There are ways to travel back in time—Tricia McGill

 

To be released June 1st

Last year when the fear of an epidemic began to take hold of the world—and in general, my part of the world, Australia, I began to compare the coming disaster with the many others that have befallen our planet. Being an author, of course I began to work out ways of how to create a world where people were fighting to survive. Then the idea struck of what would a character do if she/he was whisked back in time from one crazy period in history to another. To make things easier, I already knew the world where she was going very well, so had no need to invent one. Little did I know when I began my latest book that Covid would turn our world upside down. That is the way with disasters; they strike suddenly and leave a trail of mayhem in their wake.

My family lived through WW11 and as the youngest, I heard stories as I grew about the war years, and how life was back then. Thus When Destiny Calls was born. Why not send my heroine back in time to 1940 Britain, when the Blitz was at its worst? My family lived in North London and that is where I spent my early years. 

Highbury Fields is a large park that features a lot in this latest book of mine. I have many memories of that area so had no trouble recreating it. I was married in the beautiful old church alongside the park, as were two of my sisters. My mother would send me up to the shops along Highbury Barn with a list. No supermarkets back then, you waited your turn to be served just like everyone else. All the shopkeepers knew my mother and her family well. 

One extremely foggy day when, as they say, you could not see a hand in front of your face, and the buses stopped running, I therefore had to walk home from school and the direct route was alongside the park. How I made it home that day I will never know, but I guess a lot of it was just a matter of animal instinct. Later, I joined a netball group and we played on the park courts in the summer evenings.

My one and only remaining sister will be 99 this year, so was therefore about 18 in 1940, just like Minnie in my story. Chloe, my main character cares for the old Minnie in an Australian nursing home. Minnie’s one remaining treasure is a photo album, which contains all her memories of her years as a young woman during and after the war, so it was inevitable that Chloe, who listened to Minnie’s many stories of how they all coped back then, would land back there. Chloe meets up with all the characters from Minnie’s album, and specifically a man named Bill who owns a dog called Tiger (hence the wonderful book cover). Was Chloe, by some strange quirk of Fate, called back in time to meet her destiny?

Pleasing Petunias by A.M. Westerling

 

Petunias are some of the most popular bedding out plants and are considered an annual in most areas. I buy them every year as they’re easy to grow, bloom all summer and come in a variety of colours. Mind you, the first year I planted them I had no idea what to do with them so I didn’t pinch them. I ended up with 2 foot long stems with a single bloom at the end! One of my favourite varieties is Wave (pictured below) but pretty much any variety you buy will do nicely. On our front steps we have two barrels, it's a hot and sunny spot, just perfect for petunias. In the past I've leaned towards shades of purple but this year I've gone with red and white.

  

Petunias are South American in origin and the Mayans and Incans believed that the odor of these flowers had the power to chase away underworld spirits and monsters. According to folklore, these flowering plants thrive where there is positive energy and will not grow where there is negativity. If given as a gift, they have two meanings: either the giver is comfortable with someone or conversely, they also represent anger and resentment. I couldn’t find any medicinal purposes for petunias so I suppose their beauty could be considered food for the soul. My local Home Depot had these gems one year but I haven't seen this unusual colour since.   

                        

You can plant petunias anywhere ie in borders, hanging baskets, pots or even as a seasonal groundcover. They like full sun and will become spindly and won’t bloom if the spot is too shady. They can spread anywhere from 18 inches to 4 feet, with a height from 6 to 18 inches. If putting them in a pot, make sure the pot drains well and use a good potting soil. If planting in the ground, add compost to poor soil to promote growth. I fertilize mine every 2 weeks with 20 20 20.  They are fairly heat tolerant and don’t need water every day but keep an eye out for frost! They do well in mixed planter pots. 

 

However, keep the soil moist and when you do water, water thoroughly as shallow watering encourages shallow roots. Also, dead head regularly to encourage new blooms. When they start to get too leggy, I pinch them about halfway down the stem and just above a leaf node. They’ll look a little sad at first but a good dose of water and fertilizer will encourage growth and they’ll rebound nicely. These popular plants have few insect or disease pests although aphids and slugs can be a problem. I live in a dry climate so that’s never been an issue for me. 

