The Back Nine

 

 I FIRST STARTED READING  & WAS READING FAST UNTIL I REACHED
THE THIRD SENTENCE. I STOPPED AND STARTED OVER READING SLOWER AND
THINKING ABOUT EVERY WORD. THIS EMAIL IS VERY THOUGHT PROVOKING. MAKES
YOU STOP AND THINK. READ SLOWLY!

 AND THEN IT IS THE WINTER OF YOUR LIFE€¦   TODAY IS THE OLDEST YOU'VE EVER BEEN, YET THE YOUNGEST YOU'LL EVER BE,

SO ENJOY THIS DAY WHILE IT LASTS.

 You know ... time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware
of the passing years It seems just yesterday that I was young, just
married and embarking on my new life with my mate. Yet in a way, it
seems like eons ago, and I wonder where all the years went. I know that
I lived them all. I have glimpses of how it was back then and of all my
hopes and dreams.

 But, here it is... the "€œback nine" of my life and it catches me by
surprise...How did I get here so fast? Where did the years go and where
did my youth go?

 I remember well seeing older people through the years and thinking that
those older people were years away from me and that “I was only on
the first hole” and the "back nine" was so far off that I could
not fathom it or imagine fully what it would be like.

 But, here it is...my friends are retired and getting gray...they move
slower and I see an older person now. Some are in better and some worse
shape than me...but, I see the great change...Not like the ones that I
remember who were young and vibrant...but, like me, their age is
beginning to show and we are now those older folks that we used to see
and never thought we'd become.

 Each day now, I find that just getting a shower is a real target for
the day! And taking a nap is not a treat anymore... it's mandatory!
Cause if I don't on my own free will.. I just fall asleep where I sit!

 And so...now I enter into this new season of my life unprepared for all
the aches and pains and the loss of strength and ability to go and do
things that I wish I had done but never did!! But, at least I know,
that though I’m on the “back nine”, and I'm not sure how long it
will last...this I know, that when it's over on this earth...it's over.
A new adventure will begin! Yes, I have regrets. There are things I
wish I hadn't done...things I should have done, but indeed, there are
many things I'm happy to have done. It's all in a lifetime.

 So, if you're not on the “back nine” yet...let me remind you, that
it will be here faster than you think. So, whatever you would like to
accomplish in your life please do it quickly! Don't put things off too
long!! Life goes by quickly. So, do what you can today, as you can
never be sure whether you're on the 'back nine" or not!

 You have no promise that you will see all the seasons of your
life...so, live for today and say all the things that you want your
loved ones to remember...and hope that they appreciate and love you for
all the things that you have done for them in all the years past!!

 "Life" is a gift to you. The way you live your life is your gift to
those who come after. Make it a fantastic one. LIVE IT WELL! ENJOY
TODAY! DO SOMETHING FUN! BE HAPPY ! HAVE A GREAT DAY Remember "It is
health that is real wealth and not pieces of gold and silver. LIVE
HAPPY IN 2014!

 LASTLY, CONSIDER THIS: ~Your kids are becoming you......but your
grandchildren are perfect! ~Going out is good.. Coming home is better!
~You forget names.... But it's OK because other people forgot they even
knew you!!! ~You realize you're never going to be really good at
anything.... especially golf. ~The things you used to care to do, you
no longer care to do, but you really do care that you don't care to do
them anymore. ~You sleep better on a lounge chair with the TV blaring
than in bed. It's called "pre-sleep". ~You miss the days when
everything worked with just an "ON" and "OFF" switch.. ~You tend to use
more 4 letter words ... "what?"..."when?"...” ??? ~Now that you can
afford expensive jewelry, it's not safe to wear it anywhere. ~You
notice everything they sell in stores is "sleeveless"?!!! ~What used to
be freckles are now liver spots. ~Everybody whispers. ~You have 3 sizes
of clothes in your closet.... 2 of which you will never wear. ~~~But
Old is good in some things: Old Songs, Old movies, and best of all, OLD
FRIENDS!!

 Stay well, "OLD FRIENDS!" ! It's Not What You Gather, But What You
Scatter That Tells What Kind Of Life You Have Lived.



 HAPPY NEW YEAR MY FRIENDS

INSOMNIAC

No Sleep by Milosaur

 

It’s 11:11 p.m. Sometimes, it’s 12:12. And other times it’s 3:33 or, maybe, it’s 4:56.  These clock times engage my imagination. They happen mostly the dark hours, when I wake up, check the time, shake my head and either stagger off to the bathroom, let the cat in or out, or wander around the house for a half an hour until my old joints unkink sufficiently so I can go back to sleep.

