Baby Doe Tabor by Katherine Pym

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 ~*~*~*~
A new year, a new subject (not 17^th century) but still history, about...

Baby Doe Tabor

Elizabeth Bonduel McCourt was born into the wrong family mid 19^th century, in Oshkosh Wisconsin USA. She was vivacious and beautiful. She loved adventure whereas her family preferred quiet afternoons.  

Her skin was beautiful, her eyes sparkling, and her lips perfect for kisses. Known as the ‘Belle of Oshkosh’, men flocked around her, wrote poetry and gave her gifts.

A man’s world did not intimidate her. At the age of 22, she entered and won a figure skating contest. Her audacity shocked the town but it also attracted a young man named Harvey Doe, Jr. The two fell in love and married.

Their honeymoon was on a train to Denver, Colorado. From there, they traveled to Central City where Harvey would work in his father’s mine. It did not take long for Elizabeth to realize she’d married a dud. He couldn’t stay put, wandered from one town to another, drank and gambled. He was unfaithful and enjoyed going to brothels. Harvey became debt-ridden. She knew if she didn’t work the mine, she’d starve.

She dressed in men’s clothing and showed up one morning at her father-in-law’s mine. The men were shocked, couldn’t believe what they saw. Elizabeth nodded her pretty head and carried her lunchbox into the shafts.

The Tabor House, Leadville CO

The miners found her to be a hard worker. Every day their admiration grew. They called her Lizzy and as each one fell in love with her, she became Baby Doe. (I wonder if the spunky Elizabeth, now dubbed ‘Baby,’ had anything to do with how the writers of Dirty Dancing named their main character.) Hmmm. Something to think about.

Anyway…

The mine was playing out. Fed up, Baby Doe divorced Harvey. She had visited Leadville Colorado once and liked it. She decided to move there. 

Silver Dollar Tabor

As an aside: Leadville is an interesting town with an interesting history. Some say many of the buildings are haunted. I enjoyed our visit, a one night stopover on our way to California.

My son (age 10) did not like it. Something spooked him to such an extent, he could not sleep and could not wait to leave there. The next morning when we got into the car, we had a flat tire. The serviceman said the nail was ancient, as if from the old mining days. He would not give it to us, and frankly the less my son saw of the place the better. We did not argue, and left right after the fellow fixed the flat.

So Baby Doe found her way to Leadville. Her beauty attracted everyone she met. Women liked her, and her sense of humor. Soon, she found her way into the heart of a wealthy resident named Horace Tabor but he was married. His wife worked hard by his side. They supplied miners with equipment. Their days turned bright when they grubstaked a couple of miners who struck silver.

Young Augusta Tabor

The Tabors became multimillionaires within months. Horace bought up mines and entered politics. He was Leadville’s postmaster, and first mayor. His wife was unhappy. She looked old before her time. Tabor was ready for another woman and Baby Doe fit the bill. They embarked on a romance.

They tried to keep it secret but soon word leaked. Baby Doe became the ‘other woman’. Tabor wanted a divorce. His money allowed him the best lawyers who advised him the best way to do it without his wife knowing. He rode to Durango where he divorced her, then took Baby Doe to St. Louis where they married (only a little bit illegal).

Tabor devastated his first wife. She took what little money he provided and with tail tucked between her skirted legs, she fled Colorado to settle in California. It is said she died not long after of a broken heart. 

An older, unhappy Augusta Tabor

Baby Doe and Horace lived it up big. Notwithstanding his affair and consequent divorce, he became a senator and the couple headed for Washington DC. Their lifestyle made front page news. Their parties were extravagant. The president attended along with everyone on the who’s who list.  

After the DC stint, they moved to Denver, their goal to make Denver into a western Paris. Her husband continued to buy up mines that yielded silver in the millions. The Tabors had 2 daughters, Elizabeth (Lilly) & Rose Mary (nicknamed Silver Dollar). They had a son who was stillborn.

Horace did not diversify his investments. In 1893, the US Treasury lowered the value of silver. Within days, Tabor’s silver holdings were worthless. They were forced to move into a humble cottage. Vicious tongues wagged, stating Baby would leave her husband now he was penniless and find another wealthy man but they were misguided. Baby stayed with Horace until his death in 1899. Several thousand attended his funeral.

