Color my world conflicted

Get it here!

https://books2read.com/Dreamcatcher-Barbara-Baldwin

                If you’re like me, you’re tired of hearing about the Covid virus, quarantine and food shortages. You’re ready to get out – ANYWHERE – just to feel like your life is your own again. On May 3, Diane Bator wrote on the BWL blog about some of the trouble some writers are having staying on track. It seems ridiculous that with all the hours in a day we can’t sit down and crank out novel after novel.  While I should be writing, my creative efforts have shifted. Instead of the computer, I have been sitting at the sewing machine finishing some quilt tops that had been started, or purchased, some time ago. As I cut and sew, it is impossible to miss my use of color. No pale or pastel colors for this quilter and that made me think more about the use of color in writing (and life).

Remember when you got that first box of crayons for Kindergarten? Big chunky colors – red, blue, green, yellow, black, brown, purple and orange. As we colored, we’d pick yellow for the sun and green for the grass because colors often cause us to think of particular physical things.  As our pictures progressed through the years, we probably added some orange to the sun; red if there was a sunset, and the grass had patches of brown or blue-green and colorful little flowers began sprouting everywhere.   

Color has also often been used in song titles. Though using particular titles may be dating me, do you recognize “A Yellow Submarine”, “Blue Suede Shoes”, or “Purple Rain”?

But colors can also make us think of non-nouns; in other words things like emotions. Red might communicate anger or heat; whereas pink, which is a shade of red, is a more gentle color; perhaps like lavender. Green is often the color of envy or jealousy; yellow might make one think of a cowardly person. There are plenty of idioms that use color – “the pot calling the kettle black”, “blue in the face” or “white knuckled.” Yet no one color is exclusive to a particular arena. For example, red can be both “red tape” and the “red carpet” and those two expressions can be opposites rather than synonyms.

                I urge you to try a writing exercise using color to describe something not normally associated with color? What color is rain or the blowing wind? How would you paint hunger or homelessness or grief? How would you describe a rushing river with color?

                My writing is similar to my quilting – full of color and no two are alike. I write contemporary and historical, time travel and short story. I invite you to visit http://www.bookswelove.com/romance-authors/baldwin-barbara/ for a full listing of my novels with Books We Love.

Here’s to our early release…or at least to the opening of the local liquor stores!

Barb

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

http://www.bookswelove.com/romance-authors/baldwin-barbara/

Natural Disaster by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

This week has been tough (I'm writing this post on May 2, 2020). It brought back lots of heartbreaking memories.

This weekend is the anniversary of the 2016 wildfire that  devastated Fort McMurray, destroying entire neighborhoods, and forcing the evacuation of more than 80,000 people  in just a few hours. The fire was so intense, it created its own weather system, producing fierce winds and smoke clouds that generated lightning. It cost the life of one person, a young woman who died in a traffic accident as she drove out of town through a curtain of fire. Though the death toll could have been way higher, her death was still one too many.

I flew out on the last plane of the evening before the full evacuation was ordered. It was a fluke as my granddaughter was sick and my daughter needed help. I didn't know I was on the last plane or that the airport would close its commercial flights after we departed.

From the air, I could see the wild fire and the raging flames burning the forest. The fire was later nicknamed The Beast. It looked like a giant open mouth ready to engulf the entire town. At that moment, I was certain I would never come back home. The firefighters had to bulldozer rows of houses in order to create a firebreak. In the end, the fire surrounded the town and many neighborhoods were lost, but they saved the hospital (in blue where the arrow points in flood picture), the water treatment plant, and the other essential buildings, and the town survived. The air quality, which usually runs on a scale of 1 to 10, as 10 being extremely dangerous for your health, was above 40.

The fire started on May 1, 2016, burned out of control until July 5, 2016, and was fully extinguished more than a year later on August 2, 2017. It destroyed 1,456,810 acres of land (roughly 5 times the size of Los Angeles). It took years to rebuild, but we can still see vacant lots where homeowners or businesses just left town without rebuilding. The Covid-19 pandemic was just another bump into our recovery. Many stores closed, but essential services were still open, and there was no shortage of anything (except toilet paper for the first week...which I still don't understand.). People were awesome at social distance and we had  less than twenty cases in the last two months. Then this week happened...

The river broke when it was still cold outside and it created an ice jam of 25 km (15 miles).

On the fourth anniversary of the wildfire of the century, and during the pandemic of the century, we're in the middle of the flood of the century.