I suppose I shouldn’t waste time thinking about whether this means anything, but the problem is that during the '60’s I dabbled in numerology, and that years earlier, sitting on the floor to the off-stage right of a Barbadian bar, this little girl read books about aliens visiting earth in ancient times, which accounts for most of our mythology, or about prehistoric collisions of the earth with Venus, or about contemporary African tribes who somehow or other know all about the invisible-to-the-naked-eye-red-dwarf companion of the blue giant star, Sirius. I’ve been soaking in this other-worldly, one-brick-shy-of-a-load content since I was a post war precocious child, with predictable results.

Whenever I wake up at night, I always look at the clock, and because there is usually some variation of what I take to be a “meaningful” configuration, I’ve begun to imagine these are messages—from somewhere about something. Don’t ask me what, although I’ve spent plenty of 2-4 a.m. hours wondering.

Are these omens, messages from a hitherto uncommunicative universe? 

Is the TARDIS land going to appear in my bedroom? (Cool!)

Is some Nightmarish Being from an occult Lovecraftian dimension with three toes and a long snaky snout lurking just behind the bedroom door?

Is my ship—so long awaited—about to come in?

Or is it all simply a series of unrelated events, just “random chaos ”(as one of my friends has it), business as usual on this particular plane?

 ~~

Juliet Waldron
Author of Mozart's Wife, Roan Rose, Nightingale
and other historical novels. 
http://www.julietwaldron.com
http://www.amazon.com/author/julietwaldron
 

It's All About Blogging

Following is a post I shared in 2007 on my own site.  I love to go back and read how much I've grown as an author and what sort of things I've added to my schedule.  Of course, I see a ton here I no longer do, and friends I've lost contact with.  Sad, but I've made a hundred new ones since then, so I can't be unhappy with the outcome.  The bottom line:  Blogging has brought me joy.  My most current comments are in ( ) below each paragraph.


 How long have you been blogging?
 Not long at all. Only since the very end of September (2006). I began in 2004 with a monthly newsletter and my membership grew to over 550. Although I enjoyed producing a monthly rag, I hated the bounced emails, the constant changing of them, and just the general headaches. So, when blogging became all the rage, I decided to give it shot. The downside was losing all my subscribers, but I found a way to add a subscription link and I actually forced everyone to sign up. Not really, I thought I could import my addresses but found I couldn't, so I spent three nights typing in addys complete with those stupid spam guard letters and numbers. When I went to bed last night, I swore they were tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. I'm happy to say that most of the people I subscribed, confirmed and have signed on for another round of torture. (I have since invited Rita Karnopp to join me, and I benefit from the wisdom in articles she shares on her days.)

 What inspired you to start a blog and who are your mentors? 
 As an author, you have to establish a fan base and I like to know mine. I love interacting with people, and blogging makes that easier. The newsletter was fun while it lasted, but this allows people to comment back to me and let me know what they think. I can also invite other friends to come and share information on days when I'm just too lazy to blog myself. Mentors? I didn't know many people who blogged until I started myself, so I guess I'm my own mentor.
 (I must credit Jude Pittman with getting me started.  I was through her BWL group that I gained my followers…her interactive comment section  allowed me to interact with people who had stopped by, and I believe most of the people who continue to follow me have been with me for a long time. Thank you Jude…not only for being a forward-thinker before you started Publishing, but for helping a new author establish herself.)

 Are you trying to make money online, or just doing it for fun? 
 You can make money doing this? Since I had no idea, I suppose I should be truthful and say I do this for the fun of it. I also write because that's what I love to do. If I was in it for the money, I'd have hung up my keyboard a long time ago. Despite all the promotion I do, my last royalty check barely covered a Happy Meal.  (Things have definitely changed for me since then.  I moved up to Burger King and Whoppers. *lol*)

 What 3 things do you struggle with online? 
 a) The biggest struggle for me the lack of tone in email. There is none and it's hard to keep from adding my own. You know we all have those days when we're pissy and it's very easy to beat myself up with my own attitude. I think I'm insecure and I need my Mommy!  (Still struggle with this and forget that people use their own moods to inflict tone in what you write…I'm a people too, so I have to question myself many times before I respond with a biting tone.)

