My Favorite Christmas - in a hospital cafeteria, by Diane Scott Lewis

All holidays share different memories with family and friends, close or remote.

We spent one in Puerto Rico, in steaming hot weather, our little, fake tree, just my husband and I and our new baby. I felt alone without extended family, but now see I should have rejoiced in a First, with my firstborn son.

My youngest son was born on that island. Many years later, while my oldest remains single, my younger son married and started a family.

Christmas was thrilling again with our first grandchild. 

Below our oldest granddaughter at Christmas 2011 when we lived in Virginia. If you look close you can see our dog Fritzie behind her, trying to sneak into the gifts.

,

Nearly eight years ago, we'd just moved from Virginia to Pennsylvania. My husband had retired from the government in D. C. and we moved north to be closer to my son and his family. A colder climate for this California girl, when it dropped to 7 degrees, I was in shock. I invested in plenty of long underwear.

A few days before Christmas, my very pregnant daughter in law had to travel two hours away to take care of family business. Her mom was in the hospital. Her father had recently died. My son and their three year old joined her.

My daughter in law wasn't due until the first week of January. But in the middle of Christmas Eve night, the roads icy, with all the stress, she'd gone into labor. The doctor advised her to stay where she was, near Pittsburgh, and have the baby.

Early Christmas morning, we drove down in an ice storm to meet our second grandchild, a little girl stuffed in a stocking.

Later that day, my husband, son, and I, with his three year old, ate Christmas dinner in the hospital cafeteria. The usual fare, nothing fancy, but we laughed and talked, and I thought this is a great Christmas dinner. My family close, a new, healthy baby upstairs. What more could I ask for? I savored the moment.

 

My beautiful granddaughters

In this time of a pandemic, I realize how the simplest things should be cherished, and those closest to you--even if you can't be physically near them--must be held in your heart, especially family.

I wish I had a Christmas novel to throw in here, but let's celebrate more family adventure and turmoil in my American Revolution story, Her Vanquished Land.

Long and Short Reviews says: Her Vanquished Land "Espionage and intrigue keep these pages turning. This is an exciting historical novel well worth the read." 

A Revolutionary War Gone with the Wind. Rowena Marsh fights for king and country, but the ruthless rebels are winning. Where can her family escape to, and will the mysterious Welshman, a man she shouldn't love, search for her? 

To purchase my novels, and my other BWL books: BWL

Find out more about me and my writing on my website: Dianescottlewis

Diane Scott Lewis lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty puppy.

What is the Difference Between Writing a Fictional Mystery and a Non-fiction Memoir

Arranging a Dream: a Memoir by J.Q. Rose

Official Book Launch January 1, 2021

Available for pre-order

Click here to discover more books by JQ Rose at the BWL Publishing JQRose Author's Page

Hello and welcome to the BWL Publishing Insiders Blog! I am J.Q. Rose whose purpose is to Focus on Story in my writing. In other words, I am a storyteller. Today, we'll discuss the differences between telling a mystery vs a memoir.

What is the Difference Between Writing a Fictional Mystery and a Non-fiction Memoir?

I have written mysteries to entertain readers and myself. Making up a story is so much fun. A memoir, also known as creative non-fiction, is so different from writing fiction where everything is made up. The writer can go hog-wild and write about alien worlds, space operas, contemporary romance and no one cares if it's true. Readers are willing to dispel their disbelief and step into the world of make-believe.

A memoir tells the truth about real life. That is very difficult for a fiction writer! A memoir only covers a slice of life, not the entire person's life from beginning to present. 

The flower shop and greenhouses the first day we visited in July 1975.

I wrote my memoir about the year we moved to Michigan in 1976 to purchase a flower shop and greenhouse operating. I thought this would be for my kids and grandkids to satisfy their curiosity. Not only to let them know about the "good ole days," but I also wanted to encourage our kids to dream big for their lives. That was our dream--to be entrepreneurs in the greenhouse business. We fell in love with a greenhouse operation in West Michigan, but it was attached to a flower shop. We knew nothing about operating a flower shop, and to be honest, my husband, Ted, had only worked in his little hobby greenhouse. Never in a commercial greenhouse business. We had lots to learn.

Ted and I in 1986

As I wrote about our passion to become entrepreneurs, I realized the story contained the elements of fiction such as character, conflict and setting. The character was me. The situation provided plenty of conflict between the previous owner and us. Not knowing a thing about business or floral design created anxiety about whether we could run a successful business. I was also a new mom who was insecure about taking care of a baby and filled with guilt choosing to go to work rather than staying at home with her. I knew a lot about third-graders because I was a school teacher. In my heart, I wished my baby would be 8 years old because I knew about 8-year-olds. The setting was a small town, exactly like the ones in my mysteries, Deadly Undertaking and Dangerous Sanctuary. 