The river didn't just overflow, it flowed backward, which was something the elders had never seen, submerging neighborhoods that had never seen any flood water since their creation a century ago. Some of the neighborhoods under water were the same ones that were destroyed by the fire. Some people lost their houses again, houses they'd just finished rebuilding, More than 13,000 people had to be evacuated and re-lodged wherever they could in town. Social distancing went down the river. Water turned brownish and we're under a boiling water advisory that won't be lifted until September 2020.  And most of the stores that were still open went under water.

Amid all this, my family is among the lucky ones. My home survived the fire and the flood, and my husband didn't lose his job. The ice jam broke yesterday and the water receded. Again we lost one person, one too many. Today the destruction will be assessed and the cleaning will start. As a community, we will survive, but it will be another big scar over the huge one that had just barely begun to heal.

It's scary how destructive nature can be, but it's also amazing how resilient people can be, and how such tragedies can bring out the best in all of us.

Stay safe. Many hugs!
JS

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

Upcoming Blog Tour by Eileen O'Finlan

Click here for purchase information

Click here to visit Eileen O'Finlan's website

I am super excited to embark on my first blog tour set to run from May 21 – May 30, 2020. The tour will include reviews, excerpts, spotlights, interviews, a guest post from me, and a couple of guest posts from characters in Kelegeen.

A second tour will be planned for Erin's Children when it is released in December of 2020.

My thanks to all the wonderful bloggers who have offered me a spot on their already bursting schedules and a special thanks to Lori of Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours for organizing this tour!

May 21 –My Devotional Thoughts– REVIEW
May 22 –Baroness’ Book Trove– SPOTLIGHT
May 23 –eBook Addicts– SPOTLIGHT
May 24 –Literary Gold– EXCERPT
May 25 –Celticlady’s Reviews– SPOTLIGHT
May 26 –Rosepoint Publishing– REVIEW
May 26 –Christy’s Cozy Corners–CHARACTER GUEST POST
May 27 –Jane Reads–GUEST POST
May 28 –Gimme The Scoop Reviews– EXCERPT
May 29 –Ruff Drafts– SPOTLIGHT
May 29 –Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book– AUTHOR INTERVIEW
May 30 –StoreyBook Reviews–CHARACTER GUEST POST
May 30 –fundinmental– SPOTLIGHT

To learn more about Rosemary please click on the cover above.

Gardens and Gardening

My interest in gardening and history extends to Garden History and the effect of changes in climate over the years.
I am reading A little History of British Gardening by Jenny Uglow.
It begins with a mention of the Iron Age in the first Chapter: 'Did the Romans Have Rakes" and is a mine of information. Ms Uglow describes gardens large and small, the plants and the gardeners. She writes: "I wish there were medieval monastic gardens for us to visit, to wander from the cloister to the orchard, the infirmary to the fishponds, the paradise where flowers were grown to the rows of kale and leeks. But even if we cannot visit them, we know that the monks and nuns enjoyed their gardens.
At Winchester the clerk of works had a private garden called 'La Joye'. And in 1108, on the day that he died, the ailing archbishop of York walked in his garden to breathe the air and the scent of flowers.'
Every time I go into my private, organic garden I appreciate the legacy of fresh air and the scent of flowers also enjoyed so long ago by the archbishop.
Self-isolated due to the corona virus, the pleasure growing my own herbs, soft fruit, stone fruit, vegetables and ornamental threes shrubs and flowers is more important than it has ever been.
Sitting outside on a pleasant day listening to birdsong, watching birds drinking from my tiny pond and seeing the cheeky squirrels fills me with peace and a sense of well-being.




Classic 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

http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary

The Great London Fire by Katherine Pym

Buy Here

 ~*~*~*~

London Fire reached Ludgate, September 4, 1666

I understand this is a subject that may have been slightly overdone, especially since 2016 marked the 350 year anniversary of the vast destruction that occurred within a short 4 day timespan. To celebrate, London had a lovely old city effigy burned on a barge in the Thames. BBC had a television show on how it happened, where it started. It looks like Pudding Lane wasn’t quite where we thought it was all these years. The bakery was a block or so farther away. A marker that shows where it was is in a nice, clean street where cars now parallel park.

My current work in progress (WIP) takes place in London 1666. Since the fire was a big event in that year, I cannot not mention it, now can I? The reader would wonder why I’ve listed every other important moment but not that one, which to this day marks many souls as a living catastrophe.

In 1666, England was at war with the Dutch (fought entirely at sea). It was really a merchant’s war, caused by skirmishes over ports of call in the East and West Indies. The English felt the Dutch should share in the profits of spices, new fabrics (cotton), exotic fruits, differently manufactured furniture and fine pottery. After all, the Indies included vast areas of land and people. It wasn’t fair that one country take everything. 

