Thursday, May 21, 2015

I Wish I'd Taken A Parenting Class By Sandy Semerad

A woman handed me a flier with the headline, “May is for Mom’s.” It advertised a class for parents, “who desire a healthy future for their children.”

I wish I’d taken this class when my daughters were babies. My main source of instruction came from Dr. Benjamin Spock’s Baby and Child Care.

I have made plenty of parenting mistakes, no doubt. A major boo-boo was trying to raise my daughters differently from how I’d been brought up.

Looking back now, I’m grateful for my upbringing, although I deeply regret losing my dad when I was seven. A heart attack killed him.

After Dad died, I worried about Mom. Alice Larson Hodges was eccentric and talented, adventuresome and unpredictable.

She paraded around Geneva, Alabama in bright clothes, big hats and jewelry. “Gossips be damned.”

She wore loud bracelets. They clanged as she played the piano at the First Baptist church. She often sang louder than the choir.
 She took me and my sister out of school in the middle of the year and drove to New Mexico from Alabama to see the Caverns in New Mexico. During the summer, she stuck us in camp while she studied art.
She was the oldest daughter of Norwegian immigrants and once told me she married Daddy because he promised to buy her a piano and teach her to drive. After Daddy died, she never married again.
She loved water and painted beautiful pictures of water, but never learned to swim. Yet, she encouraged me and Alice Kay to become good swimmers.
She raised two daughters alone while preaching: “Cleanliness is next to Godliness. A stitch in time saves nine. Early to bed, early to rise, makes a woman health wealthy and wise. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. You won’t like most of what you do every day, but if you do one thing you like, you should be happy.”
She seemed fearless.
She single handedly drove us to New York City to see the musical “My Fair Lady.” During our trip, we toured the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty.
When we arrived in New York, in the middle of the night, Alice Kay and I were asleep in the back seat. At the Brooklyn Bridge, she awakened us, shouting, “Wake up, girls, New York City.”

I could go on and on about her. How she filmed us as if we were movie stars. Thank God, we were able to salvage the rolls of film.
Alice Kay had some of the film spliced together, chronicling our lives as children, teenagers, young adults and mothers. In the beginning of the video, Mother is young and beautiful, smiling for the camera. My father is dapper and handsome, puffing on a cigarette.
One thing’s for sure, Mother never failed to surprise me. She seemed to embrace spontaneity.
I’m a little spontaneous, too, along with having a highly developed imagination. I escaped reality by making up stories in my head, which eventually culminated in writing novels. But the novel writing began years after she suffered a stroke and was in a coma.
The doctors offered little hope of her recovery. Refusing to accept this diagnosis, I kept talking to her.
She eventually opened her eyes and said, “I’m so proud of you.”
Mother is no longer on this earth, but I feel her spirit every day, and I know she did her best, without the benefit of child-rearing classes.
And I’m grateful I had an exciting mother. She taught me, by example, how to live outside my comfort zone. I might not have learned to take risks if Mother had been overprotective and fearful.

I never doubted her love, although she seldom said the words, I love you. I suppose that’s why I never miss an opportunity to tell my daughters, Rene and Andrea, and granddaughter Cody how much I love them and how proud I am of them. They’re extraordinary, despite my lack of parenting lessons.
For more information, visit my website: Sandy Semerad 

And here's my latest novel, A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES, only .99 today:


Wednesday, May 20, 2015

BE YOUR OWN BOSS BY GINGER SIMPSON

As if writing a book isn't a daunting enough task, an author then faces the task of finding a publishing who actually likes it. Once you've accomplished that major feat and think you can take a deep breath, think again. Reviews! Just the mention of the word makes me shudder.  Don't pull your hair out just yet.

Reviews are as varied as book topics and movie
themes. The future sales of one's book or cinemascopic wonder depends how a written assessment slants. If the reviewer doesn't like ONE particular thing in your story, and focuses on that, your sunk. Then, there are some reviewers, it seems, who feel the need to annihilate other people's work. I've been on both sides of the fence--author/book reviewer. I'm not always crazy about the entire content, but I at least try to focus on the positive aspects of the book. There had to be some or it wouldn't have been published or, in the case of movies, millions spent to film it. Face it!