If you're looking for an easy to grow annual, try petunias, you can't go wrong!

*****

Find Barkerville Beginnings, Book 4 of the Canadian Historical Brides Collection, and the rest of my books over at BWL Publishing HERE. Proud to have earned this badge!

A Writing Challenge by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

https://www.bookswelove.com/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

A Writing Challenge.

It was Wednesday evening, the night of my writing group meeting. As writers do when they gather, we were talking about writing. One of them gave us a writing challenge. We had to write five beginning sentences for five stories. We had ten minutes to do it.
After much thought, I came up with these five:
If you didn’t know your actual age, how old do you think you would be?
The day that my brother blew his hand off is the day that I lost my father to booze.
Whatever the past, the future is spotless.
I don't give a dang, for I have seen the elephant.
The only time I like water is when it is cold and the day is hot.
As each one read hers, we discussed them trying to figure out how the story would go. At the end of the meeting we decided that we should take one of our sentences and build it into a short story, or the beginning of a novel for our next meeting.
I took my second sentence and here is the beginning of the novel I wrote around it.

     The day that my younger brother, Ralph, blew his left hand off, was the day that I lost my father to booze. Not that he hadn’t drank before. He'd have a beer on Saturdays with the neighbours or a drink at family gatherings but it was that day that he began drinking every day as soon as he got home from work.
     And the change was immediate. When he and mom came home from the hospital after leaving Ralph, Dad went to the cupboard and pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey. He got a glass and poured it almost full. He drank it down. I was watching him as mom told me and my younger brother, Jimmy, that Ralph had lost his hand and would be in the hospital for a few days. Dad took time off work and he and Mom went to see Ralph every day. But every evening Dad drank himself into a stupor.
     When they brought Ralph home from the hospital the only change in Dad's routine was that in the morning instead of going to the hospital he went to work. He got up sober, left the house at his usual time and was sober up until the moment he entered our door after work. It was once that door was closed on the outside world that he'd sit in his chair in the living room and pour his first glass of whiskey or vodka or rum whichever he had on hand at the time. Mom would serve him his supper there while the rest of us ate at the table in the dining room. His evenings varied little. Sometimes he'd stare at the television set, sometimes he'd stare into the corner of the living room. And he continued drinking all evening until he passed out, usually in his chair, sometimes on the couch, occasionally he made it to bed.
     He became, and remained for the rest of his life, a functioning alcoholic

     So far the story is not finished but I still have hope that one day it will be.

A Blast From the Past by Victoria Chatham

 

AVAILABLE HERE

I'm often asked if I read outside my genre of historical romance. The answer is an unequivocal and resounding yes. Books are a feast and I devour them. I enjoy and follow my fellow Books We Love authors, but beyond that, I have a penchant for Lee Child, Jane Austen (still) and many, many more both old and new. A recent search for a much-loved book, The Old House at Railes by Mary E Pearce turned up something totally unexpected, an autobiography Good Morning.... Good Night by Tim Langley.

The only Tim Langley I had ever known was huntsman at the Berkeley Hunt where I had worked in my teens as a groom during the 1962-63 season. Could it be the same Tim Langley? Yes, it could and now I have my copy with the cover embellished with the same illustration as a birthday card I have kept for many years of Tim with the Berekeley Hounds. Tim was a real gentleman, always well turned out and polite, but definitely a character.

I never hunted, and today fox hunting is viewed through a very different lens, but I loved the hunt horses. I had three in my string: chestnut Duet who was a real sweetheart, grey Thor who had the longest back of any horse I've ever known, and Tangerine, another chestnut who never learnt to walk but jiggled and jogged along working himself into a sweat and always took forever to cool down.

Duet

This was my first home away from home and it's no wonder I now write historical fiction. Berekeley Castle was our backdrop. It has been the ancestral home of the Berkeley family since the first motte and bailey was erected at the time of the Norman Conquest. The stables were built during the time of Queen Anne (1702 - 1707) and had barely changed at all. The last window on the second floor was our bathroom, the next window along was the kitchen, and the flat apartment was shared by us four girl grooms. 