 b) The next hardest thing for me is saying no when people need help. I'm not a computer geek by any means, but I seem to have a tad more expertise than some, and I find myself fixing boo boos, moderating, doing videos, and tons of other things that take time away from my writing.  (I only say no when it's physically impossible.  I truly believe that being a successful author depends on those with whom you surround yourself.  I will always help promote others, and do what I can to keep us all moving upward.)

 c) The final struggle for me is finding time to visit all the networking sites and being able to keep my own pages current. We have BEBO, BOOKFACE, BOOKPLACE, MYSPACE, SHELFARI...just to name a very few. It's almost impossible to be visible on all of them if I want to keep up with my blogging. I've yet to find a happy medium and I'm driving myself nuts. Good thing it's a short jaunt.

 What 3 things do you love about being online?
 a) It takes away my feelings of solitude. Since I retired from my academic counseling job, I'm a stay-at-home "Nee Nee" to a five-year-old grandson. I hunger for adult conversation, and email and my networking sites is how I get my fix these days.  (Nothing changed here.  The majority of my best friends are people I've never met.)

 b) I'm a closet comedienne and I love to make people laugh. I have a serious side to my blog, but I also like to blend in a lot of humor. Everyone needs a chuckle now and then, and if I can brighten someone's day, I do. Blogging gives me a chance to laugh at the world and myself.  (I love to infuse humor in almost everything I write.  It's hard being serious all the time, so when I get a chance, I like to make people laugh…it's the best medicine, if you haven't heard.)

 c) One of greatest thing about being online is learning new things. Of course then this takes me back to one the struggles of being on line...saying no to people. I've learned to do video trailers, even started a little side business called, TrailMix, Videos. Setting up a Myspace page wasn't a daunting task, but you'd be surprised how many people can't figure it out. I've mastered moderating yahoo groups and setting up my own, and it seems that either people are playing dumb or they really find it a challenge. Nonetheless, I guess I'm destined to be a patsy for anyone in need. There's a lot of satisfaction in it. Makes an old gal feel smarter than she really is. :) I guess now, what I need to do is tag three more people for you to meet. Hmmm, let me see: Yvonne Perry is is a wonder. She's one of the busiest people I know but manages to organize and involve people in great blog chains that connect one to another. I've met some great people and drifted to spaces I would never have found on my own. Vicki Gaia is a good friend and fellow author I met on a critique group. I admire her positive attitude and spirit, and she's been a tremendous help in honing my work for submission to publishers. Anne Whitfield is another good friend and fellow author who started a Historical Fiction critique group and invited me to participate. I've made great progress, good friends, and turned out some pretty decent books thanks to Anne and her group. I owe her a lot. So there you go. This was fun. Thanks to Helen Ginger for recognizing my site and awarding me the 'meme'. I titled this "All About Blogging" but it really was all about ME! Hope you enjoy visiting the other sites and learning about how other people blog. Probably not as crazily as I do, but as entertaining I'll bet.
 (Sadly, the people I've mentioned are ones with whom I've lost contact with, but like I said…I've made many more friends than I ever imagined.  They may not know my face, but they know my name.  I no longer do videos for other people, it's been ages since I've been to MySpace, preferring FB instead, and I've also let go of lots of "time sucks" such as Yahoo groups that provided nothing more than endless excerpts which I doubt many people took time to read and reading reviews from trolls who take delight in desecrating the work of others.  I've also relinquished many networking sites in favor of those I know are frequented by those who love to read.)

So, now you realize why I'm monopolizing this blog. All the reasons above, plus people will only follow a blog that has frequent entries and interesting content.  Jamie put effort into creating this blog for BWL authors, and that's me.  I'm doing my part because I owe BWL a great deal of gratitude…and I love Jude and Jamie.  Next time, I'm going to share one of Rita's interesting posts.  She's a wise woman with tons of good reads.

Always Learning By Ginger Simpson

Writing is always a learning experience. And a confusing one. I thought creating a novel would be the hard part, but I was wrong. It's deciding which helpful critiques of your work make the most sense.

It's a known fact, if you solicit an opinion, you'll get one...and you may not always like it or agree. This aptly describes being in a critique group. Although, it's often a task to glean the most helpful suggestions from the stack, I encourage every new author to find a group and join. You may receive some negative comments, but you get tons of positive ones that help keep you focused. You have to remember the reason you joined is to help hone your story into it's very best, and everyone has an opinion on how to do that. *lol* The secret is to select suggestions that don't change your voice or alter your story-telling ability, but improve the flow and correct the flaws.