Arranging a Dream: A Memoir by JQ Rose

I have penned two novels based on my life story. Arranging a Dream: A Memoir is my true story. I interacted with real people in a real town, but I changed some of their names to protect their privacy. Both books contain elements of fiction with interesting characters, colorful descriptions of the setting, and conflict. 

Deadly Undertaking--a cozy mystery
Fiction

Deadly Undertaking is based on a version of my life. The setting of this romantic suspense is a funeral home. My dad was a funeral director. Many of the jobs I mentioned in the story are ones I did for my dad, such as dusting caskets, running errands and helping my mom set up flowers for visitations and church services. ( a foreshadowing of my future in the flower business??) But there was no murder or Henry the Shadow Man in my real life!

I enjoyed writing both books, but the deep dive into looking back at my real life through the perspective of time proved to identify truths that I had never realized until I completed the book. The journey of writing a life story may be a difficult one, but a better understanding of your life brings satisfaction and a sense of wrapping up the loose ends in that period of life, similar to the satisfaction when reading the closing pages of a good fictional book.

I hope you will take some time to sit down and filter through your memories. Write down or record them on your phone. Start with those family stories that are told every time your family gathers together at family dinner; the ones the kids stay to listen to. It is so much fun sharing the good old days with friends and family and getting their perspectives on what occurred so many years ago. Believe me, each person will have a different recollection about past experiences, even if you were there with them.

Do you enjoy reading memoirs? Do you prefer reading fiction to non-fiction books? Are you ready to dive in and start writing some of the experiences you have had in your life story?

About JQ Rose:

JQ Rose, author

Whether the story is fiction or non-fiction, J.Q. Rose is “focused on story.”  She offers readers chills, giggles and quirky characters woven within the pages of her mystery novels. Her published mysteries are Deadly Undertaking, Terror on Sunshine Boulevard and Dangerous Sanctuary released by Books We Love Publishing. Using her storytelling skills, she provides entertainment and information with articles featured in books, magazines, newspapers, and online magazines. 

J.Q. taught elementary school for several years and never lost the love for teaching passed down from her teacher grandmother and mother. She satisfies that aspect of her character by presenting workshops on Writing Your Life Story.

 Blogging, photography, Pegs and Jokers board games and travel are the things that keep her out of trouble. She and her husband spend winters in Florida and summers up north with their two daughters, two sons-in-law,  four grandsons, one granddaughter, two grand dogs, four grand cats, and one great-grand bearded dragon.

Connect online with JQ Rose:

Focused on Story Blog

Facebook

Thank you for stopping by.

Happy Holidays!!!

Lights Aglow by Helen Henderson

Windmaster Legend by Helen Henderson

Click the cover for purchase information

For the upteenth time, I'm changing my mind about this month's post. I wanted something dealing with traditions, but everything I came up with has changed. There are the unofficial traditions such as raking leaves before Thanksgiving dinner, or watching the Tournament of Roses or Macy's Thanksgiving parades. Football games on television or at the local high school field fulfilled those interests; while some of us preferred the National Dog Show. My Scotch blood cheered when the Scottish Deerhound won best in show even as my sentimenal side had rooted for the collie to win.

In disclosure:
Bumps was not an award-winning collie,
but he did have a way of herding sheep and children on my childhood farm.
After hours of brushing, there are no burrs in his coat.

The gatherings of 20 people from our various family households were reduced to those who live under the one roof. During those larger gatherings, I was in charge of the children's table. And yes, it was a table set aside just for the younger members who ranged in age from 18 months or so to teens. A rite of passage was when you got to go from the picnic table and low benches to a real chair at the adult table.

Not saying things haven't changed before 2020. Locations for the holiday gatherings varied depending on the family's situation at the time. If someone had a newborn or young children, they were given the option to host or visit, whichever they thought was easiest for them. Other times we gathered at the home of the oldest member so that they wouldn't have to travel. Then when the time came, to avoid adding to the holiday emotions with those raised by an empty chair, we would gather up those who could no longer drive and take them with us. Over the years, seating has been on living room couches, around dining room tables (after we filled our plates buffet style in the kitchen ) or sitting on the steps leading to the upper floor. All meals were potluck with everyone contributing their specialty. And if someone couldn't cook anymore we made sure they felt like they were contributing even if they only brought the dinner rolls or a plate of cheese and crackers to nibble while visiting. However, for the majority of the years, the host household was chosen based on one thing-- who had the most room.

