From Hisses to Kisses by Victoria Chatham

 

AVAILABLE HERE

 

Retirement from day-to-day formal employment in 2013 was a dream come true, but as many retirees have found, the dream can fade. My dream was to concentrate on my writing, which I did for a while, and then I started getting restless.

But then a writer colleague asked if I knew anyone who might house-sit for them and look after their animals so they could have a family vacation. Who better than moi? With years of property management experience, I thought I was well qualified to look after a house. I’ve had a couple of cats and dogs for most of my life. I've been around horses since age five. In addition, I have several more qualifications, including being a mature, non-smoking individual. So now it’s have laptop, will travel. I have clients in different places, from almost on the doorstep to within a few hour’s drive from home. I enjoy very different scenery, from watching glorious sunrises on an acreage to spotting hummingbirds in an urban garden, all while I  get my pet fix.

My house and pet-sitting career started with two horses, a dog, four cats, and a bearded dragon lizard. Since then, I’ve cared for chickens, turkeys, rabbits, pigs, fish, sheep, calves, birds and goats in the ten years since then. Now I’m more mature (IE: older, but I dislike that word), I’m pickier about caring for the larger animals, goats especially. They may be adorable as kids, but in my book, they are evil beasts as adults and their horns hurt.

My mandate is to maintain as much of the pets’ routine as possible. Are pets allowed on the furniture or beds? What is their feeding routine? Are they afraid of anything? And then there are the practicalities such as where is the electrical box and main water shut-off? I always ask for emergency contacts, especially a vet. Before accepting a new client, I like to meet them and their pets. It’s a two-way street, giving the pet owner a chance to know me and see how their pets interact with me. I’m not offended if they are uncomfortable and prefer to make other arrangements, as for me, it is all about the pet(s) and their comfort.

The hardest part of my client interviews, especially where senior pets are concerned, is the ‘what if’ discussion. However much we love our pets, the sad part of being a pet parent is that they are likely to pass on before we do. Of all the seven dogs I’ve had over the years, I’ve had to make end-of-life decisions for every one of them. My first was the hardest as I had not had him long, and he wasn’t much more than a pup. The others were between twelve and nineteen, all living happy, healthy lives until they were no longer happy or healthy.

Animals give us so much joy, and I often think humans are undeserving of their love and loyalty. I’ve spent hours in the paddock with the horses, watching and talking to them. There is nothing as willing as a horse's ear. Chickens can be charmers, and many enjoy being cuddled. I've had them go to sleep in my arms. I ran a lukewarm bath for the lizard to help her slough her skin and made a mud wallow for the pigs, laughing at their antics as they splashed in and out like children playing. I had a panic attack at the house with six cats when I could only find five. It turned out that the sixth cat was very shy, and I didn’t see her until the fourth day.

My current charge hissed at me every time he saw me for the first couple of days, but now we’re joined at the hip, and I get kisses. I go to the kitchen, and he comes too. I go upstairs, and he follows. I go to the bathroom—you get the picture. I flatter myself that he really likes me, but being a cat, it could just be his way of ensuring the person who feeds him and cleans his litter tray doesn’t stray. He snuggles up to me in bed, although I draw the line at having my ear washed, and sits beside me on the sofa when I’m done writing for the day.

I consider myself fortunate to have such a variety of furry friends. Once I know their routines, I can settle into writing when they curl up in their beds and sleep. Do I have favourites? That would be telling. Life being what it is, I’ve lost some four-legged clients and gained new ones. Retirement? One day I might find out what it’s like, but until then, I’ll continue writing and house and pet sitting. 

VICTORIA CHATHAM

AT BOOKS WE LOVE

NB: images from the author's collection.

Book club input that shaped my writing

A few years ago, I met with a book club and was "buttonholed" by one of the attendees at the end of the discussion. "You've got this old sergeant as your protagonist. He's a widower, and you've hinted at a romance between him and a female character." She went on, intensely and at length, explaining how that spark was going to blossom into a mature and slow-paced romance in the following book. I loved that she'd become engaged with the characters enough to want an evolving relationship between them.

After that exerience, I started listening more intently to the words of the people at book events, libraries, bookstores, and book clubs. I started catching sometimes passing comments about something the readers liked or disliked in my books. The feedback has been 99% positive with the negative often asking how I could put such a distasteful event or character into a book. To be honest, those "negative" comments are also vital input, telling me that I'm effectively creating bad guys and gripping scenes. Those attributes are as important as loveable characters and touching scenes, when used in an appropriate ratio.