The routine was all about the horses, from getting up at 4 am for first feeds and skipping out the stables, then exercising them at 7 am for two hours. After checking their hay nets and water buckets we would have our breakfast. Then it was back to the stables for proper mucking out and grooming. Lunchtime the horses were fed again with the hay net and water bucket checks and in the afternoons we cleaned tack, swept the yard, and did whatever odd jobs needed doing. Anyone who has ever had the care of stabled horses will understand the routine of feeding little and often, taking away the waste product and generally keeping everything in order. We all took turns at the early morning starts and the ten o'clock last stables. 

After a month, when my parents came to visit me for the first time, they were so shocked they threatened to haul me home. I'd lost weight with all the extra physical work, they were appalled at our flat, and I was as happy as a cricket. I stayed. Each horse had its own character. Duet was such an obliging gentleman, Thor had a weird sense of humour as if you bent over anywhere near him he was likely to nip your backside. He also had a way of moving without you noticing 

Thor

until he had you pinned against the stable wall and would then look over his shoulder at you as much as to say "What are you going to do now?" 

After all this time I don't remember all of the horses. There was Trio, a full brother to Duet. Zulaika, who loved to watch the birds, Wexford, a big grey who was so fat when he came in after being at grass all summer that we didn't have a saddle that fit him, Doctor who had navicular disease and had to be euthanized, Big Ears (if I remember correctly her real name was Lady Jane) and a black thoroughbred called Judes Hill. 

After a day's hunting, he was always the one we had the most trouble settling down. I won't go into all the reasons this can happen, only that no one went to bed until any of the horses had calmed down, cooled down, and could be safely left. I'm not a poet, but I did write this after one particularly late night.

JUDES HILL 

Ten o’clock.
Last rounds.
Sweet smell of hay
Drifts from warm stables
Where horses shuffle, sigh,
And soft whiskery muzzles
Nuzzle goodnight.
 
But not Judes Hill.
He has been hunting today
And his thoroughbred body
Is hunting still.
Sheen of sweat on neck,
White striped face stark
Above the stable door,
He peers into the night.
 
His ears twitch this way, that.
Has he missed the plaintive
Wail of Master’s horn
Sounding ‘Gone Away’?
Was that the full cry of
Hounds in flight?
Steel strikes stone under his
Restless feet.
 
I unbuckle surcingles,
Loosen steaming rugs.
Islands of foam float
On the sea of neck,
Shoulder, flank.
On with his cooling sheet
And out into the night
We go.

We walk and walk,
This horse and I.
He stamps his feet and tosses his head,
His mane flutters like
Tattered rags against his neck.

I talk about everything
and nothing into his willing ears
until his head drops,
and the thrill of the chase
drains from his body.
Now we can rest.

From beach ponies to the hunters, from friends' horses to our much loved Arab, the books about horses that I have read and still like to read, I think you've gathered by now that I have a passion for this marvellous creature that is unlikely to ever go away. Horses appear, in one way or another, in all of my books. In historical novels how can they not? And even in my contemporary western romances, cowboys need horses. Look out for my next contemporary western, available for preorder now and releasing on June 1st.

AVAILABLE HERE

Victoria Chatham

  AT BOOKS WE LOVE

 ON FACEBOOK

 MY WEBSITE

 

Do your research by Dean L. Hovey

Some days I spend as much time doing research as I spend writing. That's right, I let my inner geek loose and try to nail down some obscure detail. I spent half a day watching videos of tire recapping factories to understand a detail that will make up part of one paragraph in a future book. It's an important detail and if not correct, will certainly be noticed by several readers. 

I spent a day trolling forensic entomology websites to determine what types of insects are found with a body decaying in the trunk of a car. That was tough, because it varies by region and season. It needed to be right, and that search probably put me on an FBI watch list.

I spent half a day in Washington D.C. with the FBI tape analyst. Yes, the FBI has a scientist whose entire job is analyzing tape recovered from crime scenes. The time with her gave me background and detail that have added to several books, and taught me that the natural rubber in duct tape (the tape of choice for criminals worldwide) has chemistry as distinctive and unique as a fingerprint. Each rubber tree exudes rubber resin containing chemicals unique to its location, soil, season, and weather. My geekiness was squealing with delight over that tidbit of information.

