Coming up in February 2020

Struggling with a tricky assignment on a wild Scottish island, 

Australian journalist Jasmine's almost literal lifeline is the sexy ferry deckhand.

 But is he more than he seems?

https://bookswelove/net/authors/brown-priscilla-romance

 Recently I spent an enjoyable afternoon in a large local garden which is not often open to the public. It's on undulating land, semi-rural on the edge of town, with numerous mature trees, both Australian natives and others including Californian redwoods. Swathes of grassy areas are bordered with various flowers and shrubs; there's a vegetable and herb plot, and a 'secret' walled garden. Several benches invite relaxing and enjoying the ambience. Paths meander throughout; following one towards the boundary, I came to a coppice which thinned out to reveal a shady seat with an expansive view down over farmland to distant hills.

Sitting on the seat was a woman writing on a tablet. Maybe she was writing a novel, or a description of the garden, or a letter... Silence except for a light breeze through the trees; a faint scent of eucalypts; the sheer peace of the landscape shimmering in the heat. Since this grandstand seat was taken, I continued my exploration of the garden while musing on how such a setting for me would be a haven for creativity to blossom.

 

While not a gardener by inclination, I do like my own small low-maintenance garden to look attractive with its flowering trees, roses and pot plants. I find inspiration in the colours, the textures, the shapes, the delicate rose fragrance, and, too, the tiny honeyeaters feasting on the nectar in the bottlebrush and grevillea blooms (Australian native shrubs).

In my contemporary romance novels, several main characters have interesting gardens, and I enjoy researching these in person, from books, magazines, travel brochures and the Internet; as I write, I picture them in my head. I have been lucky with some personal research, combining this with my love of travel. However, a visit to the Grenadine islands, not planned for research as I did not have a West Indian location in my story bank, resulted eventually in Where The Heart Is, and Cameron's island garden. In this story, his and Cristina's garden in country Victoria (Australia) couldn't be more different. His,  'a tangle of jungle geraniums, buttercup bush and oleanders...a confusion of trees tousled with dazzling climbing plants' contrasts with hers, 'a teeming beauty of flowers with their faces to the sun, their zigzags of colours cascading and blending...honeysuckle on the fence smells so sweet and the air is full of bees'. (I am so envious of her garden!)

In Dancing the Reel, the above-mentioned deckhand tends a garden warmed by the North Atlantic Drift which enables palm trees to grow. My visit to a Scottish island inspired the inclusion of such a garden into the story, though on my trip no sexy deckhand/gardener appeared so I had to invent him (and gave him more background that these occupations).

And now, I must pay attention to my garden, specifically to dig up weeds which seem to pop up overnight. After admiring the result of my effort, I will spend time outside working on the next chapter in my current work in progress.

Enjoy your reading.

https://bwlpublishing.ca

https://priscillabrownauthor.com 

The Trials of a Fluffy Kitty

First of all, Happy Birthday to Alexander H., born on Nevis January 11, 1757. To begin, I will post a quote of his that feels utterly relevant.

"...a dangerous ambition more often lurks behind the specious mask of zeal for the rights of the people than under the forbidden appearance of zeal for the firmness and efficiency of government. History will teach us that ... those men who have overturned the liberties of republics, the greatest number have begun their career by paying an obsequious court to the people; commencing demagogues, and ending tyrants."  ~~The Federalist Papers


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The trials of a fluffy kitty...



Here is the "Fluffy Kitty" the day she came to us as a baby, a bitten-up kitten who had just been to the vet so he could drain an abscess from a bite. 

My husband and I have learned a lot about her over the years both by observation and by inference. Kimi is the only one who could call us on any of these suppositions, but she's not talking, except for the ever-useful word "meow." 

That's what she said to my friend Patti who found her on the porch of her Palmyra house on a cold December day. Kimi was hungry and cold and Patti could see her ribs through the fluff, and also see that she'd been hurt. Hundreds of $$ of vet bills and a few days later, Patti brought Kimi to me. Patti already had three indoor cats in her double wide. She was was still covered with ticks, in her ears, her paws and just everywhere. Patti and I stopped counting after we'd removed thirty.

Life for her improved after that, for, with antibiotics and wounds stitched, she was already on the path to better health. We had a set-back, though, when the abscess had to be drained again. My husband and I soon learned that this little girl had been badly handled by whoever had originally “been responsible” for her -- before they'd decided to throw her away. 