A recent book club met a few miles from the setting of "Fatal Business". The group was academically eclectic, from an English teacher to a bookstore owner, and a county judge. The discussion was upbeat and fun. One question surprised me. "Who writes the dialogue between your two female protagonists?" I replied that I wrote all the dialogue, with minor "tweaks" from my beta readers, editors, and proofreaders, who are predominately female. The questioner went on, "I find that hard to believe because the dialogue between C.J. (Charlene) and Pam is the way two women actually speak to each other when there aren't any men around." I was shocked, but the entirely female book club were all nodding. "It's like you were a mouse in the corner listening in on their/our conversations."

One of the members who had recently moved from a large city and retired in rural central Minnesota questioned the accuracy of my character rushing into a dangerous situation without backup. Before I could reply, the judge explained that in this rural area there are sometimes only two cops on duty covering 1.400 square miles. "Rural cops aren't like city cops," she said. "They have to be self-reliant, and they don't have the luxury of waiting for backup in a tense situation. They act." (Thank you Judge Martin)

To be honest, an author never knows quite what a book club will be or how it will unfold. On several occasions, I was invited for a dinner and discussion. Other times, like this most recent meeting, I spent time sitting around a table talking about the book and answering questions. One all-male book club asked a few questions, then dismissed me so they could start their serious drinking. "We're not sure if we're a book club with a drinking problem, or a drinking club with a book problem."

In every case, book club meetings are fun for me and the readers. They get insight into my thoughts, writing process, the characters, and the future for the series. I get a wonderfully supportive, interesting, and engaging discussion with smart, attentive people who enjoy books. What's not to like about that?

Speaking of listening to my readers, I heard repeatedly that people were disappointed that Floyd Swenson retired from the Pine County series. I hope my handling of Floyd's character in "Taxed to Death" resolves your concerns.

Check out "Taxed to Death" and my other books at:

Hovey, Dean - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

A Desperate Plea, my upcoming release, Outcast Artist in Bretagne, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

To purchase my novels, click HERE

My book's release has been moved to May!

Click HERE to pre-order the e-book.

Enjoy an excerpt. Norah's young cousin runs down the beach to show how fast he is, but a German sentry grabs him and hauls him away. Norah must confront the Commandant for the boy's release.

At the Town Hall, a guard stepped before her, eyes flinty, his rifle tight against his chest. “What is your business here?”

Norah tensed, her arms rigid at her sides. The ugly swastika flag flapped above her, adding to her distress. “I need to speak to Major von Gottlieb.”

“For what purpose?” The young man’s chin lifted higher, his French adequate.

“It’s urgent.” She swallowed hard. Each moment counted for her to rescue Jean. “Tell him it is Miss Cooper, the woman who draws birds. He knows who I am. I must speak to him, please.”

The guard hesitated. She took a step closer, breath heaving. He finally turned, stepped into the alcove, knocked, and entered the office.

He returned after a minute and motioned with a slice of his hand for her to follow.

Norah walked stiffly in, her courage waning, but her resolve anchored. She’d never been in this office before. And now with the Germans in charge, changing everything—and a child’s fate in her hands.

Major von Gottlieb stood behind his desk, tall and imposing, his expression curious. “What can I do for you, Fräulein Cooper?”

“My young cousin did something foolish, but he’s only a child.” She rubbed her knuckle along her collarbone and explained what happened in barely controlled words. “Please, don’t let anyone hurt him. He’s ten years old, and impulsive.” Tears dampened her eyes, despite her effort to appear tenacious. “Release him to his mother. It’s all a mistake.”

She saw the Major’s gaze change from surprised to concerned.

“Extraordinary. I will investigate at once. Wait here, Fräulein.” The Major thrust on his hat and indicated the chair in front of the desk. He marched from the room and shut the door. She heard strong words exchanged in German, the shuffle of feet.

Norah sank into the leather seat, unsure what to do. Her heart beat so fast, her chest ached. She glanced about the office. A picture of Hitler on the wall made her cringe. On a glass-fronted bookcase full of books was a smaller picture of a woman. Broad-faced but attractive. The Major’s wife?

Mahogany furniture filled the cramped room. The desk was neat, with a tan leather inlay. The room smelled pleasant, of lemon oil. She tried to balance herself as her mind spun.

A small table held a partially finished jigsaw puzzle. She stood to see what it was, to distract her upset.

The door opened behind her. She nearly jumped.

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

The Key of the Door....by Sheila Claydon

 

Find my books here

I'm 21 today, 21 today

I've got the key of the door

Never been 21 before

And Pa says I can do as I like

So shout, Hip Hip Hooray

He's a jolly good fellow 

21 today

We took flowers and presents and we all sang the first 3 lines before my eldest granddaughter blew out the candles and we did shout Hip Hip Hooray before she cut the cake but that was as far as we went. This traditional coming of age song  (in the UK) is long and meandering and meant to be sung by a young man because when it was written (1911), young ladies didn't enjoy a similar independence.

