Luck is opportunity seized.

I’ve been told I’m lucky I can speak in public.

It’s not luck. Anyone can learn to speak in public. Here’s how.

When I was young — under the age of 10 — I wanted to do two things more than anything else. I wanted to tap-dance and play the violin.

My dreams were crushed. My parents opted for singing lessons (solo and choir) and elocution lessons. I realize now they were the cheapest lessons around and money was short. Or was that really it? Did my parents know something I didn’t?

My first humiliation came when I sang with my choir at a concert. I think it was in the Westminster Church Hall in New Glasgow, Nova Scotia. I stood in the front row. I remember a brown dress with full crinoline (it was the 1950s) and my favorite yellow and brown cardigan. (it had come as a hand-me-down from my cousin, Kathy.)

All was well until we stopped singing and the crowd clapped loudly. And so did I! Laughter rippled around the room. They thought it was cute. I thought I’d prefer to sink through the floor. That ended my choir career, at least as far as I remember.

A year later, I performed solo at one of the ubiquitous Kiwanis Music Festivals. (My music teacher was going to earn her fees, no matter what.) Folks, I was painfully shy but that wasn’t the problem.

Reality — I couldn’t carry a tune in a tin bucket. However, I warbled through a song about Susie and seashells. The judges comment? ‘A sweet little voice.” Come on, I had heard enough of the judging to know that was a place holder. One of those comments designed so as to not hurt the child. Mortified, I hustled from the stage.

Later, as a teen, I sang in the church choir. Of course, I did, I was the minister’s daughter. I felt sorry for the choirmasters stuck with my off-key renditions. When one director said if we didn’t know the notes we could mouth the words, I was relieved. (I knew he was talking to me.) However, standing in the choir, I suppose I got used to facing a room full of faces.

Along the way there were parent nights for the elocution presentations. I fared markedly better in those. It seems I had a good memory. (And I was not required to carry a tune.) My mother (who couldn’t carry a tune either) played into this one. My grandfather had taught her and her six siblings to recite poetry by the bucket full, and she’d done the same with me. Elocution recitals I was ready for.

By the time I was twelve my dad, a clergyman, had me reading scripture in both Sunday School and occasionally in the pulpit. Either that or the teachers thought I was the logical candidate as the minister’s daughter. I had plenty of opportunity to practice in front of people.

High school came with stage appearances in plays. My choice-and though keyed-up, by this time I wasn’t fearful enough to stay away. In English class, reading the role of Eliza Doolittle in Shaw’s Pygmalion became my favorite activity. I look back now and realize I loved it. I loved playacting.

My appearances continued through nursing school, teacher’s college, and teaching. If they needed an MC. I was it. If they need scripture read. They handed me the text. On Family Sunday at the church, I gave the layperson’s sermon. More practice.

From there, I moved on to adult education, workshops, and speeches as outside-of-work activities. I gave lunch-box talks at businesses. I took and taught workshops for educators and worked for the Dale Carnegie organization. I spoke to a dozen people and to 3,000+ people. Learning and practice.

Am I lucky to be able to speak in public? I’d say it was opportunity seized and practice, practice, practice coupled with learning necessary skills. That’s why I can face down a crowd and have a roaring good time. Somewhere along the line, I turned into a first-class ham. It’s really no different than how swimmers turn into Olympic competitors. Or writers turn into multi-published authors.

One major advancement came when I learned the audience wasn’t judging me. They were just darn glad it was me at the front of the room and not them. I also learned to laugh at myself, my tongue-tied moments, my misspoken words, and the forgetfulness that struck me from time to time. And they laughed with me, not at me.

On the other hand, maybe it was luck — luck that my parents chose those activities for me, luck my mother taught me to recite poetry. Either way, it’s not what presents itself, it’s what we do with the opportunities. Given a different path, I might be able to tap dance and play the violin. I find I prefer to speak in public.

Some opportunities teach us what we are not to do (like sing), that’s okay too. I built on the other opportunities and you can too.

