Bath Costume Museum by Victoria Chatham

AVAILABLE FROM THESE MARKETS

One of the joys for me as a writer of historical romance is visiting museums. No matter what the era, a museum can be a source of so much material a writer can become spoiled for choice. It is said that the devil is in the details and sometimes an extra detail is one too many, but starting out with a menu of items gives an author so much choice.

I was spoiled for choice when I visited the Costume Museum in Bath, England, last fall. I had not been to Bath for a very long time, over thirty years, but I found it had hardly changed. The sights I

Assembly Rooms ceiling

remembered were not the sights I had come for on this visit. This time my destination was the Costume Museum, housed in the basement of the Bath Assembly Rooms. Yes, dear reader, the very Assembly Rooms where so many of Georgette Heyer's heroines fanned themselves after having tripped the light fantastic with their heroes. 

My daughter accompanied me on this visit and I hoped she would get something out of traipsing around a museum with her mum. If anything, she was more fascinated than I was. Each display was a cornucopia of surprises, from the embroidered fabrics to the intricacies of how each costume was constructed. I have, in my time, been known to sew clothes for my family, all pieced together in next to no time on a trusty Singer sewing machine.

I knew how long a simple dress took me to put together but looking at some of the costumes, I could not imagine how many hours went into stitching them by hand. We spent several hours viewing the costumes, even trying some garments on in the 'dress-up' room. My daughter is small, but even she had to breathe in to do up the corset she tried on and that was after undoing the laces. 

There were bonnets and gloves, including embroidered leather gloves worn by Elizabeth I and Elizabeth II at their coronations. There were embroidered satin shoes that were so small they looked as if they might have been made for a child, but no, they were ladies' shoes. My favourite bonnet was this embroidered satin confection. I don't think I have a big head but this was so tiny I could only perch it on the top of my head. Again, this was a lady's bonnet

which emphasized even more how tiny people were during this era.

The fans were exquisite, from embroidered muslin, like these, to painted silks. In all examples, the ribs and guards were beautifully carved ivory. Parasols were stored in boxes and the ones on display were changed regularly. The young ladies on duty at the museum answered all our many questions. We both could have stayed longer.

After having worked up something of an appetite we made our way to the Jane Austen Centre, and there partook of a Mr. Darcy Special Tea. The crusts were cut off the sandwiches, the mini-cakes were a delight and the warm scones with cream and jam were, pardon me, the icing on the cake.

​Victoria Chatham

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I'm at a Crossroads with my series. What do you readers think?

Descriptions and Buy links for all my books can be found here on my BWL Publishing author page.

https://bookswelove.net/pittman-jude/

I personally loved writing my Indian Creek Texas series. Since Kelly McWinter is the main character in all of them, and they are all mysteries, I've used the series title Kelly McWinter PI.  This has worked well and the first three books have sold well over several years and continue to sell (although at a much slower pace, of course).  I now have the first three combined in a trilogy, and I'm releasing the eBook for only $3.99, which is definitely a bargain for readers, but I'm hoping lots of you will enjoy reading about the inhabitants of Indian Creek, Texas as much as I've enjoyed writing about them . 

In 2017 I decided to continue the series with a 4th book, Deadly Lights, which I released, and which really has never caught on like the first three.  Readers who have purchased the book have given it good reviews.  It has a combination of 4 and 5 stars on the review sites, but the sales have not been near as consistent as the first thee books.

So, applying good marketing sense to my future writing it only made sense to move away from this series, and I spent a good part of last year dabbling with this and that, trying to find something I wanted to settle down and work with.  And, at the end of the year, I realized that it wasn't going to work.  Kelly wasn't done with me, and apparently I wasn't done with the gang at Indian Creek.

So, what to do. I had the first couple of chapters of Deadly Ghosts worked out, and a line on where Kelly was going in the future.  With a wife and a baby on the way, he'd stepped back a lot from the PI work, and as a result he'd made some changes, taking in a junior partner, and in addition, someone readers will remember from all the other Deadlies, Stella had come to join McWinter Confidential as a combination officer worker, and newly licensed PI.  Yep, a whole new direction for the gang.  And before I knew it a brand new mystery, with lots of ties to old times, started taking shape, and a new series just grew.

So, I'm hoping old Kelly fans and new readers will all enjoy this brand new series, with some of the same old characters.

