For the love of a Barbarian - by Vijaya Schartz

DAMSEL OF THE HAWK just released in the medieval fantasy series Curse of the Lost Isle. The story is set in 1204, after the sacking of Constantinople by the Crusaders, and I had lots of fun with the research. My hero is one of the mysterious Kipchak warriors who served in the Byzantine emperor's personal guard. Savagely loyal, fearless, and deadly, the Kipchak offered their skills for gold, and Constantinople had plenty.

As barbarians go, the Kipchak are full of surprises for a westerner like me. Raised in France, I always considered the hordes from the east a bunch of uncivilized demons on little horses, eating raw meat, killing, and pillaging. Although some tribes were more violent than others, and despite the fact that many lived in tents, these barbarians of the steppes, when they settled, could build beautiful cities, temples and palaces. There is also a gap in centuries between Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan, who was on the rise at the time of the story.

The Kipchak also brought with them a number of amenities we still enjoy today. They didn't eat their meat raw, they grilled it, and many of us still like a good Mongolian Barbecue. They brought us medicine herbs and spices from the orient. They traded silk and precious gems as they controlled the roads between the continents. They enjoyed fermented drinks, made from goat milk, oats and barley, and they could drink great quantities of it. They could hold their liquor like no one else.

While the Crusaders used a crossbow and fired their bolts in volleys, the Kipchak used a small composite bow of wood, horn and sinew, with incredible precision. They could hit their mark from a great distance, with a single arrow, from the saddle of a galloping horse. The Kipchak's skills as riders reached the point of acrobatics. Their horses, small in comparison to the enormous destriers of the western knights, could travel great distances in very little time, even in mountainous terrain.

Always close to nature, the Kipchak raised horses, sheep and goats, and they loved and respected their animals, although they rarely named them. They even had a white dog deity named Kopec. Of course, that's what I named the hero's white sheepdog in the story.

But there was also gold in the Caucasus Mountains between the Caspian and the Black Sea, and the Kipchak weren't immune to the fascination of precious metals. The women wore headdresses and heavy necklaces made of gold coins, especially the khan's wives and concubines.

Their beauty was legendary. The term Caucasian comes from their look. Part Asian and part Viking (the Russ tribe that invaded from the north), they had golden skin and clear eyes, very little body hair, and the men kept their hair short under the turban. They bathed often and kept good personal hygiene, compared to the often smelly Crusaders.

I will miss my close relationship to these Kipchak warriors as I move on to writing the next book in this series, which will be set in Poitou and Aquitaine (France), and will feature Melusine the Fae, the infamous lady of Lusignan.

Here is my new release:
DAMSEL OF THE HAWK
Curse of the Lost Isle Book 7 (standalone)
from Books We Love Ltd
by Vijaya Schartz
in eBook and paperback
http://amzn.com/B01CH93SNM

1204 AD - Meliora, immortal Fae and legendary damsel of Hawk Castle, grants gold and wishes on Mount Ararat, but must forever remain chaste. When Spartak, a Kipchak warrior gravely wounded in Constantinople, requests sanctuary, she breaks the rule to save his life. The fierce, warrior prince stirs in her forbidden passions. Captivated, Spartak will not bow to superstition. Despite tribal opposition, he wants her as his queen. Should Meliora renounce true love, or  embrace it and trigger a sinister curse... and the wrath of the Goddess? Meanwhile, a thwarted knight and his greedy band of Crusaders have vowed to steal her Pagan gold and burn her at the stake...

HAPPY READING!

Vijaya Schartz
Blasters, Swords, Romance with a Kick
http://www.vijayaschartz.com

Amazon - Barnes & Noble - All Romance eBooks  

We all need a friend--Tricia McGill

A Heart in Conflict is available here

Everyone who knows me well, knows I am a passionate lover of animals. I watch just about every animal documentary on TV, and support a few wildlife societies. It never ceases to delight me how some species seem to mate for life, and others find true and lifelong friends of a different species. I am left to wonder why some humans can’t take a leaf out of the animals’ books and do likewise. How many of us have a special friend, be it male or female, who knows us almost as well as we know ourselves and know just what we would be likely to do in a given situation. I have been blessed in my life to have had close friends who have stuck by me through the highs and lows.