So why do we celebrate 21 so enthusiastically and does it happen world wide? Interested, I did some research and discovered that in the UK it stems from medieval times when a young boy was training to become a knight. At 7 years of age he would leave home to become page to a knight and for the next 7 years would be his servant. Not until he reached the grand age of 14 would he be made a squire and his duties elevated to looking after his master's armour and weapons and to saddling his horse. His duties stretched further. He was also expected to follow his knight into battle acting as his flag bearer, and in the unfortunate event of his master being killed, would have to bury him. A very different life from the 14 year olds in Western countries today! 

If the boy managed to survive all of that and grow to manhood he would be dubbed a knight in his own right when he reached the age of 21, and be celebrated. 

From this, and very gradually, 21 became the established age of majority. While the tradition was to give the  young person the key of the door, symbolising that they were old enough to make their own decisions and come and go as they pleased, legally it was significant.  It was the age when people could marry without parental consent, the age when an apprenticeship ended in many trades, the age at which a person could vote, the age in which guardianship came to an end for orphaned children. There were exceptions of course, because until the Equal Franchise Act was passed in 1928 women could not vote until they were 30 and then only if they owned property. 

There were other anomalies too. Young couples who managed to travel to Scotland could marry at 16 and, despite the many changes in the law that have taken place in the past century, Gretna Green, where most of these marriages took place, is still considered a place of romance, with couples from all around the world choosing to get married there in a ceremony performed over a blacksmith's anvil in a centuries old tradition. So popular was the idea that it was sometimes part of a plot in fiction in earlier times, the best example being Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin.

Nowadays, with the legal majority reduced to 18, celebrating a 21st birthday carries far less significance and is mainly only celebrated because it's fun, and everyone likes a party! There are, however, still one or two things that cannot be undertaken until a person of either sex reaches their 21 majority. For example  they cannot drive large vehicles, gain a pilot's licence, supervise a learner driver, or adopt a child. Fortunately I don't think my granddaughter is contemplating any of those things. She just enjoyed her party!

Postscript:

In the UK in Anglo-Saxon times a young person was considered adult at the age of 11. This was later increased to 12, which continued until Norman times when the age of majority was extended to 16 except for those training to become knights. How times have changed. We no longer send children as young as 5 into the black hellhole of underground mines, or up chimneys to sweep out the soot, or into battle at 14. Nor do apprentices any longer sleep where they work, relying solely on their masters for the food they eat. Sadly, in many of the war torn and poverty stricken countries around the world, however, similar things still happen. Children have no option but to take on responsibilities that would deter most adults. Children as young as 5 work 14 hour days picking cacao beans while 11 year olds work from dawn to dusk in the heat and dirt of a blacksmith's forge because they are their family's main or only breadwinner. There are children who have to scavenge on scrap heaps, others who work in unregulated factories and, even more dreadfully, there are still 14 year olds who have to go into battle, not with a flag following their knight, but with rifles and machetes as they fight for their lives and the lives of their families.  While these are not things that need to be contemplated by more fortunate youngsters enjoying a 21st birthday party, hopefully they will at least think of them later when they realise that, at last, the really are adults.

 

Helping Others by Helen Henderson

 

Windmaster Legend by Helen Henderson
Click the title for purchase information

April, the fourth month of the year in the Gregorian and Julian calendars and the first of four months to have a length of 30 days. Last month I used the name of the month as a verb and pictured prancing horses. To come up with some inspiration for this post, I went to the National Day Calendar. The days for April range from the tasty (National Pineapple Upside Down Cake Day) to the historic, National Ellis Island Family History Day, The one item I love to eat. The other? At least one set of my ancestors immigrated from the old country and I have researched whether or not they came through Ellis Island.

Normally I don't disclose too personal information, but I'm breaking that tradition to acknowledge Volunteer Recognition Day with some thoughts on answering the call for help.

The aftermath of Superstorm Sandy

Disasters can bring out the best and the worst of people. After the recent tornadoes in Tipton County, Tennessee, the area pulled together. While age and other reasons meant I held down the homefront, a family member spent a day helping pick up debris. It reminded me of another disaster. The largest Atlantic hurricane on record as measured by diameter, an event referred to as Superstorm Sandy. Taking in a family member who was without power doesn't qualify as volunteering. However, helping people move out of a storm damaged house, doing the demolition work necessary to remove flood-damaged sheetrock does. Then for several years afterwards, the volunteer help continued as the rebuilding efforts continued.

The ultimate critic of whether a job was done right.

Over the years of remodeling a house built in 1915, I have observed more than one person assume the position upon entering a room where work was being done. No, I don't mean the spread-legged lean against a wall for a pat-down search. The men stood with hands on their hips and surveyed my efforts. As part of Superstorm Sandy recovery,  I was helping a contractor tape and spackle a newly-sheetrocked room. He was less obvious and to my pleasure, and surprise considering it was my first time taping joints, the work was acceptable. 

Being in period garb helped me get close enough
to take for this picture.