Matchless Mine, Leadville CO

Before his death, Horace believed the Matchless Mine in Leadville would come into its own again. He told Baby to hold onto it which she did for another 36 years. She tried to revive it again and again but the mine was spent. Baby Doe fell into poverty, moved into a cabin next to the mine that was more cardboard than wood.

Obsessed, she worked tirelessly to revive a lost cause. Her singlemindedness made her a legend and that same quality caused her daughters to desert her. She scribbled gibberish in her journal how the mine and her wealth would be restored.

During the harsh winter of 1935, Baby Doe Tabor froze to death. She was found on the floor of that flimsy cabin with her hands crossed over her chest. She was 81 years old.

~*~*~*~

Many thanks to:

Green, Valerie. Gamblers, Gunmen, and Good-Time Gals. Altitude Publishing, Ltd., Alberta, Ca, 2005

And of course, wikicommons, public domain

Be daring... Be bold... by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo BWL Author Page

The holidays are almost over, and for me this is the time of year to reflect on what I accomplished and to set new goals for next year.

Last summer I wanted a new look so I cut my hair short. I had shed a fur coat from my head and it felt amazing, but something went missing. I had a few hidden purple streaks underneath the top layers that could only be seen when I brushed my hair, quickly moved my head, or ran my finger into my hair. Still, the streaks were there and my little three-year-old granddaughter loved playing in my hair and looking at the purple. After it was gone, she kept asking “Where’s the purple, grand-maman?” – “When are you going to put more purple in your hair, grand-maman?”

I toyed with the idea for months, I browsed through hair pictures, then one day I stumbled onto a woman with short purple and blue hair. I reminded me of the northern lights. It was gorgeous...and daring. I showed the picture of the woman to my granddaughter. She loved the blue with the purple, so mid-December, I told my hairdresser to work her magic. The pic is me. The new “daring” me.

People’s reactions were across the spectrum. “You’re brave” – “I want hair like yours” –  “Why? But why?” – “You’re bold” – “I love it” – “It’s pretty” – “Wow...” (Many different nuances of wow)  – “Don’t worry, your hair will grow back” (I don't want it to grow back...) – “How long is that going to last?” (Hopefully many many months) – “Don’t let my wife see you or she’ll do it too” – “It’s your hair” – “It looks better than I thought it would”

When I go out, some strangers stare silently while others stop me in the store or the street to say they like my hair then they start talking to me about other things. It’s fascinating because I’m still me but some people’s perception has changed. So how do I feel about this?

Well... I like my hair and so does my little granddaughter.

Do someone people think I’m weird? Probably, but in all fairness, I am weird. I write mystery novels and I kill at least one person per book. It does qualify as weird, but deep down, I’m the same person I have always been. Still, I got to interact with lots of new people because I dared color my hair purple and blue.

The point is you never know what’s waiting for you around that daring corner. You may have written a novel but you’re hesitant to submit it because you’re afraid people won’t like it. It’s true that not everybody likes every book—not everybody likes my novels and I don’t like every novel that was ever written—but if you like your book and it makes one person smile, cry, or stay up late at night to finish a chapter, then it’s worth it. Don’t be afraid to try because you’re afraid of what people might think.

Be daring, be bold, but never forget to be yourself!

Happy 2018!

JS Marlo

 J. S. Marlo's Website

On A Stormy Primeval Shore - Canadian Historical Brides Book 9 - Just Released from BWL Publishing Inc.

Available January 1, 2018

Click the cover to purchase from your favorite online retailers.  Available in eBook and print online and in bookstores.

In 1784, Englishwoman Amelia Latimer sails to the new colony of New Brunswick in faraway Canada. She’s to marry a man chosen by her soldier father. Amelia is repulsed by her betrothed, refuses to marry, then meets the handsome Acadian trader, Gilbert, a man beneath her in status. Gilbert must protect his mother who was attacked by an English soldier. He fights to hold on to their property, to keep it from the Loyalists who have flooded the colony, desperate men chased from the south after the American Revolution. In a land fraught with hardship, Amelia and Gilbert struggle to overcome prejudice, political upheaval, while forging a life in a remote country where events seek to destroy their love and lives.
 

The Arc of the Story as I see it, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

I adore history and telling stories. I was born in California and published short-stories and poems in school magazines. I wanted to travel the world, so I joined the navy at nineteen, married my navy husband in Greece-and explored the ancient ruins-then had two sons. We traveled to exotic locales, giving me the urge to weave tales involving the past. My first novel was published in 2010, and many historical novels followed. I now live with my husband in Western Pennsylvania.