The reason I'm addressing this issue is the reviews on the movie, Australia. When the movie came out, I suggested to my sister we go see it. She's very in to reading reviews to help her decide if she wants to spend the money for a ticket or read. Thank God, not everyone does. I give very little credence to the opinions of others when it comes to books or movies, because opinions are so subjective. Imagine if the success or failure of Hugh Jackman or Nicole Kidman depended on the following comments taken directly from Yahoo Movies:

The film was poorly shot with horrendous transitioning between digital animation and live scenery. "Australia" also took a long time to develop the storyline. The plot was predictable and feebly attempted to chase several "rabbit trails." But the most irritating part of the film was it's failure to end! On multiple occassions, I expected the film to wrapping up only to realize there was more. I found myself begging for the credits.

Terrible in every sense of the word. The screen writer simply could not settle on what plot to write about. One moment, they were herding cattle. The next, fighting Japanese invaders. Unfortunately, these two stories didn't connect in any way shape or form...and it was 3 hours of my life that I will never have back.

Hugh Jackman was ok. The film suffers from bad editing, a stupid ending, and the lacking ability to really draw the viewer in. Stunning visuals cannot save this film. It's like LION KING:THE MUSICAL, meets MOULIN ROUGE, meets PEARL HARBOR, meets THE THORNBIRDS, meets THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER.

This movie was a mess. Worst I have ever had to sit through, and I almost walked out. Stupid plot, bad acting (Jackman did okay), worse dialog, ridiculous soap-opera close-ups, just plain awful. A poop-pile of the worst parts of Titanic (cheesy rich girl-poor boy love story), Mary Poppins (aghh the singing), Pearl Harbor (war mixed with gooey love scenes), Quigley Down Under (look at me I'm Aussie!), Cold Mountain (Nicole Kidman again), Josey Wales (the stupid ending), City Slickers (cattle drives!), Indy's Temple of Doom (rescue the children for the village, Indy), and Commando (worst villan attempt of all time). You should miss this movie at all costs. 

Okay...would you go see it now! Remember there are people who sat in the theater and saw a completely different film as evidenced by:

WOW!! I really can't say enough good things about this movie. Everything was well done. The story line, the visuals were outstanding. It doesn't surprise me that the critics didn't really like it, but why would they when there was truth in what was being told. A definite must see.

I don't write reviews ever but this one is worth taking the time and telling the world they must see this movie. My family spent time in Australia in 2006 and seeing this movie made us all feel home sick. This movie was exactly what Australia is like. Beautiful but harsh and full of unknown history. This movie covered so much of the life of Australians they way they lived and the way things are now. I can't say enough. You must go see.

I see many movies and some leave no impact on me at all. This movie I will mevr forget. Nicole Kidman played her role to the max. Hugh Jackman was good also. But the one that touched me the most was the little boy he was excellent. If you enjoy a movie with a believable story,good acting and beautiful location settings this is your movie. It was well worth the 2 1/2 hours of running time. I never once looked at my watch thats how much I was into this movie. Go and enjoy this epic they are not made like this any more in Hollywood.

this film is oustanding! critics take themsekves to seriously. the movie had it all, love, action, comedy, and adventure. i loved it. it may be 2 hours long but it is worth it. go see for yourselves. it is truly an epic!

To say that reviews are confusing is an understatement. I've been fortunate to have received mostly positive reviews, but I've had my share of unfavorable ones that make me wonder if the reviewer even read my work.  I've also seen crucifixion of books and movies  I thoroughly enjoyed and experienced extreme shock in seeing others didn't find the joy or excitement I did, but that's life.

Don't let another person's opinion decide for you. That's my point. Be your own judge and jury. The same goes for restaurants...food critics have caused the demise of some great eateries all because their taste buds were out of whack on one particular evening.

Isn't it sad we give someone that much authority over our lives? Like I'm going to put a lot of stock in the fact that Joe Blow doesn't like a particular artichoke dip or spinach souffle. I'll be my the master of my own cuisine...reading tastes and movie preferences, too. If this sampling of reviews doesn't prove my point...then nothing will.  I urge you to make your own decisions.