Does it take courage and practice? Yes. But, be not afraid. You’ve got this.

Whatever it is. Whenever you start. – Speaking, writing, swimming…and more.

Tis the Season by Rosemary Morris

Click the cover to find out more about Rosemary's books.

Tis The Season to be Jolly
Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly

In the Georgian period, which includes the ever-popular Regency carol singers visited country houses decked with holly and laurel.
In my novel, Wednesday’s Child, I imagined carol singers at the hero’s mansion on Christmas Eve.
“Beyond the flight of steps which led up to the house, a group of men carried lanterns which cast a golden glow on the snow. One of the boys who accompanied them sang the first verse of The Holly and The Ivy.
The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.
His clear treble voice rang out across the snow concealing an imperfect lawn which stretched toward a belt of trees, their limbs stark against the night sky lit by a full moon and brilliant stars.”
On Christmas Day after attending a church service, plum pudding, which contained thirteen ingredients that represented Christ and his apostles, and mince pies were served after the main course at lunch. The tradition of giving ‘Christmas boxes’ with small gifts or money to tradesmen and servants was observed
Many of the 21st century’s customs were imported from Europe and the United States of America. Presents were given and received on New Year’s Day, and some people still resisted change by observing the Old Christmas Day on January 6th before the calendar changed in 1752.
We no longer observe the twelve nights of Christmas but I take down the decorations in my house on the twelfth day after Christmas.
From Christmas morning until the end of the season our most fortunate ancestors were jolly. Balls, charades, dances, music, riddles, theatricals and pastimes such hunt the slipper and blind man’s buff were enjoyed. So were the hilarious games such as snapdragon when the participants snatched raisins from a bowl in which brandy had been ignited. Apple bobbing, when each player with a had behind his or her back tried to grab an apple floating in water with their teeth.
In Wednesday’s Child, Amelia, the heroine asks her guardian what Bullet Pudding is.
“It is an essential part of Christmas at Longwood,” he replied.
His sister waved her hand at him. “Not for me. And I am sure Amelia would not enjoy it.” She faced Amelia. “Allow me to explain. Saunton will sink a bullet into a bowl filled with flour.”
Amelia raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
“For each player to cut a slice,” Charlotte explained. “Careful not to breathe in any flour, the person who dislodges the bullet must seek for it with nose and chin and try to slip it into his or her mouth.”
Yet, as it is today, the Christmas Season was also a time to be charitable. On Christmas Eve, 1798, Jane Austen included the following in a letter to her sister Cassandra.
“I have given a pair of worsted stockings to Mary Hutchins, Dame Kew. Mary Steevens and Dame Staples; a shift to Hannah Staples, and a shawl to Betty Dawkins amounting in all to about *half a guinea.”
Woodforde, a parson, invited seven poor old men to dine at his parsonage where roasted sirloin of beef, plum pudding and mince pies were served. Afterwards, he gave each of them **one shilling.
*Half a guinea is approximately £25 in today’s currency.
**One shilling is approximately £2.50 in today’s currency.
Classical Historical Fiction by Rosemary Morris

Early 18th Century novels: Tangled Love, Far Beyond Rubies, The Captain and The Countess

Regency Novels

False Pretences.

Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Books One to Six, Sunday’s Child, Monday’s Child, Tuesday’s Child, Wednesday’s Child, Thursday’s Child and Friday’s Child. (The novels in the series are not dependent on each other, although events in previous novels are referred to and characters reappear.)

Mediaeval Novel Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

https;//bwlpublishing.net/authors/rosemary-morris-rosemary-historical-uk/

Henry Hudson by Katherine Pym

Buy Here

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Henry Hudson

In the first decade of 17th century, Henry Hudson worked for several merchantmen companies, both in England and in Holland. His goal was to find the northern route to the Spicerie Islands in the South Pacific. 

He worked for the Muscovy Company, East India Company, and the Dutch East India Company (VOC). These companies pooled their resources, made their captains sign extensive contracts, gave them long lists of rules and regulations, then sent them on their way to find the easiest, fastest passage to spice ports of call.