My current work in progress is in honor of Canada's 150th birthday: On a Stormy Primeval Shore
In 1784, Englishwoman Amelia Latimer sails to the new colony of New Brunswick in faraway Canada. She’s to marry a man chosen by her soldier father. Amelia is repulsed by her betrothed, and refuses to marry him. She is attracted to a handsome Acadian trader, Gilbert, a man beneath her in status. Gilbert must fight the incursion of English Loyalists from the American war to hold onto his land and heritage. Will he and Amelia find peace when events seek to destroy their love and lives.


What is a story arc? An agent once asked me if my story followed the three-arc format? I had no idea what she was talking about. Then I took a writing class, which helped—sort of—to explain this issue. I was under the impression I could write my novel any way I wanted to, rambling on and on, throwing in info dumps, but no, you must have an arc, a frame work, highs and lows and a wrapping up at the end.

Since I’m a ‘pantzer’ i. e., I write by the ‘seat of my pants’, I just start writing with a slight idea of who my characters are and what the setting will be. It’s after I’ve written several chapters that I figure out where the story will go.

For this novel, I read up on the history of New Brunswick, decided to start with the ‘break’ of the colony from Nova Scotia in 1784, and tossed my female character, Amelia, a young Englishwoman, into those events. My male character is Acadian. Gilbert grew up with the ebb and flow of changing events, the expulsion of his people when the British came, and so forth. This way I could show the colony from the POV of two different cultures.

As for story arcs, I’m not sure if I follow the framework as I should. I try to intermix action, with gentler scenes, have a big action scene near the end, then wrap up the story. My characters often tell me which way to go once their personalities flesh out and they take over the novel. I try to work in the history in ways that make sense and don’t overwhelm the reader. But I still like those info dumps, darn it!

Priscilla Brown tries to make silver jewellery

 COMING SOON

  An entertaining contemporary romantic comedy

He almost runs her over, she breaks a shoe in a drain...what can he do but play Prince Charming? This near accident caused by Alistair is Cassandra's introduction to life in the fun lane. Both fresh out of inappropriate relationships and jobs, each is novelty value for the other. But their exes are pulling tricks to be reinstated, offering lifestyles where income is guaranteed. So can Cassie's passion for fashioning silver jewellery and Al's for re-purposing driftwood timber keep them fed? And is this too-much-too-soon chemistry fizzing between them fit for the long haul?

Look out for Silver Linings on http://bwlpublishing.ca/authors/brown-priscilla-romance-australia

A few years ago, new to the area where I now live, I checked out possibilities for classes as I'm always interested in learning new things. Finding a six-week evening course on making silver jewellery, I asked it if would be suitable for a complete beginner; assured that it was, I signed up. Well, it wasn't. Or rather, the tutor preferred to work with the seven others, all of whom had done a course with her previously. Don't you hate it when a tutor pays attention only to those who already have some idea what they are doing? She started me off cutting silver, and only later did I realise she hadn't given any occupational health and safety information, surely essential in a studio with sharp tools, soldering and electrical equipment and a gas-heated dish. I pestered her with "is this OK?" and "what do I do now?" After the six weeks, I ended up with a ring, two pairs of earrings and an unfinished pendant.The ring was too small, one pair of earrings was too heavy, while the other, on which I etched a simple design, was definitely wearable.A few weeks later, I saw an exact copy of this pair under the tutor's name in the studio shop.So I might have been the student who knew nothing, but my design was marketable. I was very annoyed.

But I did come away from this unsatisfactory experience with something worthwhile: an idea for a story involving a silver jewellery designer. Silver Linings was hatched. I'd recently completed Hot Ticket which is located in tropical Darwin, and I wanted to set this new romance at the other end of Australia in an isolated area with harsh winter weather. I love researching, and if it involves travel, so much the better! I explored southern Tasmania, conceiving a wild island on the edge of the Southern Ocean. I also spent time in and around Hobart, visiting galleries similar to where my characters could sell their creations, and inventing a funky bar where Alistair takes Cassandra after he almost runs her over. No one almost ran me over, but I did get to a funky bar...

Whatever hopes and wishes are on your list, may 2018 deliver in spades! And, of course, great reading! 