Image by Vuong Viet from Pixabay

In the dark days of winter, whether from white bulbs outlining the roof or covering trees and bushes, or luminaries lining sidewalks, lights help brighten moods and are a tradition onto themselves. In the spirit of reflection and giving thanks, a note about another tradition of lights, the lantern rising festival from Windmaster Legend. Inspiration came from two events, the lantern float held annually on Memorial Day on Oʻahu’s south shore and the sky lantern festival of Taiwan. In one, lanterns are set afloat on the water in a personal and collective moment of remembrance and offering of gratitude to those who have gone before. In the other, sky lanterns are released into the night sky with people's wishes written on them. The one sky lantern launch I’ve seen in person combined both water and sky. A grieving family sent a single lantern aloft over the water in memorial of a loved one’s passing. I couldn’t see if it bore handwritten wishes or if only a picture of the loved one was carried skyward.

The Windmaster Legend festival has several traditions related to it. Local residents wrote note on the lantern itself. Some were thanks for a profitable year, while others were prayers for the one to come. Many were poignant remembrances of loved ones who had passed beyond the veil. The lanterns were sent aloft from the decks of ships just offshore so that the breezes could take the lights skyward. A necessary item because a lantern that caught fire before reaching the clouds would never be fulfilled.

On a lighter note the lantern rising had another pertinent connection to one of our world's winter holiday tradition -- a stolen kiss beneath the mistletoe. In the land of the Windmaster Novels, whether onboard a ship out on Botunn Loghes or watching from the shore, when lanterns fill the sky, a man—or woman can claim a kiss from anyone they chose.

You’ll have to read Windmaster Legend to see if the tradition was followed … and which of the two men in Pelra's life was the recipient.

To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL

As this is my last post of the year, a special wish. In the upcoming year may your dreams come true, and you once again fall in love with reading. Helen

Find out more about me and my novels at Journey to Worlds of Imagination.
Follow me online at Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter.

Helen Henderson lives in western Tennessee with her husband. While she doesn’t have any pets in residence at the moment, she often visits a husky and a retriever who have adopted her as one of their pack. 

Christmas Memories by Nancy M Bell

 

Storm's Refuge takes place at Christmas and gives a stay dog a start at a new life. To find out more about Nancy's books click on the cover.  

Many years ago, I lived on a little farm in Uxbridge Ontario. I'm please to share A Brandy Hollow Christmas with you. This was originally written in 1987.

There is nothing quite like a country Christmas, in this fast paced world it is a very few of us wo have the chance to live with nature rather than against it. I am lucky enough to live on a small farm and experience the joys of working with the land. Recently we sold this farm and I began to say good-bye to all the little things that are so much a part of living here. Suddenly, I realized that this Christmas I wouldn't be in my little house in the hollow. Perhaps because I won't be in Brandy Hollow this year I want to share the Christmas' we did enjoy here.

The times when the snow bloomed against my living room window and laced the cedar trees, bending the woods beneath its weight. In the new light of morning the children and the dogs make tracks across the virgin blanket of the lawn, and the horses when we turn them out blow the snow up in puffs with their snorts and then roll and run and roll again. I want to share the special stillness there is here after a snow fall and especially a Christmas snow. The sun just catching the top of the cedars and the birch in the barnyard and the blue jays and the chickadees already searching for seeds. The gentle hand of the morning air sending sparkles dancing from the delicate fingers of the snow dressed trees. The warm smell of horses and hay when you step into the barn from the frosty stillness of early morning.

The warm glow of my little living room, the sun coming in the window, a fire in the woodstove and the Christmas tree taking over the living room. Every year we re-arrange the furniture so we can fit the tree in and by Christmas morning there are presents under the tree, on the tree, around the tree and presents across the floor and in front of the hearth as well. The cats just waiting for all that lovely ribbon and paper to be theirs.  The lovely peace of Christmas Eve when the children are asleep and the old folks are waiting for Santa. Jessie and Josh, the dogs, sleeping on the hooked rug my Grandfather Pritchard made by the stove, joined by most of our five house cats. There is that special thrill of anticipation that comes on only on Christmas Eve. The warm feeling of the love that goes with the presents. The sharing of joy in giving that special gift. The dark quietness of the night, moonlight throwing blue and silver shadows on the snow as i go out to the barn to tuck the horses in on this most special of nights. The music of the wind in the trees and the starfire crackling in the stillness as I take a Christmas walk around the pond and savour the opportunity to say my own private Thank You to the spirit who created al this wonder.

There is a peace on this farm and always a feeling of love. As this this house and this land have always been loved and blessed. But never is the feeling so strong as at Christmas. All things find refuge here. Strays find their way to my door, both wild and tame and human as well as animal. This is a safe place and a healing place. There is that little bit of Christmas love here all year.