 

Fighting fire with a 'squirt'. It held 4 pints of fluid, and took 2 men to operate.

Almost 18 months into the war, as the English fleet prepared to meet the enemy in a pitched battle, on September 1, 1666, a gale entered the Channel. A wind so strong, it felled the fleet. Sails ripped from masts. Bowsprits shattered. Ships collided and listed. Gun ports were closed to keep the seas from flowing onto the gun decks, swamping everything in its wake. The winds tore the fleet to shreds, then moved onto England. In the wee hours of Sunday morning, September 2, London winds whipped a spark and London began to burn.

The fire was so fierce, it created its own weather. Lightning slashed, thunder boomed. Warehouses along the Thames contained oils, pitch and tar, which burned fiercely.

People weren't this calm as they ran

Most homes were squeezed along narrow, dark lanes, cantilevered so that top stories were only inches apart. Made of half-timbers, wattle and daub, a material that if maintained did not burn easily, many houses were not maintained. Leased houses and shops were the responsibility of the renters. They had to fix anything that broke, burnt or toppled over. They were responsible for the walkway and road outside their doors. Not many followed these regulations. And with the winds so fierce, it was fodder for fire.

People took their goods to neighbors’, thinking the fire wouldn’t reach them. They took furniture and clothing to churches, thinking the walls were too thick for fire to burn them. As the fire moved west along the river and northwest through town, people removed what they had stored and moved them farther away, into a neighborhood they were sure would not burn.

Black smoke could be seen over 56 miles away. The city looked like daylight when it was nighttime. A contemporary wrote the firestorm sounded like “a thousand iron chariots beating on stones”. It was deafening. Stone facades exploded like bombs. Church steeples engulfed in flame toppled over onto streets and houses.

Booksellers lived in the vicinity of St. Paul’s Cathedral. They sold their wares in Paul’s Yard. Their parish church was St. Faith’s located under St. Paul’s church in the undercroft. They called it St. Faith’s under St. Paul’s. They took their presses, paper and books to St. Faith’s knowing with the massive pillars of Paul’s it would never burn. By the time the flames licked Paul’s outer walls, St. Faith’s was stuffed. St. Paul’s was filled with goods up to the choir loft.

St. Paul’s was in disrepair. Over time, the heavy, lead roof had spread its walls outward. Pillars were crumbling. Scaffolding supported some of the pillars and the outside of the church. Just a few days prior, a meeting had been held to discuss renovation of the building. 

The Burning of St. Paul's Cathedral

By 8 o’clock Tuesday evening (September 4), fiery debris had fallen on Paul’s roof. Shoddy repairs of timber caught and burned so hot, a gentleman who stood over a mile away saw the inferno.

“Large parts of the roof, both stone and burning timber fell in, and the Cathedral became a roaring cauldron of fire…”

“Molten lead dripped in silvery beads from the roof, raining down upon the broken stones and tombs that strewed the Cathedral floor, and there collecting, ran out into the streets in a stream.”

Paul’s choir and lower floor crashed into St. Faith’s. When St. Paul’s collapsed, the whole building exploded with an earsplitting roar. Burning papers and books sailed in the air, some of the pages landing miles away in the English countryside.

St. Paul’s was a mass of smoking ruins within an hour.

London after the fire. It poured beyond the old Roman walls into west London.

 

~*~*~*~

Many thanks to Wikicommons, public domain,

By Permission of Heaven, the True Story of the Great Fire of London, by Adrian Tinniswood, Riverhead Books, NY 2004

The Story of London’s Great Fire by Walter G. Bell, Butler & Tanner, Ltd., Frome and London, 1923

Writing and reading in times of... Whatever this is. by Diane Bator

Writing and reading in times of... Whatever this is....

By Diane Bator

There have been hundreds if not hundreds of thousands of blogs and articles written already about how readers and writers are coping with the Covid crisis. Lately, I've found myself on several virtual lectures and meetings discussing what our world looks like as authors.

Do we have the same struggles with concentrating while our world is in a constant state of change?

Are any of us immune to what happens outside our front doors on a daily basis?

Are we staying sane or losing our marbles in solitude?

Our local library had to cancel our Open Mic night featuring local authors. Instead, we each recorded ourselves doing short readings for library staff to air that night. As well, the continued their Storytellers Series in the same way. Each month an author or local celebrity is doing a 20 minute chat for library patrons. I'm looking forward to trying my hand at doing my first video this week.