Happy New Year from Priscilla

http://bwlpublishing.ca 

https://priscillabrownauthor.com

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COWBOY COOKIES

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Links to all my historical novels:

http://bit.ly/2gzOvgS

We're between the Christmas holiday and New Year. Here in the northeast we’ve had our first real cold snap, with a not-so gentle reminder that it’s soon to be another year.  December crackles and shrivels like a dead leaf. 

It’s a time when ancestors are remembered, sometimes in the patterns of light reflecting from 2017’s LED decked Christmas tree, sometimes in the carp-like mouths of Byer’s carolers you got from your Mom, sometimes in the low angle from which the northern sun sends rays into our aging eyes. 

I've had my mother-in-law, Carol Waldron, in mind, along with memories of shared holidays, all fast receding into the distant past. I’ve had something of a celebration for her, in fact. This is done in two ways, both which would probably amuse her. The first, and I’ve already talked about this one, is by wearing her 1970’s coat to the gym or anywhere convention doesn't require anything more than utility.  Despite the best efforts of the beautiful people—and don’t get me wrong—I’m in awe of their skill at self-presentation—I never looked anywhere near that good on my best young day—I still claim the right to wear an old coat sometimes. (Could it be the next frontier on the road to gender equality, the right to not give a damn about appearances?)

I suggested to Chris—who has been enjoying his time in our kitchen (working on his Palmdale Punjabi dinners)-- that he, for a change, try his hand at baking a batch of his Mother’s cookies for the holiday meal. This Christmas, in our case, was minimally attended.  My husband’s brother Nick would come up from Maryland, but he too would remember--and eat too many--of Carol’s cookies. Then we’d all have a sugar-induced spell of recollection about our clan as it was long ago in those long gone days of 20th Century yesteryear.

The recipe is titled Cowboy Cookies—and I think that says as much about the probable time of origin as anything.  The brand new media television thrived on cowboy shows, and boomer kids like me were crazy about Roy Rodgers and Dale Evans.

 (Carol, Springfield, MA H.S. Valedictorian)

Mid-1950’s, when all those educated young women were expected to morph into docile homemakers, Carol, the ex-chemistry major, would bake this recipe by the gross. She did so, too, and far too often, much to the detriment of everyone's waistline, but let no one say she was not enacting "Mom."

 A friend recently tasted one of these cookies and said she thought they were the original Tollhouse© recipe. These are nothing like the now fashionable gigantic, soggy, under-baked and laden with too much everything "cookie" of today. 

Cowboy Cookies deliver a balanced mixture of dough and additive. They are thoroughly baked. Although soft and gooey upon first emergence from the oven, they get even better after cooling overnight, becoming crunchy and buttery crisp along the edges.

   

 This Christmas, Chris used what we had in the cupboard, substituting about 1/2 cup brown flour for some of the oatmeal, which we’d run out of. And of course, following our taste-buds, we had Hershey’s© Special Dark chocolate chips and local black walnuts from one of the nearby farm markets for the gussying up.  

Cowboy Cookies

Sift together:

2 cups flour

1 tsp. soda

½ tsp. baking powder

In a separate bowl , cream together:

1 cup softened butter

1 cup white sugar

1 cup brown sugar

Once that’s fully integrated, slowly beat in two eggs.

Next, combine dry and wet mixtures.

Finally, add 2 cups of oatmeal, a bit at a time, and then work in the (chocolate) chips, nuts of whatever kind. Drop by teaspoon onto greased/parchment cookie sheet and bake for 350 degrees for 15 minutes.  Rack or paper cool. 

(Warning: sugar shock possible with unchecked consumption.) 

Happy New Year!
~~Juliet Waldron

http://www.bookswelove.net/authors/waldron-juliet/

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS

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Realistic Ending vs. Happily Ever After Endings by Connie Vines

How do you want a story to end? Should it have a fairy tale ending? A hopeful ending? Or do you like stories with more realistic endings—even if the protagonist doesn’t come out ahead and the villain doesn’t get his?

Realistic Endings vs. Happily Ever After Endings

While some would consider me a witty, yet realistic introvert, they would be surprised to learn that I’m a big fan of the fairy tale ending. Sure, I like my mysteries and crime shows and novels, an occasional Disney movie, and I overdose on Hallmark Chanel movies. Who doesn’t? But I prefer at least a hint of happily-ever-after endings. Yes, my historical novels are very realistic.  Still, I must always have a glimmer of hope and the chance of a happily-ever-after ending. . .somewhere in the future.