Deadly Ghosts

Death in Texas, Book 1

Chapter One

Moonbeams reflected off the metal hinges on Frank Wright’s weathered chicken coop. In the dim light, a shadow bobbed and weaved, in and out of view.

Frank removed his metal-framed glasses and rubbed his eyes. “What in tarnation?” Returning the crooked frames to his face, he blinked. The shadowy shape was gone. Confused, he shook his head. They say the eyesight is the first to go. He took a quick inventory of his aches and pains then chuckled. Not so sure ‘they’ know what they’re talking about.”

Shoving a bucket on a shelf in his neatly organized barn, he then exited and closed the door, wiggling it to make sure it latched. One more suspicious glance toward the coop, then Frank headed back to his house.

The squeal of rusted hinges pulled him up short and drew his attention back to the chickens. He cocked an eyebrow and waited. The shadow he could have imagined. The mournful squeak of the hinged coop door was not a figment of his imagination. Frank took a step toward the coop but paused when he saw the hazy outline of a man near the fence.

“Who’s there?”

A dark-skinned face with vacant white eyes loomed out of the shadows.

“Ernie Potter, is that you? What the devil are you up to?”

As quickly as the apparition had appeared, it faded. Frank hurried to the coop and fumbled for the light switch. When he found it, the dirt caked bulb cast the yard in an eerie yellow glow.
Frank swiveled around in a circle, checking every corner of the yard but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Once again Frank tugged off the glasses with coke-bottle thick lenses and rubbed his eyes. Course it wasn’t Ernie. What was I thinkin’?

With another long look around, Frank smacked off the light and made sure the coop fence and doors were secure. He padded back to his house, muttering all the way. I was thinkin’ I’m a real dolt, that’s what. Might as well of said I’d seen Elvis out there.

Entering his house, he closed the door then peered out the window once again. Exceptin’ Elvis has been dead for years. Ernie Potter’s only been dead, what? Six months? Frank chuckled to himself, but before he climbed the stairs he found the old skeleton key to the front door and locked it. Scratching his head, he headed up the staircase to bed.

* * *

“McWinter Confidential.” Stella Davis answered the landline in the PI office. She immediately made a horrified face.

Cade Wyatt grinned, sure he knew who was on the other end of the line. “Rita?” he mouthed.
Stella gave an exaggerated nod. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Anderson. Yes, I told Kelly you wanted to hire him to follow your husband. He’s just not sure he’ll be able to devote as much time to your case as it would require, what with the baby coming soon and all. He wondered if you might want to contact Tony D’Amato in Dallas. Tony specializes in cases like yours.” Stella raised her brows at Cade then made a face.

Still smiling, Cade swiveled his chair around to his desk.

Everyone in the hamlet of Indian Creek, Texas, knew that Rita Anderson had set her sights on their boss Kelly McWinter, even though he was happily married. The whole town also knew that Gillian was two weeks overdue with their first child and she’d been complaining frequently and loudly about feeling as attractive as a whale.

Cade shot a glance at his boss through the open door to his office. Kelly sat staring at his phone, much like he’d been doing for the past two weeks. Gill was his much-treasured second wife. Cade didn’t know all the details, but he’d heard that years ago, Kelly’s first wife had died in an arson fire back when he worked for the Fort Worth Police Department. Cade understood that Kelly carried a sense of guilt for her death. So much so that he was a bit paranoid about anything happening to Gill and the fact that she was carrying his baby had turned him into a basket case.

Kelly had turned Rita’s case down three times, but the woman was relentless.

Stella ended the call just as Kelly looked up and Cade mouthed the name Rita.

Kelly shook his head. “That woman is a piece of work. Think she got the message this time?”

“Who knows?” Stella shrugged. “She’s a nut.”

Cade had his mouth open to observe that it took one to know one, when the chorus to The Yellow Rose of Texas jingled from his pocket.

Kelly looked up at the interruption and raised his eyes to the ceiling at Cade’s choice of music.

Cade grinned and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Probably just as well he got interrupted before he could have another go at Stella. They’d developed a love/hate relationship in the few months they’d been working together. He loved to give her trouble, and she hated not giving it back.

The screen of his phone lit up with his father’s smiling face, the same image that could be seen on billboards and bus stop benches all over Denton, Texas. Cade pushed the talk button. “Hey, Dad. How’s the insurance biz today?”