One of the best things about Christmas is the love, the giving. It is the one time in the year we can hug someone and not embarrass them or ourselves, or kiss someone and say the things we think all year but never find the words to say.

This year I'm leaving my little farm and I will miss it terribly. But I will never lose the peace or the love that it has given me. And always I'll carry that little piece of Brandy Hollow Christmas in my heart.

My Christmas wish for you and yours is that you will know the peace and joy that Christmas brings. And that 'all things wise and wonderful' and 'all things bright and beautiful' will be yours.

I wish you a Brandy Hollow Christmas.

Nancy

  

Christmas Stockings - Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Christmas #Traditions #Stockings

 

 

Christmas Stockings

 

 

I don’t have any one book completely dedicated to Christmas but Christmas is a feature of the Leo Aquarius Connection. It’s also coming up in my next Moonchild story – Haunted Dreams. But Christmas Stockings is what I’m talking about this month.

 

My father was a steelworker in Pittsburgh, PA and often during the years after WWII there were strikes and many of them extended over Christmas. In our house, this meant money could be scarce so my parents spent the year finding things to put in the stockings for their children and themselves. My mother loved to knit and so she made us stockings. These were magnificent and able to stretch to massive proportions. Unfortunately most of them have disintegrated over the eyars and I believe there are two and maybe three left. Those were stockings, she mad for my children and not of woolen yarn. Perhaps the kind still have some of them

 

The tradition continued with my parents filling stockings for children and grandchildren until first my father and then my mother died. I’ve taken on that chore and I really enjoy doing this. Finding odd and different things for each person. Often in all the stockings, there were socks. I still continue this tradition. I stopped sending oranges when the stockings had to be mailed. This was after the year one of the orangers was flattened in the mail.

 

This year with Covid in the air, and children and grandchildren at a distance, I had to make the stockings to be mailed early. So of the fifteen I do every year, 7 have been sent. The rest will be done on Christmas Eve – maybe a day or two earlier and be around the tree and fireplace for everyone. What I wonder is who will maintain this tradition started when money was scarce when I no longer can.

 

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What's that smell? by J.C. Kavanagh

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends
Book 2 of the Award-winning series

Have you ever had one of those "Did-that-just-happen?" moments? The kind where you shake your head in disbelief?

I had a scheduled endoscopy procedure at a clinic in Barrie, Ontario. I mentioned this during a Zoom meeting with my girlfriends, telling them I was having the procedure later in the week. They all nodded their heads knowingly. What I didn't know, though, was that endoscopy is a general term for both ends.

On the morning of my procedure, I arrived at the clinic, tummy empty for 12 hours as required. I undressed from the waist up, tied on a hospital gown and waited in the bed. The technician peeked around the curtain, clipboard in hand. He asked a few general questions to which I responded in the negative or positive, always the right answer. Until he said, "Is this your first colonoscopy?"

"Oh no no no no," I responded. "You have the wrong person. And the wrong end."

He flipped through a couple of pages and then nodded. "Right, then. You're here for a gastroscopy."

I gulped. "So... if I didn't clarify, you would have... you would have done unspeakable things to my unprepared bottom-end?"

It was now his turn to say "Oh no no no no."

I pulled up the covers in my cold bed. I wasn't sure which area of my body to double-cover but I sure was grateful for the clean gitch covering my nether regions. If ever there was a time for wearing a rear-end chastity belt, it was now.

"You're sure?"  I asked him. Boy oh boy, if there was a mistake, it would be of epic failure for all involved. I knew that a colonoscopy procedure took place after you rid your bowels of every spec and particle of poop. A gastroscopy, my procedure, involved abstaining from food and water for about 12 hours. Clean stomach only. Top end.

Gastroscopy procedure

He ticked off another box on his clipboard and said they'd bring me in shortly. After pulling the curtain around my bed, I heard his shoes squeak to the bed beside me. He asked the patient similar questions to what he just asked me and then he stated, "This is your second colonoscopy."

There was silence. "Um, yes," my hidden neighbour said slowly.

"And you haven't had anything to eat or drink for 24 hours?"

More silence. Then a soft, choking kind of laugh. "Yeah, sure."

"Are you sure," he countered.

"Yeah, I think so," she replied.

Uh oh, I thought. 

Too late, though, as I watched through the open curtain at the end of my bed. My colonoscopy neighbour was getting wheeled to the procedure room.

It wasn't long before it was my turn. The same fellow came back, pulling the curtains away from my bed with a flourish. He did not look happy.

He wheeled me into the procedure room. 

I gagged.

"What is that smell?"