I contacted Michele, one of the few forensic genealogists in North America, for the details on how to use the burgeoning genealogical DNA information to track down a killer. That technology was recently reported in the capture of the Golden State Killer. It's fascinating, but requires information available through limited databases. The jargon is unique to genealogists, and the way it's used for law enforcement and legal cases is as specific as the handling of DNA evidence collected from crime scenes. She suggested a book on forensic genealogy that was immensely helpful, but took a week of reading to get the detailed information that makes up four or five pages of a future book.

I spent a day doing research on UFO sightings while writing Burnt Evidence. I went to the the Mutual UFO Network website. MUFON publishes a monthly list of UFO sightings in the US and has an array of clothing and gear with their spaceship logo. (My daughter loves the MUFON t-shirt I sent as a birthday present. She says it does a wonderful job of cleaning windows.) I also consulted the US Air Force site on UFOS.

Why do all that work? The books are just fiction, right?

I read a book by a best-selling author whose main character caught and scaled a catfish for his dinner. Catfish don't have scales. I put that mistake aside and later stumbled again when he described a scene under a Sycamore tree in a geographical location where they don't grow. Some readers wouldn't continue after two glaring mistakes. Readers have confided that when they find a glaring factual error they set the book aside and move on to an author who's done his/her homework. And they don't come back.

Every author has mistakes that make it through the editorial and proofreading processes. I've never read a book without at least one or more typos, spelling errors, homonym errors (there, they're, their), or a missing quote mark. I get that. After reading a manuscript a dozen or more times I see what I meant to say, not what the words say. I rely on my editor and a crew of proofreaders to help me minimize those errors.

On the other hand, there are factual issues that require research and patience. I rely on a crew of experts to make sure I get the facts right. My sister-in-law once said I write by committee. It's not that as much as deferring to people with more expertise.. Julie, a retired R.N. reviews my medical terminology and facts. Deanna is my equine and law enforcement resource. Kinsley, a teenager, helps me create age appropriate dialogue for my teen characters. Clem teaches police firearms classes, Mike F. is a rural coroner, Fran is an archaeologist, Don retired from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and Mike W.  is a veterinarian. Brian, Natalie, and Anne all have other areas of expertise.

When I'm outside their areas of expertise, I rely on the internet or resource librarians. The information is out there. What color is a South Dakota State Trooper's uniform? What kind of cap, or hat do they wear? Those are minute details, but they lend credibility to my writing. Readers expect those details to be correct.

I was on a mystery writer's panel discussion with a woman who writes historical fiction. An audience member asked her how to start writing a historical novel. Her reply was, "Kill yourself now and save yourself the trouble of doing all the research." She went on to explain how difficult it was to make sure the language, clothing, armor, weapons, and customs are correct for a particular place and time. She threw out the example of chainmail, and how it was important to not have it show up in a novel set in a time before it was invented or after it fell out of favor. What type of chamber pot was used by King Louis XIV? Was it porcelain, pottery, or silver?

As an author, I strive get the details right. As a reader, you expect the author to do his/her homework. That said, cut the authors some slack if they occasionally mess up. A last minute change can lead to disaster when a find/replace gets out of control on the eve of a deadline. 

And when that typo/mistake shows up, feel smug that you found it, but don't feel compelled to contact the author, As John Sandford said in the author comment at the end of Ocean Prey, if you find a mistake, write it down, then wad up the paper, pop it in your mouth, chew, then swallow. He doesn't want or need to know that you found an error. His final words on the topic, "Don't make me come over there."

Island of Mystery and Exile, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

St. Helena, possibly the remotest place on earth, has many myths besides being the place of final exile and death of Napoleon. Come explore the island's other tales.

A SAVAGE EXILE. If you don't like vampires, don't despair, enjoy the mystery and the unique island in the far South Atlantic. I don't get too graphic. The defeated French Emperor was exiled to St. Helen in 1815, until his death in 1821.