“Hello, son. Fair to middling. Nobody’s died, so I’ve got that going for me.”

Cade chuckled at his pop’s canned reply. “Yes you do. How’s Mama?”

“It’s been a good week. She’s staying positive, and that helps.”

“Good. She’s a strong woman.” Cade sighed. His mother professed to smoking two packs a day for twenty years, back in the days when ‘everybody did it’ and no one claimed to know any better. Now, at age fifty, she suffered from Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, or COPD, and required the use of oxygen for a good portion of every day.

“That’s not why I phoned, though. I got a call from one of my clients, do you remember Frank Wright? He has a chicken farm off old Highway 2B.”

“I think so. Wasn’t his wife Harriet the school lunch lady back in the day?”

“Yes. Harriet passed on a few years ago. Frank called to tell me about some suspicious activity last night around his chicken coops. He swears he saw a man out by his chicken coop, but when he went to look there was no one around. This morning he found all his chickens dead in the coop.”

Cade blinked. “Dead?”

“Dead. All one hundred eighty-two of them. The vet is running some tests, but he said how it looks like they’d been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Cade repeated.

“Poisoned.” Ben Wyatt chuckled. “Son, now I see why Kelly pays you the big bucks. You ask the tough questions.”

Cade had to laugh. “It’s so damn bizarre. Who would want to poison one hundred and eighty-two chickens?”

“Again, son, that’s a question I hoped you could answer. Frank had a thought, but I didn’t give it much credence.”

“Why not?”

His father cleared his throat. “Frank thought he saw someone by the coop last night. A local troublemaker by the name of Ernie Potter.”

“That’s great! Sounds like you should be notifying the police instead of me.”

“Yeah, well, the problem is…” Ben hesitated. “Ernie Potter has been dead six months.”

“Dead?”

“Here we go again. Yes, dead.”

“So Frank thinks what?”

“He thinks that a ghost poisoned his chickens.”

Cade laughed. When his father didn’t join in, he stopped. “You don’t believe him.”

“Of course not. He’s just rather insistent about what he saw.”

“And you’re telling me this because?”

“Because I was thinking, hoping, that you’d come out and have a look around. Talk with Frank. The police aren’t taking him seriously but it can’t be denied that something happened to his brood. You’re an investigator. I thought maybe you could investigate.”

Cade shook his head. “Dad, this isn’t the kind of thing we do here at McWinter Confidential.”

“Even if your old man asked for a favor?”

He sighed. “Well, hell. If you’re going to put it that way… Let me talk to Kelly.”

“Great! Thanks, Cade.”

“I’m not promising anything. I just said I’d talk to him. He might have something else for me to work on. But I’ll ask.”

“That’s all I needed to hear. Thanks again, son. See you when you come out.”

“Dad—” Cade protested but his father had already ended the call. He stared at the phone screen and sighed.

Kelly cupped his hand to his ear and waited. “Something interesting?”

Cade folded his arms across his chest. “Nah, not really. Dead chickens and a ghost. Pretty much the status quo in Denton, Texas.”

A slow smile spread across Kelly’s face. “And your father wants you to check it out?”

Cade nodded, secretly hoping another case had arrived in the past five minutes so he’d be off the hook. “But I’m sure we have something more pressing, so it’s okay.”

Actually, we’re clear. Why don’t you head on out to Denton tomorrow and have a look around? I know your folks would be glad to see you.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kelly spotted Stella waving her hand in the air. “Take Stella,” he nodded in her direction, “She could use something to sink her teeth into besides paperwork.”

Stella clapped her hands, grinning like crazy.

Cade groaned. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” Kelly shot him a look that Cade already recognized as
“don’t give me any crap.”

It’s going to be a long ride to Denton, Cade muttered to himself.

 

Chapter Two

 

“You really think your father’s friend saw a ghost haunting his chicken coop?” Stella poked Cade on the shoulder to draw his attention away from the country music he’d turned up high on the radio. 
 

“The old coot must be having delusions,” Cade muttered. He’d turned up the music in hopes of discouraging conversation but that obviously wasn’t working. Stella just increased her own volume. 

Cade reached over and turned down the volume.  If you can’t beat ‘em might as well join them. He spoke under his breath, and with a resigned shrug he turned his attention onto his traveling partner.

“Funny though, my dad swears Frank still possesses all his faculties, and I kind of remember him from when I was a kid. He definitely wasn’t the type to see ghosts or aliens or anything like that.”

