocking its host all the way to the grave. It's like one of those charts detailing the state of our economy; the one with the arrow plummeting down into the red zone.

Anyway, after twenty to thirty minutes on the "monster machine," I'm done. And it's not pretty. Buckets of sweat roll off me. I look like a wet T-shirt contest reject (doubtful I'd garner any votes, but you get my drift--just, um, stay downwind because I smell like canned spam). My heart is galloping to burst through its cage. I'm leaning over the cursed machine, panting, hyperventilating like a pneumatic air compressor. My back hurts. And my knees! Oh, my knees! When I walk, they emit an unhealthy squelching gelatinous sound. I swear it sounds like aliens replaced my kneecaps in the middle of the night with fish bowls.

The worst part? After all this torture, the treadmill's electronic face taunts me, registering joy that I've burned off a mere 100 calories. 100 lousy calories. If I were to eat half of a small donut, I'd break even. Any more food over the day, though, puts me back over the top. The demonic treadmill is laughing at me

You know, there's gotta' be a more pleasant method of exercising. Maybe I'll try yoga. Now...where's that leotard?
I imagine the character Zach loooooves the treadmill!

Tuesday, February 18, 2020

A little Sneak Peak by Nancy M Bell



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

I've been working on the next book in The Alberta Adventures series. It's working title is Dead Dogs Talk. Where Wild Horse Rescue centres around the wild horses in Alberta, Dead Dogs Talk will centre on the horrendous practice of dog fighting and puppy mills. Often the two go hand in hand. I thought I would whet your whistle so to speak and share the first bit of Dead Dogs Talk with you.