An interest in history has yielded other volunteer opportunities, and I still use the experience gained at them today. I don't build physical houses, but fantasy worlds. I may not travel to the past except in reenactments, but it helps me understand my characters travel through times past. Hours of unpaid work have been spent as director of a local history museum, caring for their artifacts, or digging out fragments of history with trowel and screen. I won't say where or when it was, but at one major history event, I did more than collect money at the admissions gate and keep the cars moving. I parked hundreds of cars. What was even more fun was helping get the cars out of the park when the event ended. I even had the change to use my whistle, a handy tool to get a driver's attention to make them stop and wait their turn, or to get them moving forward.

Whether you have volunteered your time and talents or been the recipients of other's efforts, I hope you enjoyed these memories.

To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL

~Until next month, stay safe and read.   Helen

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 who have adopted her as one the pack. Find out more about her and her novels on her BWL author page.

April is Poetry Month! by Nancy M Bell

To learn more about Nancy's work please click on the image above.

Spring is here. I think... It's April and April is poetry month, so it must be spring. My mare is shedding her winter coat, the gophers are out and stealing her grain while she's eating it. But there is still 5 feet of snow drift on my back garden....so Spring...what the heck!

But I digress. As I mentioned, April is poetry month. So my goal this year is to write a poem a day in April. I've done this before many years ago and then just sort of lost the time to do this when life kind of took over. When you read this, it will be April 18th, so hopefully I will have 18 poems under my belt by then. I'll let you know how I fare in next month's blog.  

For those of you who write poetry, come join me in my April quest. For those of you who dabble or don't write poetry at all...why don't you go for it. Not necessarily a poem a day, but maybe just one or two for the month. Poetry is amazing, so many forms, so many emotions and moods it can invoke. I find poetry cathartic myself, somehow giving the emotions or thoughts the freedom of lighting on the blank page gives me freedom to let them go. 

Poetry is joy, sorrow, grief, love and whatever name you wish to attach to it. So come on, let's go for it! April Poem a Day here we come.

Just to whet your whistle, here are a couple of my older poems.

From 2011

Spring Snow

Nancy M Bell

The storm demons are howling rabidly across the sky

Dragging their icy talons against the window glass

Screeching their defiance through the hydro wires

Buffeting the house with their fists of wind

Shrieking they the fall upon the exposed prairie

Vomiting great gouts of snow to cover the earth

They hurl handfuls of icy pellets in my face

As I struggle to let the stock into the barn

 

Mean spiritedly they snatch the door from my frozen fingers

Slamming it open and popping one of the hinges

I bare my teeth at them and wrestle the door from their grasp

Hold it steady as the horses troop in out of the angry storm

 

The bale of hay spills its summer scent in the frigid air

A sunlit meadow song to battle the storm raging outside

The storm demons grab me in their teeth and shake me

As I blindly make my way back to the house

 

Power and fury personified; they scream their defiance

Their voices howling through the wind in my ears

Reluctant to exchange the winds of winter

For the thunderheads of summer 

   

Bitter Ashes

The taste of bitter ashes on my tongue

All the more potent for their age

The things I should have said

Coiled about the things I did say

Time slides by in endless flood

Bearing my choices out of reach

Things I can’t change

Things I wouldn’t change

 

That line from an old Kristofferson song:

“I’d rather be sorry for something I’ve done,

Then for something that I didn’t do.”

Oh, the things I didn’t do!

 

Choices that affected other’s lives

More compassion here, more forgiveness there

The phone calls I didn’t make

The words I didn’t say

 

The taste of bitter ashes on my tongue

More potent for their age

All I Want

All I want is to walk in Grace

To live my life under the wide sky

With a good horse under me

And endless country in front of me

 

All I want is to make each day count

For something; no matter how small

I fed a stray dog the rest of my sandwich

I put seed out for the birds and food for the feral cats

 

All I want is to be happy in my skin

To know I’ve done the best I can

With what I had to work with today

And know that I will try to do the same tomorrow

 

All I want is the wide sky sweet with dawn

And the morning breeze on my face

Followed by the burning blue noon

With the sun at its zenith

 

All I want is the golden sky of sunset

And the dry prairie wind hot on my neck

The softness of evening gilding the range

As the gold melts into the royal blue of night

 

All I want is the silver of moonlight

To throw shadows across my bed

While the song of the coyote rides through the night

To know that all is right with my world

  

Till next month, be well, be happy.

 

A Plot Is Just A Plan by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Writing #Plot #Plan

 

Many years ago, more than fifty, I went to hear a NYTimes Best Selling Author speak at an all day event in Pittsburgh. The first thing he said was "A plot is just a plan." The plan is where your characters play their roles. I took this to heart and read books on writing and focused on Plot.