“Well, people do change. But what if he’s telling the truth and there really is some paranormal activity going on out at his place?”

“Come on Stella. Don’t tell me you’re one of those Paranormal State junkies.”

Stella laughed. “I used to watch it like a true fanatic back when I was bartending out at Indian Creek. I don’t think I’m a fanatic, but there sure were a lot of things on that show that would make you question your own eyesight. If they weren’t out of this world, they were definitely inexplicable.”

Cade turned his head towards Stella and raised his eyebrows. “Guess we’ll just have to check it out and see what we find. That’s the turnoff to dad’s place up ahead, so be prepared for an inquisition?”

“How’s that?”

“Mom and Dad have been hankering for grandchildren for quiet awhile now. Since I’m their only kid, you can figure out what that means. Me showing up with a good looking woman’s bound to get the speculation going.”

Stella laughed. “Well thanks for that back handed compliment cowboy. Don’t worry, I’ll flash my wedding ring and set them straight before you find yourself backed into a corner. Of course, you gotta remember favors run both ways.”

Always got an angle. Cade muttered under his breath. “Here we are. Gird your loins and let’s get this over with. 

* * *

Anyway, that's where I'll stop (the rest is just notes anyhow) but I think I've got the rhythm down now, and there's no doubt about it, I'm happily back at Indian Creek where all my old faithful friends are gathered around waiting for what comes next in the world of Kelly McWinter.

The Mysterious Derec Pritchard by Diane Scott Lewis

For my Revolutionary War adventure, Her Vanquished Land, my main male character is a Welshman with a dark past. Let's find out more about Derec Pritchard with a Character Interview:

 

 

Derec, the Welsh don't care much fore the English, why do you spy for their cause?

The tall, lanky man took a chair. "Aye, I needed money, and to leave Wales after an...incident with my step-father, a horrible man."

An incident?

"He used his fists on my mum." His black eyes above sharp cheekbones burned fiercely. "I had to stab him, not to death mind. But scared him off. Now I send her money to keep her from being evicted."

I see. That was awful for you and your mother. What are your duties is the spying business?

"Code breaking. Stopping messengers, taking their satchels." He pushed back his three-cornered hat. "Sending the information to the British generals."

Is that how you met Miss Marsh?

"Not exactly. She's a hoyden, that one." A smile creased his face. "Dressed as a boy, said her name was Rowland. But I found out it's Rowena."

What did you think of Rowena?

"Thought her in the way at first. But then she was able to decode the new code in ancient Greek from the rebels." He nodded slowly. "An asset."

Are you attracted to her?
"Wasn't." Derec shifted in the wooden chair. "Never bothered with a lasting relationship with a woman, and she was still a girl. Barely eighteen."
But she grew on you...?
"Aye, I must admit, her bravery and stubbornness impressed me. I still resisted. I didn't want to be tied down."
Did she convince you to start a relationship?
"That's not her way. No flirt, that one. Besides, I don't want to settle down in one place. Women want that."
So you'll--
"I must continue my duties to the Crown." He squared his shoulders in his dark frock coat. "The rebels grow stronger, winning more battles. The British troops are stretched thin." His voice softened. "Rowena has left with her family to find safety."

Then there's no happy ending?

"We will see. First, I must join the fight, which could be the death of me." Derec stood and strode from the room.

 



  

Purchase from BWL site.

For more information on me and my books, visit my website: Diane Scott Lewis

 

Diane Scott Lewis grew up in California, traveled the world with the navy, edited for an on-line publisher, and wrote book reviews for the Historical Novel Society. She lives with her husband and one naughty puppy in Western Pennsylvania.

 

Honoring Dr. Martin Luther King and a Day of Service

Dangerous Sanctuary by J. Q. Rose

Cozy Mystery

Pastor Christine Hobbs never imagined she would be caring for a flock 

that includes a pig, a kangaroo, and a murderer.

Find more mysteries by J.Q. Rose at BWL Publishing

"Only in the darkness can you see the stars."--Martin Luther King
Today, in the USA, we honor and celebrate the life of 

Martin Luther King, Jr.

 the leader in the Civil Rights Movement. 

His effort to achieve equality through peaceful means brought about change for all of humankind. 

####

 The day, also known as a day of service, is a chance for Americans to volunteer service in honor of Dr.King. 

