The Scariest Book

The other day, I was chatting with my favorite book club. Since Halloween will soon be here, we got onto the topic of scary stories. The question was raised, "What is the scariest book you ever read?"

I do not read horror or any other terrifying tales. I like romance and happy endings. However, for a while in my younger years I subscribed to the Book of the Month Club and so I wound up with a book that scared me so much I only read the first chapter. Then I set it aside for about half a year before I tackled it again. Eventually, that book was made into a movie. Against my better judgement, I went to the movie. Hubby wanted to see it. I spent much of that movie holding my hands over my eyes. I walked out of the movie with legs that felt as if they were made of rubber. 

The book and the movie made from the book was Jaws. Some folks really don't think that's very frightening. But I live near the ocean and grew up near Matawan, New Jersey. In 1916, a shark swam up Matawan Creek and attacked four people. Killing two. You can see a video explaining the event and exactly where it happened here: https://youtu.be/fFHHwe9h_2k?si=8fmxn3r-cek80F5u

I enjoy the beach. I love living near the sea. But there are dangers and everyone should be aware of them. 

What's the scariest book you ever read? 

Will I Write Your Book?

Invariably, someone will come up to me at a talk or book signing and tell me they have a great idea. Ideas are wonderful. I have lots of them, too.

This someone tells me their idea would make a great book.

Yes, the plot sounds entertaining and it probably would make a good movie, too, if they could get a filmmaker interested in it. I've always thought several of my own books would make good movies.

Next, this someone asks if I will write their book for them.

My answer is always the same. No, I will not write the book for them.

"But it's a terrific idea!" says this someone (who is afraid someone else will steal their idea and make a million dollars with it).

Ideas are all over the place--like pollen in the springtime. For whatever idea an author has cooked up, another author has used the very same idea.

Ideas cannot be copyrighted. (This is a fact.)

Writing a book takes a lot of time. Each word must be typed into a document. The document will then need to be edited. There are many factors involved in a good edit besides punctuation and spelling errors.  The book must be structurally sound, dialogue should flow in a natural manner, there should be variety in the author's choice of words, and length of sentences. Verbs should be active and not passive.

There are people who will write a book for someone else, but they need to be paid to do it, because it is work to sit down at a computer and type for hours and hours. It is not an easy job. I give this someone the name of a friend who has a business writing books for other people.

After editing, the book needs an eye-catching cover. Finally, it needs to be marketed, which is the most difficult job of all.

Odds are the author will not make a million dollars.

My someone goes away, rather disappointed.

I go home, turn on my computer, and happily type out another chapter using my own idea.

Our Changing Vocabulary

I bought this book many years ago because I always wanted to write historicals. It took a while before I had the nerve to do it but I succeeded. I love writing historicals! I love research! However, English is constantly evolving and English Through the Ages ensures that my characters speak words appropriate for the time period in which the story is taking place. dictionary.com also gives the dates that most words were in use and I often use it just to be sure because it's quick.

Nevertheless, reading the lists of words in English Through the Ages for the time period during which my novel is set gives me a better idea of what life was like then--what was new, fresh, and contemporary.

For instance, the word cerulean was born about 1670. I love that color. Ethereal was also in use at that time as well as jaded. Wonderful descriptive words!

Transmogrify was in use by 1660. That would be terrific for a paranormal.

Then there's homemade. Homemade was in use by 1660. That surprised me. I would have thought almost everything at that point was homemade. I guess Mom's homemade biscuits have always tasted better than the ones that anyone else makes.

So if you're going to write historical fiction, I strongly suggest you get a copy of English Through the Ages.

Respect the Power of Moving Water

      I snapped this photo from the pier at Ocean Grove on Monday. The waves were huge and dangerous. That much water barreling toward someone can knock them down. Deadly rip currents can pull people way out. There have been many rescues and some drownings at the shore. After Labor Day there aren’t any lifeguards at the beach, but the weather is still warm and some people will risk their lives to cool off. 

     As I stood on the pier, the waves slammed into the pilings and the force shook the entire pier. I didn’t stay there long. Hurricane Lee is not near New Jersey, but it stirred up those waves. Angry water is something to respect and avoid. 