Just what does this mean. Think of the plot of your story being like planning a trip using a road map. There is a starting place. Why are the characters in this particular place? What do they plan? How does the plot and setting effect their decisions and directions.

Once the characters have set off on their way toward the goal they have selected, you come to the middle. This may be where the characters remain on the road or perhaps take a side trip of two. The middle of the plot shows the decisions they make and what changes those decisions may cause.

The end of the journey shows they have either succeeded, failed or changed their initial goal. This includes the crisis, the moment of decision and then the characters leave the plot, happily My Places

   https://twitter.com/JanetL717

 https://www.facebook.com/janet.l.walters.3?v=wall&story_f

bid=113639528680724

 http://bookswelove.net/

 http://wwweclecticwriter.blogspot.com

https://www.pinterest.com/shadyl717/

 

Buy Mark

https://bookswelove.net/walters-janet-lane/

 or sadly but always the road ends in a satisfactory way.

Capturing the reader's emotions, by J.C. Kavanagh

 

Book 3 of the award-winning Twisted Climb series:
A Bright Darkness
https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

When I began to write creatively, I wanted to write a story that would have some kind of impact on my readers - whether they be teenagers, young adults, or a young-at-heart adult. I didn't want to preach a narrative; rather, I wanted the characters to react to real life drama and adventure in a way that would resonate with the reader. The character evoked the response in the reader, either by what they said or what they did. If the character becomes 'real' in the mind of the reader, then the character's emotion becomes the reader's emotion. That, my friend, is a fine, visceral line for the author to convey.  

Can our books make a difference? Yes. A resounding yes. 

One of my friends told me that her daughter felt a connection to Jayden, one of the main characters in The Twisted Climb series. Jayden is a brash, assertive teenager who is torn between being 'nice' and being 'bully.' My friend's daughter does not have those personality traits, so why did she feel a connection to Jayden? Apparently she felt uncertain of her place in the world/school/friends and that uncertainty evoked an internal, angry response. When my friend's daughter read the following in The Twisted Climb: "There was only one way to make herself feel better. (Jayden) had to make someone else feel worse" well, my friend's daughter started to cry and then shared with her mom that she felt the same emotional turmoil, but was at a loss on how to deal with it. That honesty opened up a new dimension in their relationship, one that they've maintained to this day.

Recently, another friend said she had to share something very important with me. We met and she told me the following.

"When my son read 'A Bright Darkness,' where the plot revolves around the Ojibwe myths and the Seven Fires Prophecies, he was shaken to his core. You see, we are native Indian, from the Anishinaabe First Nation, and all his life he was reluctant to embrace the spirituality of our peoples. He's almost 60, by the way. So he phoned me, almost in tears, to tell me he was sorry he didn't espouse the native way as I did. And that he wanted to re-discover his heritage, because it's never too late."

If we can share a story or create a character that makes a difference in the life of a reader, well, I call that wonderful. I call that satisfying. It's one of the greatest compliments a writer can receive.

Thank you to all the readers who accept a created character and make them as real as can be in the playground of their mind. 

J.C. Kavanagh, author of
The Twisted Climb - A Bright Darkness (Book 3)
and
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
Voted Best Local Author, Simcoe County, Ontario, 2021
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)
Instagram @authorjckavanagh

Creating a Fantastic but Believable Setting by BC Deeks, Paranormal Mystery Fiction Author

 

 Visit B.C. Deeks' BWL Author Page for Book and Purchase Information 

 

http://bookswelove.net/deeks-bc/

SETTING is crucial to a story’s development and the reader’s experience in any fictional work, but never more so, in my humble opinion, than in a fantasy. If an author is working on a contemporary story, you can count on the reader to have enough personal experience to fill in the blanks with minimal prompting. 

In the fantasy genre, all bets are off. It is up to the author to show the reader how far they should suspend their disbelief in every aspect of the world they are entering—from the ground they stand on, to the creatures they will encounter, the language that will be spoken…Indeed, every aspect of the reading experience can be distorted to best tell the story that is about to unfold. The setting where all this distortion will occur must support the changes from what the reader has come to expect in ‘real life.’

It would be jarring for a fur-covered fire breathing dragon to appear on the sunbaked beaches of Florida, for example. Not that it couldn’t be done but the author would sure have to work at developing plausibility for such a scenario.

When I created a family of supernatural beings inspired by witches, I needed to base them in a dimension that could support their use of powerful magic as a daily occurrence. I decided that not everyone should have such powerful magic, so therefore my primary characters would be the Guardians to the ruling Council of Master Witches. Their powers would draw from the elements of nature – air, water, fire, earth, and a fifth universal element known as Aether. The rest of the population would have diluted powers linked to nature but not of the same strength.

Since my characters must be freely able to interact with their elements, I supposed that they would need lush outdoor spaces, with mountains and forests, oceans and open skies. Yes, I thought, a rocky island out in the ocean…much like where I grew up! My magical dimension of The Otherland began to take shape. 