I'd love for you to decide on one of mine.  You can find them all on my Amazon page.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

A True Ghost Town by Stuart R. West



My wife grew up in Oklahoma. So we make frequent trips there to visit her family (I drew the lucky straw there. Awesome in-laws!). On one of our first treks, she drove us through a small slip of a town named Picher. Set just off the highway, if you blink it’s possible to miss it completely. It can hardly be considered a town any longer. What few residences still exist are dilapidated, sad, empty domiciles stitched together by cobwebs and memories. Buildings slant, leaning lazily, victims of nature’s strokes. Only the foundations of some buildings still exist. Trees bend in the same direction as if bowing down to some unseen force. Stores are torn apart, trash and rubble scattered across the floors. Rather enigmatic graffiti decorates the still standing walls, warnings and farewells. In one particularly
macabre touch, a store-owner had hung his bath robe in the store front along with the ironically jolly sign, “Sorry! Closed.”

Of course I had to get out and investigate. Turns out that wasn’t the brightest idea. What very few residents who still live there apparently aren’t the friendliest bunch. They’re easy to spot, most of them hauling serious speed in pick-up trucks sporting confederate flags emblazoned on the side and gun racks raised high. Make of that what you will. They’re called “chat rats,” very territorial and scary guys, practically living out their lawless Wild West fantasies. I suppose they’ve picked the right place as Picher is little more than an old ghost town.

Above all of this sad devastation looms the primary cause. The chat piles. Miles and mountains of earth dug out and abandoned in man’s quest for lead and zinc. The mining had also poisoned the land, the water and the air of Pitcher, Oklahoma. Most reasonable people have long moved out (excluding, of course, the aforementioned chat rats). Or died off. But the mountains of toxic waste remain behind. You could practically smell the toxicity. Needless to say, I got in the car fast.

But Picher stayed with me. A sad, dead town that haunted. And I knew there had to be a story in there.


And there was, too. I discovered quite a tale involving dubious mine owners, Native Americans, violent union strikes, corporate greed and town destroying tornadoes. What was once one of the most prosperous mining towns in the country had been reduced to rubbish. It's now the oldest and largest environmental Superfund site in America.

I turned my research into Ghosts of Gannaway. Now of course I embellished the tale with ghosts and other fictional conceits. And an undying romance that spans decades. But the saga of Picher is sadly unforgettable.

Coming soon from Books We Love: Ghosts of Gannaway by Stuart R. West

Monday, May 18, 2015

Interviews...Friend or Foe? by Nancy M Bell

Hello again, thanks for stopping by. As I write this post I'm getting ready to do a Blog Talk Radio interview to promote Go Gently, the third book in the Cornwall Adventures. For no good reason, I always get nervous before an interview. It doesn't matter if it's face to face, over the phone or the internet. There's no good reason for it, I suppose. Left over angst from my 'fat kid' childhood maybe. I'm always thinking in the back of my mind about what people will think of what I'm wearing, or if they actually like the book, or are just being kind. Sometimes you wonder if the interviewer even read the book. But, then again, that's just my own inner critic rearing its head.
Even though outwardly it appears I have no trouble speaking to a crowd or facilitating an event, inside I'm triple thinking about what I should or shouldn't say or do. Silly, I know. It's like there is another person inside who takes over and just speaks naturally and comes up with concise and well thought out answers to questions. I used to teach riding lessons for a living, over 70 students a week. I always got a bit a stage fright, even though I loved what I was doing. The behaviors we learn in childhood never really leave us.

I recently released the third book in the Cornwall Adventures series. Go Gently is available from the publisher, Books We Love and major distributors everywhere. While I'm extremely proud of the books, it's almost like they are a separate entity from me and their success is somehow their own and not mine. Weird. It's okay to crow about the books, but I would never crow about me, tiny voices whisper my grandmother's words - "Don't be bragging, it's unbecoming of a young lady." "Quit thinking you're so smart or your head will get so big it won't fit through the door" Or my mother - "I can never find nice things for Nancy, she's just so big for her age. I can always finds such cute things for Wendy (my younger sister) She's so tiny and blonde."

I realize none of that actually defines me or indeed really has anything to do with me. It's their view of the world, not mine. But in times of stress, up they pop.