Receiving critiques is like going through an editorial process. You must keep an open mind and consider each possibility. If I like a suggestion, I follow it, but if I don't, I hold firm to what I've written. Sometimes, it's my voice coming through, and what separates my story from any other. Every critique or editing provides an opportunity to learn something new.

Herein lies a problem. When I post excerpts, I always notice something I know now that I wish I'd known then. *lol* But, one of these days, I'm bound to write that award-winning novel with all these facts floating around in my head. At least, as I write now, I stop and remember to replace was with a more active word, or remove the could, would and should to keep my story in the present tense and remove the passive voice. I don't need all those necessary instances of that. I stop and re-read the sentence with and without it, and frequently hit the delete button.

I now look for and delete prepositional phrases (to him, at her) at the end of sentences. A reader is usually smart enough to know what is implied. And certainly, if there are only two people in the room, most tags aren't needed. Nothing is more annoying than every sentence identifying the speaker when I can figure it out on my own. Don't treat your readers like they're dummies. *lol*

I've been told that phrases like 'seemed to," "tried to," and "began to," actually weaken a sentence. It's better to stay in the active mode. Example: The aroma of apple pie seemed to fill the room. Why not say: The aroma of apple pie filled the room and made his stomach rumble.

And hardest of all for me to remember: Cause & Effect. Something has to happen BEFORE some has a reaction. Example: She jumped when the door slammed might be considered okay, but it's better if The door slammed and she jumped. So much to remember!

See what I mean? If not for my critique friends and my wonderful editors, I'd still be just a story-teller. There is a distinct difference between that and being a novelist. The secret is in drawing the reader in, making them experience the smells, feel the emotions, and believe they can see and feel along with the characters. It's not an easy task, but the more I learn, the better I become.

Not a BWL Pub, But by One of Our Authors....

I decided to post an endorsement for a book not published by BWL but by one of our authors.  Sometimes, books published elsewhere lead reader's here because they are so impressed with the writing, they want to read more.  This is what I experienced when I read this book..  Killarney is an awesome author and I'm happy to share a recommendation that I don't give lightly:

Through Gypsy Eyes by Killarney Sheffield

All-in-all, this was a story I will long remember and I'm so glad I read it. If you're looking for a romance that contains a whole lot more, you'll appreciate the fact Ms. Sheffield has left most of the sexual exploits to your own fantasies, and she's written in twists and turns you'll not see coming. I consider this worthy of my "I Dug It" award.

If you're interested, it's economically priced by Crimson Romance and available for your Kindle on Amazon.

Making Resolutions

Like many other authors, I'm resolving to spend more time writing and turning out good books, but how long will the momentum last? For years, I've spent time making resolutions only to discover that I spent more time listing the things I wanted to change than actually making any changes.  Let's face it...diet's keep getting postponed to 'next Monday,' along with those exercise program we plan to start.  I know...I'm still waiting for the Monday to come that is just right to cut back on chocolate. I don't expect to see it anytime soon.

Life often gets in the way of our best intentions, so I don't have much faith in resolutions.  In fact, I've stopped making them because of continued disappointment in my lack to exhibit the tenaciousness needed to make changes.  Someone once said, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks," and I'm rather feeling like that old cur these days.  If you couple that saying with "Old habits die hard," you have two really significant reasons why resolving to change doesn't work.

Oh, I'm not totally resistant to change, I'm just being realistic.  I an say I'm going to sit in front of my computer more often and complete those works-in-progress, but chances are I'm kidding myself.  Once I surpassed the age when I truly expected to be dead, I resolved to enjoy life more.  Now, I not only have to contend with reality TV programs, Facebook has hooked me with Pet Rescue and Candy Crush. Last night, when I went to my desk to actually do some work, I discovered Royal Dice.  So, even though I resolve to avoid resolutions, I am going to try harder to be a more productive author...or at least win more dice games.

Happy New Year, ya'll.

Make a Joyful Noise by Ginger Simpson

Anne Collins curled up in her over-stuffed easy chair and glanced at the daily newspaper. The glass of wine on the end table reflected the crackling fire beyond the hearth. Her workday had prompted her to fill a much larger goblet than normal. If one more person mentioned having a ‘Merry Christmas’, she thought for certain she’d lose control. This year, the yuletide held no reason to celebrate. Her husband, Daniel, lay in the hospital, hanging by a thread. Being festive rated last on her ‘to do’ list.