     The first hurricane I remember as a child was Hurricane Donna in 1960. That hurricane did not make a direct hit on NJ. It was 80 miles east of Atlantic City as it went by. But the water level at Sandy Hook reached 10.1 feet above mean low water. Only Superstorm Sandy went higher at 13.21 feet.

     I grew up in a house on a hill over a lake that drained into Raritan Bay. When Hurricane Donna went by, the water from the bay came into the lake. The lake rose to within a foot of the top of the hill. The French doors blew open with a gust of wind, but we managed to shut them again and put a chair up against them to prevent them from blowing open again. Then a tree fell on our neighbor’s chimney. 

     My mother ordered us to put on boots and raincoats. She figured we would have to evacuate. Fortunately, the water receded and Hurricane Donna moved on to Long Island and New England. We were safe.

     The fresh water fish in the lake died. My brother and I tried to save some of them by filling up buckets with fresh water and putting the fish into the buckets. But it was hopeless. All the fish died. 

     Never underestimate the power of moving water. Stay safe. 

Two Contracts in One Month!

 I received a second book contract from Pelican Book Group for a new manuscript, LOVE'S GIFT. I am thrilled! This is a historical romance set in 1903. The heroine, Amaranth, is Chinese and the Chinese Exclusion Laws were in effect in the United States. You can read about those laws here: https://www.loc.gov/classroom-materials/immigration/chinese/exclusion/

Found as a newborn on the beach and raised in an orphanage, she was trained as a secretary, but nobody wants to hire her due to her ethnicity. At last, she gets a job working for a suffragist. However, Amaranth fears getting in trouble since she could be sent to China, where she doesn't know anyone and cannot speak the language. 

It will be a while until the book is released. There will be edits and all the other stuff that goes into putting a book together. But I am delighted!

Two contracts in one month is a record for me. 

💕💕💕💕💕  

Don't Pick This Up

 I am deep into editing THE KEEPER'S PROMISE--or whatever the book will be eventually called. Yes, the name may change. But editing is always a good thing. It makes the book better. My editor has suggested adding a scene and that's fine with me. It should round things out a bit while tossing in another red herring. (I love those!)

From butterflyhobbist.com

Despite the editing, I make an effort to walk everyday. Sometimes, if it's hot or raining the walk is inside a large building. But this past week we enjoyed some lovely summer weather and I came across something I never saw before. It was this caterpillar.

I did not touch it. I learned a long time ago that touching a caterpillar can be a bad idea. Many will give you a rash at the least. This one, the American Dagger Moth Caterpillar, will sting you with those long, black bristles, which are poisonous. I let him go on his way.

They live on oaks, maples, walnut trees, and so on. We have lots of those trees around here. 

Of course, I'm not particularly fond of creepy, crawly things in general--except for ladybugs, lightning bugs, and other insects that don't bite. 

So, be careful when you take a walk and don't pick up the American Dagger Moth Caterpillar. They are cute but dangerous. 

A New Contract for THE KEEPER'S PROMISE!

     Once upon a time, I visited the west coast of New Jersey. There are marshes, sand dunes, fishing boats, and lighthouses just as there are on the eastern coast of New Jersey. A festival was going on at the time with plenty of activities. Festivals happen all over NJ in the summertime. 

     One unique part of the festival in the small town was a lovely spot for creating art. On one bridge, easels were set up with paints and water. I attempted to paint a picture of the marsh. 

     I also ate some very fresh seafood, visited a lighthouse, and went for a ride on a boat. I've eaten plenty of fresh seafood, visited most of the lighthouses in NJ, and gone for plenty of boat rides, too. But on this trip I got an idea for a story. 

    Sometimes, it doesn't take much for my mind to start churning with ideas. 

     But that's how THE KEEPER'S PROMISE started. Awe Struck Ebooks gave me a contract for the book in 2006. It was published in both a digital and print edition. I received some great reviews and was a finalist in the EPPIE contest. Then Awe Struck folded. 😢 

     Since the book is a Christian romance, I asked my publisher at Pelican Book Group whether she would be interested in the story. This week, I received a new contract for THE KEEPER'S PROMISE. I am thrilled. I am so happy the book will be available for other readers once more. 