Volunteer opportunities are available wherever you live through charities, churches, libraries or right in your neighborhood. Shoveling snow, preparing a meal for someone who is ill or in need, collecting items to send to those in our military. I bet you can think of many ways to share kindness in your community on this day and hopefully for days in the future.

Kindness Quote by Aesop

Kindness Quote by Mark 

Click here to connect online with J.Q. Rose.

The Waiting Game by Stuart R. West

Click for comedy, mystery and murrrrrderrrrrrrr most dumb!

Recently, I encountered surely one of the world's worst waiters at a Mexican restaurant. Let's call him "Nelson (because that was his name)." Combative, non-communicative, just plain bad table etiquette. He mistakenly delivered baked beans instead of refried. My wife told me to let him know about it. No thanks. After the fight he put up over his bringing flour instead of corn tortillas, I didn't want things to escalate to violence. Still, he got the last laugh. When he swept my plate out from under me (without asking), he dropped my knife an inch from my hand. No apologies.

Now I'm no waiter, never have been one, yet I do have empathy for those plying the fine trade of waiting. And, as always, I'm here to help. Hence, Stuart's Easy School of Good Waiting for the low, low price of three $39.99 installments . Order now and you'll receive a free doily.

Waiters, kindly remember these rules:

1) Hairnets. If you have hair like the lunch-lady of my nightmares, hairnets are appreciated. Soup served with croutons and curly black hairs is simply not an option.

2) For God's sake, give me time to take a bite! Overzealous behavior doesn't suit the art of waiting well. Sometimes, before I've even jammed a fork in my mouth, a tip-starved waiter will ask how everything is. And keep coming back. Again and again. It's a weird time-space conundrum. Can't comment until the food's in me. Just...no.

3) Waiters, please don't chortle at a customer's menu selection. It doesn't exactly instill culinary confidence.

4) And do we really need to know your grandmother just passed away? When the waiter starts crying, my appetite starts dying.

5) When I ask what's good, don't respond with a generic shrug and say, "everything." I don't believe you. On the other hand, when a waiter says, "I eat next door," the honesty is appreciated, but gives me pause.

6) Don't be the invisible waiter, the guy who takes an order and vanishes into the Bermuda Triangle. When a different waiter brings out a milk carton with my waiter's visage on it, I know I'm in for an even longer wait.

7) Know your customers. Do I REALLY look like a guy who wants to eat the Kale platter?

8) "Oh, I see someone's hungry."  Well. When a waiter says that, I fire back, "I see someone's hungry for a tip." Puh-leaze.

9) If you're gonna' serve up witty patter, make sure it's at least borderline amusing. And don't deliver your patter like a robot. Bring your material to life. When you bury your face in the order pad, reciting lines like "you say tomat-oh, I say ta-mah-to (and I know you've recited it a kazillion times before)," it makes me wanna' use the steak knife for other purposes. Bad jail-bound purposes.

10) Finally, don't overdo it. When a waiter sits down at my table, drops an arm over my shoulder, jabs a toothpick between his teeth, and says, "You know, I'm not really a waiter...," dessert is definitely off the table.

Gang, the next time you go out to eat, recite these rules upfront to your waiter. Trust me. I'm sure they'll appreciate the advice. Absolutely positive.

What does "waiting" have to do with writing, I hear you ask? Quite a bit, actually. A waiter has to guide his/her customer through an entire meal before any kind of feedback is given (and hopefully a tip). A writer is in the same sort of unknowing vacuum until reviews come out (and hopefully sales).

There will be a test later.

Speaking of waiters, my dunderheaded protagonist of the Zach and Zora comic mystery series isn't exactly a waiter (and maybe the world's a better place for it). No, no, Zach has chosen to study and practice the fine art of "male entertainment dancing." Just, whatever you do, don't call him a "stripper." So gauche.

Click for wacky murder mystery hijinx.

Looking At The New Year - Janet Lane Waltres #Romance #Fantasy #Fire #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor

Looking at the New Year

 

This year began with a release on January first. And I also began the seventh book of the Moon Child series. The rough draft is going well. I don’t know how other writer’s work though sometimes on my blog, they are able to tell me a bit about it.