Henry's search for the NW Passage

The route south through the Cape of Good Hope was fraught with danger, i.e., weeks of calm, scurvy, the bloody flux, pirates. Once into the Cape, there were added dangers of rogue waves that came from out of nowhere, swamping and sinking a ship to the depths.

If it weren't for the ice that filled the northern regions, that route would be far easier to navigate. When men sailed north toward Greenland or west to Newfoundland, these intrepid explorers found a vast ocean so crowded with fish, they leaped into their boats rather than be netted. They brought home stories of ling cod, and whale meat/lard. Fishermen sent their ships to these waters, and the English dinner table began to find new foods that delighted the palate.

When Hudson worked for the Muscovy Company, he failed to find the Northwest Passage, but alerted his employers of a place where one could catch many whales. The Dutch East India Company had so many failures, when they heard of Hudson, they enlisted his services.

Hudson was certain the passage could be found and promised better things. All their previous captains could not find the passage, and the directors wanted to know how he would go about it.

Henry replied that he followed Petrus Plancius' theory. Plancius was one of the founders and cartographer of the VOC, so the directors nodded their approval. When Hudson offered this concurrent theory, Plancius was still alive. He could be consulted for authenticity.

The theory was of a temperate, open sea in the North Pole not covered with ice. What Hudson professed was a mild climate above '74 degrees latitude - the point at which the Dutch ships had always found their path blocked by ice'. Hudson not only affirmed to have seen this, he raised the stakes higher by adding the depth of the sea was so great at this point, the swells could never freeze. In this ice-free area, Hudson declared to have seen a new land with many animals, sweet grasses wherein the animals grazed. It was a veritable paradise.

Hudson further added if he could go above '83 degrees latitude', he would sail west to the Pacific then south into the warmer seas of the East Indies. VOC demanded more proof, so Hudson sent for Petrus Plancius. The gentleman, an astronomer and clergyman, nodded his concurrence on Hudson's every point. He added the sun's long days and white nights during the summer kept the waters warm enough so that ice would not form. As a result, Henry was given the opportunity to seek a northern route to the South Seas.

Once aboard ship, Hudson disregarded all instructions by the VOC. He used his own maps and went northwest through bad weather. Finding the way too difficult, Hudson tootled south. He expected to find a waterway along the American coast he could travel to the Pacific. He did not find it, but did find a land rich in fisheries and game, trees so big they would make excellent ships.

Hudson had found Manhattan Island. The VOC was not impressed but other merchants were, which started the colonization of that area.

A Doomed Henry Hudson

In 1610, this time financed by the English merchants, Hudson tried again. He found his way into what is now the Hudson Bay. The seas were filled with ice. His crew turned surly, and one night mutinied. They grabbed hold of Henry Hudson and a few faithful crewmen, put them in a small boat without food, water, or warm clothing, and sent them adrift.

Henry Hudson disappeared into the night, never to be seen again.

~*~*~*~*~

Many thanks to the following bibliography:

Nathaniel's Nutmeg by Giles Milton, and Wikipedia (Hudson, Petrus Plancius)

Map of Hudson Bay is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

My First Writer's Conference by Diane Bator

 

This feels a bit like an essay I did once in school.  What I Did This Summer by Diane Bator. Remember those? Only this one is about something I did for the first time as a published writer. I attended a writer's conference. Yes, it's taken me eight novels to finally get to one!

I've read about friends traveling to conferences all over the place but was lucky that the Writers' Community of York Region sponsored one in Newmarket, Ontario this past weekend. This was the first event the WCYR had ever hosted and it was well attended by over 100 writers from all over Southern Ontario.

We started the day in the atrium of the Newmarket Town Hall with coffee and muffins and received a great new folder to take notes in. After a few brief words from on of the coordinators, we broke into groups for our chosen morning sessions.