     I don't know when it will be released yet. But I'm looking forward to it. In the meantime, I'm filling out questionnaires about the book, writing a tagline, a blurb, and all that sort of stuff. There will be editing--as there always is. Every book can be made better!

💗💗💗💗💗

Barbies in My Life

 

I haven’t seen the Barbie Movie yet, but I will at some point. I still have my Barbie and Ken dolls. They live in tattered boxes in my closet. Barbie’s ears once had earrings but they changed the color of her plastic skin. There are suggestions on the Internet with remedies for the green skin, but I haven’t tried anything yet.

My original Barbie was a very cheap imitation of the real thing. My parents didn’t have much money for brand names. But like most cheap imitations, my original Barbie’s hair fell out. I was visiting at my grandmother’s house at the time and decided to hold a funeral for the bald fake Barbie. My cousins and sisters attended. However, after I thought about it, I figured I could make a wig for the doll out of black thread. So, I exhumed fake Barbie and sewed a bunch of thread together and glued it to her head. 

Around that time, I started babysitting and was able to gather enough cash together to buy a real Barbie and later a Ken. 

Since my sisters were considerably younger, I continued playing with dolls for quite a while. I made clothes out of scraps of fabric and my sisters joined in. The clothes weren’t fancy. We didn’t have patterns. We didn’t hem anything and we often simply tied a thinner scrap of fabric around the waist to hold everything together, but he ball gowns were beautiful in our imaginations. However, when I could I purchased genuine Barbie clothing, but it was terribly expensive—so I didn’t buy much. It was more fun to cut up fabric and pretend.

As I have said before, writing is like playing with dolls--only there are no dolls. There are characters in my head and I manipulate them while writing down the scenes. And since I write romance, there will be a happy ending. 

💗💗💗💗💗

Guest Post: JORDAN VALLEY ROUNDUP by Susan Spess

My guest today is Susan Spess with her latest release JORDAN VALLEY ROUNDUP. She said, "This story fills my heart! It’s the story of rodeos, which I adore, and iconic cowboys, much like John Wayne in the movie, HONDO. (Watched it this morning for probably the 100^th time.) My favorite character is Retta, the mother and spiritual leader of a red-headed group of boys, who are far from perfect but are extremely loveable. It was great getting to know this group of souls, even the evil mare, Man Eater. I watched as Jessie calmed her and made her able to get along with others, including her own filly. For me, the best part is the way they gently guide Jessie to know Jesus as she gives her heart to Him."

Here's a bit more about the story!

While barrel racing to earn enough to pay her uncle's debts, Jessie Cobler's horse falls. She cries out to God, certain she's about to die, but the quick action of Mitch Tanner saves her life. She accepts an offer to stay on the cowboy's family's ranch so she and her horse can rest and heal. It's the perfect place to hide from those who threaten to tear her dreams apart.

Bull rider Mitch Tanner is determined to earn professional status to honor his deceased father, but running a ranch and helping with his younger siblings leaves time for little else. Having Jessie on the ranch is a distraction he can't afford. After all, he doesn't have time for love.

As Mitch and Jesse work together to rescue abused animals will Mitch discover there's more to life than earning a status? Will he be able to help heal Jesse's broken heart and spirit and lead her to the Lord?

Now a sweet taste of the book with an excerpt!                                                                        

Focusing on the ride, she walked Buck into position. The excitement built, adrenalin shooting through her muscles like lightning strikes. 

Tugging her Stetson low so there was no chance of losing it, she leaned into the saddle, took a firm grip on the reins, inhaled, and blew it out long and slow until her lungs were empty. Finally, she booted him in the ribs. 

He took off in an explosion of energy while she leaned into the run. She concentrated on the first barrel, the cheers of the crowd dimming to near silence. Spectator faces blurred past as they rounded the second barrel. Yes! It felt good. This was where she belonged. 

Buck ran flat out as they charged the third turn. Heading into the pocket, he dug in, and the world shifted. Dipped. She snatched a breath and held tight to the saddle horn, her heart pounding as he fought for footing in the loose earth. She gave him his head, hoping, by some miracle, he could stay on his feet. 