Toronto Sisters in Crime held their first ever Zoom meeting last month, which was a blast! I was grateful for the opportunity to be a part of this because physically joining in the meetings is difficult. What a great time we had talking about what we are or are not currently writing. We commiserated about the struggle with inspiration now that we have all the time we need. Like all meetings lately, the mood was heavy until then talk turned to what we're watching on Netflix. It was helpful to hear of mystery series I've never read or seen. I left that meeting feeling much lighter and not so worried about creating when I didn't have the energy for it. Darned if right after I got off the meeting, one of the shows we talked about was on television. Vera. I'm a fan!

Another great discussion I got to listen to was put on by the Writers' Trust of Canada   https://www.facebook.com/writerstrust/  Five great Canadian authors gave some great advice to writers of all levels. On this call was Tanya Talaga (the moderator), Eden Robinson, Heather O'Neill, Michael Crummey, and Miriam Toews. The chat was filled with comments about Eden's amazing laugh but my best takeaway from the whole thing was the sense that they are all dealing with the same day-to-day struggles we all are. And they're keeping a sense of humor about it all!

As authors, they are used to solitude and working alone, but the loneliness is a whole other thing. All of them are fortunate to be self-isolated with family members and have lots of human interaction via digital means. Where Michael and Heather are working as normal, keeping their routine as usual. For the rest, there are family members and things they have to work around.

One very funny moment was when Eden admitted her biggest challenge was eating her own cooking. Since she's traveled so much before this all hit, she was used to eating out all the time. The general consensus was that cooking takes up an awful lot of writing time!

Heather pointed out that stories written BC (Before Covid) would not reflect the changes in society we currently see, but she feels there will be a demand for literature and the voices we all have in order for things to feel normal again. As for writers who want to know how to become published, there are as many different routes to becoming a published writer as there are writers.

The best advice they all had for fellow writers the reminder that we all need to sit for long periods of time "doing nothing." It's been said that 95% of writing is staring out the window. Of course, that nothing time gives us space to create before we put our thoughts on paper. The second best was simply:  Stay Optimistic and Keep Writing!

Diane Bator
Author of Wild Blue Mysteries, Gilda Wright Mysteries, Glitter Bay Mysteries
and the NEW upcoming Sugarwood Mysteries!

Hard to Believe

That we're still sheltering at home.  I pray this ends soon. Not to mention the weather hasn't been all that great. Sure would like some warm weather. I swear it was nicer in March. And the rain doesn't help. I know, I know, April showers bring May flowers.
The only bright spot is the beautiful daffodils. Bright yellow sure helps brighten the yard even through the clouds and rain. And they seem to be lasting a longer time than usual. I love the clusters along the fence. There's also some white/cream colored ones in the back corner of the yard. Looks like a big bouquet.
I think I've mentioned before we had a lake in the back yard. Okay, not an official lake, not even a pond although the width and length of it could qualify for a pond but the depth would disqualify it.  Of course the ducks liked it.
So my younger son suggested I order some dirt. Not terribly expensive, he said, and free delivery. So I went online and sure enough it wasn't terribly expensive but it wasn't showing free delivery. So I called them.  The lady said free delivery was only with a whole truck load. I was ordering 7 yards. I asked what was a truck load. She said 8 yards. Well heck I knew the yard could handle it. Truth be told I could probably use another truck load.
So I asked my son when I should order it since he and my other sons were going to haul it from the drive to the back yard. No way my husband and I could do it. Especially not my husband, who suffers from COPD.
At any rate, son said whenever you want. Any Saturday.  So I called and lo and behold, they could deliver it that Saturday (last week). I text messaged my son and told him to line up his brothers.
It was a chilly day, which was probably good because no one worked up a sweat.  Dirt got hauled spread. Like I said I could probably get another truck load. Not sure the boys would be too anxious to spend another day hauling dirt. Oh, and my daughter in law helped also, God bless her.
So there's some puddling and it probably drowned the grass seed in that area. I'm either going to have to order more dirt, or buy bags of dirt. But at least I don't have a swamp out there now and it looks a hundred percent better.
Next week we have to pick up 3 flats of flowers we ordered through the high school. 32 plants to a flat. Going to be busy planting them and I have some seed to put in also. Problem is, I have to weed first and it's been so wet, I hate the thought of doing it. I will have to get out there soon.
The plants probably can't go in right away as there's still a danger of frost. All those plants are going to take a while to plant, not to mention figuring out where to put them all and which ones where. I'm looking forward to it, though. It's going to mean warm weather and since we still have to shelter at home, warm weather will be much appreciated.

Excerpt from Elusive Mission  For this and a list of my other books go to:
  Books We Love

Vanessa’s stomach tensed. She had to get out of here. Needed some air, needed to escape.

