The Muse Inside (Or How Come I'm Not Locked Up Yet?)

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The Muse Inside (Or How Come I'm Not Locked Up Yet?)

People ask why I write or where I get the ideas for what I do write? Well that is a complex question to an author. Anyone ever ask Beethoven why the 5^th symphony and where did that come from? Or did anyone ask Charles Schultz what possessed him to put a beagle on a rooftop with a typewriter and a little birdie as a sidekick? 

I’m sure most would reply it’s the muse that whispers to writers and artists inside their heads. Perhaps this is our constructive way of dealing with voices inside our heads, which for most others would get you locked up, sedated and the key thrown away.

I was recently asked why, as a Caucasian do I write novels involving first nations, native gods and legends? The dedication I wrote for my next novel, Thunderbird’s Wake might answer that question.

“In honor and memory of all the ancient native oral storytellers the K’aygang.nga (Haida), and the Sway’ xwiam (Sto:lo) before us. The few whose words were recorded on the carved lips and eyes of the totems and monuments still remaining and have gone on to become the echoes in the forest and the hush of mists sliding along mountain slopes.

Voices that now whisper to the minds of some of us listeners (Gyuu k’iiga) still today.”

I remember in one of my first visits to BC and Victoria, back when I lived in Alberta. I went to the provincial museum and simply stared at the carved totems and log poles there. My wife at the time had wandered off and all I could hear as I stood there by myself was voices. Whispers and tales all around me. I remember asking her, “do you hear those voices in the background?” She thought I was nuts. But all the way back to my campsite and on the journey home I could see the ovoid eyes and the wooden lips whispering.

The Haida mount on most of their totems, three squatting figures, they call the Watchmen, who are meant to watch out for enemies approaching. But I recon they also silently call out to those that hear, those that have the muse inside, “come, tell us about they that dwell under us and listen to the voices of those that have preceded us.”

          So later when I heard the bizarre news story about a rare golden spruce tree cut down in protest of logging, the whispers became nudges and twitches of a pencil that couldn’t remain quiet any longer. Guided by ghosts of legends from a culture that only had oral storytellers and no written language. Somewhere in the air all those whispered words circulate and somehow they call to me, from there came the novel, Raven’s Lament.  Yeah, maybe like my first wife said, I am nuts. Don’t care, I write; the tales come. Simple. That is what dwells in my soul. Words awaiting to come out.

This spring my next novel to be published by Books We Love, Thunderbird’s Wake, comes out. Another tale of a nuttier man than me that breaks into a penitentiary in order to deal with an awakening god.

That and a native sprite that needs a human to bring justice to her soul.

Have a Great Christmas and to all of those writers reading this.

May the muse reward you with lots and lots of whispers. So keep those pencils sharpened over the holidays.

Sincerely

Frank Talaber

twosoulmates@shaw.ca

Frank Talaber’s Writing Style? He usually responds with: Mix Dan Millman (Way of The Peaceful Warrior) with Charles De Lint (Moonheart) and throw in a mad scattering of Tom Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get The Blues).
PS: He’s better looking than Stephen King (Carrie, The Stand, It, The Shining) and his romantic stuff will have you gasping quicker than Robert James Waller (Bridges Of Madison County).

Or as is often said: You don’t have to be mad to be a writer, but it sure helps.

Writer by soul. Words born within. 

Karma the seed. Paper the medium.  

Pen the muse. Novels the fire.

My novels on Amazon are at (copy and paste link):  https://www.amazon.com/Frank-Talaber/e/B00UC407R0

http://twosoulmates.wix.com/frankt-author-blog

http://www.bookswelove.net/authors/talaber-frank/

https://www.facebook.com/Frank-Talaber-805296946204873/

Twitter: @FrankTalaber

 Thunderbird's Wake (out this spring from Books We Love LTD)

 A penitentiary is a dangerous place and into the world of the criminal enters a saint. Well, bearing rattles and guardian beasts, the native born find him a saint. To the rest he's more nuts than a squirrels winter stash. There's a god asleep, awakening. Humans that seek justice and a sprite that needs justice from humanity.

So what makes you want to break into one? You can ask Charlie, but he ain't telling. And if he did you wouldn't believe it in a dozen lifetimes. Come enter, the madness this spring.

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Shuttered Seduction

No woo woo stuff here, just a good old fashioned romance. Well except for the grizzly bear and the bungee jumping. 

Writers, Readers, and Chocolate: a Sweet Relationship, St. Augustine, FL Chocolate Factory Tour

Hello and welcome to the Books We Love Insiders blog. My name is J.Q. Rose, author of the recently released romantic suspense, Dangerous Sanctuary.