Buck’s back left leg slid from under them. Fear ripped through her as they dropped, then slammed into the ground. The saddle horn jerked from her grip. He floundered, trying to get up. She kicked her foot free and tried to shove away from the panicked animal, but she couldn’t move. Her left leg was under him. 

Stories of riders killed from similar falls flashed through her mind. Buck fought his way to his feet, yanking her leg high in the air with her foot through the stirrup and leaving her head on the ground. 

His shod hooves cut so close, he kicked dirt in her face as he danced with anxiety. If she could catch her breath, make him hear her, he might calm. But she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t find words to ease him. He threw his head back, gathering himself as he looked for a way to escape the nightmare. 

Slamming shut her eyes, she wrapped her arms around her head. 

God! Help me.

Available at: 

Amazon

Pelican Book Group

Kobo

Visit Susan online and find out more:

INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/sshay74020/

FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/susanspessshayauthor

TWITTER: https://twitter.com/shaywriter

http://susanspess.com

Guest Post: THE LITTLE THINGS by M. Jean Pike

     My guest today is author M. Jean Pike. Her favorite things are changing seasons, unexpected blessings, and love that lasts forever. With a writing career that has spanned two decades, Jean combines an insatiable curiosity about humans and why they do the things they do, with a keen interest in the quirky and offbeat things in life to bring readers unforgettable tales of life, love, and the inner workings of the human heart. 
     Jean cut her teeth on short stories and inspirational nonfiction. Her articles have been featured in Chicken Soup for the Soul, GRIT, Lutheran Digest and others. After several years of writing short fiction, she decided to try her hand at novel writing. Her debut took eight years to complete! She has since penned ten others. Number eleven, a contemporary Christian Romance, The Little Things, is available now!

You can visit her at her website mjeanpike.wordpress.com

Or check out her tweets at twitter.com/jeanpikeauthor

 Here's the book blurb!

A decade ago, Rochelle Delany made a decision that changed her life forever. Wanting more than just football games and potluck suppers, she boarded a bus for California and didn't look back. But instead of a glamorous life, she became trapped in a nightmare of labor trafficking. Now, she's made a daring escape and returns home to Ohio.

Sandy Fairbrother has a problem with trust. Twice betrayed, he now puts his faith only in God. He' s a single dad doing his best to grow his construction business and raise his young son. But haunted by an impulsive kiss Rochelle gave him fifteen years ago, her unexpected return has him rethinking things. He' s been given a second chance to win her heart. And this time, he plans to succeed.

Rochelle barely remembers Sandy, but she's drawn to his goodness. But just when she thinks she's found peace, her past catches up with her, and she finds herself in danger of losing the only safe haven she' s ever known.

Read an Excerpt!

He stood there, staring at her, as if he were waiting for something. Finally, he said, “You’re Rochelle, right?”

 She searched his face, clearly at a disadvantage. ”Yes.” 

“Sandy Fairbrother. Maybe you don’t remember me.”

She vaguely remembered the name. Her gaze moved over him, her mind trying to reconcile this big, handsome man with the thin, quiet boy she barely remembered from high school. Nice enough looking, but not gorgeous. Athletic enough to be on the sports teams, football, she thought, but not first string. Just an average boy. 

“Of course,” she said. 

“So, you’re back.”

“The prodigal daughter returns.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Bess was a wonderful woman.”

“Thank you.” An awkward moment of silence passed. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Austin mentioned that he assumed Bess left the house to the two of you in her will. He said he was hoping to unload it quickly and wondered if I’d be interested in buying it.”

The shock of his words was like a second slap. No, more like a throat punch. “Why would you be?”

“I own a few rental properties around town, as well as a small construction company. I do renovations, buy and flip homes, that sort of thing. I told Austin I’d be happy to take a look at the place.”

 His words spun around inside her head, making her dizzy. The one place in the world where she felt safe was in danger of being sold? Torn away from her? Fear slithered inside her stomach and rose up the back of her throat as her last hope of security slipped away. Oh, Lord. Don’t let me be sick. Pulling in a breath to calm herself, she tossed the checkered dishcloth into the sink.

“Austin really should have discussed this with me first, before talking to you. We haven’t made any definite plans for the house yet.”