The Island of Newfoundland where I was born is definitely on earth although far enough out in the North Atlantic to forget at times. Its history dates back to the Vikings and leans heavily to Irish, who believe in everything from fairies to leprechauns, four-leaf clovers to banshees, and have all sorts of rituals to ward off evil spirits or bad luck. There were still Gaelic speakers in Newfoundland well into the 20th century and, like the Irish, we love to spin a tale!

Of course, my characters would travel to other dimensions, so I adopted the accepted fantasy principles of portal magic and integrated that into my imaginary world. My supernatural beings would have a gateway on the edge of the granite cliffs that allowed them to pass through to alternate realms, including the mortal world. Since I wanted to write a series, this would allow for a revolving door so they could visit a wider range of story settings like the coastal regions of Seattle or the mountains of Montana when adventure called. And adventure does summon the Egan family members...

Mythics and mortals battle dark forces in my epic paranormal mystery adventure trilogy, BEYOND THE MAGIC. In Book 1: WITCH UNBOUND, Marcus, the powerful eldest brother, is sent to the mortal realm to investigate the murder of two long-lost Guardians of The Otherland. Can he abandon everything he’s ever believed to save the life of an extraordinary witch who knows nothing of her heritage? Together they begin a quest to deflect an ancient prophecy that could destroy his world. Marcus’s brother, Theo, and sister, Elowyn, join that quest in Book 2: MORTAL MAGIC and Book 3: REBEL SPELL, respectively, coming in 2023.

Two Easters

find my BWL books here

This year my family is celebrating two Easters…one in America and one in Greece.

Elysian mysteries in ancient Greece celebrate rebirth after death in winter. In modern Greece, Easter celebrations connect with the Christian Orthodox faith.

In Greece...Easter means RED eggs!

  

...and candles at midnight

There have been accounts of dying and rising gods for thousands of years of our history…the resurrection of Egyptian Horus, Mithras, worshipped at Springtime, Dionysus, resurrected by his grandmother. All the stories highlight fertility, conception, renewal, descent into darkness, and the triumph of light over darkness or good over evil. They represent the cycle of the seasons and the stars.

The goddess Eostre

From Lakota scholar Tristan Picotte, here's a New World view: “For many Native American cultures, the seasons also coincide with certain traditions and beliefs. The arrival of warmer weather signals the return of animals and plants. Beautiful greens roll across the plains and mountains, and wildlife forages in the area. Tribes recognize this as the time to gather, confer with one another and make decisions that affect the community as a whole. For our ancestors, these gatherings decided who got to go where, how adversarial tribes were to be handled, and what new resources were available.”

The name of our holiday, Easter, comes from Eostre, goddess of Spring, also Ostara, Austra, and Eastre. She is a spirit of renewal.

The Latin name for Easter, Pascha is derived from the Hebrew Pesach, meaning Passover. Both holidays celebrate rebirth – in Christianity through the resurrection of Jesus, and in Jewish traditions through the liberation of the Israelites from slavery.

Whether you observe a religious holiday or the coming of Spring, I wish you a happy spirit of rebirth.

Inside Police Headquarters

                                        For author and book information, please click this link.

My current novel-in-progress got into police work more than I'd planned when I made two homicide detectives viewpoint narrators. I wrote scenes of them in their workplace from information I recalled from a years ago visit to Calgary Police Service Headquarters - Westwinds, but mostly from my imagination. During revisions of the novel, I made a list of questions I'd ask someone familiar with the place, if I ever had the chance. 

Then a writer-friend mentioned that Calgary homicide detective Dave Sweet had generously answered her questions about her crime novel. I'd enjoyed Dave's presentations on homicide cases at local crime writing events and read his memoir, Skeletons in My Closet. My friend gave me his email address and I wrote to him and asked if he'd mind answering my questions. He replied right away, saying he'd be happy to help. 

I emailed my list to Dave. Again he quickly replied. My first question was my greatest worry: are the homicide and robbery units located in Westwinds?  If they weren't, I'd either have to do a major novel revision or ignore this fact. To my relief, Dave answered yes, both were in the Investigative Services Building on the west side of Westwinds campus. I didn't remember this second building from my visit.  

Evidently, from my questions, Dave got the hint that I was interested in the workplace environment because he offered me a tour of Westwinds, if I was interested. Yes, I was really interested, and the earlier the better. David said the next day would work for him, unless he got a call out before then. I knew once he was hot on a case, I'd lose the opportunity. We arranged to meet the following afternoon at the entrance to the Investigative Services Building. 