Dangerous Sanctuary by J.Q. Rose
Romantic suspense
Available at amazon

In December 2014, we visited St. Augustine, Florida, the oldest European continuously occupied city in the USA. We fell in love with the beautiful city founded 452 years ago. The history, cultures, waterways, the Christmas lights, and music all blended into a great get-away.

Writers and readers love snacking on chocolate,so today I'm taking you on a tour of the Whetstone Chocolate Factory. According to their website. the story of the establishment of this chocolate company is a story of a dream fulfilled for a hard-working, dedicated couple, Henry and Esther Whetstone. They first opened their small ice cream store on St. George Street in the historic business district of St. Augustine in 1966. Henry and Esther entered the chocolate market when they created a home-made fudge recipe in the family’s kitchen.The kitchen was the original Whetstone Chocolate factory and they were the only workers. You can read more about their amazing growth at the Whetstone Chocolate website.

The tour costs $8.00 and is worth every penny of it, especially when Ty was our guide. He was an elementary school teacher for 36 years!  He brings all the energy and enthusiasm he used to teach kids to the tour presentation. Kudos to Ty for his fun tour of the factory. (Of course, how can you NOT have fun when eating samples of delicious chocolate?? We were pretty wired by the end of the tour!!)

Ty begins the tour on the factory floor. Information on the fine ingredients in this artisanal chocolate and the method used to turn cocoa beans into heavenly flavors of chocolate were explained in an adjoining room.

The factory. Yes, I was expecting conveyor belts, clanging bells, a frenzy of machinery, and lots of workers. But no, only about three people working at quiet machines that you will see below.

Ty introduced us to Miss Nan (forgive me if I don't have her name correct). She is bagging their delicious foil-wrapped candy shells and placing them in the boxes.

The machine is making white chocolate. Stirring is an important aspect of making delicious candy. I learned white chocolate does not have cocoa powder as an ingredient, but does contain the cocoa butter.

Milk chocolate machine. The difference between Whetstone's fine chocolates and the Over the Counter kind, as Ty referred to the cheaper manufactured chocolate, is the amount of lecithin, an emulsifier. Cheaper chocolates use none or less lecithin in the product.

Dark chocolate.
Yes, they push the health benefits of eating DARK chocolate.

Ty demonstrates how the hollow chocolate football is made. A measured amount of chocolate is added to the plastic mold he is holding.
A worker continually turns the liquid chocolate leaving a thin layer on the mold. In order to make it evenly shaped, it takes 35 minutes of hand turning to do it right!

The mold and the finished product, a hollow football complete with white chocolate laces!
Beautiful! No,Ty didn't make this one....

Miss Nan revs up the machine that wraps foil around the chocolate shells.

Miss Nan loads the shells into the machine. Ty explained the path the candy took through the gears and belts with a patter that a rap star couldn't have done better! 

Success! Look at the parade of red foil-wrapped candy which Miss Nan will bag later.

Yes, we re-enacted the candy wrapping scene from the I Love Lucy Show.
You can't tell I have the candy stuffed in my mouth and down my bra, just like Lucy. LOL!!

The chocolate factory scene from the I Love Lucy Show.
The real actors in I Love Lucy. Have you seen this episode? It's a classic.

Hope you enjoyed the tour. Are you hungry for chocolate now? Do you like dark chocolate?

I bet with the holidays upon us, you'll get many chocolate treats whether candy or desserts. Take time to really taste them and feel the joy this small morsel can bring to us.
Photos by J.Q. Rose

Poinsettia--the traditional Christmas flower

Wishing you joy, peace, hope, and love this Christmas season 

and for the New Year 2017!

About J.Q. Rose

After writing feature articles in magazines, newspapers, and online magazines for over fifteen years, J.Q. Rose entered the world of fiction. Her published mysteries are Deadly Undertaking  and Dangerous Sanctuary released by Books We Love Publishing. Blogging, photography, Pegs and Jokers board games, and travel are the things that keep her out of trouble. She spends winters in Florida and summers up north camping and hunting toads, frogs, and salamanders with her four grandsons and granddaughter.

Christmas Toy Shopping Disastrophy by Stuart R. West

Hola and happy holidays, everyone. 

Tensions are high, people on edge, fights and riots breaking out everywhere. Oh, and then there’s the political situation. But I was talking about Christmas shopping.

Talk about madness. Say what you will about Amazon (like politics, everyone has a highly volatile opinion of them), I’m thankful for Amazon at Christmas time. My wife and I pretty much get most of our shopping done without ever leaving the sofa.