I am a draft writer and the rough draft is one only a writer can love. I belong to a critique group and reading five to ten pages of what one is working on aloud is done. When I read the pages of a rough draft, the critiques come fast and furious. “There’s no emotion.” “I don’t understand the setting.” Or “Just where are your characters.” These questions will be answered in subsequent drafts. I have one for plot, one for setting, one for characters and one language.

There are times when I wish I could be one of those writers who gets everything down at once. They revise each scene as they go and don’t continue until they are satisfied. I’ve tried this method and I found the story never was written. I need to know the end before I can make sure the beginning works.

I have other friends who just write scenes. They might write a scene from the middle of the book followed by one for the opening. This would never work for me. When they try to explain what they do I really can’t see the purpose. From beginning to end is my way.

On my rough draft I am finally nearing the end. Then I’ll go back and slowly add all I’ve left out. How about you? How do you craft your stories?

My Places

https://twitter.com/JanetL717

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Bump, set, spike, by J.C. Kavanagh

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends 

Short-listed for Best Young Adult Book 2018,

The Word Guild Canada

Book 2 of the award-winning Twisted Climb series

I am very much a sports-loving person. Since Grade 3 and into high school, I participated in track and field (100m, 200m and 400m relay). I wasn't the fastest but I wasn't the slowest, either. Since becoming an adult sometime in the last century, my sport selection widened. I've played ball hockey, baseball, volleyball and martial arts kickboxing. Today, I'm still playing volleyball and working on purple belt in kickboxing.

I've been in the same volleyball league for 35 years and the competitiveness of the league has grown in leaps and bounds - to the the point that players on the eight teams are switched every two years.

In the sport of volleyball, there are six players on each team and the goal is to 'ground' the ball on the other team's court. A point is awarded to the team who 'grounds' the ball in the opponent's court and likewise, a point is awarded if a team is unable to volley / spike the ball over the net. The team can 'touch' the ball a maximum of three times before sending it over the net. Usually the first 'touch' is a player bumping a serve up to the centre-net player. That player then sets or volleys the ball to a side player for a spike, thus the term: Bump, set, spike. The rally continues on both sides until the ball is 'grounded' either in the court or out-of-play.

There are lots of rules, too. You can't touch the ball consecutively; you can't touch the net during play; you can't step over the midline during play; you can't play the ball more than three times in your court, and game / set ends after 25 points. We play five games / sets every Wednesday during Autumn, Winter and Spring.

I just discovered the origins of volleyball. An American YMCA physical education teacher by the name of William Morgan invented the game in 1895 in Massachusetts. He based it on the rules of badminton, tennis and handball and called it Mintonette. It wasn't until 1896 that the name was changed to volleyball, denoting the volleying aspect of the game. As an aside, another new indoor game was just becoming popular - basketball.

The inventor of volleyball, William Morgan

My team, 'The Royals,' ready to return the serve

Five of seven team mates celebrating the annual year-end banquet.

... and from volleyball info to creative writing.... make sure to check out my award-winning Twisted Climb series. You won't be disappointed!

J.C. Kavanagh

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2)

voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada

AND

The Twisted Climb,

voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll

Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart

Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com

www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh

www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh

Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)

“The Force has Left us, Young Skywalker.”

Over the weekend, my son and I checked out the latest Star Wars offering, “The Rise of Skywalker.” Patrons of all ages lined up at the ticket counter, the theater was crowded and many buckets of popcorn were sold. It promised to be an entertaining way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

The sheer success of the Star Wars movies is hard to comprehend. The original Star Wars movie, “A New Hope,” came out in 1977. Since then, the franchise, with twelve releases, has collected over an astounding ten billion dollars worldwide.

We enjoyed the movie but, truth be told, it was nothing special. The undeniable excitement that greeted the first several releases, decades ago, was missing. Perhaps the brand has run its course. Understandably, keeping the momentum going is a hard task, and for the scriptwriters, an unenviable task.

For me, “The Revenge of the Sith,” released in 2005, was the last and best of the series. In it, we learned of Anakin Skywalker’s shocking betrayal of the Jedi, his turn to the dark side, the death of his wife Padme and the dispersal of their twin babies. Every release after that has felt shallow, unable to capture the emotional heart of the saga again.

Thus, the reviews for “The Rise of Skywalker,” were decidedly mixed. Rotten Tomatoes, the well-known review site gave it a 53% rating, saying that it “suffers from a frustrating lack of imagination, but concludes this beloved saga with fan-focused devotion.”  Roger Stone, the movie critic, writes that, having to bear the weight of all the previous plots, it doesn’t have “an identity of its own.”