“Right. Well, I just thought—‛”

“You thought what?” She fixed him with an angry stare. “My foster mother is barely laid to rest, and you come swooping in here to take advantage of us for the opportunity to feather your own nest?”

 He seemed momentarily taken aback. Then he grinned, infuriating her farther. “I wouldn’t exactly say I swooped. I walked in through the front door. After your brother invited me.”

“Well, I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time. Until further notice, this house is not for sale. Understood?”

 He watched her for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Amusement, definitely, but something else as well. 

“Understood.”

 

You can find the books in the links below: 

Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Little-Things-M-Jean-Pike-ebook/dp/B0C1ZYD5VB

Pelican:

https://pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=37_46&products_id=1626 

Guest Post: SEARCH LIGHT by Annette O'Hare

 

My guest today is Annette O’Hare, an award-winning author of   inspirational romance from a bygone era. Her love for preserving history shines through in her novels. Drawing on her background in drama and comedic sketch writing, Annette desires to reveal the love of God to her readers while hopefully giving them something to smile about. She and husband Dan live in Southeast Texas and enjoy spending time with family, RVing, and saltwater fishing.

Annette's latest release is SEARCH LIGHT, is a Bolivar Lighthouse inspirational historical.

Read the blurb!

     In 1942, Women’s Army Corporal, Pauline Lopez is on duty atop the Bolivar Point Lighthouse. Her job: to spot German submarines in the Gulf of Mexico responsible for sinking supply ships bound for the U.S. When Pauline reports enemy activity, the call is deemed a false alarm, soiling her military reputation.
     Pauline meets Army Air Corps pilot, Captain Frank Chessher at a USO dance. Frank believes Pauline’s story, but the next time she reports enemy activity, no one believes her. 
      Will Frank hear her mayday call and come to her rescue, or will she become another casualty of war?

Read an excerpt:

    Mary Ellen was right. No sane person would risk coming anywhere near the Texas Gulf Coast
with the fortifications of the United States behind it. And yet somehow, freighters were still being sunk or damaged and their crewmen injured or even killed by enemy fire.
    A glint of light flashed from the water. Pauline jumped to attention and raised the binoculars to get a better look. “Oh, my goodness.” She adjusted the focus wheel making the object appear crisper through the eyepieces. She turned to her friend.
    “What is it now?” Mary Ellen’s devil may care manner annoyed Pauline.
    “Come here. I need you to see this.”
    Mary Ellen’s shoulders drooped; her head dipped to the side. “Really?”
    Pauline pleaded with her eyes. “Yes, really!”
    “All right.” Mary Ellen groaned and rose from the floor with the speed of a wounded tortoise.
    “Would you please hurry?”
    “Okay, okay.”
    Pauline took the binocular strap from around her neck and handed them to Mary Ellen. She pointed out the window. “Look down there, directly to the south. It’s in the water just west of Fort Travis.”
    “It’s pitch black. I can’t see a thing. What am I looking for?”
    “In the water close to shore. Can’t you see it?”
    Mary Ellen sighed. “No. What… Hey, wait a minute.”
    “Do you see it now?”
    “Yes.” Mary Ellen giggled and continued looking through the binoculars. “Oh, boy, those guys are going to be in a heap of trouble.”
    “What? Give me those.” Pauline yanked the eyeglasses from her hands.
    “Hey!”
    Pauline took another look, confirming what she’d seen before, and lowered the binoculars.         
    “What do you think you’re seeing? Because I see a rubber raft full of men, rowing toward Galveston Island.”
    “Calm down, Pauline.”
    “How can I calm down when we’ve just spotted the main thing, we were warned to keep a look out for? What is wrong with you?” Pauline trembled.
     Mary Ellen grasped her friend’s forearms to steady her. “Come on now. You need to get a grip on yourself.” She gave her a reassuring gaze. “Now listen to me. I don’t want either one of us looking like a couple of fools for calling this in. It looks to me like a bunch of kids out on a jaunt. You know how kids are. School is out, and they’re all up to no good.” Mary Ellen giggled. “They probably stole their pop’s raft. So, what do you say, can’t we just let this one go?”
    Pauline steeled her body, willing away the shuddering inside her. She ripped her arms away from Mary Ellen’s grip on her. “I can’t believe you. This is a matter of national security.”
    Raising her hands, Mary Ellen backed away, she puffed out her chest.  “Look, I just don’t want you getting called on the carpet by the Little Colonel for reporting mischievous schoolboys having a little fun on a nice summer night.”
    Chatter crackled over the two-way radio, drawing their attention. Pauline picked up the handset from the floor and started for the door. The long cord trailed behind her. “I’m going back out to get a better look.”
    “Suit yourself.”