The doctor, the nurse, the technician and the anesthetist looked everywhere but at me. 

"I own a sailboat," I explained, "and I make sure the toilet tank is emptied on a regular basis. I also use a special liquid that ensures the tank and hoses never smell like it smells in here."

Then they all looked toward one area, to a large floor basket on my left. 

"Oh no no no no," I said, shaking my head. The contents must have come from that patient ahead of me. Proof that she really was not prepared for the back-end procedure. "You know that I'm here for the top-end scope. Right?"

"Yes, yes," soothed the nurse. 

The doctor motioned with her head toward the basket. "You best remove that," she told the technician.

They put me on my side and the offending basket was removed. A gastroscopy is a procedure where you're placed under short-term anesthesia and the doc inserts a long tube down your throat and into your stomach and upper bowel and proceeds to take pics and video. They're looking for ulcers, perforations and alien creatures.

Thankfully, I had nothing to report. No excitement at the top end.

But if you're looking for excitement, adventure, action, suspense and a hint of paranormal, you will love The Twisted Climb series. There's no gagging but there is a lot of 'did-that-just-happen?' moments. A great Christmas gift for teens, young adults and adults young at heart. 

Enjoy the Christmas season and be safe.

 

J.C. Kavanagh, author of

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 Enduring Mystery of the Mary Celeste

 

The Mary Celeste (Inset: The captain's wife and daughter)

Finding abandoned ships floating on the high seas are not uncommon occurrences. As an example, the MV Alta, a 2,400 ton vessel, was found floating near the Irish coast in the beginning of this year. It had had broken down near Bermuda and while the crew had been rescued, the ship had been drifting for nearly seventeen months, skirting Africa, the Americas and Europe. The details after that remain murky: the owners might have abandoned it in international waters; it might have been hijacked, and finally, left to drift.

One such abandonment, captured the imagination of the world, and the subsequent varied explanations became a sort of cottage industry. The fate of the Mary Celeste, built in Nova Scotia under British registration and sold to American interests in 1868, remains a mystery to this day.

In December of 1872, off the coast of the Azores, the Mary Celeste was discovered floating alone, in a disheveled but seaworthy condition, by the Dei Gratia, a Canadian merchant vessel. The ship’s ample supplies, its cargo and all the crew’s belongings remained on board. Only the lifeboat, a small yawl, was missing. The ships’ log revealed nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed that the ship had been abandoned in a hurry, yet no reason for its abandonment could be discovered and the ship’s crew could never be found.

The Dei Gratia

The story might have ended there, except for two things. One was the personal tragedy of the Captain, Benjamin Briggs, who arranged to have his wife and baby daughter on board. He left his son, who was seven at the time, with his mother. The death of the mother, the daughter and the orphaning of the son aroused public sympathy.

The second reason was due to a fictionalized report written by a twenty-five year old ship’s surgeon named Arthur Conan Doyle. While he had no connection to the Mary Celeste, the creator of Sherlock Holmes wrote the report in the first person, claiming the disaster to be the result of a white-race hating fanatic named Jephson, who commandeers the ship to Africa.

While thoroughly un-factual, the story caused a sensation when published in the Cornhill Magazine. Immediately, other publications came out with even more fantastic accounts. Other “survivors” told their tales (despite the fact that no survivors were ever located,) each more lurid that the rest.

The accounts included thievery, murder, madness, treasures of gold and silver, giant squid and even “mystical experiences” that somehow tied the ship’s abandonment to the lost continent of Atlantis. The more bizarre the story, the more it was lapped up. In the 1930’s two well-received radio plays aired, movies were filmed in 1935 and in 1938, and a play performed in 1949. In 2007, the Smithsonian Chanel aired a documentary on the subject.

In the end, the Mary Celeste, could not outrun her bad luck. Despite being made again sea-worthy, she sat in a dock unused, having gained a reputation for bad luck. After a change in ownership, she sailed again, resulting in heavy losses. Her owners, in desperation, ran her aground on a reef near Haiti, hoping to collect insurance. Their plot was discovered, resulting in the suicide of one of the owners, madness of another and the impoverishment, death and disgrace of the third, three months after the trial.

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

Flowers to Remember Christmas...by Sheila Claydon

The cover of the latest edition, published by Books We Love 

Click here for my BWL page

A second edition ebook published by another publisher no longer operating

The original cover when the book was one of 2 full length stories published together

In recent blogs I have written about how the covers of some of my books have changed over the years as new editions have been published. How, too, I have transitioned from using the pseudonym Anne Beverley to my own name of Sheila Claydon, and how this also affected the publication. (see above) 

Today I am blogging about the third of these vintage books, Bouquet of Thorns, and I have chosen this one  because of the flowers and because it is almost Christmas. My mother was a very talented florist and because florists are always very busy in the festive season, I sometimes got to help her in those long ago  Christmases. Although I was given the unskilled jobs such as sweeping floor and filling vases with water, occasionally far more exciting things happened, and these are the seasonal memories I cherish. 