Joseph Campbell

In a way, it had to happen. The original trilogy was a cultural phenomenon. Set in the distant future but rooted firmly in ancient human mythology, it captured everyone’s imagination. Based on the writings of Joseph Campbell, erstwhile professor at Sarah Lawrence College, who worked in comparative mythology and religion, it captured the imaginations of people around the world. Some say that Star Wars is based on the ancient Hindu epic the Ramayana, which relates the tale of a search, by a hero and his monkey friend, for a princess captured by an evil king.

There are rumors that the latest is the last of the franchise. But given the financial returns, it seems difficult to believe. Another or, maybe, a few more episodes will be produced. If so, the saga will slowly die away, ending only when movie-goers lose interest. Yet, few will forget the magic of the early releases. I certainly won’t.

Mohan Ashtakala is the author of "The Yoga Zapper," a fantasy and "Karma Nation," a literary romance (www.mohanashtakala.com). He is published by Books We Love (www.bookswelove.com)

It's a big, big world out there...by Sheila Claydon

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A new year, a new decade, what does the next 10 years hold for us? Only time will tell.

Looking back over the past 10 years, however, I realise how much in my own life has changed, and also how many wonderful experiences I've had. Since 2010 I've visited so many different parts of the world, including the big ones of China, Russia, America and India, that I don't have enough fingers to count them.  I've travelled across New Zealand, I've lived in Australia for 6 months. I've been to Canada and onward to Alaska. I've spent weeks in Hong Kong. I've also travelled to more than a dozen European countries as well as to many parts of the UK, some familiar, some not, and my goodness how my attitudes have changed in this past decade.

Most of my travels have come about because of commitments to family or friends. I'm not an inveterate traveller, even though it might seem like it. I am quite happy with a quiet life walking my dog and meeting local friends.  The travels happened, however, and with them a deeper understanding of different cultures - how different we all are, and yet how similar.

Seeing ragged beggars on the streets of Delhi before experiencing the reverence of thousands of Sikhs at the Golden Temple in Amritsar gave me such an emotional jolt that I began to look at India in another way entirely. The same in China, where everyone is so friendly and helpful, especially if, like me, you have white hair. The respect for older citizens in China is palpable wherever you go. Russian people are mostly serious while Canadians and Australians are laid back and relaxed. Alaskans are just different but then so would I be if I had to live at -30 to -40 degrees for a long, long winter. Then there is busy and overcrowded Hong Kong with its wonderful beaches and museums where life is very good for those who earn well. It has many citizens who are less lucky, however, and it is very noticeable that they don't smile as much as the mainland Chinese.

Then there is America.  Like any large country the people in Washington are very different from the people in San Diego or Orlando or Las Vegas or Key West. What they all have in common, however, is their overwhelming friendliness towards people from the UK, and an insatiable curiosity about our way of life.

Finally there's Europe and that is where there is an even bigger discrepancy. The French are nothing like the Italians who are nothing like the Spanish who are nothing like the Scandinavians who are nothing like the Albanians etc. etc. It is so fascinating eat different food,  listen to different music, travel through different scenery, hear different languages, all the while trying to understand and absorb just a little of the different cultures in such a limited time.

I have been extra lucky that so many of my trips have involved staying with or travelling with local people who always wanted to show the best of their country while also discussing some of its worst aspects.  So thanks to them, this decade has not only broadened my mind, it has broadened my understanding.

In the words of the eminent French novelist Gustave Flaubert : travel makes one modest, you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world or, as the American writer Henry Miller said: One's destination is never a place but a new way of seeing things. 

My views are only my views of course, and other people will see and experience different facets of each culture, but I do know that my decade long journey has changed me unalterably. I am no longer the English woman who first got on a plane aged 40, and who never expected to travel much further than France. Now that I've talked to the indigenous peoples of Australia, native Americans, Alaskan natives, rural Indians of all religious persuasions, communist Chinese and anglophile Russians, to say nothing of the many different peoples of Europe, I know I really am just a speck on the vast planet we call earth.