In my novel, I'd described a large lobby. Instead, I entered a cozy space, with a few padded chairs and a side room with toys and a computer screen for children who come in with their parents. Dave waved me past the reception desk and into a huge, oval atrium. He explained that CPS bought the building from Nortel in 2009 when the telecommunications company filed for bankruptcy; the rooms along the sides of the atrium had been Nortel's executive offices. CPS converted the building to police use, but this space didn't look like any police stations I've seen on TV. He said they use the atrium for large gatherings and the side rooms for special meetings.   

  

From the atrium, we went to the homicide unit offices. In my novel, I'd given my Detective Mike Vincelli an office with a door. Instead, Calgary detectives work in cubicles. Dave didn't take us in, to protect his colleagues' privacy, but he pointed out a glass enclosed room in the far corner, where the unit's four cold case detectives work. Their windows face west and would have a view of the city skyline and mountain backdrop. My novel had my cold case Detective Novak working in a windowless storage room, which reflected his depressed mood. Now I thought this glass fishbowl office might offer intriguing possibilities.      

Next Dave took me down a corridor to a service elevator, located in Nortel's former delivery dock. This brought us to the holding cells, which I found creepy. The cells were behind solid doors; no looking out through bars. Voices carried between the cells and into the central corridor. Two detainees talked rapidly and loudly. 

"Getting their stories straight," Dave said.  

I looked through a peephole into an empty cell, directly at a toilet. Two narrow benches lined the walls on either side. Dave said they rarely kept people more than thirteen hours, with twenty-fours the maximum before they sent them home or to longer-term facilities. This would be a problem for my book. I'd had the police keep two of my suspects close to forty-eight hours, which I'd thought was the maximum allowable time before laying charges. Could I change this without radically altering my story? 

Sometimes it's better not to know too much. Few readers would notice if I brushed aside this policing fact, but I started contemplating solutions for my novel.    

In the holding area, we went into an interview room, which was smaller and drearier than I'd expected. Cameras in the corners, but no window for outsider viewing. Peeling paint on the greenish walls. The room had an acrid smell. Dave said they let interviewees smoke to not put them on edge. For the same reason, the police don't bring their guns into the room. Interviews are typically one-on-one, although a second detective might sit in or stand outside the door if they anticipate a dangerous situation. 

We left the Investigative Services Building and went outside to the main headquarters building. On the way, we passed a grassy area with benches and a picnic table. In my novel, Novak meets someone connected to the cold case in an outdoor area. I'd need to make some minor changes to the setting. The main headquarters building contains classrooms, training rooms for new recruits, and Westwinds' largest gym, where a recruit class jogged back and forth at an easy pace. Dave said they'd gradually speed up and some would drop out of the pack.   

"They'll never be more fit than they are now," he said. After recruits become full-fledged officers, CPS no longer requires them pass fitness tests. Now that I knew Westwinds had gyms, I could include my line that Novak had never entered one, to illustrate his disinterest in exercise.     

I came home with lots of material to work my novel-in-progress. Many were easy fixes. I'd asked Dave, Do police generally refer to the building as headquarters or Westwinds or something else?  Westwinds usually, he said. In my manuscript, I changed this with a simple word find/replace. For my largest problem, I came up with a (hopefully) good reason for the police to keep one of my suspects for two days, but had them release the other one on time. This involved deleting, shuffling, and changing much material, but I think it improved the overall storyline. 

While my tour gave me extra writing work, it wasn't onerous. I think the new details give my story pizazz. Maybe readers sense when something rings true. And, if nothing else, I found my look inside police headquarters interesting.  

Observations From a Picky Reader, by Karla Stover

 

By The Same Author:

Murder: When One Isn't Enough

A Line to Murder

Wynter's Way

Parlor Girls

BWLPUBLISHING.ca

If the word, "Scottish" refers to whiskey, why is my cellophane tape called "Scotch Tape"?

I'm just asking.

Is it wrong to be a critical reader, or does paying attention to other's mistakes make us better writers? The more fiction I read ( or see ) the more picky I become. I will start with the TV show, Fraser. I wasn't a fan but occasionally we watched an episode and the only one I can remember involved a thunder storm. Everyone was in Fraser's apartment, as they usually were, while outside the picture windows thunder and lightening crashed and flashed. It created good atmosphere except this was supposed to be Seattle and we rarely have thunder storms here on Puget Sound; if we do, they last about five minutes.

Another example I recall took place in Hollywood years ago when the book, The Egg and I was being made into a movie ( and not a very good one). One of the characters was named Geoduck pronounced Gooey Duck. The book's author, Betty MacDonald, was on the set during filming and why she allowed the name to be pronounced Gee (to rhyme with we) Oh Duck is beyond me.

Picky, picky you say but I'm on a roll. Several years ago my husband and I went to visit a lilac garden. It was 80 or so years old and had an interesting history so I read a book about how the garden came to be. The thing I remember most is that the gardener picked flowers from her yard for a funeral or something and the bouquet included asters and daffodils among others. Those two particular flowers bloom three or four months apart so how did she manage this? By poor research on the part of the author.