I have to care about the characters. I will forgive problems with plot and storyline if I just have to know what happens to the characters.

To make me care, the characters have to be genuine, authentic, real. I have to know they are, in many ways, like me. We all have our commendable qualities and those we’d rather keep hidden from the world. As writers, our characters have to be the same. Otherwise, the reader won’t be able to relate and will too easily dismiss them.

Realistic? Yes. Dark and defeated? Definitely not. 

Not even in my paranormal or hard-scrabble historical stories. 

Turn Off the Lights, But Leave the Door Open

Christy Harkin said, “The difference between writing for adults and children is this: You can lead children into a dark room, but you must leave a door open.”

I actually prefer that open door myself—or at least a distant pinpoint of light. 

Action adventure. Suspense. Drama. In all of these genres, the moments we can take a breath—maybe even laugh a little—help us prepare for the intensity to come. These moments must be skillfully crafted. They can’t boot the reader out of the story altogether.

Maybe the protagonist’s best friend cracks a joke when he’s nervous.

Maybe the evil antagonist has a soft spot for kittens (Hellboy).

Maybe an unjaded, innocent child plays a key role in the story (Remember the original and the reboot of the t.v. show “V”?).

Maybe the protagonist grew up surrounded by love and laughter, moves back into her family home and is reminded of those memories everywhere she looks.

Even the most sobering, the most depressing story can have its upbeat moments and a positive yet realistic ending.

Can our stories be believable and realistic yet sprinkled throughout with positivity? Yes, I believe they can.

PRACTICE

Spend ten minutes and write an intensely dark scene. List three or four ways you can shine a light into the darkness. Choose the most believable and write for an additional five minutes, bringing the light to bear.

Post your scene in the comments area and take the time to share some positive comments with your fellow writers/readers.

Now.

How do you craft a happy ending?

Your readers want your protagonist to get what they set out for, but if everything is miraculously, flawlessly perfect by the end, it may all seem a bit too good to be true. Create an ending that is positive but has a bittersweet edge, or simply reflects the struggles and sacrifices your protagonist had to make to get there. If you look to some of the endings of celebrated books, while they may be considered happy, there is usually something that keeps them from being entirely perfect, and that’s why readers root even harder and are even happier that the hero of your story got what they deserved in the end.

Tie up any loose ends

There is nothing worse than ending a book and going ‘is that it?’ If there are lots of unexplained elements to your book, or lots of parts to your story that remain open ended, you run the risk of frustrating your reader, no matter how pleasing your ending is. Tie up any loose ends before you finish your story - unless it’s part of a series that is in which case leaving them on a cliffhanger can be intriguing!

Keep it simple

Of course, the build up to the end of your story can be full of drama and tension and maybe even a twist or two. But when it comes to writing the actual ending don’t over complicate things. If you throw in distractions or suddenly add another element or layer you’ll only distract the reader, and this will make your ending seem weaker and take away from it somewhat.

Don’t use a cop out

Make you're ending thoughtful and meaningful. If your protagonist is in an impossible situation at the end of your book, think carefully about how to get them out of it. If they suddenly wake up and ‘it was all a dream’ or a magical unexplained force or character suddenly saves the day, your reader will feel cheated, and despite having resolved anything they won’t appreciate the way you’ve done it.
Don’t force a happy ending

If a happy ending doesn’t feel right, don’t force one just because you think it will please your readers. Write an ending that suits the style and content of your story, not all books have to have happy endings after all!

Snippets from my all my novels and novellas are available at BWL, Publishing and my website.  www.novelsbyconnievines.com

https://books2read.com/u/b6rj10  (link to purchase)

Lynx, Rodeo Romance, Book 1 

She moved to make a fresh pot of coffee, offering him an unobstructed head-to-toe view.  He recognized the sassy, denim western shirt and was grateful for the ruffled blouse that concealed the rising curves of her breasts.  He knew she had curves, he had felt everyone of them yesterday when he held her in his arms.  Today he wanted no visual reminder of how lush her body really was.

Rachel returned and refilled his mug, and Lynx paraded his thoughts and a different direction.  “What are you doing working the early shift?” he asked.

Rachel poured herself a mug of coffee, frowning at his question.  Grabbing the sugar container, she poured a long stream into her coffee and stirred.  “I couldn’t sleep. So I came in early.”