Follow the links below to learn more: 

On The Web:      www.annetteohare.com

On Amazon:       https://amzn.to/3opcru1

On B&N:             https://bit.ly/44dfLbL

On PBG:             https://bit.ly/46zmY7G

On FB:                https://www.facebook.com/annetteohareauthor/

On Twitter:         https://twitter.com/AnnetteOHare

On Pinterest:     https://www.pinterest.com/annetteohare/

The First Time

That's little Penny. I made this sketch when I was in my early twenties, but that's how I saw myself as a kid--a skinny klutz. Notice the bandage on my shin and the scraped knee.

One summer, at the age of nine, I decided to write a book. It was a very short book. I used green ink on yellow legal paper and added illustrations. Not many people have seen it. Today it would be considered a paranormal romance--mostly because in the story the protagonist could fly. If I was able to fly at that point, maybe I wouldn't have had so many scraped knees and other injuries from tripping over my own pigeon-toed feet.

I enjoyed every moment of writing that story. That is what got me hooked on writing. Still,  I had other things to do as well--like get an education, work, get married, and raise children.

I knew, even as a youngster, that my writing would probably not be profitable--at least, not for a while.

So as the years went by, I was often too busy to write, though sometimes I wrote poetry in desperation because the urge to put words down on paper and express myself remained strong. However, my poetry was horrible--or at least when I handed it in as an assignment, the instructors wrote all over it and thoroughly discouraged me because I was not brave enough yet to believe in myself.

Courage is a necessary part of writing but it took a long time for me to develop that type of confidence.

Nurturing my children reignited all my creative juices. I read a book on smuggling as I nursed the baby at my breast. Suddenly, I had a whole novel running around in my head--and it kept clamoring to be let out.

It wasn't until my youngest turned four that the book I had been holding inside for quite a while refused to wait any longer. I was about to return to work in September. If I was going to write a book, I figured it was now or never. I set up my old manual typewriter on the dining room table and I typed out the story--page after page piled up.

Truthfully, writing in a great rush was like flying. It consumed me. I lived in the story and only came up for air to feed the family and tend to laundry. It took me two months to reach the end.

Then we went on a camping vacation and hubby took the time to read my story. He was surprised. "Where'd you learn to write like that?" he asked.

The truth was that I had a rough draft in my hands and it took a long, long time for that book to be published. However, by then I had acquired the necessary determination to survive endless rejections.

Writing is a tough business which requires the same kind of tenacity as a superhero, but writing a story is better than a magic carpet ride. Well, it was for me and still is.

That's why I write.

Too Many Distractions?

I am the kid in the middle, holding the baby--my sister--and pointing to the picture in the book. My brother is holding the book. I am wearing a lovely dress and my brother is missing a few teeth. 😁 My sister is looking at the books on the shelf. We always had plenty of books and since Dad was a journalist, we had lots of newspapers, too.

There were fewer diversions in those days. Maybe that's why more people read books and wrote letters. Yes, we had a television, but we did not have 200 channels. Every summer some tubes in the television would burn out and my mother refused to get it repaired until September. So we caught lightning bugs and roasted marshmallows on the beach and we read books, and wrote stuff.

When I was several years older than I am in the photo above, my brother and I built a treehouse one summer. A tree by the southeast corner of our house featured a triple trunk, which made designing the treehouse easy. From scraps of lumber we put together a rather rudimentary structure. My brother did most of the actual construction. He wielded a hammer better than I did. I straightened out the bent nails we gathered to use for our building.

Eventually, the treehouse was finished. There wasn’t much to it—a floor, a simple railing, and a roof. We didn’t have any paint. The wood quickly turned to a weathered gray color.