The funny thing is, I really do enjoy the interview once I arrive or it begins. I love talking about writing, the process, and the craft. The magic of putting words on paper that evoke a reaction and emotions from others. It is magic and I love it. When the interview is over, I'm always riding a bit of a high and wonder what the heck I was so nervous about beforehand. Giving interviews or readings is a great way to connect with people. A reader will often pick up a book and buy it if they feel a connection with the author. Reaching out to them through interviews is a great tool. With the internet today, you can instantly connect with readers on a worldwide scale. It boggles the imagination of a child of the 1950s, that's for sure.


Summer Solstice Sunset 2012

I know, I know, picture has nothing to do with content of my post, but I love the colours. It's taken from my back yard over the rolling prairie. Home of my heart.

Okay, the interview is over and it was fun. Now, if I could just remember NOT to say Ummm so many times. LOL

If you want to listen to the interview (and count the Umms LOL) click here

For more on the latest Cornwall Adventures book, Go Gently, please visit my author page at Books We Love. It is also available in ebook and print online and at bookstores everywhere. Thanks for visiting. See you next month on June 18th. Until then be safe and be happy.

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Casting Your Characters with Janet Lane Walters - Taurus



Her mother was a hired nanny and her father the Mellwood Bank. This is the way Taurus Laurel Richmond describes her family. After burning out as a nurse with an international health agency, she returns to Eastlake, the one place she where she felt connected. She studied nursing here and made a number of friends. Her one problem is her wealth. Soon she will receive a fortune. But money hasn’t given her the things she wants, a home, a family and love. Since a chance visit after summer camp with a friend made there, her idea of a man to love has been Alex Carter.

Alex Carter is a Scorpio, a single dad with a five year old son. He’s a general practitioner at Eastlake Community Hospital. While attracted to Laurel, he has one problem. His ex and now dead wife had a lot of money and little sense. Drugs and her fast friends were her life. She abandoned their son who cried for hours until his father returned. Alex has no love for women with money. Attraction or not he refuses to admit he’s falling for Laurel.

With the help of Alex’s son, Laurel sets out to prove to Alex she’s in town for the long haul and she will make the perfect wife and mother.

Review:
Janet Lane Walters has written a charming tale.
As a child, Laurel Richmond was trapped in a car with her dead parents for hours. After losing them, Laurel's next of kin was a bank. Laurel hides her immense wealth, traveling internationally as a nurse, helping the sick. She decides to settle in Eastlake, a small community.

She once summered with her friend Megan, developing a huge crush on Megan's brother, Alex, who is now a divorced doctor raising his young son Johnny. Alex is leary of wealth because his rich ex-wife had no time for him or Johnny, but Johnny takes to Laurel right away.

The glimpses of a family life that Laurel experiences with Johnny and Alex leave her longing for her dreams to become reality. Can she get Alex to realize that money may bring power, but love offers peace? 





The Taurus Sun character - This is the inner self they may or may not show people. These are self-reliant people who are determined, persistent and cautions. They have a low tolerance for physical pain. Of a patient nature, they are willing to wait a long time for their plans to mature. Think of the hero or heroine who has loved someone forever and is plotting on how to get the object of his or her affections. While this person can seem gentle, do not make them angry. They become furious to the point of being headstrong and unyielding. They are also practical. They are lovers of art, music and literature. They can become healers.

Taurus Ascendant -- This is the face shown to the world. They come across as self-reliant, persistent and willing to work hard and long to see a project finished. When provoked they're like the bull when something is flapped in the face. Run, don't walk. This person possesses a magnetic quality that draws people to them and often has a calming effect on others. If they undertake a project they will finish it no matter what stands in their way. When angry they aim for the gut.

Moon in Taurus -- The emotional nature -- Cautious but affable. They are drawn to friendship and marriage. They are ambitions and want to excel. They can be acquisitive of friends and possessions. They are sympathetic and intuitive. The inclination for pleasure and luxury can be taken to the extreme.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Before the Magic Box by Roseanne Dowell

I was nine years old when our magic box arrived. We all gathered around and watched the deliverymen bring it in.  I’m not sure who was more excited, my parents or us kids. Never one to sit still for very long, it was difficult to remain patient while  they lugged it in and hooked up some odd looking things they called rabbit ears, and set them on top of the box.
“Everyone ready?" The men turned a knob and the little box lit up. Wavy lines flashed across the screen. They moved the rabbit ears this way and that way and suddenly a person appeared. They turned another knob and sound came out, just like in the movie theater only smaller. Way smaller.  "Enjoy," the men said and left.
 