Warmth spread throughout the room as the logs on the grate crackled and popped, chasing away the chill brought on by frigid temperatures and two feet of snow outside. Anne grew comfortable and tossed the paper aside. She picked up her white zinfandel and sipped it while reflecting on past holidays.

She always considered her life was full and blessed…until the diagnosis. Daniel never smoked a day in his life. How did he end up with throat cancer? Surely there were plenty of murderers or child molesters God could punish. Why her husband? He was the epitome of everything good.

Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she took a tissue from a nearby box and blotted her face. Hell couldn’t be any worse than watching Daniel waste away, suffering with every breath. The radiation and chemotherapy burned his throat and made it impossible for him to speak.  Seemed an eternity had passed since he flashed that smile she loved so much.

This was the first time in their married life she’d picked out and put up a Christmas tree without him. The anger festering inside made her want to rip it down, burn the gifts, and rant at the Lord for the unfairness, but…

A blast of cold air blew into the room as the door opened. “Hey, Mom, sorry, I’m late, but I stayed after school to finish up a science project.”

A smaller version of her mother, fourteen-year-old Casey slugged inside, stamping her feet on the rug in the foyer to clear the flakes from her boots. Peeling off her coat, she tackled the layer of sweaters beneath. “Boy, it is freezing out there.”

She opened the hall closet and hung everything inside, then turned to her mother with an arched brow. “Do you realize it’s the second week of December and we’re the only house on the block without outside decorations?”

Anne took a sip of wine to hide a grimace. “I know, dear. I just haven’t been in the mood this year.” She looked at her daughter and sighed. Casey was the only reason Anne hadn’t cracked under the stress.

Casey crossed the room and perched on the chair’s arm. “I can help put up the lights, Mom. All we need is a ladder. Dad left the little hooks up from last year.”

Anne shook her head. “We’ll do just fine without lights, Casey. Besides…” She stared into her lap, her eyes blurred with unbidden tears.

“Dad’s going to get better and come home, so why are you acting like he’s gone?” Casey stood and pulled her lips into pout. “You know how much he enjoys the holidays.” Her chocolate eyes glistened in the firelight, her tone demanded an answer.

Anne rose, walked to the mantle and picked up a filigreed picture frame. Looking upon Daniel’s smiling face sent pain stabbing at her heart. The photograph had been taken the year they went to Maui. Now thin and gaunt, he barely resembled the man she saw. It’d been weeks since he’d even acknowledged her presence in the hospital room.

She put the photo back and turned to her daughter. “Casey, I just can’t muster up any Christmas spirit. Your dad isn’t doing very well and I don’t feel very festive.” She returned to her chair and downed the rest of her wine, hoping it would numb her worried mind.

Casey peered down at her. “I know if Dad was standing here, he’d be disappointed that you’ve lost faith. Why have we gone to church all these years if you can’t trust God to take care of things?” She spun and stomped out of the room.

Anne pondered the question. Why couldn’t she trust God? The answer was easy. He’d allowed Dan to get sick in the first place. She stood and wandered into the kitchen, her wine glass in hand. After pouring a re-fill, she gazed out the window over the sink at the drifts of snow in the backyard. The old tire swing Casey used to love still hung from a giant branch now devoid of leaves. The setting sun was lost behind a gray wintry haze, and everything looked frozen. While her mind questioned God’s motives, Anne watched until the last trace of daylight disappeared and darkness fell.

She picked up her goblet and started to turn from the window, but a flash of light caught her eye. Too bright at first, it soon softened, and Anne blinked in disbelief.

The shimmering outline of an angel, dressed all in white, appeared just outside the glass. A glowing halo shone brightly above her head, and the assuring smile on her face sent a peaceful feeling coursing through Anne’s body.

The entity raised her arms, and as if by magic, an orb of light floated from her hands and rose into the heavens. Anne’s gaze followed the star’s trail as it climbed higher, illuminating the yard, the trees, the swing, and the old storage shed in the corner where Dan kept the gardening tools. Anne thought to call her daughter to witness the scene, but couldn’t find the voice to do it. She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the wonder outside.

The heavenly creature floated a few feet above the ground and gestured toward the sky. The gray haze was gone and a canopy of stars twinkled above. One stood out above the rest, sending a blaze of light flashing to the ground. In the snowdrift just beyond the trees, Anne beheld another wonder. Unveiled one letter at a time, an invisible hand seemed to etch the glowing word ‘believe’ into the blanket of white. Anne gasped, trying to call out for Casey, but the image, along with the angel, vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. The stars still twinkled brightly overhead, but the yard turned dark again.  Her mouth agape, Anne marveled at lightness in her heart.