My first session was with romance novelist Zoe York, author of more than 50 romance novels. She discussed Marketing for Genre Fiction. A lot of writers in the room were either looking to publish a novel or had published 1 or 2 novels. The one thing I found most interesting were the questions she gave us to think about no matter where we were at in our journeys.

1. What genre do you want to be writing and what type of books do you want to write? ie. genre, heat level, setting, tone, etc.
2. What are the next 5 books you want to write?
3. Can you group thematically or do they exist in the same world? Explain that world in a common theme in a sentence or two. ie. small town romance with sexy cowboy.
4. On a blank piece of paper, list all of your work to date, published or unpublished, finished or in draft/dream stage.

One of the other things they offered throughout the day were 20 minute Blue Pencil Meetings. The opportunity to sit with a fellow writer or editor and ask them questions as well as getting feedback on their novel. I passed on this chance for this conference, but other writers I chatted with were happy with the feedback they received.

Lunch was simple, soup and sandwiches along with some yummy chocolate chip cookies for dessert. While we ate, we were also able to purchase raffle tickets and enter them to win several beautiful baskets donated by sponsors, including the writing group I belong to. Draws were made at the end of the day. I didn't win any, but the woman who drove me to the conference did!

After lunch we were treated to a keynote speech from Terry Fallis, author of The Best Laid Plans and two-time winner of the Stephen Leacock Medal for Humour. He is a huge fan of being a Plotter when he writes his books. In fact, he plans them in great detail before he writes something I don't think I could ever do! I'm part plotter, part pantser. One thing he said that surprised many people in attendance was that he still works full time. After writing seven novels and receiving many awards, he still must hold a 9-to-5 job.

I was a bit concerned about the afternoon session. The handouts we'd received the week before suggested a very academic-style of session. Luckily, Kate Freiman, author of romantic fiction, was entertaining and the whole afternoon was more interesting than I expected. She discussed blending genres and story structure. Hard to believe I was the only self-professed mystery writer in the room.

Back in the main banquet room afterward, winning tickets were drawn for the gift baskets then my friend and I left. On the way out the door, we received a swag bag with some bookmarks and the like as well as three books. These were mine!

1. Lac Athabasca (a play) by Len Falkenstein
2. Doc Christmas by Neil Enock
3. Mad Men and Philosphy, which is an anthology.

Yay! More new-to-me authors!

I have one year until the next (fingers crossed!) York Writers Conference. I may do some searching and find a couple more I can fit into my schedule. 

In the meantime, I won't quit my day job, but I won't stop dreaming and writing either!

Looking for more New-to-You authors or familiar authors? Visit my blog every Sunday for Escape with a Writer Sunday at https://dbator.blogspot.com/

Feel free to check out my books at http://bookswelove.net/authors/bator-diane-mystery/

Diane Bator

author of Wild Blue Mysteries, Gilda Wright Mysteries, & Glitter Bay Mysteries.

Soup, Soup, and More Soup

It's no secret in my family, I love soup. Just about any kind of soup. And I'm always willing to try new recipes. The latest recipe I tried was for Zuppa Toscana, a soup they serve at Olive Garden.