I had a very interesting conversation with my hairdresser the other day. We were discussing the way of the world and how too many  people seem to spend their lives being jealous, envious or just downright nasty about others who appear to have more than them or are getting on a tad better than they are. So many people seem to despise someone who is ‘getting on in the world’. The tall poppy syndrome seems to abound. Certain people are lauded when they are striving to become better at what they do, but once they achieve stardom, success or show they have excelled in a particular skill, are then subject to criticism. And why are so many obsessed by another’s shape, looks or bank balance? I’m appalled at the number of young people who are having Botox, plastic surgery or similar to alter their shape or looks. Spend more time just being a better person for goodness sake and not a better looking one. Go out and become a volunteer and see how much satisfaction can be gained by helping someone less fortunate, and spend less time worrying about trifling matters such as the size of your breasts or backside.

Take movie stars, and the load of rubbish some have to take on social media or in the glossies. I rarely buy magazines to be honest, and the only chance I get to open one and actually see what is inside their pages is at the hairdresser (again) or in the doctor’s waiting room. How many times I have read that a star is expecting a baby as she so obviously has a ‘bump’, only to learn it was an over-zealous reporter jumping to conclusions. A star is said to be ‘furious’ with her husband or boyfriend because he has been flirting with another woman. How on earth does the writer of this article know this star is so angry? Has the writer ESP so knows what goes on in the other’s mind. Or, was it a close friend of the star perhaps informing them of her fury? Some friend, to disclose her friends’ personal details to a newshound!

Back to my original paragraph about animals and their devotion to each other. I recently read this story about two chimpanzees who spent a combined 58 years in isolation. Jeannie was in a research lab and Terry a zoo, before they were rescued and taken to a sanctuary, where they are now inseparable. They rarely let each other out of sight and spend as much time touching as possible, as if in reassurance that their days of isolation are behind them. It is clear they relish their friendship and freedom. What a wonderful thing to know they have discovered the pleasure to be gained by holding hands with a true friend.

Buy When Fate Decides (Challenge the Heart Book 1)

Find all my Books We Love books here

See what animal pics I have on Pinterest

Books We Love's Tantalizing Talent ~ Author Ginger Simpson

Hi, My name is Ginger Simpson and I'm proud to be part of Books We Love.  Although I've written cross genres, mainly to prove I could, I love historical westerns, and I've written several of them.  I think I'll stick to the genre closest to my heart because as a pantser, the old west characters who pop into my head come with all the information I need.  Of course, because credibility is important to me, I do research language and other issues I may question, but I truly love my hero or heroine's anxiousness to share their tales with me.  They tell me a story and I SHOW you a novel.

I have several works-in-progress, but I just turned seventy.  I guess my ability to complete them is in the hands of the Lord. I keep praying for a long and productive life because I have so much more to share. Hard to believe I started this journey before I retired from the University of California, Davis and that was almost twenty years ago.  I wouldn’t change a thing because every decision I’ve made has brought me where and who I am today.

So far, I’ve written:

Destiny’s Bride -Debut novel and Western

Lost in His Eyes - Western

Arizona Sky - Western

Dancing Fawn - Western

Sarah’s Hope and Passion – Western/Modern Day

Yellow Moon - Western

Time Invested – World War II Historical Romance

A Novel Murder - Mystery

Culture Shock – Paranormal/Fantasy Mystery

Discovery –Short Story Collection with discovery as a commonality.

Shortcomings – Young Adult

Ages of Love – Combination 3 Romance stories

Hattie’s Heroes – Western/Modern Day

Ellie’s Legacy – Tennessee Romance Historical

Time Tantrums – Time Travel

Beaches – Debut/Swan Song Erotica

First Degree Innocence – Prison Mystery/Romance

Betrayed – Women’s Fiction based on a true story

Sarah's Hope - Latest release

Here's a few excerpts from some of my recently released works:  

Arizona Sky: 

Amazon

"Can anyone hear me?”  Odessa Clay screamed. Nothing in the desert stirred except the hot wind that whipped her long hair into tangles. In the distance, a dust funnel swirled across the trail. Her nails dug into her fisted palms when her gaze returned to the overturned wagon atop her father. Again, she struggled to lift the cumbersome weight.