***

Casey sat at the desk in her room. Christmas music played softly on her radio, and she struggled to concentrate on her homework. How could she possibly focus on school when things at home were so depressing? She couldn’t bear to think of life without her dad, and it hurt that her mother had all but given up on his getting better.

With a sigh, Casey stood and walked to the bookshelf across the room. She searched the shelves until she found her Bible. She thumbed through the index, looking for verses pertaining to hope and found Proverbs 3:3-4. Turning to the passage, she read:

Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man.She’d barely finished when she heard a strange noise coming from downstairs—a heavy thumping sound. Her put her Bible back in its place and tilted her ear to listen. She heard it again. Casey opened her door and the sound became louder. “Mom, what is that,” she called out.

When she received no answer, Casey went to investigate. The noise had stopped but she couldn’t find her mom. She walked through the entire house only to find it empty. A half-filled wine glass sat near the easy chair, but no sight of her mother.

The thumping began again—close and right outside. The porch light cast a strange-looking shadow on the front window. Casey grasped the knob and opened the door just a crack. She saw a ladder and a pair of legs from the knees down. She recognized the fur-lined boots.

“Mom, what are you doing up there?” Casey walked to the edge of the porch and peered up.

Bundled against the weather, her mother hammered at the wooden eave. “I’m putting up Christmas lights. Some of the hooks are loose and I’m tightening them. How about if you get a coat on and check the bulbs in the next strand while I finish hanging these.”

“But… I thought…” Forgetting the cold, Casey picked up a coiled cord and began unraveling it.

“I know, I know. I lost faith for a while,” her mother glanced down and nodded,” but for some strange reason, I’ve found it again. I have a strong feeling that Dad is coming home and we need to be ready.”

Casey smiled up at her mother. “Let me get my coat and I’ll be right back. Tomorrow we can put up the manger scene in the yard.”

“Good idea.” Anne went back to pounding.

Casey paused for a moment and looked to heaven. Her mind wandered to her last week's Sunday School lesson. Make A JoyfulNoise Unto the Lord - Psalm 100. "Who would've thought hammering could qualify?" she muttered, then smiled.  Humming “Silent Night,” she headed for the coat closet.  For the first time in weeks, she enjoyed feeling a sense of peace that magnified the joy of the holiday.  Faith would bind their family together; love would sustain them.

THE END! I finished Book 5 in the Curse of the Lost Isle series

Yep, I wrote THE END on the last page of the manuscript of CHATELAINE OF FOREZ, Book Five in the CURSE OF THE LOST ISLE series.

I'm going to polish it to a shine during the holidays, and send it to BWL as soon as they reopen in January. Publication date will depend upon how long it takes the editors (some of them in England), and BWL's talented cover artists, to put it together. I predict it will probably be in late February or early March.

Anyhoo... I'm very excited and celebrating right now. Although this is my... let me count... Twenty-third title (I had to go to Amazon to check how many I had already published), the thrill of finishing a book never gets old.

CHATELAINE OF FOREZ follows Melusine (after Lady of Luxembourg) on a new adventure (still based upon the authentic legends, this time in the independent province of Forez (France), where I had a great time researching the local archives a few years ago.

Here is the short blurb:

Still afflicted by the ondine curse, Melusine seeks the reincarnated soul of her lost beloved in the young Artaud of Forez, who reigns over the verdant hills south of Burgundy, on the road of pilgrims, troubadours and merchants. But this dark and brooding Pagan lord is not at all what she hoped. He knows nothing of their past love, her Fae nature, or her secret curse. Must Melusine seduce and betroth this cold stranger to satisfy the Goddess and redeem her curse?

The gold in the rivers instills greed in the powerful, and many envy the rich Lord of Forez, including his most trusted vassals... even the Archbishop of Lyon. When a mythological creature is sighted in the swamps, initiating a holy hunt, will Melusine find redemption from the curse, or will she and Artaud burn at the stake?

Find the first four novels of the CURSE OF THE LOST ISLE in kindle on Amazon HERE
There is also a box set including the first three novels (best deal)

Find out more at: http://www.vijayaschartz.com

The Great Apple Hunt

Every August, I wait and watch for the new crop of apples. I begin the process of filling my fridge with apples, and proceed to bake apple pies and apple bread. Then I fill my freezer with applesauce. The habit began early.