My brothers, sisters, and I sat on the floor in front of it and watched as the voices we’d heard on the radio now had faces. It was the greatest thing since applesauce.  We all sat there mesmerized while the characters moved across the nine inch square.

Before the magic box, we always gathered in front of the radio and listened to stories played out by actors.  Life before the magic box was more imaginative. On cold winter evenings, we listened to our favorite radio programs, The Lone Ranger, Fibber McGee and Molly, and Jack Benny.

Our summer days, we spent our time bike riding, playing hopscotch, tag, kick the can, and oh yes, at twilight hide and seek and catching lightening bugs. We went on picnics in the park almost every night, weather permitting. Back then we didn't own a grill, let alone a gas grill. No one we knew did. Families went to parks to cook out. When my dad came home from work, Mom already had the picnic basket packed. While he washed up, we kids loaded the car and before you knew it, we were on our way to the park.

While Mom and Dad unloaded the cooler and picnic basket, we kids gathered twigs for kindling and larger dead branches for firewood. No, we didn't use charcoal back then either. My dad crumpled up newspaper and layered twigs on top for kindling. Once it caught, he added the larger firewood and we waited until it burned down and was glowing just right to cook.

Occasionally my aunt, uncle, and cousins joined us. Then a baseball game ensued. With eleven kids and four adults, it was quite a game. I can still hear us on that dusty field screaming if we hit the ball, or cheering someone on to run home, and yelling at someone in the outfield to catch the ball.              
                       
Sometimes we took a walk with my brothers up a long hill, to a place we called the witches house. The house is still vivid in my mind, covered in thickets of ivy, the yard overgrown with weeds and trees. It was probably abandoned, but as kids that thought never entered our minds. Besides, my brothers told us it was the witches house and our brothers never lied. 
Did they? 
We certainly didn't think so back then.
 We walked up the hill closer and closer to the house until someone’s imagination spooked us.
“Look there she is!” someone yelled. We raced down that hill, like the devil himself chased us.

It was a simpler time of life filled with memories of family togetherness. We managed to live without all the new electronics. I’m sure modern day children with their wide screen televisions, surround sound, cable or satellite dish, VCRs, DVDs, computers and nintendos can’t imagine life without them.


What have they missed I wonder? Where are their imaginations? Can they even imagine television with only three channels and signed off at midnight. Can they comprehend life without MTV, twenty-four hour programming and hundreds of channels. Has progress squashed the minds of our young people?

Probably not, now they have to figure out how to combat the evil doer on their x -box.  They are a different breed of children. Their lives, unlike ours, are involved in technical things.

I think back to memories of days before the magic box came along like a thief in the night and stole family life, and progress created individuals instead of unity.  I think back to a time when we gathered on the floor in front of the radio and played games. While we listened to our favorite programs, our imaginations played out the scenes in our minds. I remember many evenings spent in front of that radio listening to the Cleveland Indians in the 1954 World Series.

Ah, yes, I enjoy the memories of a simpler time. Before the magic box, when fun, love, and imagination abounded.



Strange, realistic visions and dreams invade Rebecca Brennan’s mind. When she experiences someone’s pain, she’s determined to find out who shares her mind. Her search leads to a small town filled with 
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Victorian homes and interesting people and puts her life in danger.

To learn more about Roseanne's and all of her Books We Love books visit her Books We Love page

http://bookswelove.net/authors/dowell-roseanne/

Friday, May 15, 2015

Black and White and Shifters all over ... by Michelle Lee

Hello all!  Michelle Lee - back again with some advice for authors who are writing outside of their knowledge set.


What is it you might ask?  It's really very simple ...

And it will make your life so much easier in the end run ...

And keep those 'troll' reviewers from having something to tear you apart about ...

Ready for it?  Here I go ... it's a wonderful things called FACT CHECK.

That's right!  Check facts before you use them.  Simple right?

If you are writing a historical - you fact check.

If you are not in law enforcement, and you want to write a suspense story - you fact check.

Right?  Right - I know you do your due diligence and the absolute best you can.

Yet sometimes common misconceptions still slip in anyways. Right?  Come one, we know they do. I think part of the reasons why so many slip by us, to grind on other people's nerves, is that we have so very many misconceptions in our common culture.  Especially when it comes to certain topics.