Vampires with Napoleon was a fantastical concept. And fun to write, even with the more 'bloody' aspects, though kept to a minimum. My heroine, Isabelle, is a maid to an arrogant countess whose husband joins Napoleon in his banishment after the battle of Waterloo in 1815. Who in his entourage can be trusted?

And what of the strange tales of a 'beast' who dwells in the mountains? Isabelle fights her attraction to Napoleon's enigmatic valet, Ali, as the secrets, and a few deaths, pile up.

"Isabelle is likable heroine, and I enjoyed watching her make the best of a bad situation. Anyone who enjoys historical romance with a paranormal twist might want to check (A Savage Exile) out."

~ Long and Short Reviews

To purchase my novels and other BWL books: BWL

Instead of beasts, an airport is the latest news from this mysterious rock situated in the far reaches of the South Atlantic Ocean. 

I'd planned to visit St. Helena when I first wrote about Napoleon, but the expense to travel there is outrageous. First, you fly into Cape town, South Africa, then wait for the Royal Mail boat to arrive, schedule iffy, and sail to Jamestown, 2,000 miles away. You must seek permission from the British government, who still owns the island. Now the airport makes it easier to travel.

Napoléon à Sainte-Hélène by François-Joseph Sandmann

Many myths surround this isolated 'volcanic fist' at the bottom of the world. One concerning Napoleon is that a hurricane swept over the island, rattling homes, ripping out trees, on the day of his death, May 5, 1821. This has since been debunked. It was actually a nice day, weather-wise.

Whenever anything goes wrong on St. Helena, people claim it's Napoleon's Curse. Rain on a parade, wind shear at the airport, any misfortune. But this seems a 20th century invention.

One story has the island's ancient tortoise, Jonathon, is so old that he actually met Napoleon. But Jonathon isn't quite that old, and he doesn't make house calls.

But vampires? The mythical creatures of St. Helena are the Moncat, a cat-like critter with pointy ears and a monkey tail. A sea serpent was reported sighted off the island in 1848 by the HMS Daedalus. A frightening beast 60 feet long. 

Of more recent sightings, a blonde mermaid, bathing near the mail ship RMS St. Helena, that serves the island. Wishful thinking. (Okay, that's my granddaughter in her mermaid costume)

The most prevailing story is about a Portuguese soldier, Fernao Lopes, who was abandoned on the deserted island in the sixteenth century for criminal activities. He endured thirty years in complete solitude. His ghost is said to still haunt the hills and caves.

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

Diane Parkinson (Diane Scott Lewis) is a member of the Historical Novel Society and the Napoleonic Historical Society. She’s had several historical novels published. Her most recent is the Revolutionary War novel, Her Vanquished Land. 

Her upcoming novel Ghost Point, the 1950s Potomac oyster wars, love and betrayal, will be released in September.

Diane lives with her husband and one naughty dachshund in Western Pennsylvania.

Seven Characteristics of a Writer by J.Q. Rose

 

Dangerous Sanctuary by J.Q. Rose
Romantic suspense

Pastor Christine Hobbs never imagined she would be caring for a flock that includes a pig, a kangaroo, and a murderer.

Dangerous Sanctuary is May's FREE eBook download from BWL Publishing

Click here to get your copy now.

A writer

Seven Characteristics of a Writer

One of the best perks of being a writer is using one's imagination to develop interesting characters. Villains are especially fun to create because they may do things in a story that the writer actually wants to do in real life e.g. kill off the neighbor's dog that barks constantly or bury the ex-boyfriend. 

Romping through a fictional world and having all the choices about what characteristics define the character in his/her world is more like play than work. 

“While we read a novel, we are insane—bonkers. We believe in the existence of people who aren't there, we hear their voices... Sanity returns (in most cases) when the book is closed.”
― Ursula K. Le Gui

But what about the characteristics of a real, live writer? We had fun discussing this topic at my friend's blog, so I decided to share the list of seven real-world characteristics that I believe a writer has. 

📕 Devotion A writer must love what she is doing. If not, the book or essay will never get written because the first draft is always junk. If a writer is not devoted, she will tear up the pages and give up. Rejections will knock her off her feet, and she will never try again. But when devoted to creating her piece, her desire and determination may be challenged, but she will keep writing.