My parents had three acres in Skaneateles, NY which came with the remains of an orchard. There were seven trees in a row on the eastern side of the house, and I remember the shape and habit of each one well, blooming in spring or illuminated by sunrise. Nearest the road was a classic Golden Delicious tree with low, spreading limbs. It was my particular haunt, because it was easy to climb into. During hot summer afternoons, there were almost-comfortable notches you could get into with a book, but actually, the best thing was just to zone out and watch the ever-changing shadows of the leaves dancing across my skinny arms.   Besides this shapely tree there was also a Schuyler Plum, a Bartlett pear, and a single apple tree each of Rome and Cortland. We had one mystery tree which shed rock hard golden-with-pink-blush fruit very late in the season. To this last, my parents could not give a name until they consulted the local old-timers. This, we finally learned, was a Winter Banana. Although initially “hard enough to shoot through an oak plank”, we found that if you wiped these apples and stored them in a cool place inside a big cardboard box, by early January they would become tasty, juicy and delicious. These heritage apples kept so well, that we often made pies or sauce or even Waldorf salad as late as April. We rarely bought store apples.

Winter Banana

From:   http://adamapples.blogspot.com/

When my husband and I were first married, we lived in Massachusetts and so had plenty of excellent northern apples to eat, and so my craving—after dearth years in the West Indies--was satisfied. The newly developed, sweet and crispy Macoun, glowing in those picture-perfect Massachusetts orchards was a revelation. For work, though, we had to move south. The apples here came earlier, and what I found were of poor quality. At the farm stands, the Macs, Romes and Cortlands, and even the ordinarily good keepers such as Staymen, all too soon in the long southern autumns, became mush.  Friends who lived up north sent me fruit by post, but I was an apple exile--deprived.

Moving again, into Pennsylvania, I hoped to find better apples, but at first, I couldn’t locate them. People here liked Lodi, for they come early, but about all they are good for is a mild, soupy sauce. No, the early greens are not favorites—and don’t even mention the awful saw-dust-look-but-don't eat supermarket Red “Delicious”!  The antique varieties our grandparents knew had been destroyed by subdivisions and marketing. I’ve lived in PA for 30 years now, and that once world-famous Pennsylvania export, the York Imperial--of "Treasure Island" fame--has never crossed my seeker’s path.

  

Happily, we are returning to a time in which people crave good taste again, and at the renascent farmer’s markets I'm again finding the old favorites.  It’s catch as catch can, depending on weather, rain and whether I find them fresh off the tree. There are some new, tasty varieties—the Ginger Gold, the Braeburn, the Gala, and the magnificent, late season Goldrush.  Among the newbies, I confess to a weakness for Empires and Jonagolds. The older breeds, however, to my old taste buds, will always be tops. My heart leaps when I find a hard, tart Jonathan or a traditional Winesap, or even a Cortland or a Rome, fresh from a good tree. This year, during my  annual apple hunt, I encountered my Holy Grail of heritage apples—Northern Spy—and enjoyed a brief time of rejoicing in each crispy, crunchy, tangy bite.     

Heritage apples/Assorted

~~Juliet Waldron

Historical Novels @ http://www.julietwaldron.com

The Night Before Christmas ~ A Poem by Shirley Martin

 

'Twas the night before Christmas                               

And inside my house

I sat at the computer

Clicking the mouse

 

My writing was great

And I couldn't complain

So I thought I'd celebrate

With a glass of champagne

 

But it's time for a break

I thought with elation

But how much time should I take

When I take my vacation?

 

Oh, I'll see it all

I'll see Venice and Rome

But after the Taj Mahal

'Twould be time to come home

 

I headed for the kitchen

To get the champagne

While thinking I'm just itchin'

To see Paris again.

 

As I took a sip

I heard the door chimes

And a woman outside called,

"I'm from the New York Times."

 

I opened the door

And there before me

The woman said, "You're the very person

"I've wanted to see."

 

"You're on our bestseller list,"

She quickly explained.

"Why, you're all I thought of

Before I even deplaned."

 

I gasped and I stammered

I turned ten shades of red

I giggled and said, "This

All goes to my head." 

 

"And look what we have here,"

She said in shrill tones.

"A big brass band with

Seventy-six trombones."

 

I turned from the doorway

And there on the street

A band started playing

With an ear busting beat.