She got in her car and started driving, to where was anyone’s guess. The quaintness of Strongsville, Ohio, especially the town square with the gazebo and all the Christmas decorations, brought tears to her eyes. Vanessa wiped them away and parked the car. Shoppers and carolers filled the sidewalks. Ignoring them, Vanessa hurried past decorated shops until she came to a small church. St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church, the sign out front said. Two huge wreaths hung on the heavy oak doors. The small white building beckoned to her.

Vanessa opened the door, walked up the steps and stood at the entrance. The quiet of the empty church filled her soul. It had been too long since she had attended services. Charles wasn’t particularly religious, but at least he had allowed her to have Alyssa baptized. She should have gone to church more often by herself, but after spending Saturday evening at the club, it was all too easy to sleep in on Sunday morning.

Light showed through the stained glass windows, illuminating the red carpet-covered aisle way. A nativity scene at the front captured her attention and drew her forward. Memories from her childhood flashed through her mind.

Her father always helped set up the nativity at church when she was a little girl, and they let her put Baby Jesus in the crèche. A noise from the side aisle interrupted her thoughts. Vanessa stopped, saw a flash of red and the side door slammed. Funny, she hadn’t noticed anyone else when she came in.

Oh, well, Vanessa shrugged and continued to the front and knelt down. What in the world? Next to the nativity scene sat a car seat. An infant, three, maybe four months old with dark curly hair, opened its almond shaped dark eyes and reached its chubby arms out to her.

“What have we here?” Vanessa unbuckled the seat belt. “Hello, precious.” She picked up the baby and a note fell on the diaper bag next to the car seat. Vanessa picked up the paper and read the scribbled words.

Please take care of my baby. Her name is Grace. Mary.

“Who could leave someone as precious as you?” Vanessa looked around. No one lurked in the shadows. Who left the baby? How long had she been here? God, what should she do? The baby cuddled against her. Vanessa inhaled the sweet smell of baby lotion, bringing back memory of Alyssa. Tears filled her eyes. For a minute, she was tempted to take the baby and leave, but she couldn’t do it.

Startled, when the door at the back of the church slammed, Vanessa turned toward the sound. A shadow loomed at the entrance and moved toward her. A tall figure walked down the aisle, checking the pews along the way. Vanessa hugged the baby against her, held her breath, and let it out when she saw who it was.

“Father, I’m glad you’re here. I came in here and found this baby. I was just about to call the police.”

“I’m a minister, not a priest. Pastor Dan Jacobson, Pastor Dan will do,” he said. “You found a baby?” His brown eyes sparkled with a glint of gold below raised eyebrows. “Who do you suppose it belongs to?”

“Yes, I ... uh.” The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her. Heck, she could have pretended Grace was hers. He wouldn’t have known. “When I came in someone ran out through that side door. I came up here to see the nativity scene and….” Vanessa walked away and sat in a pew, cradling the baby against her chest. What was the use, he didn’t believe her. She didn’t need this. Not now. She had enough problems of her own.

“I see, pretty little thing, boy or girl?” Vanessa stood and took a step closer to him. “Girl.” She stopped next to him. “You aren’t suggesting this child is mine, are you?” Vanessa looked him straight in the eyes. How dare he? Minister or not, what gave him the right? “Look, I came in here and found the baby. I told you someone ran out that door.” Vanessa took a deep breath, let out an angry sigh. “Here.” She pushed the note toward him. “This was lying on the diaper bag. I didn’t touch anything else.”

Pastor Dan stared at her, like he was studying her.

Vanessa stared back at him. Disbelief showed in his face. Like she’d try to pull off such a stunt? Imagine her abandoning a baby like this. The memory of Alyssa, clinging to her when Charles tore her away, flashed in her mind. Even now, Alyssa’s cries when Charles slammed the door ripped her apart.

Pastor Dan brought her back to awareness. “I see. Well, I guess we’ll have to call Social Services.” He read the note, then picked up the diaper bag and looked through it.

Grace squirmed in Vanessa’s arms and began to cry.

“Probably hungry.” Vanessa hummed and cuddled the baby and rocked her.

Pastor Dan pulled out a bottle of formula.

The warmth of the baby against her chest opened a hole in her heart, missing Alyssa even more. Her insides trembled, tears burned her eyes, threatened to fall.

“You have children?” Pastor Dan’s tone softened.

A tear escaped, fell on her cheek. She nodded, a lump caught in her throat.

“How many?”

“One.” Vanessa choked out the word.

How old?”

“Two.” The tears burst forth as if a damn had been unleashed. “I’m....” Vanessa couldn’t speak. She turned away, held back the tears, and paced across the front to the nativity scene, leaving him standing there.

***