More recently I picked up a book with a creepy-sounding title and cover to match. As I recall, the author was a New Yorker which is probably why she filled the landscape with pine trees and had it rain practically all day every day. Yes it rains in Puget Sound but almost never does it go on for hours and hours on end. Generally half the day will be dry, and as for trees, well we have lots of cedar, fir, alder and madrone trees but not many pines. I rechecked this morning when I took my dog for a walk in the woods.

My writer friend Pat Harrington (Death Stalks the Khmer) always said books are like a 3-legged stool: equal parts people, place and plot. My own particular weakness is "place." Pat did an excellent job of getting into the heart of the local Cambodian community because she worked in it, dealing with the refugees and their customs, and problems in assimilating.  C.S. Harris, author of the Sebastian St. Cyr mysteries also does a really good job of recreating Prince Regency England. 

As for how to write about Puget Sound, I just discovered The Big Both Ways, a book that starts in Seattle and ends in Alaska. Boy did the author do a good job.

I discussed this with some friends Wednesday over lunch and we agreed that fiction writing demands a certain amount of fact checking to capture the reader's interest.

The 3 books I mentioned make me extra careful of surroundings.

Going to the Dentist – By Barbara Baker

 

Since I was a kid, I’ve dreaded going to the dentist. So why would I volunteer to take my granddaughter to see one?

“She’s never had teeth pulled before,” my son says. “Are you sure you want to take her?”

“Yup. I’m not the one pulling her teeth out. The dentist is the bad guy. Not me.”

When we get to the dentist’s office, Ainsley grabs my hand. “Come on.”

She leads me through a colourful hallway, and we climb twisty stairs. At the top, we’re in a tree fort. A tree fort in a dentist office. How cool is that? We test out bean bag chairs in front of a big tv while cartoons race across the screen. Then we move on to a computer at the base of the tree and Ainsley tries out her math skills until they call her name.

“Follow me,” the dental assistant, Breanne says. “Jump right up here.” She taps the blue chair.

Ainsley hands me her stuffies for safe keeping, puts on the fashionable glasses and gets on the chair.

“So, you’ve got some stubborn baby teeth,” Breanne says and then explains what’s going to happen. She’s animated and entertaining and makes it sound like what’s about to happen will be fun.

I cradle the stuffies and watch Ainsley’s hands. They’re relaxed. Fingers spread out. What a brave girl. If she knew what was about to happen, she’d clench them into a ball.

“Hello,” the dentist greets us in a cheerful voice. “I’m going to put in some freezing so you won’t feel anything when the teeth come out.” He pulls Ainsley’s lip out and taps where the needle will go. “But you might feel a bit of a pinch when I do it.”

Ainsley nods.

The dentist slides the longest needle ever towards Ainsley but keeps it down low out of her line of vision. Clever guy.

“Open wide,” he says. “Here comes the little pinch.”

I squeeze the stuffies. Ainsley’s index finger taps the chair once but then relaxes. The dentist jiggles her lip while telling her baby teeth sometimes need help to come out so the adult teeth, which are currently facing the back of her mouth, grow properly. He slips the needle out and passes it discreetly to Breanne.

“I bet your lip feels funny now.”

Ainsley nods again.

“That’s the freezing working.” He smiles. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

“What do you think the tooth fairy will bring?” I say.

“I don’t know if the Tooth Fairy is real.” Ainsley scrunches up her lip.

“Okay. But if she is real, how much money would she bring?”

“She brings money?” Ainsley puckers up her mouth and presses a finger on her lip. “It feels really big.”

“Yup, it’ll feel like that but,” Breanne passes her a small mirror, “look, it’s not big at all.”

Ainsley tips the mirror back and forth to examine her lip.

When the dentist returns, I sit up straight, reorganize the stuffies and squish them together. Tight.

“Okay, kiddo. Let's do this.” The dentist takes a silver plier-like grabby tool, slides it down out of sight again and brings it up to Ainsley’s chin. “Open wide.”

I perch on the edge of my chair and watch Ainsley’s hand. Still relaxed. She’s such a trooper.

“There’s one.”

The tooth pings into a container. He brings the grabby tool back to Ainsley’s chin. Her fingers, her hands – nothing flinches.

“There’s the second one.”

Ping. It also falls into the container.

The dentist looks at me. “Tell her parents not to worry. Those adult teeth will move right into place. Probably in a few weeks.” He turns back to Ainsley. “Good job. I knew you could do it.”

Breanne gives Ainsley two tokens to claim her prizes and then shows her the tiny teeth tucked safe in a miniature treasure chest.

“Wait till the Tooth Fairy sees these.” Ainsley skips down the hallway.

Treehouses? Painless tooth removal? And prizes? What a great day! For all of us.

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books