I was born and raised in Southampton, England, which is a coastal city with a port used by liners from across the world.  Nowadays it is the busiest cruise terminal and the second largest container port in the UK. In those far distant days, however, when cruises were only for the very wealthy, people would spend days and weeks aboard ship travelling to places such as South Africa and America, instead of flying as most do today. And that was how, from quite a young age, I was able to accompany my mum when she went on board what were then some of the most modern liners in the world, to decorate the state rooms, the various lounge and dining areas, the ball rooms and other communal places, and deliver personal bouquets to individual cabins. Sometimes I even got to do the personal deliveries myself...not exactly knocking on the cabin door and handing over the flowers, but taking them to the correct deck and searching out the bedroom steward who would then take charge of them.

Walking up the gangway carrying a bouquet of flowers or a box of plants made me feel very important but even better was going down to the galley to see the chefs at work, and then being served a meal that was far more exotic than anything I got at home because it was in the days before we all began to adopt the dishes of other countries and cultures. I would often be given chocolate, cakes and fruit to take home too. I  tasted my first Hershey bar courtesy of a steward on an American liner, long before they were sold in the UK. Pineapple too, and mango. And many other things that are available most places now but which weren't then.

So Bouquet of Thorns not only reminds me of those far off Christmases, it also reminds me of my mum, and every word written about the flowers and the floral displays in the book comes from that. Helping her taught me a lot, and it's thanks to her that I know how to care for cut flowers, how to revitalise them when they start to droop, and how best to display them. I know the best way to pot up plants too, and care for those, and, like my mum, that has tipped over into loving and caring for garden plants as well. So although those visits to the vast and glossy liners in the port of Southampton are long past, I still remember how it felt to be accepted by the crew and, probably because I was young, given so many treats. To this day I still remember most of the things my mum taught me about flowers, the same as I remember the joy of those Christmases past.

If you like flowers too, then you can find a snippet from Bouquet of Thorns on my Website.

Happy Christmas and I hope you are able to make some happy memories that stay with you, even in these difficult times.

Light the Way

 Find my books here

At the end of this strange, dark year, I wish you light. 

I thank everyone who has gifted me with light in 2020…

To the nurse who took the time to tell me how reading my Mercies of the Fallen had eased her out of her work in the middle of a pandemic to enjoy a love story held together by the notes of its hero’s penny whistle…

To my family for sending images of dogs frolicking on the Oregon shore and a baby reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear What Do You See? in sun-kissed California. 

To my community, for flooding an ancestor's mailbox with cards to celebrate her 100th birthday, and for for lighting up our town square in defiance of death itself.

Light a candle. Be the light. We'll get through this, together.

Clearing Clutter

 

                                 Please click this link for author, book and purchase information

One of my projects for this winter of COVID-19 is to clear clutter from my house. I'm starting with boxes of writing stuff I've accumulated during the past 30 years. So far, I've filled several recycling bins with papers, although I'm still holding onto more than I should.  

Easy to dump are old query letters to publishers and their form rejection letters. I've never understood writers who talk of papering their den walls with rejection letters for inspiration. My instinct is to shove the depressing messages out of sight, although rejection has prompted me to write better, and still does. I am keeping the occasional rejections that complimented my writing and place them in a binder with other encouragements I received on my journey to publication.  

I'm also throwing out critiques of chapters from novels that I subsequently revised and published, since there's no point in rereading the comments now. In the pre-digital days of writing classes, we had to print copies of our submissions for each of our classmates to scrawl comments on. That's a lot of paper for my recycling bin. Now and then a page of positive remarks by an instructor or writer-in-residence jumps out at me. I add these to my encouragement binder. It turns out this de-cluttering project is partly about jettisoning negative and irrelevant memories, while preserving ones that boost my spirit. 

Stuff I can't bring myself to toss out includes notes and newspaper clippings that might have value for future writing projects. I file these in boxes and folders with labels so I can find them easily when I want. If I ever move to a smaller place, I'll instantly get rid of most of this, including my folder for the mythology workshop I didn't understand at the time, and still find baffling from my perusal of the notes. For now, these folders and boxes don't take up much space on my shelf, where they'll stay until I'm ready to dive into them or downsize.   