“God, please help me.”

 She pushed, shoved and lifted with every ounce of strength she had left. Her muscles burned and the veins in the backs of her hands protruded, but the wagon didn’t budge. At one hundred pounds and barely five feet tall, she proved no match for solid wood. Her chest heaved and each breath took effort. She brushed sweat-dampened hair from her brow and knelt. All her struggling had only succeeded in setting the left rear wheel into a slow spin. It created an eerie whirring in the silence. She chewed her bottom lip, driven by determination.

“Hold on, Pa. I’ll find some way to help you.”  

 His pale features contorted, and fear clutched her heart. She rose, turning her gaze up and down the trail. The dirt unfurled like a brown ribbon between the expanse of cactus and sagebrush. Odessa, refusing to let her father see her hopelessness, blinked back tears.

Anger heated her blood. This was all her fault. First her mother died giving birth, and now her father lay dying because of her. He’d wanted her to have a woman’s influence in her life—more opportunities. Their trip had gone smoothly until Pa whipped the horses to a faster pace to combat the heat—stir a breeze where none existed. The same wheel that spun now had been the one that slipped into a ragged rut and tipped the wagon over. She’d jumped clear, but Pa remained pinned from the waist down beneath the sideboard. The accident snapped the harness rigging, and the animals ran off. What she wouldn’t give for one of the horses to wander back right now. 

Amazon

Lost in His Eyes:

Tying something around her waist wasn’t the problem. Her legs had grown weak and she doubted she could stand. Still, the idea of living appealed more than dying. “I-I can try.” She braced herself with the sides of the well and forced herself to her feet. Her head spun and she feared she might faint. The rope unfurled as he released it. His comment about the place being deserted didn’t make sense, but then nothing did at the moment.

With shriveled and weak hands, Harlee secured the braided horsehair around her waist, and gripped the lifeline with all the strength she mustered. “Okay, I’m ready, I think,” she called up to her rescuer.

“I’ll pull and you use your feet to walk up the wall.”

“I’m not sure I can. I have no feeling in my feet.

“Well, if I have to come down there and get you, there’ll be no one here to pull us both out. You’ve got to try.”

“I’ll try my hardest.”

She made a first step and a second. Water dripped from her body and splattered into what remained in the well. Her limbs trembled and the coarseness of the rope nipped through the thin material of her dress and chafed her skin. On her third step, her left leg gave out and she slammed against the wall, knocking the air from her lungs and scraping her cheek against the rough stones. The stranger slackened the rope, allowing her to collapse back into the water. Harlee massaged her burning face and even in the dim light saw blood on her fingers. She used the wet hem of her dress to soothe the burning and dab the wound.

“Are you all right?” His deep voice resonated and brought her to her senses.

Wouldn’t anyone who’d been trapped in a well for days be just fine? She took a deep breath and resisted asking him if he was serious.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He yelled louder.

“Yes. My cheek is bleeding and my hands are raw, but I’m ready to try again.”  Determination drove her.

“Okay, I’m going to start pulling again, so stand up and hold on tight.”

Her mind whirred with questions she hoped to ask. Harlee struggled to her feet and took a firm grip on her lifeline. “I’m ready; pull."

Amazon

Sarah's Hope

The love of her life is dead and Sarah escapes for a weekend retreat to the mountain cabin she and her beloved Wolf bought as a means to escape the city. A bad storm is brewing, Sarah is on edge, and that's when the anonymous calls start. A mysterious voice knows too much about her and her life, a life the caller threatens to end.

Sarah comes face-to-face with a kidnapper hired to kill her, but manages to escape his deadly grasp. The devoted idiot is determined not to divulge who hired him, but does give away a valuable clue. Sarah's freedom only escalates the killer's plan. Who hates Sarah enough to want her dead, and why? Will she and the police find the person responsible for the calls and other mysterious events before the threats become a reality?