I've come to believe that this is her story. As little kitten, she must have been a yellow fluff ball, looking more like a stuffed toy than a living being. This had led some cat-ignorant people to treat her like one. They'd probably allowed their children to tease her, chase her, and handle her far beyond her ability to endure. If Kimi was already a shy kitten, (and some kitties are emotionally fragile) this man-=handling must have pushed her beyond endurance. She became the hissing, clawing, fearful little girl who first came to live with us.



Kimi was definitely not a fan of being touched, not unless she initiated contact herself. If you reached out to pet her, you'd better come at her slowly and touch gently. Otherwise, there there'd be a steam-kettle worthy (dragon worthy?) hiss and she'd speedily decamp, glaring over her shoulder at the clod human who'd displeased her. She distrusted our other cats too, unsurprisingly, as she'd been beaten up and bitten while trying to get food at some stray cat feeding spot. 

None of the other cats who lived here liked her. She wouldn't play, she wouldn't accept an introductory sniff or lick; she wouldn't play or share the food bowl or space on the couch or be any fun at all. She was just plain scared, and her obvious fear made her a target for our top cat, a large streetwise male. There were periods when she spent most of her time hiding out in a grungy pile of rags in a basement box. In fact, she came darn close to becoming known as "Basement Cat."  




I began to coax her to come upstairs and sit with me, and then into accepting grooming, which her long hair definitely required. I bought a wide-toothed dog brush to start, so that it would pass easily through her thick, matted fur without tugging.  This way we began to break the ice. 

Gradually, she began to believe my intentions were good. After all, her  fluff was too dense for her to care for by herself. As all cat owners should know, hairballs are a standard problem for cats. Nature obliges felines to groom thoroughly every day. All that hair goes in, but if it doesn't come out one end or the other, then the cat will be sick, sometimes fatally. Brushing and combing are a daily must, especially for such a fluffy kitty. 



We'd brush until we'd get a growl. Nail clipping was the same--a few at a time. At first, these beauty treatments were all trials for Kimi, but slowly this necessary handling became routine. 



We still wait until she approaches us for attention and then obey the message of the tail lash which signals "ENOUGH." Her only significant daily trial is Anthony. He arrived last year, absolutely certain that all the other cats must be dying to play with him—and if they refused, he’d chase them all over the house mercilessly. I think, however, that "still he persisted" might win the day, even faced with her determined suspicion.  

Who can say? She may yet learn to enjoy the company of the other cats.

~~Juliet Waldron

The Princess in the Tower—Suburban Version by Connie Vines

The Princess in the Tower.  

Chanel, dressed as a princess

I’ve always been drawn to stories where the princess is trapped in a tower. After all, the standard place to imprison damsels in distress and overthrown princes is a tower. Preferably on top of the tallest tower, in the biggest castle, on the highest hill, in the most dangerous land in the whole wide world.

“Rapunzel" (/rəˈpʌnzəl/; German: [ʁaˈpʊnt͡səl]) is a German fairy tale in the collection assembled by the Brothers Grimm, and first published in 1812 as part of Children's and Household Tales. Is one story which comes to mind. 

Among the earliest examples of this theme are Perseus and Hercules saving princesses from hydras or sea creatures. In Yamata no Orochi, a hero also saves the princess from a type of hydra, which could be considered a primeval dragon.

“Beauty and the Beast” (Disney version) This is pretty similar to La Belle et la Bête, the French fairy tale (minus the animated furniture).

Why am I drawn to these stories? 

It sounds gloomy. . .even hopeless, without a chance of a HEA (happily ever after ending).  Unless, your version of the story is set in the suburbs. 

Think about this for a moment, or two.  

Life in the suburbs is hectic without a moment of down time.  Ever.

However, in the Tower there is:

Room Service.  All of your meals are prepared for you.  Clean bedding and clothing are provided (after all, you are a princess). 

View from the Window. Think of your beautiful view.  Clouds, forests, beaches.  A fresh breeze to tangle your freshly washed hair.

Solitude. You could read an entire novel without interruption, play an instrument, or journal to your heart’s content.

Uninterrupted Sleep.  Unless, you have a fire-breathing dragon guarding the entrance (this could present a problem).

Exercise.  With all those stairs, cardio will be a breeze.

Visitors.  Of course, but none will be a shouting solicitor trying to sell you lame horse or home improvement contracts.

Pets.  It wasn’t unheard of for a woman to be allowed to keep her small dog.  (Anne Boleyn had a dog—well, perhaps that’s not the best case in point. . .)

And since this tower is in the suburbs, imprisonment wouldn’t be enforced for very long. 

This does sound like a nice weekend get-away or perhaps, a B & B (Bed and Breakfast).

What is your favorite princess fairy tale?

Your favorite setting?

How do you feel about dragons?

Happy Reading,




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