Now what got me going on my pet peeve tangent here?  Well - despite the whole knowing you need to fact check when it comes to historicals, and suspense, and all the other various genres - a lot of writers seem to miss the concept when it comes to the basics of biology and, gee, science.  Why? Probably because of an honest belief they have a handle on it.

As a biologist however - they jump out at me and can truly ruin a good story.  Today I am going to focus on the big cats.  Why?  Because of some of the shifter stories I have read recently (which is what resulted in this post).

Here's the first one ...

Black Panthers

There is no such thing as a species called a black panther.  It is instead a collective term for a big cat with a genetic caused melanistic (or pigment coloration of black) cat.  (This is not however what causes black household cats - I am talking only of the big cats).

So what is the correct term?  Well there are two ...

A Black Leopard and a Black Jaguar - depending upon which species of cat you are referring to.

Let's start with a black leopard.



Now for the black jaguar.



So how to tell them apart?

Well in their normal coloration, it is easiest by comparing their size, facial structure and their spot patterns.  Jaguars are a little stockier than leopards,  Their faces are fuller, but have a more streamlined jaw.

A common misconception with the black leopards and jaguars is that they lacks spots.  But it you look closely, you can still see them.    Just like their normal colored counterparts, their spots are also different - even though both have rosettes.  With a jaguar, there is an additional black spot in the middle of the rosette that is lacking in the leopard spots.

Here are a couple of info-graphics for comparison.



Here's a chart with a Cheetah's spots for comparison.

So if you are going to write about one of the big cats that has a black coat - pick one!  Jaguar or Leopard. 

Now for my second big cat misconceptions ... 


White v Albino

A white tiger is not the same as an albino tiger.

There is a normal pigmentation to tiger, resulting in a orange-brown color or cinnamon with a black strip pattern.  Then there is a mutation that results in the lack of the orange-brown-cinnamon pigment, while the stripes of black are still present.  This results in a white tiger or in some cases a snow-white tiger, and it is only found in the Bengal species of tiger.

An albino tiger is one who lacks all melanin, resulting in a lack of pigmentation. Quick way to tell?  Presence of black stripes and those gorgeous blue eyes.  Albino tigers have no pigment at all - so they lack stripes and their eyes are red or pink.

This is a goo side-by-side composite image.  First is the normal pigmentation, then the white tiger, and finally an albino tiger.


The same is true for lions.  They can have a normal coloration, a 'blond' coloration, or be albino.  The blond-white does not mean albino.


Pictured here is a normal colored lioness and a white/blond lioness.  Notice the eye color and hints of pigmentation, especially in the ears - not an albino.

What about a black tiger or lion?

So far, there have been no reputable reports of black lions.  There is one photoshopped image that keep floating around.  But when you consider the habitat of the lion, it makes sense that if there was a gene for melanism, it would quickly be selected against.  So while at this time it is considered to be possible, it has not been documented by a reputable source.

As for black tigers ... that is the results of a pseudo-melanistism, where the black stripes are so close together, they appear to be melanistic, but are in fact, not.  They have the normal orange-brown or cinnamon pigments, it is just expressed in small bands.

Well that conclused today's pet peeve and science lesson. So what is the take home?  Simply put - just because it is part out our common culture does not mean it is correct. So due your due diligence and fact check - even if you think you understand it.

~  Michelle


If you enjoyed this post, you might also enjoy this Bio. Fun Fact filled post ...

Thursday, May 14, 2015






Something has been missing from my life…by Sheila Claydon

Something has been missing from my life for a long time but I haven’t been able to figure out what it is. Now I know. I’d lost my writing companion.

Anyone who has visited my website at www.sheilaclaydon.com will know that I lost my beloved dog Newton nearly 3 years ago. It was very sudden and he was far too young, and after the heartbreak was over we agreed no more dogs. Why? Well we have friends and family who we visit in Australia, Canada and America, and we also like to travel abroad with our friends, so having a dog is impractical. Obviously. We are also getting older which means that having a puppy is impractical. Obviously. So if we ever think about getting another dog (which we are not going to do) it will have to be an adult who is already house-trained and well away from its teenage years. Obviously.

That was last month’s conversation. This month we welcomed Elfie to our home. She’s eight weeks old, cries when we put her to bed, and has to be taken outside a dozen times a day. Totally impractical. Obviously.