 The best finds are bits of clutter that might have an immediate use. I created folders for my current novel-in-progress, my next three story ideas, editing, and book promotion and tuck relevant notes and clippings into the folders. For instance, my germ of an idea for my next mystery novel includes a ghost in ways I haven't figured out yet. This prompted me to hold onto a comment by a creative writing instructor about Shakespeare's Hamlet. 'The ghost is a catalyst, and is the ghost telling the truth?' When I sit down to write the novel, this question about Hamlet's ghost might or might not trigger thoughts about the ghost in my story. If it doesn't, I'll send the instructor's observation to the recycling bin or to another folder, where it might apply.  

Also useful in the near future is advice for presenting my work in public. I'm collecting my scattered notes and handouts on this topic into one labelled box, along with printouts of past readings I've done. One tidbit of advice that I've taken to heart is to not read from the book itself. A printout of the scene enables me to enlarge the font for easier reading, revise the scene for audience interest and engage better with listeners than I can with my nose in the book. The next time I'm called on to do a literary reading I'll leaf through the box for printouts of a scene that suits the occasion and refresh myself on the advice, all of it conveniently located in one place. 

Nowadays, advice for public presentation tends to focus on Zoom and similar platforms. A couple of months ago, I attended an excellent webinar on this subject and made handwritten notes. The 'Readings' box will be the logical place for the notes, if I can find them in my recent piles of writing clutter. 

 Happy Holidays, however you celebrate this year!   

Happy Holidays

See below to get this holiday story for free! 

Ah, December is here and even with all the craziness in the world, I hope you have the chance to enjoy the season. Several years ago, I wrote a “short-short story” about the season and thought I would share a few parts with you. I’m sure some of you can relate to what I have experienced over the years. 

DECORATING: We found the box of lights at the bottom of everything because we had moved last summer and when we got them out, they were all tangled up and half of them didn’t even work. After buying new lights and a new ladder because ours was run over by the moving truck, we strung the lights along the house, around the shrubs, in the trees and down the driveway. Only to realize we needed five extension cords just to reach the closest outlet. 

SHOPPING: I drove around for over fifteen minutes trying to find a parking place at the mall and when I finally spied one, a little red Beetle whipped into it before I could round the corner. After taking a whole day off to go Christmas shopping, things that were on the sale flyer weren’t in the store and what I had put on layaway three months ago was now on sale for half price. And I couldn’t find the right size or the right color or something that matched the rest of what I had bought and if I couldn’t buy five of the same thing then I might as well not buy any because everyone had to have one or there would be crying. 

COOKIE MAKING: It was time to bake and my daughter made the frosting and decided that army green was an appropriate Christmas color, so Santa, the reindeer and all the snowmen joined the service that year. I wanted to make trays for work and my husband’s office and for our friends so I had to bake for several days, hiding everything on the shelf in the office closet because no one ever goes in there. But they did. 

SNOW: All the family was here to celebrate and just in time because it started to snow and the roads were closed. The kids all wanted to go sledding and build snowmen. We finally got everyone bundled up in snowsuits and boots and mittens and caps and then the littlest one said he had to go potty and so we had to undo the caps and mittens and boots and snowsuits. Much later, the cold, red noses were wiped and the hands warmed and cocoa drank and cookies eaten. All the cousins played downstairs and nobody worried when they argued because all we had to say was, “If you’re not good, Santa won’t come and leave you any presents.” 

CHRISTMAS EVE: The carolers are singing and we go out and join them before going to midnight service to hear the wonderful story about the birth of Christ. And when we come home, all the presents are wrapped and under the tree and the stockings are hung and the kids are too excited to go to sleep, but all we have to say is, “If you don’t go to sleep, Santa won’t come and leave you any presents.” Quiet descends and we sit and watch the lights wink on the tree and hope that on Christmas Day all the toys make noise and all the baby dolls bawl; that the bike and trike bells ring and the train whistle blows and the race cars speed around the track just like the instructions said they would. And on Christmas day when everything has been opened and played with and tried on, we sigh in relief that it all works and all fits and is in all the favorite colors. And now we only have three hundred sixty-four shopping days until we get to do it all over again. 

If you enjoy Christmas stories, Books We Love is giving away a free Christmas novel every week until December 25. One of my favorites, “Always Believe” is available FREE right now so visit their website at https://bookswelove.net and scroll down to the Christmas Gift to our Readers.

Another of my holiday stories, “If Wishes were Magic” is a contemporary romance about making wishes come true and is available in print or ebook format at Books We Love. 

Wishing you Happy Holidays,

Barb Baldwin 

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin 

https://bookswelove.net/baldwin-barbara/

New release "Mishandled Conviction" by J. S. Marlo

 

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

A few years ago, my friends and I were looking for a place to go on our girls’ night out when someone suggested an escape room.