I came by this recipe on Facebook. With a few minor changes (some suggested by the person who gave the recipe) I made it. I must admit, it was delicious. Even my hubby liked it and he's not big on creamed soups of any kind.
Another recipe I made recently was for Cream of Chicken soup - Can you tell I like cream soups. But truthfully, my all time favorite is home made chicken soup like grandma used to make. In my opinion, you just can't beat it. My mom also made this soup. Every Sunday. She stuffed the chicken first with cracker stuffing, Just before it was done, she took the chicken out and finished it in the oven. We ate the soup, with thin noodles - always thin, never wide noodles. To this day Chicken Soup tastes better with thin noodles. But that's neither here nor there. We'd eat the soup for lunch - usually around 1:00, then go to my grandparents' house. When we returned home, Mom put the chicken back in the oven to heat, made rice, (almost always rice but occasionally mashed potatoes) gravy, and a vegetable. That's what we had for dinner.
I said earlier you couldn't beat the soup, that's not quite true. Chicken, stuffing, mashed potatoes or rice, gravy, and vegetable were (are) my all time favorites.
When I first got married, I continued my mom's tradition of making chicken soup every Sunday.  Sometimes we visited my grandparents or my parents and sometimes my in-laws, and sometimes we just stayed home. Whatever we did, we followed the same routine of soup for lunch and chicken for dinner.
Of course just being the two of us - except when my husband's friend dropped in - we always had leftovers and dinner for Monday and sometimes Tuesday.  As for me, I could eat soup all week. With the exception of summer that is.  I can't bring myself to eat soup in the summer even though I grew up with it.
I can't remember exactly when but my husband asked me when I was going to make something American. American??? What was wrong with chicken soup?
He said he'd like some fried chicken for a change. I didn't have a clue how to make fried chicken. My mother never made fried chicken. She made Chicken Soup, Roasted Chicken, Chicken Paprikash, and Chicken with Gravy, but never just plain old Fried Chicken. My first attempts at making it from a cookbook weren't all that good. The breading always fell off. To this day, I don't make good Fried Chicken. So I stick with Chicken soup.
I'll never forget the day my mom told me that  my dad said he didn't mind telling her he wasn't all that crazy about chicken soup. After fifty years of marriage and making soup every Sunday - that's almost 3000 Sundays she made soup. God love him, he ate soup every week and never said a word. Of course, we laughed about it. Mom didn't think it was too funny at first.
I learned just how hurt she was when my husband informed me after 50+ years of marriage, the he wasn't all that crazy about carrots in the chicken soup. Seriously. I always made sure I gave him a lot of carrots and the poor man never said anything. Now, I'm very careful not to give him too many, which is fine, more for me. LOL And recently he told me he doesn't like mashed potatoes. Who doesn't like mashed potatoes, come to find out the only kind of potatoes he does like are french fried or fried. But, God love him, he eats them.
I still make soup often, but not every Sunday. In fact, I make it any day of the week when I have a taste for it. I usually make a large pot and have it for lunch every day until it's gone. Nothing better on cold winter days.
I'm looking forward to our traditional Christmas Eve Dinner (which we'll have on Dec. 15th this year, too hard to get everyone together on Christmas Eve. That's the day we have Mushroom Soup. Only day of the year we make it.
I found several crockpot soup recipes I want to try soon.

You can find the recipe for Zuppa Toscana Here Another, easier version made in the crockpot can be found here

BWL Publishing takes a break in December, so instead of our normal new release posts we're offering you our Holiday eBooks for only .99 cents each.  Scroll to the bottom for purchase information.

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The old Santa’s drunk and Mandy Brooks, assistant manager of Wentworth’s, an upmarket department store doesn’t do Christmas. Then she’s forced to play the part of Mrs Santa in the store’s grotto. Trouble is Santa’s replacement is a blast from her past – one she ran away from at the altar five years ago.

Ditched on his wedding day, Tate Sullivan left town. Now he’s back and he’s got unfinished business with Mandy Brooks. He wants her back in his bed on his terms, his way. But nothing is going according to plan. (A Novella)

I really liked the premise of this story: two people being locked into a store on Christmas Eve during a snowstorm. Mandy and Tate have a lot of feelings, both good and bad about each other, and neither knows the whole story. Their mothers have a lot to answer for. The love scenes between the two are scorchers and the Mrs. Claus outfit makes for a few chuckles. This is a great holiday story. Maura, Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More

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Every Christmas Eve, Luke and Mary Cassidy’s friends and family gather to celebrate the holiday. From the kitchen wafts the scent of sugar cookies, fruit cake, and hot cider, not to mention all the other goodies.

Gathered around the piano singing carols is a prelude to the Christmas Eve church service.

This year Mary is worried about her beloved Luke’s health and she’s keeping an eye on the newly wedded Rob and Kayla. The poor girl is having a hard time keeping her cowboy hog-tied.