After only 4 days, however, the gap in my life has closed. Elfie is already a constant companion who likes nothing better than to lie on a blanket at my feet while I’m writing just as long as I give her some attention when I take a break. Soon we’ll be able to go walking together too, to explore all the places Newton loved so much. Places that have featured in some of my books. 

In wind and rain, as well as in sunshine, the wild beach, the woods and the sand hills will become part of my daily life again. I’ll no longer be the fair weather walker I’ve become in recent years. Walking with Elfie will inspire new books too. I have my writing companion again.

The books inspired by my walks with Newton can be found at amazon.com/author/sheilaclaydon  and Mending Jodie’s Heart (Book I of the When Hearts Meet trilogy) is set amongst the sand hills and woods that we walked together.


http://www.amazon.com/Mending-Jodies-Heart-When-Paths-ebook/dp/B00BR5USWW/
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When musician Marcus Lewis buys the derelict farmhouse next to Jodie’ Eriksson's riding school he doesn’t know whether to be amused or irritated by her angry reaction to his plans. Then her sister Izzie visits him and makes things a whole lot worse…or is it better…because now he has an excuse to see Jodie again. Although, when he sees her, it’s not exactly a meeting of minds, they do discover they have one thing in common; they both believe they know what’s best for Izzie, and for Marcus' son Luke.

It turns out they’re wrong. The children they thought they were protecting need to be set free. It’s Jodie and Marcus who have the problem; but can two broken hearts make one whole one? The battle lines that were set when they first met have long since been breached but the war won’t be over until Jodie learns how to trust again, and until Marcus allows himself to believe in his son.
________________________________________





Monday, May 11, 2015

Things My Mother Never Taught Me by Roseanne Dowell

Dedicated to my mother who passed away Nov. 22, 1996  


My mother never taught me about the thrill of a first kiss or the hurt of that first breakup. She never told me about the love between a man and a woman and the joy of standing at the altar vowing before God, family and friends to love him forever.

My mother never taught me about the emotions of holding my newborn child in my arms for the first time, or the feeling of responsibility for their lives. She never told me about the overwhelming sense of awe I'd feel knowing that this child came from within me. That I created the life, nourished it for nine long months, and now had to nourish and care for it in the real world. She never taught me I'd feel this amazing sense of awe with each child.

My mother never taught me the feeling of swelled pride at watching my children take their first steps or hearing her first words.

She never taught me about the combination of pain and pride I would feel as I watched my children waltz off to school looking so grown up and yet so young. So independent. She never told me how I’d feel when they came home and said “But Miss so and so said it was better to do it this way.” and the realization that I was no longer the sole influence in their life.

My mother never taught me about the fear of having a child in the hospital undergoing tests by a neurologist after a normal eye exam discovered a problem or sitting in an emergency room while your child undergoes an emergency appendectomy. She never told me how difficult it would be to watch your child suffer through typical childhood illnesses, stitches or broken bones.

She never taught me about the fear of letting your child go down the street to play or crossing the street for the first time by themselves.

My mother never taught me about dealing with my daughter’s first crush and heartbreak and lost love. She never told me how hard it would be to watch my children struggle to get good grades or make the team or try to fit in.

She never taught me about the pride of watching my child march down the auditorium to receive their diploma or hearing about their first job. My mother never told me of the deep fear I’d experience when they learned to drive or getting that phone call that told you they had an accident.

My mother never taught me of the excitement of their engagement and the trials of planning a wedding. She never told me of the happiness and pride I’d feel watching them walk down the aisle to stand beside the one they would vow to spend their life with or the worry that this child was now totally independent of you.

She never taught me of the sense of wonder I’d feel holding my newborn grandchildren for the first time.

She never explained that these feelings of worry and concern never go away when my children grew up. My mother didn't tell me the worries would only strengthen as my children married and had children of their own. That I’d have more to love and worry about.

She never told me was how it feels to be a mother.  She never told me about the joy, pain, and overwhelming awe of being a mother and grandmother. I now know why my mother never taught me these things.  Because these thing have to be experienced to understand the wonderful sense of being a mother.  