Once it was done, my brother busied himself with another project. He was more of a doer. I was the dreamer. So the treehouse became my private domain where I would sit, gaze out at the lake, and make up stories without being bothered by distractions--like my younger sisters. 🙂

Life was simpler and there seemed to be more time for everything.

Today, everyone is so busy! There are people who don't read a single book in an entire year. There are people who never write a letter and have given up sending cards. There are so many forms of entertainment vying for their attention that books and writing are altogether forgotten.

I find that very sad.

Going, Going...Gone

My mother was always passionate about art. She painted or sketched every day. However, after my brother died her will to paint vanished for a time. It eventually returned but in the meantime she began to collect things. 

I remember well the first garage sale I went to with Mom. We stood in a crowd of people gathered outside a one car garage early one morning. When the garage door opened, everyone rushed in to see what was for sale. Mom headed for the Depression Glass. She loved the beautiful colors and patterns--remembering it from her youth when the pieces were handed out at movie theaters. 

She became very knowledgeable about the glass and gathered quite an enviable collection of it. She also decided to buy some other antiques. She loved beautiful, old things. 

Soon, Mom and another woman decided to go into business with an antique shop. They did well for a time and Mom enjoyed interacting with customers, but eventually there was a disagreement between Mom and the other woman and so the store closed.

Then Mom displayed her wares at a booth in an antique center, but as she aged that got to be too much for her and she put her lovely things on display in a small case in another antique store closer to home. However, even that became too much of a chore as she became frail. An auctioneer sold off most of her collection of Depression glass. But several large pieces of furniture she did not need and a lot of boxes cluttered up the basement.

We contacted the same auctioneer who liquidated her Depression Glass and he set up a date for an auction of my mother's stuff. He took the Victorian rocker, the old-fashioned washstand, the oak server and china cabinet along with a number of ceramic pieces. My mother was extremely apprehensive about the sale.

The evening before the auction, she had trouble breathing and went to the hospital. She had water in her lungs. Nevertheless, she wanted hubby and I to go to the auction. We did. It was a bittersweet experience to see my mother's treasures on display and it was at times disturbing to discover that some of the things I always considered most valuable went for so little. On the other hand, some items fetched a surprising amount.

In general, the antique furniture did not sell for much. Nevertheless, Mom did have some Hess toy trucks, some Roseville china, a bit of sterling, and one very old souvenir from the 1851 World's Fair which attracted some interesting bidding.

Mom got out of the hospital just as the auction was ending. She was pleased with the total amount of the sale, though disappointed that some of her things did not make more money.

Still, she told me, "See, you should save everything." 

After she died, the process of cleaning out the house was overwhelming and we needed help. For a long time after she died, I couldn't deal with walking into an antique store because I would invariably see some of the things Mom loved so much. 

Of course, when it comes to collecting I have way too many books. I make small attempts to cull the collection at times, but it's difficult. For the most part, the books aren't antiques or even collectibles but I just happen to love them. Sigh. 

The Village Hardware Store

     A long time ago, our town was considered a village. There was a bank, a small post office, bookstore, a small library, a hardware store, a luncheonette, a church, a grocery store, a historic inn, and a beauty parlor.
     The area of the town remains the same, but since we moved here several housing developments went up. The road going through town is always busy. The historic inn was demolished and a large restaurant replaced it. Many other businesses were added. Some concerned citizens managed to save one small plot of land from development and that became our village green--but otherwise this isn't a village anymore. 

     Of all the things I miss about our little village, I miss the hardware store most of all. The owner of the hardware store always had whatever we needed--even in small quantities, and since all the houses back then had been built by the same developer, he had plenty of advice on how to fix a problem. 

     The hardware store was less than a mile from our house. When one of our daughters accidentally broke a pane of glass on the door, I went to the hardware store and got a piece of glass in exactly the right size. I put it in place before hubby came home from work. 

     When a friend's child accidentally put a hole in the sheetrock, I got what I needed from the hardware store and had the hole patched before hubby walked in the door. I did such a great job, he didn't even notice the repair. 