There must be many, many stories inside me if only I could write them, but somehow the best experiences never translate into the written word. They have to be lived,

I have occasionally used some of my experiences as a background to my books, however, and Cabin Fever is based on a cruise from Aukland in New Zealand's north island to Sydney in Australia. I haven't done it justice I'm sure...but re-reading it has taken me back to what was a truly wonderful experience, although unlike the protagonists in the book, I was lucky enough to visit friends and family en-route and so experienced so much more than the casual traveller.

Now, as a new decade starts, I'm off to Japan and South Korea, both of which promise to be a whole new and challenging cultural experience. I'm busy reading up on them at the moment but as English writer Aldhous Huxley said: to travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.

Happy travelling.

Stranger than Fiction

Tess...American Civil War Bride #1

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Ursula...American Civil War Bride #2

The real life Edwin Booth is featured as a neighbor of my heroine Ursula Buckley in book 2 of my Brides of the American Civil War series, Mercies of the Fallen.  The first book of the series is the Laramie and Chatelaine Award nominated Seven Aprils.

Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. Did you know that Edwin, an actor like his notorious brother assassin John Wilkes Booth, saved Abraham Lincoln's son Robert from serious injury or even death? 

Edwin Booth as Hamlet...his most famous role

The incident occurred on a train platform just before the end of the Civil War. While a group of passengers were purchasing their sleeping car places from the conductor, Robert recounted,  “There was some crowding, and I happened to be pressed by it against the car body while waiting my turn. In this situation the train began to move, and by the motion I was twisted off my feet, and had dropped into the open space, and was personally helpless, when my coat collar was vigorously seized and I was quickly pulled up and out to a secure footing on the platform. Upon turning to thank my rescuer I saw it was Edwin Booth, whose face was of course well known to me, and I expressed my gratitude to him, and in doing so, called him by name.”

Edwin Booth and Robert Todd Lincoln

Edwin Booth did not know the identity of the man whose life he had saved until some months later. The fact that he had saved the life of Abraham Lincoln's son was said to have been of some comfort to Edwin Booth following his brother's assassination of the president.

Five Changes in My Writing Life since 2010

                   

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I enjoy year end lists. Even better are lists at the end of a decade. Here's my list of five changes to my writing life that happened in the ten years from January 2010 to January 2020.

1. I became a published author. Prior to 2010, I'd published short stories, poems and articles. They all helped me feel like a real writer and led me to teaching writing courses and workshops, but the term 'published author' is generally reserved for those who have published a book. This was a milestone I longed to achieve. After years of work, my first novel, was published in spring 2011.

2. I stepped up my social media presence. I was on Facebook before Deadly Fall was published, but only had a small number of Facebook friends, all people I knew in my real life. After my book publication, I started accepting requests from virtual strangers and posted (too many) notices about my literary activities and accomplishments in the interests of promoting the novel. I also joined Twitter and had my son's friend create my author website, which automatically tweets my website posts. In addition, I've dabbled in Link-In, Goodreads, Pinterest and Instagram. It seems that just when I get onto one social media site something else becomes the hot new thing.

Social Media can make me feel pulled in all directions

3. My office moved to a different room in my house. Okay, I'm cheating here because my home office changed when my husband retired in fall 2007. But it took a few years for us to settle into our new routine. When he was working, as soon as he left for the office I'd go to my den upstairs to write. My retirement gift to him was our den, a sunny spot that looks out to a green space. I moved my work to our north-facing guest room with a street view. I figured that if he had an appealing room for his various computer activities, he wouldn't distract me from my writing, while I don't need the view while I'm forming stories in my head. The plan worked. After breakfast these days, he goes to his den and I huddle in the corner of our guest room. But lately, I've felt an urge for a brighter, more scenic and spacious room of my own for writing.

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Jane Austen wrote pretty good novels at this small writing table with its view of the clock in the family sitting room. 

4. I became a regular at a writing festival. Calgary's When Words Collide Festival For Readers and Writers launched in August, 2011. I went the first year, since it's held in my home city, and haven't missed a year since then. This coming August will be the festival's 10th anniversary. I'm bound to find whatever I'm looking for as a writer there, whether it's information about the craft or getting published or promoting my books. Toss in a little fun for a winning combination.

Dressed for the festival's banquet, Roaring Twenties theme

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5  At When Words Collide, I found my publisher. BWL published my second and third novels and there's a fourth one in progress. In November, BWL released a new edition of my first book, retitled A Deadly Fall. The re-publication brings the 2010s full circle and seems a fitting end to the decade.