 

"Now don't complain about the noise," she said,

"And don't call the cops.

Just listen to these girls and boys

Why, they think you're tops." 

 

"May I come visit a while,"

She asked with a smile.

"I've come all the way from New York

So let's pop the cork."

 

My success was assured

Or so it would seem

But then I woke up

It had all been a dream!

 

Still, 'twas a nice dream

When all's done and said,

So I set down my drink

And went on to bed.

 

Copyright (C) 2013 Shirley Martin

 

Find Shirley Martin here:

http://bookswelove.net/martin.php

http://authorshirleymartin.blogspot.com

 

Facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/shirley.martin.716970

 

Amazon page:

http://amzn.com/e/B006C2FHJ4

 

MY CHRISTMAS PAST--1949

I was born at the end of the baby bust, so when I was little, for a time, before all those glad-to-be-alive Dad’s arrived home from the war, just to be a kid was special. My cousin and I lived in a pleasant rural Ohio town, which had been home to both our families since before the Depression. Mike’s parents lived just four blocks from me. His parents had a Cadillac, a hand-me-down from his grandparents, who were sufficiently well-to-do to buy a new car every two years. These better fixed in-laws liked to “do things up right.”  At Christmas, this meant hiring a Santa Claus.

Now, I’ve heard more about this Santa since I’ve grown up, but when I was a kid, I actually suspected he just might be the real deal. For one thing, I was quite small the first time I saw him, no more than four.

The night before Christmas I was getting the whole “you better watch out, you better not cry,” bit from my parents. There were canned peas for dinner, and I remember forcing those rubbery pills down, and hoping not to gag.

In those days, children went to bed before their parents—long before. Right after dinner, there was a story, a wash-up, and then straight to bed. Tonight, however, right in the middle of the story, I heard sleigh bells.

My parents wondered aloud "Who can that be?" I wanted to go look out the window, but was told to sit still. Daddy would open the door.

When he did, in came the most perfect Miracle on 34^th Street kind of Santa.  He was chubby and had a long white beard—a real one--a round face, a bright red suit, black patent leather belt and tall boots. He was even carrying a sack. My father was grinning in a way which clearly meant I was being snookered, so after I croaked out a “Hello, Santa,” I gamely asked about his reindeer.

“Well, Darlin', they’re up on the roof—and you don’t have a proper chimney, Judy Lee, so just I knocked on the door.” Well, this seemed reasonable, because I knew our chimney ended up inside the scary big coal furnace in the cellar--obviously not a good place for anyone to land. From somewhere outside, I could hear sleigh bells, just every once in a while, as if the reindeer were tossing their heads.

 Suspicion somewhat allayed, I watched him take the seat my mother offered.  Dad picked me up and put me down on Santa’s knee. Santa was authentically cold all over, his clothes, his face, his beard, and he had a good vibe, smelling pleasantly, as men often did in those days, of whiskey. He was a polite, low-key Santa. His “ho-ho-ho” sounded as if he was actually chuckling about some private joke.

He asked me what I wanted most for Christmas, so I told him about the “drink-wet” baby doll I wanted. Outside the door, sleigh bells softly jingled. It was pretty amazing, to be sitting on Santa's knee there beside our lighted Christmas tree, with shiny packages piled beneath.

 Then he said “Merry Christmas, Judy Lee,” and said he’d be back later with my presents. As he left, there was a blast of cold and the sound of bells again. I still wanted to peep out the window, but my Dad caught my hand and said, “Hey, JL! What did you think of that?”

 “Was that really Santa?”

He and my mother looked at each other and tried not to smile.  So, even though “Seeing is believing,” I was left with a strong feeling that they had been trying to fool me. In a good way, of course, the way grown-ups did, pretending because they thought we children expected it.

 Although my Santa had been nice, jolly and convincingly bearded, I hadn’t seen him fly away.  I'd very much wanted to see the reindeer perform this feat, but it was pretty clear that I wasn’t supposed to watch him go. My cousin was even younger than I, so about all I learned from him the next day was that he too had had a visit from “Santa.” I decided this visitor might have been The Real Santa--but probably not. In retrospect, I believe the whole performance pleased my elders as much as it pleased me.  

"God Bless us, Every One..." 



~~Juliet Waldron

 Time travel with me~~

Mozart's Wife
Roan Rose
Nightingale
Genesee
Angel's Flight
Hand-me-Down Bride
Red Magic