Check out my latest release, Sarah's Hope, and don't forget to visit my author page at http://www.bookswelove.com/authors/simpson-ginger/

Calling all Muses, Dead and Alive, by Sandy Semerad

As a writer, I’m always searching for a muse, and when country music superstar Merle Haggard died recently, I became reacquainted with his story and found him more inspiring than ever.

Haggard grew up dirt poor and became a hellion. He was sent to reformatory schools, but no school could reform him.  At 20, he robbed a restaurant. After he was arrested, he broke out of the county jail, was recaptured and sentenced to San Quentin. In prison, he gambled and brewed beer and was thrown into solitary confinement. There he conversed through an air vent with a death row inmate.

This conversation changed him, he said, and when Johnny Cash performed at San Quentin, Haggard was inspired to become a musician. He taught himself to play the guitar, and after his release, he worked in the oil fields, as he wrote and performed music. He eventually composed 38 number one hits.

I find his story amazing. He overcame impossible odds to achieve great success, and he found his muses in unlikely places.

Going for a simple walk can bring out a muse for me. I love to walk on the beach near where I live. Nature created the white sands from crystal rocks. The gulf sparkles like emeralds in the sunshine. I sometimes hear music in the gulf’s roar. The other day, Larry and I were walking our dog P-Nut, and I started to sing a tune I was hearing.

I asked Larry if he’d heard the tune before. He plays the piano and has performed with many musical groups. He also composes music.

“Sounds different,” he said.

I explained how the tune flowed through me. He didn’t think this was strange at all, but creative.

In thinking about the creative process, I remembered the time Larry asked me to sing, “If I Can Dream,” at the church where he plays piano. This song was written for Elvis Presley. Elvis was the only artist to record the song, as far as I know.

On the morning of my performance, I walked to the podium to sing, but then I flew into some kind of unconscious zone. The congregation clapped afterwards, so I figured I did okay.

Larry said, kindly, “You nailed it.”

The preacher smiled and said, “You wiggled your hips while you were singing.”

“You channeled Elvis,” Larry teased me.

But all joking aside, I’ve had many strange things happen to me, mostly when I write. I can never predict how my characters are going to behave. I think I know them. I have created their back story and outlined extensively, but then when I start the writing process, my characters always surprise me. They’re like jazz musicians. They know the structure and the rules, but they want to jam and do their own thing.

My characters eventually return to the story line, but I often have to figure out how to rescue them or not. Sometimes they create such a mess I must call on my slumbering muse. She’s the one who appears in my dreams after I go to sleep while thinking about the problem. This muse seems to have the ability to provide a solution by morning.

Most of the time, I draw from my own experiences, as a newspaper reporter, columnist, broadcaster, political activist, exercise enthusiast, wife, mother and grandmother. I’m more comfortable writing about what I know. Some of my favorite authors do the same. John Grisham, an attorney, writes great legal thrillers, and many of Stephen King’s protagonists are authors. In fact, King is considered one of American’s most prolific authors. Also, my fellow authors at Books We Love write tales on subjects they're passionate about.

In two of my novels (Sex, Love & Murder and A Message in the Roses), my protagonists are reporters. However in Hurricane House, the lead character is not a journalist, but a catastrophe Investigator (CAT, for short). Creating this unique protagonist seemed to make more sense. Luckily I know a CAT, and he generously shared his knowledge with me. As to describing the hurricane, that was easy. Larry and I have survived a few of those.

I created A Message in the Roses, from a murder trial I covered as a newspaper reporter in Atlanta. But even though I lived through this trial, I had to immerse myself in 80s music again and read news accounts from that time before my muse decided to resurface.

While working on the sequel, I’ve tried to set reasonable writing goals, allowing for my day job and family responsibilities. This time around, I’ve had to call on a variety of muses, alive and dead. Will they lift me to a higher plane and help me write my best novel yet? I hope so.