Dead Dogs Talk
©Nancy M Bell 2020

Laurel surveyed the buckskin prairie rolling away from her toward the purple hued Rockies in the distance. She inhaled the familiar scent of dry grain stubble and dust with underlying notes of cool brought on the wind from the west.
“I know it sounds lame, but have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Laurel turned and spoke to Carly, her best friend.
“I love this time of year. The sky is just so…so…blue and the aspens are all turning gold.” Carly nudged her mare up beside Laurel’s Sam, the saddle leather creaking as she shifted her weight.
Laurel grinned at her. “Let ride down by the river under the trees, the sun’s just about the right angle to turn those leaves all gold and sunstruck.”
The girls turned the horses away from the harvested barley field and followed the worn path along a fence line toward the coulee. The track snaked around and followed the gravel range road before detouring around a stand of aspen crowding the fence near the road. Laurel turned Sam toward the path that dipped down the slope of the coulee.
“Hey, Laurel, wait up!”
Laurel pulled up and twisted in the saddle to see what was holding Carly up. “What’s wrong?” She pivoted Sam on the narrow trail and moved back to where Carly was sitting motionless. “What? You okay?” Laurel drew even with her friend and let Sam halt beside the mare.
“Look…” Carly motioned toward the aspens and low bushes. “Is that what I think it is?” her voice choked off.
“I don’t see…” Laurel nudged Sam a few steps closer and leaned down trying to see what was upsetting Carly. “Oh my God!” She piled off her horse, dropping the reins to ground-tie the gelding. Shoving her way through the tangled bushes, she halted by a bent aspen tree. Tied by its neck to the lowest branch was a brindle dog. Blinking back tears, Laurel reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out her jack knife. Muttering words her father would frown at, she started to saw at the thick rope.
“Who would do something like this?” Carly’s voice trembled as she pushed through the long grass and brush. “The poor thing, I hope it didn’t suffer.” She stuffed a hand against her mouth.
The dog’s head flopped to the side when the rope finally parted, and the limp body collapsed onto the trodden grass. Laurel dropped to her knees and began working at loosening the noose around the thick neck.
“It’s dead, Laurel. What are you doing? Let’s go, we should tell someone. What if whoever did this comes back?” Carly started edging back toward the horses.
“I don’t care! The least we can do is take this damned rope off her.” She pulled the noose free and sat back on her heels. “Poor baby. Look at the scars on her face, and the wounds all over her. Makes me so mad I could just spit.”
“Shit!” The limp body gave a shuddering convulsion and the unfocussed eyes fluttered. Laurel scrambled backward. “Carly, she’s alive! The dog is still alive. Come help me.”
“We should go and get help, Laurel. What if the thing is vicious? Or has rabies?” Carly hesitated at the edge of the trees.
“We can’t leave her like this. She might run off before we can get back once she’s recovered a bit. She needs a vet. And we need to take pictures of everything. Damn, I should have thought of that before I touched anything.” Laurel pulled her phone out of her pocket and took pictures of the rope and the dog and the area while keeping an eye on the dog who panted in rasping breaths. “Keep breathing, girl. Keep breathing.” She edged closed to the dog, reached out cautiously and straightened out a front leg that was twisted under a broken tree limb. The dog lifted her head and Laurel froze with her hand still on the leg.
“Get back!” Carly’s voice was shrill.
“It’s fine, she’s not even growling. I think she’s too weak to do much more than lie there.”
“Now what do we do? It’s getting late, you know. Look at the sun.” Carly waved an arm toward the western horizon where the sun hovered a hand’s width above the shorn barley.
“Call Chance. He can bring the truck.” Laurel released the dog’s leg and stood up.
“I don’t know if he’ll even come,” Carly was doubtful. “You know how he gets.”
“Call him, will you? I’m going to call Dr. Sam and let him know we’re bringing in an injured dog.” Laurel scrolled through her phone to the vet’s number. She glanced at Carly and scowled. “Call your damn brother, Carly. If he says no, we’ll figure something else out. He can’t bite you over the phone.”
“Hi Marg,” she responded when the vet’s receptionist picked up the phone. “It’s Laurel Rowan. I’ve got an injured dog that’s in pretty bad shape here.” She paused to listen. “No, no, not one of mine. Carly and I found this dog while we were out riding. It’s in pretty bad shape, she was tied to a tree, half strangled and looks like she’s been in a fight. What? No, there’s no one around that we saw. As soon as we can get a ride, I’ll bring her in. Thanks.” Laurel ended the call and shoved the phone back in her pocket.
“Chance is coming.” Carly joined her under the aspens.
“Good. Hey, did you bring any water? I bet she’s dehydrated.” Laurel squatted beside the dog again and reached out a hand. When the big dog did nothing more than roll an eye toward her, she stroked the dog’s shoulder. Running her hand gently over the ribs and down her spine, Laurel’s gut clenched. Her exploring fingers found bumps and contusions, along with matted blood and open wounds. “Hey baby girl, it’s okay now. We got you,” she murmured.
“Here.” Carly shoved a half full bottle of water at Laurel. “It’s all I’ve got on me.” She hesitated before kneeling beside Laurel. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough. Looks like someone beat the crap out of her before they dumped her here.”
The growl of tires on the gravel heralded an approaching vehicle. Laurel glanced through the trees toward the road. “Is it Chance? Stay down, Carly, until we’re sure it’s him.”
“Oh God! You don’t think whoever did this would come back, do you? What about the horses? Anybody could see them from the road…” Carly turned pale.
“Don’t freak out on me, now. Just stay in the trees until we’re sure it’s Chance. I don’t think whoever did this cares enough to show up again.”
The crunch of tires on gravel slowed and a beat up brown pickup slowed to a halt where the horses stood ground-tied on the opposite side of the fence.
“Carly? Laurie? Where the hell are you?” Chance stepped out of the truck, sounding annoyed.
“Here!” Carly pushed through the trees toward her brother. “The dog’s in the bushes here. It’s too heavy for us to move. Laurel’s with her.”
Chance reached inside the truck and killed the engine before he stalked down the ditch and swung a long leg over the top strand of barb wire. He followed his sister through the low brush and halted beside Laurel.
“What a shittin’ mess. You sure it’s alive?” He nudged the dog with is boot.


Well, that's as much as I'm going to share for now. You can find me at www.nancymbell.ca AuthorNancyMBell on Facebook and on the BWL Publishing Inc webpage.
Until next month, stay well, stay happy

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