📕 Organization  Writers must organize their research for a story, save the manuscript files to choose the correct one for editing, keep track of promotions, prepare posts for a blog, email and/or social media, keep up with the bookkeeping. Thank goodness spreadsheets can help with these many tasks.

📕 Imagination Remember when you were a kid, and you would act out stories with your friends or make up poems for your mom? Fiction writers never lose that creativity. Non-fiction writers need imagination too to send the clear solution for a problem to readers in an interesting and new way.

📕 Intelligence Smart people can write! I know it sounds like bragging, but it is the truth.

📕 Discipline If a writer cannot set aside time when penning a project and keep that appointment, the writing will never be finished.  Carving out a time in her schedule for creating a project and sitting down consistently to do it will develop the habit of writing.  

📕 Strong vocabulary Writers need to know a variety of words to clearly describe places, characters and emotions. Reading enlarges vocabulary. Become a wordsmith using Thesaurus.com. 

📕 Sense of Humor  Mark Twain and Janet Evanovich are masters when it comes to including humor in their stories. Even a horror story or murder mystery can use a light touch within the pages. 

What are your thoughts on the list? Please add more characteristics in the comment section below.

 Click here to connect online with JQ.

Author JQ Rose

Click here to discover more books by JQ Rose 

on her author page at BWL Publishing.

Research is Fun and Games by Helen Henderson

 

Windmaster by Helen Henderson
Click the cover for purchase information.

Long before my first published novel or byline in a magazine, history held a special fascination. Now I admit while there is a convenience to the Internet, it comes with challenges. One is validating the accuracy of the information. Another is the time sink. One fact leads to another of even more interest. Open another site while you're there and that single click becomes two or three or four and more hours lost.

Then there is the information itself. Is the source knowledgeable? Is the information from the era or written many years later? When teaching seminars on research techniques I also recommend noting whether the material is primary material that is newly available such as a recent transcription making it available on the internet or is the information simply a rehash of a rehash. Diaries written as events happen provide a unique insight into the world and perceptions of the time.

Since I admit a fondness for books, you might think libraries are a favorite research site. And while I have spent hours (actually days) at the New York City Public Library, the Alexander Library of Rutgers University, and the Library of Congress, my favorite means of gathering information for settings or characters is in-person. Over the years I've ridden on horseback with a saddle, bareback, or with a blanket. Summers were passed with target practice with bow and arrow, rifle,and hatchet. No, I am not one of those firing the cannon. My firearm experience is with more contemporary weapons, not those that use black powder.

 

I have donned period garb and mingled with Revolutionary War and Civil War reenactors to immerse myself in those times. To help stay in tune with the events, a wicker basket concealed my notebook and contemporary camera. For a different perspective I've participated in archaeological digs at  Revolutionary War battlefields and a Civil War Training Ground.

Wearing fatigues and combat boots, I rode a jeep as a journalist embedded with a column of restored World War II military vehicles. The trip started when I reported to the airfield. The guard on duty telephoned "headquarters." A few minutes later, a soldier rode up on a restored WW II bicycle with my "orders." At that point I knew things were going to be interesting as I was told to muster in uniform  and report to a jeep in the middle of the column. I was in essence transported to the 1940s.

That was not the only time I felt I was in another era. Now to set the scene. You are standing beneath the wing of a B-17 bomber, surrounded by men and women in uniform. The swing and big band music being broadcast over the loudspeakers stops mid-note. “Pearl Harbor has just been bombed,” echoes over the tarmac. Even after the crowd of thousands realized it was a replay of a broadcast from December 7th, 1941, they remained in attentive silence, many rubbing goose bumps from their arms. As a side note, I had a similar reaction years later when I stood on the boardwalk near where I lived and saw the twin towers shrouded in smoke.

<

The storyline and setting for one  short story came from walking a reenactor camp after the public had left for the day. The eerie notes of "Taps" floating over a fog-filled field that just hours before had the sounds of battle created the impression that an ethereal bugler is summoning the souls of those who died on that hallowed ground centuries before.

~ Off to research a new work. Until next month, stay safe and read. Helen

To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL

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 feisty who have adopted her as one of their pack.