But things weren’t always like that.

I’m thinking the infamous year of the “Water Baby.” 

I made the parental mistake of asking my then eight year old daughter what she’d like for Christmas. 

“A Water Baby.”

“A what?”

“A Water Baby. Melissa and Brianne have one.”

“Oh. Well, if Melissa and Brianne have one, they’ve gotta’ be something special.”

I had no idea what a “Water Baby” was, yet pretended to. Because dads know everything, right? After researching, I discovered Water Babies were special dolls you fill with water to give them that “realistic” feeling. Well… First, gross. Second, why are eight year old girls wanting to feel a real baby?  Stupid Melissa and Brianne.

But the hunt was on! 

Instead of eating during my work lunch-breaks, I scoured the stores and malls of the Greater Kansas City metropolitan area. I called stores, pleaded my case for the stupid, highly elusive Water Baby doll. I enlisted my parents into high-stepping action. I offered to buy the doll at twice the price, to any takers, just please don’t let my daughter down this Christmas! Alas, Water Babies were sold out everywhere. 

I came close a few times. My mom found one at a Kmart. Excited, I asked her how much I owed her for the gift. 

My mom said, “Well, I didn’t get it because the doll was black.”

“Gah! Mom! My daughter won’t care! No one cares but you! Please, please, PLEASE go back and get it! Never mind. I’ll do it!”

Off I went! I bolted through my company’s door (“Not feeling good!”), sped and zipped in and out of highway lanes like Steve McQueen on a bender. I slammed open the Kmart doors, raced down the toy aisle. 

And found an empty shelf. 

A forlorn looking mother stood next to me, equally numb. 

“Water Baby?” I asked, shorthand for every parent who’d been fighting the battle.

She nodded, dead to the world.

I dropped to my knees, raised my hands and screamed to the uncaring toy manufacturers, the greedy corporate marketing strategists, and mostly to that insidious duo of little girls, Melissa and Brianne, “Damn you, Melissa and Brianne! Curse you foul demonic Water Babies, you ugly looking, jiggly, creepy hunks of stupid plastic!”

Then a stock-boy strolled out. His name tag identified him as “Chet.” To this day, I identify Chet as the boy who saved Christmas. In all his slacker, acne-ridden glory.

“Hey,” he says, oh so nonchalantly, just teasing us, “you looking for Water Babies?”

“Yeah. Please, dear God, tell me you have some!” I nearly took Chet by his blue lapels and shook him down.

“Nah. Not here. But our store in Gladstone's got a couple.”

“Thanks, Chet! Love you!”

Out through the store I hurtled. A dead tie with the other grieving parent. I considered shoving her into the sock aisle to gain an advantage. (Hey, all’s fair during Christmas toy shopping.) But I didn’t need to. Once I slammed open the doors, I broke into a full-on, manic sprint through the parking lot. Another breathless race through the streets of KC. I screeched to a halt in the Gladstone Kmart parking lot.

The store loomed in front of me, large and foreboding. Conqueror and creator of Christmas happiness: Kmart.

This was it. My last chance to bring Christmas joy to my daughter.

I shoved past people--certain they’d understand--and scuttled down the toy aisle.

Celestial trumpets! Glory hallelujah! 

There in all their grotesquely manufactured glory, sat two of the ugliest lumps of plastic Mankind had ever created. I snatched one doll up (hoped my competitor would get the other), locked it under my arm, thrust a hand out like a running back and slammed my way to the check-out aisle. 

A true Christmas miracle.

Of course the dumb Water Baby’s novelty wore off after a couple of hours. Soon enough, my daughter discarded the grotesque mannequin to the bin of unwanted toys.

Still, it was all worth it to see my daughter light up like a Christmas tree upon opening that gift. (No way did I let Santa grab the glory for that one, either. My heroic efforts as a dad demanded to be rewarded).

That Christmas morning, I finally relaxed. Job well done. After all, I had 364 more days until I had to worry about it again. (Next year was even worse: Furbies.)

I gripe about the Toy Wars. But, to tell you the truth, I kinda’ miss it. My daughter’s long grown up, at the stage where money’s her favorite gift. As are my nieces, nephews, all the children in our family. It’s boring. There’s no challenge or joy in tossing around cash. 

Maybe I’ll go back to giving everyone toys no matter their age. 

Happy holidays, merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, cool Kwanza, super Solstice, beautiful Boxing Day, and to those parents still in the trenches and fighting the good fight: good luck.

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