     I never could manage using hubby's old, worn-out Phillips screwdriver, so I bought one at the hardware store with nice, raised rubber grips on the handle. Hubby has since confiscated it. 😂

     Progress is good and we can still drive to a huge place like Lowe's or Home Depot, but it was nice to get individual attention and help from someone who knew exactly what was needed for the job. 

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Bargains On Books In June!

Starting on June 1st, Amazon has chosen over 100 Pelican Book Group titles to be included in a combination of June Kindle Daily Deals or Kindle Monthly Deals.The discount on monthly deals will be set at ALL retailers. Three of my books have been chosen for the Monthly Kindle Deals. ANGEL OF THE L TRAIN, DADDY WANTED, AND PATRIOT'S PRIDE will be on sale for the month for $1.99. 

In addition,  many of the other Pelican Book Group titles will be on sale. So you'll be able to save money and stock up a bunch of books to read this summer. 😁 What fun! 

I Grow Stories, Not Plants

If I were a farmer, I would starve. So far this year, my chives, oregano, peppermint, and lavender are doing well. They must be hardy plants. I gave up growing tomato plants years ago because I would need an eight foot high fence to protect them from the deer. This year, deer ate the shoots of the allium bulbs I planted in the fall.

However, deer are not my only problem. I have a brown thumb. Either there's too much shade or not enough. Either there's too much water or not enough. Maybe the soil is anemic and needs fertilizer or maybe I need to mulch.

I work well with words, but plants are impossible. If I type a story and save it, the document stays in the same place, ready to greet me the next time I open it. If I dig a hole, drop in a plant, and water it, it dies or gets eaten.

My sister, the horticulturist, gave me a flowering plant, Bouncing Bet. She thinks I may not be able to kill it. The flowers resemble phlox, but Bouncing Bet is an invasive weed. This is great. Invasive weeds survive on whatever rain falls on them. They don't need fertilizer and flourish in nutritionally deficient soil.

I found some interesting information about bouncing bet online. (Check it out here.) The plant is toxic. The deer should get a tummy ache. Perhaps they'll avoid my yard. Then I can spend less time outside trying to make things grow and more time writing.

Growing stories is fun.

ANGEL OF THE L TRAIN Giveaway!

One hundred copies of the ebook edition of ANGEL OF THE L TRAIN will be given away on Goodreads. There are 9 more days before the giveaway ends. Sign up now and take a chance on winning a terrific story!

Here's the link for the giveaway: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61944010-angel-of-the-l-train

True Love

Above are my maternal grandparents in 1975. They are sitting on a seat from an old automobile on their backporch. Married in 1919 (you can see their wedding photo HERE), they spent fifty-nine years together and had seven children. My grandfather was a coal miner, but he did some farming, too. My grandfather died in 1978 at the age of 86, despite black lung and a few heart attacks. My grandmother died in 1990.

They argued all the time. 😊 My grandmother was the most lovable woman I ever met, but she could be feisty, too. When my grandfather kept insisting they did not need a new stove, she decided to go on strike and refused to cook. Eventually, my grandfather gave in and Grandma got a new stove.

They had plenty of trouble in their fifty-nine years of marriage, but they stuck together and worked things out. That's true love.

2.2 Million Words!

 

     The New Jersey Romance Writers  met last weekend in person for the first time in three years. It was a big celebration marking the 2.2 million words written by the members of the group in February of this year. Every February NJRW provides the JeRoWriMo challenge for each individual author to write 30,000 words in that month. It's like NaNoWriMo but less stressful since it is 20,000 words less than NaNoWriMo AND it occurs in a month without Thanksgiving or holiday preparations. In fact, February's best holiday is Valentine's Day! What could be a better incentive than to write about love in the month of love. 

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     Those who finished the challenge received a pin to commemorate their success. Everyone who took on the challenge got chocolate, whether or not they reached the goal. Some of us also received pins to mark how many times we've joined in and triumphed. I received a pin for doing this five times. 

     Nancy Herkness started this event many years ago. However, she does have help because it is a big job. There are cheerleaders who urge us on every day. There are those who add up the numbers. Plus we have someone who likes to make chocolates! 

     Every author needs a nudge to get writing now and then. JeRoWriMo is a sweet way to do just that. 

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