To read more about my writing, please visit my website: www.sandysemerad.com

          

Here’s my latest novel, A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES:

                                               Buy from Amazon

  

A WRITER'S RETREAT by Victoria Chatham

All writers have their own processes, their own tried and true foibles which work for them. It may be having that particular cup for coffee or tea when they sit down to write, or having their favorite music playing in the background or their pets at their feet. My process is to have peace and quiet and I had that in abundance during my stay at Keystone, a two-hundred year old stone built cottage which nestles comfortably into the hillside at Blakeney in the Forest of Dean, west Gloucestershire.

The Forest covers a roughly triangular area between the Rivers Wye to the west and Severn and was famous for its timber and mineral resources. The Romans were the first to exploit the iron ore found in these ancient woodlands. Later the Forest became royal hunting grounds and was used exclusively for that purpose by the Tudors. Iron making and coal mining continued through the ages, those industries being at their peak in the 19^th Century.

But it wasn’t for any of that history that I chose the Forest for my retreat. I wanted time to research and draft Shell Shocked, the third book in The Buxton Chronicles trilogy. I found Annie McKie’s retreat on line at http://www.anniemckie.co.uk/ and it made the perfect Easter break for me. My room had a view overlooking the valley and it was a pleasure to sit outside on the balcony to enjoy it. I had my own front door with beautiful stained glass window panels and could come and go as I pleased without disturbing anyone.  

A comfortable bed ensured I slept like the proverbial log. Had the weather turned cool I could have made the room more cozy than it was with the aid of a wood-burning stove. A writing desk by the window gave me light and fresh air while I worked. Annie kept my room well stocked with tea, coffee, fruit and snacks. In the evenings I joined her and her husband Ian for the most marvelous vegetarian meals cooked in her solid fuel stove. Annie introduced me to the free-range chickens which produced our eggs and explained how she and her neighbors ran a self-sustaining gardening cooperative.

The more I talked with Annie the more I realized we had a connection. At least, I felt connected because hers was a familiar voice and face as she was a former newsreader and announcer for BBC Radio 4 and the BBC TV regional station Points West. Annie had also trained as an actor, speech and drama teacher and taught all aspects of voice and communication skills. She writes fiction and mentors writers and I had several brainstorming sessions with her.

I so appreciated that aspect of my time at Keystone. My first draft of Shell Shocked raised more questions in my mind as to which battle or battles to include in my story. It was Annie’s suggestion to not concentrate on that, but on the people who remained at home. Among the books available in my room was Winifred Foley’s A Child in the Forest, a book I had once owned and thoroughly enjoyed. Reading it again gave me ideas for my book and I quickly revised my first draft and made many more notes.

With access to the Forest only 30 seconds away from Keystone, I walked every day. It didn’t matter in which direction I went I got plenty of exercise as, if I walked downhill I had to come back up and vice versa, but wherever I went I enjoyed the views. This view is from Blakeney Hill looking across the River Severn to the Cotswold Hills. I don’t know any writer who does not use walking time as thinking time. The only thing I had to be concerned about while on these daily walks were the free-roaming sheep and pigs, especially the pigs which forage for acorns. Fortunately I only heard them squealing and grunting as they rooted up the forest floor but the freshly turned grass beside the pathways on which I walked were clear evidence of their existence. Free grazing rights, established in Norman times, applies to basically anyone who lives within the Forest purview.

During my time at Keystone the weather was gorgeous. The trees were greening and the pussy willows beside the streams along the valley bottom bursting into life. Primroses and celandines peeped beneath the hedgerows bordering the lanes and  steep paths that connected one level of the hillside with another. The sweet smelling carpets of bluebells, for which the Forest is famous, were just beginning to bloom and I was sorry to miss this spring extravaganza.       A writers retreat is at the very least a gift you can give yourself, whether you go alone or join a group. At most it is a magical period of time in which you may surprise yourself with heightened insights and productivity and, in my case, a completed book.

 AVAILABLE AT SMASHWORDS

Victoria lives and writes near Calgary, Alberta and visits her family in England as often as she can. She has always loved historical romances but never thought she'd write them. Now in full-time retirement but busier than ever, she writes full time. That is - when she is not enjoying the company of friends, walking, attending yoga class, volunteering at a world class equestrian center or taking weekend breaks in beautiful Banff.

http://bookswelove.net/authors/chatham-victoria/

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