But the biggest thing my mother never taught me was how I’d feel when she was no longer here to talk with, to share my feelings with after she passed from this world. She never taught me how to deal with the sense of loss at losing a loved one or the pain deep within that I would carry through the rest of my days. She never told me how much I’d miss her.




Roseanne's books can be found at  Amazon
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Forced to stay in a nursing home while undergoing therapy, seventy-two year old, Mike Powell refuses to get out of bed, won't cooperate with the nurses, and won’t take his medicine. At least not until he meets Elsa. The tiny, spunky little Elsa sparks new life into him. 

Seventy year old, Elsa -left in the home while her son takes a family vacation - joins forces with Mike, setting the home on its heels, and later discovers deception and fraud. Can they find happiness together? 

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Magical Birthday Wishes by Cheryl Wright










I recently discovered a new technique for colouring backgrounds. It's very quick and easy, and is done using shaving brushes!

To try this technique, I went to my local $2 shop and bought a couple of brushes. The above card was my first attempt, and as you can see, the pink came out a little streaky. I have since come to discover you need a very light hand when doing this technique. Subsequent cards were much better.

This was an extremely quick and simple card to make, and after this one, I ended up making four more. All five will be going to Combat Cards in the very near future.

This card uses the following stamps:

Greeting:  Gina K Designs (from a very old set)
Stars:  Star Cluster by Lavinia Stamps
Main image: Mushrooms from Stamp-It Australia





I hope you've enjoyed this card. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time!












Links:

My website:  www.cheryl-wright.com 
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/cherylwrightauthor 
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/writercheryl
BWL website: http://bookswelove.net/authors/wright-cheryl/

Friday, May 8, 2015

I remember Mom

She was always there. All my life, no matter whether things were bad or good. Mom was always there.  I'm one of the lucky ones, mom lived to be 94 and I guess I just got used to her listening to me.  Sometimes I'd tell her the same thing over and over again, working through my pain, my disappointment, or celebrating some triumph that only mom could understand just how much it mattered.







Mom at my home in Kansas City with my girls and my brother's two boys, taken shortly before my husband died.  I moved then, and moved again, and again, through it all mom was always there.  She was there for my girls and she was there for me. Mom kept me going; it didn't matter how crazy my life got, mom was there. 


A different life, another daughter, growing girls, and smiling faces, Mom was there, and when I left and went back to the youngest girl's father, mom was there. And when it fell apart again, mom was there. And when he died, she was there then too





Another life, girls all grown, and finally someone for me to trust mom loved that, loved my husband and the way the three of us shared our lives together.  For 23 years that never changed, the three of us together.  We shared so much, the three of us, the years came and went, in the fall she'd fly off to my brother's and while she was there we'd talk on the phone and she'd tell us about all the fun she was having in the sunshine, and in the spring she'd come back and life would pick right back up where it left off in the fall.  Mom was always there - there when I cried and there when I laughed, always there was mom.

 

A daughter, so beautful, so full of life and laughter, so much love - it hurts so much, so much pain and so many tears, so much loss.  Mom was there, always mom was there, she was there at birth when I said hello and she was there at death when I said goodbye. Always mom was there.


Then there was this, seemed like maybe my time was over - triple negative - the worst kind, lump the size of a golf ball, but mom was there. Always there was mom, she was there to listen to me and cry with me and laugh with me, always mom was there.  And when I beat it all, and we went back to being us and I survived, mom was there, always mom was there.





The years kept going by and finally she was 94.  Where did they go.  She was weakening, we knew she was, but none of us want that, we didn't want the change.  Mom knew time was growing short, and of course I knew, but she knew I didn't want to know and we pretended.  She didn't want to eat, but I'd cook soup and bake biscuits and tempt her and she'd eat. She didn't want to, we both knew she didn't but she would, just because I made them for her.  I'll never forget the last words she ever said to me.  I'd made her soup and she didn't want to eat, and I left the room.  I was hurt, and she knew it because I hated it when she didn't eat -- it made what was coming seem so close.  That night, I went back in the room to see if she was ready for bed and she held up her bowl.  "I ate it all,"  she said and showed me her empty bowl.

I hugged her, and helped her into bed.  She'd taken the mild sleeping pill the doctor had prescribed for her and she was already falling asleep.  I propped her up on the pillows and smoothed her hair.  She was already asleep.

I miss you mom, so much.  Love Judy


 

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