None of us had ever attempted to escape a theme room in sixty minutes or less, and I don’t think any of us expected to succeed, but we figured we should give it a try. Well, fifty-nine minutes and three clues later, we solved the last puzzle and escaped. It was a blast.

At the time, I had just started writing "Misguided Honor", but it occurred to me that an escape room would make a great setting for my next time travel mystery.

Two years later, I'm pleased to present you my new release: 

"Mishandled Conviction"

 

While Violette remodels an escape room, the lines between illusion and reality blur. The escape room is based on the legend of a dead inmate who haunts a condemned penitentiary, but the fake prison cell she recreates transports her into the past.

As she relives the tumultuous events surrounding her life and the inmate’s death, Violette glimpses clues regarding the disappearance of her son-in-law and loss of her precious heirloom.

The past and the present collide, threatening the lives of Violette’s loved ones and unleashing conflicting emotions toward the men haunting her heart. Can she unravel the truth and save her family without losing her future?

 At 95,000 words, it's the longest story I've published so far and it's available in paperback and ebook. List of online retailers -> https://books2read.com/Mishandled-Conviction

It would make a great stocking stuffer for Christmas...just saying...

Here's an excerpt:

Something snapped behind her, jolting Violette. As she spun on her heel, the front door opened and her daughter barged in.

“Mom, where have you been?” Garbed in Elliot’s oversized t-shirt, Sophie kicked off her yellow flip-flops. One landed on the floor mat and the other under the bench on which they sat in the winter to put their boots on. “I was worried.”

Welcome to Worryland, sweetheart. Once you enter, you never leave. “I was—” Upon seeing Joe stepping in with only pajama pants on, the remaining words caught in Violette’s throat.

“Did something happen?” Bare chested, Joe looked more athletic and in better shape than most men half his age, including Elliot who patronized a gym three days a week. “You didn’t spend half the night in my escape room, did you?”

She heard him, but the question didn’t register until she tore her gaze away from his formidable physique. “No...not your escape room...not exactly...”

“Then where were you, Mom?” An arm draped around Violette’s shoulders, Sophie led her into the kitchen. “I tried calling you. When you didn’t answer, I knocked on Joe’s door. He was mounting a rescue when he saw your car pull into the driveway.”

“My phone was—” The meaning behind their nightclothes, and the realization that they had followed her inside, dawned on Violette. “You were on your way to rescue me? In pajamas?” That would have been a great idea—four hours ago. “I think I need a cup of coffee.”

“At this hour?” A frown etched on his forehead, Joe pulled up a chair for her. “You won’t be able to sleep a wink.”

Trust me, I won’t sleep whether I drink or not. “You’re right. After the eventful evening I just spent, I need something stronger. I’ll have a beer.”

Her daughter exchanged a dubious look with Joe, a look that her grandson might as well get used to early in life, but then Sophie gestured for Joe to sit at the table. “I’ll get Mom a beer. Would you like one too?”

“No thank you, Sneaky Pie.”

The nickname drew a smile on Violette’s face. On so many levels, Joe was the father that her daughter would have deserved but that Violette could never give her. “I suppose I owe you both the long version, don’t I?”

“We were worried, Mom.” From the fridge, Sophie fetched a beer from the six-pack that Elliot concealed behind the milk. “We’re just glad you’re safe, but an explanation would be nice, if you feel like sharing.”

Sharing her unbelievable ordeal sounded like a bad idea—an idea that might tempt them to send her to the loony bin—but to receive answers to her questions, she somehow needed to share her incredible tale. “I...I drove to the Ottawa Royal Penitentiary to visit Phantom’s cell.”

“You drove where?” Joe’s policeman mask fell right off his face and hit the table with a silent thump.

I stumbled onto an enchanted passageway that transported me from your mock courtyard to the real courtyard, slid into a coal room, broke all my nails. The grime of her escape was embedded into every pore of her skin, while the hopelessness of the prison cast a shadow on her soul. I searched Phantom’s cell, found a dog tag, walked up and down a deserted road hoping to get a signal on my phone only to realize that it had died since I’d left the prison. Then I felt giddy and scared when I spotted lights in the distance. I almost gave a heart attack to the poor truck driver when I waved at him from the ditch, but he was kind enough to give me a ride to your escape room. From there, I jumped in my car and drove home.

“I drove to the prison.” Mustering her best poker face, Violette held his darkening gaze. “How else would I get there?”

 

The holiday season is fast approaching. Don't forget to give the gift of reading.

 

Wrapped a book for each of your loved ones or get them a library membership.

 

Happy Reading & Stay Safe!

Many hugs!

JS

 

J. S. Marlo's Website