“Join the club.” He watched her take a sip of her coffee.

Her gaze flew to his, and he smiled, a measure of wicked satisfaction rushing through him at the telltale flush sweeping across her cheeks.  He waited in anticipation for her response, but before she could reply, they were interrupted.

Charlene came around the corner, her arms full holding a platter containing his breakfast, Tabasco sauce and a bottle of catsup.  Sliding the platter onto the counter, she said, “Nothing like a good meal to take the orneriness out of a man.”  She cast him a smile before sitting down the bottles.  He grinned at her, and Charlene blew him a kiss.

Lynx reached for his fork.

Charlene tossed her head, her blonde mane of hair tumbling around her shoulders.  “Give Lynx a chance,” she hissed as she walked past her friend. “I bet he’s stubborn, but I have a feeling he can be awfully sweet.”

“Sweet” wasn’t a word Rachel would use to describe the tall Texan.  “Sexy,” “tough,” “arrogant,” and maybe “charming.”  “Sweet? Never.  “I doubt it,” she said.

Charlene chuckled, and then glanced at Lynx.  “Coward.”  She tossed the word at Rachel before snagging a cup of coffee and heading back to the kitchen.

Was she a coward?  Rachel glanced at Lynx’s bent head, the thick pelt of hair glistening under the lights.  His hands were strong and capable, and oh-so-gentle, her heart reminded her.

With a soft sigh, the sweet memory of Lynx’s touched drifted through her mind leaving her achy and empty inside.  Was she throwing away her chance at happiness with both hands? She wondered.  Why was she thinking of that now?  Shaking off the sensation of loss.  Rachel glanced out the window at Lynx’s dusty red truck.

He’d be leaving soon.

Still, her heart overflowed with an indescribable feeling as she looked at Lynx.  It was a shattering realization that frightened her—Lynx Maddox had found a way into her heart.

Coming attractions:

Bell, Book, & Gargoyle, Sassy and Fun Fantasy Series, Novella 2

Why does the doorbell always ring at the worst time?

With on hand trying to hold her hair on top of her head and the other stretched across the vanity, reaching for her hairbrush, Sybil Shayne frowned into the mirror as the door chimes echoed through her high-rise apartment.

“Oh, for the love of Max Factor,” she mumbled around a mouthful of hair pins, trying in vain to twist a stray lock of hair that insisted in obstructing her line of vision. Just one minute more and she’d have this pinned. . .

The peal of the doorbell as replaced by determined knocking.  Whoever was out there wasn’t giving up.  “Okay, okay.  I’ll be right there!”

Jabbing one final pin into her hair and fumbling with a can of hairspray, she managed to fill her tiny bathroom with the sticky mist, before bounding down the hallway.  Once she reached the living room, she screeched to a halt and forced herself to walk slowly.  Think poised, she reminded herself.  She did have a reputation to maintain.  This could be one of her clients on the other side of the door.
Hand on the doorknob, she actually jumped when the doorbell sounded again.

Lipsticked smile firmly in place, she jerked open the door.

An attractive, dark-haired woman carrying a bundle of some sort, shouldered her aside and stepped inside the apartment. “Sib, shut the door.  Hurry-up. I think someone may have followed me!”

Without though, Sybil automatically followed her best friend’s orders.  Sliding the deadbolt lock into place for good measure.  “What do you mean, you’re being followed” Standing on tiptoe, she glanced through the peephole to the outside hallway.  “I don’t see anyone.”

After marching over to the floor-to-ceiling window, Pippa yanked the gauzy curtains closed.  “Turn off the lights!  Never mind, hold her.” She said shifting the firmly wrapped blanket into Sybil’s arms.

“She’s heavy,” she warned before darting through the apartment, snapping off lights like a wild woman.

Pippa was right this bundle was heavy.  “What kind of puppy do you have, a St. Bernard?  I feel like a holding a chuck of cement.”

“No! Don’t put her down.  She’s not a puppy.  Just keep holding her.  Magdalena is her name by the way.”

“Not a puppy?” Sybil asked, alarm widening her eyes, and causing her voice to rise an octave or two.
“Pippa what are you up to now?”

+++

I hope you have enjoyed my article and the snippets.
I hope everyone has enjoyed a wonderful Holiday Season. 

I am looking forward to 2018. 

Happy New Year!

Connie

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LINKS:
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