Then there’s Cale and Michelle. She loves Michelle like the daughter she never had, and Mary is afraid the silly girl will let her pride get in the way of her happiness with the young vet who has bought into the practice. A match maker’s work is never done it seems. What better season than Christmas to give true love a tiny push?

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 Ryan hopes the adage “you can’t go home again” isn’t true because he hopes to find a miracle in his hometown.

A single dad, he quits his job and takes Emma, his ten year old daughter, back to Snow, the sometimes magical coal mining town in the hills of western Pennsylvania.

In addition to helping his aunt at the bakery, Ryan reconnects with a group of friends he’s known all his life as they struggle with the controversy for more efficient energy – coal versus wind – hard to do in a coal mining town.

As autumn turns to winter, Emma explores the secrets of Snow with her new friend, Charlie. When they discover an old man, new to town, remodeling the toy store, they set out to prove he’s Santa Clause.

Always Believe is a heartwarming story with all the enchantment of the holiday – a small town with stores like the Snickerdoodle Bakery and Wonderland Bookstore, a snow festival and children’s Christmas pageant, a touch of romance, and of course, a miracle or two.

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Chantilly Morrison is set to launch Chantilly Frost, a new cosmetics line, by holding a “Dear Santa” contest to make women’s fantas

ies come true. But because of an error in the ad copy, she’s inundated with letters from children, whose scribbled wishes tug at her heart. She hires an investigator to find the letter writers so she can throw a huge Christmas party and make the children’s fantasies come true.

AJ Anderson can find the unfindable, whether it’s lost artifacts or people, and he’s very good at his job. But when Chanti dumps hundreds of letters in his lap with the directive to find the children-- before Christmas Eve-- he knows the request is impossible, but the woman is irresistible.

Should he use his skills to make her Christmas wish come true, or can he use the count down to Christmas to find the key that unlocks the lady’s heart?

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 Stacy Martin, who has been married three times and had many relationships, doesn’t want a man in her life right now but her friends have other ideas. As a forty-ninth birthday present they pay for her to join three dating sites on the Internet. She just has to fill out the forms and pick the men she wants to meet. The only stipulation is that she must find a man by Christmas Eve so that the two of them can join Kate, one of her friends, and her boyfriend in Hawaii for New Year’s Eve.

“All you have to do is pick twelve men to date in December,” Kate said. “After the first date you can decide if you want to see each again. In the end you should be able to choose one for our Hawaii trip.”

Stacy has a full life with owning a flight attendant school, owning a rental condo, and owning a cat. Will she choose a man from a dating site, the man who has accused her female renters of being prostitutes, or a stranger she meets as he is leaving the rental condo building?

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Angel has a job to do—leave heaven and fix Clark Lannigan’s life, teaching him to live again, and to love. But how can she succeed when Clark is living a life surrounded by so much guilt that he’s too afraid to let go.


Then there’s Angel Rule 750.2, paragraph A, no canoodling with the client. Oops she’s broken that, and now she’s fallen in love with him. So what does an angel do?

She sets him ten tasks, but neither of them want to obey rule number ten….NO KISSING

“To Kiss An Angel is a cute, humorous holiday treat. Filled with sass and wit, you will enjoy Clark and Angel’s story. This is a great gift for yourself or a friend anytime of the year you would like a bit of sweet treat.” ~ Matilda, Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More

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It’s the first day of December, snow is in the air and Gracie Singleton Saylor is shopping for a Christmas tree, when she runs smack into Merett Bradmoore, her High School hero and his seven-year-old daughter.

Seeing he’s not the happy-go-lucky guy he used to be, she’s determined to restore the gift of optimism he gave her fifteen years ago. But can she return his hope without losing her own?

Enter the zoning board, an old enemy and the personal problems of Gracie’s two sister, Hope and Faith. Mix in a mischievous cat named Spook, a huge furry mutt named Dumbell, and a spirit named Mirabelle who’s looking for her lost love, and you wonder – can holiday magic triumph?

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