Tweet With Photos

Hubby bought a pink LED flashlight for me--just because it's pink. I thought that was so sweet of him :-) While this photograph may not be very inspiring or artistic, I posted it on Twitter. This morning, the results so far were: 

Impressions

135

Total engagements		9
Photo or video clicks		5
Link clicks		2
Replies		1
Retweets

I know if I had simply posted a sentence, it wouldn't have received as much attention. I also know that posting from Instagram would not have gotten such results either because Instagram only posts the link. The same is true of Hootsuite, where a link is given to the photo.

My last post on this blog was simply a graphic I made up on Canva.com with a quote from my latest release pasted over a photo I took of Marlu Lake. The results on Twitter were:

Impressions

132

Total engagements		9
Retweets		4
Hashtag clicks		2
Replies		1
Photo or video clicks		1
Profile clicks		1

Obviously, if I had more Twitter followers, I might have had even better results, but in comparison to my results for a sentence, a link, and some hashtags, this is a much larger percentage of hits. (Of course, I should have added a hashtag to the flashlight as well.)

In one of the best photos I posted last week, I did everything right. I posted a short quote from my latest release, added hashtags and a link to the book on Amazon. Below are the results for that:

Impressions

176

Total engagements		7
Hashtag clicks		5
Retweets		2

A picture is worth a thousand words. On Twitter, a photo can actually stop people from scrolling for a moment.

I suggest you Tweet with pictures. It helps.

Trust

History Happened Right Here

This is a map of Leedsville. It isn't called Leedsville anymore. The little town has changed a lot over the years. However, I used it as the setting for Patriot's Heart and the heroine of Patriot's Pride, Margaret, grew up there and hates being far from her family who still live there. Though she journeys to England, she longs to return to little Leedsville.

I live there now, which is why I choose the location. I am fascinated by history and there's plenty of it in the area. I did one blog post on the topic http://penelopemarzec.blogspot.com/2014/02/where-did-idea-for-patriots-heart.html when Patriot's Heart was released. 

Hubby and I regularly visit historical homes and museums in the area. I've lived in Monmouth County since I was five years old. I was fascinated with the tale of Captain Kidd from an early age. My parents took me and my siblings to see Molly Pitcher's well--or what people thought was her well, now the opinion about the location has changed. Still, 296 engagements with British troops occurred within New Jersey, more than in any other colony in the Revolutionary War.

History happened right here. 

PATRIOT'S PRIDE Release Day!

Today's the day!

PATRIOT'S PRIDE is now available. The cover shown above is that of the print edition, which you can find on Amazon at Patriot's Pride, print edition. Set after the American Revolutionary War, it is the sequel to PATRIOT'S HEART and follows Margaret, the younger sister of Agnes.

Below is an excerpt from the beginning of the book.

CHAPTER ONE
May 24, 1784 New York

Margaret McGowan watched the distance between the ship and the pier widen into a watery chasm. Swamped by an overwhelming sense of loneliness, she clenched her teeth and scolded herself for being such a ninny. She had the opportunity to go to England. She would visit Broadcraft Hall, the ancestral home where her mother was born and her grandfather had died. In all her eighteen years, she had seldom traveled far from Leedsville, New Jersey, until now.

A grand adventure awaited her.

Despite reasoning with herself on the importance of this enterprise, a renegade tear rolled down her cheek as she leaned on the rail. She loved her family, but they barely scraped by after losing the house and the livestock during the war. The doling out of a hundred acres for every soldier in the Continental army had been an empty promise. Worst of all, though Uncle Fitz had returned from his service, her father never did. He died on a prison ship.

She offered a heartfelt prayer for her dear ones. In truth, this journey was for them too.

Calmer, she opened her eyes and took in a ragged breath. The harbor blended into the line of hills in the distance, and she turned away from the rail. She pulled the shawl tighter about her body and set her jaw. This trip was essential. In his last will and testament, her grandfather, the Earl of Broadcraft, stipulated that either Margaret or her sister must be present for the reading of the will. The solicitor explained much concerning the entail in a long letter. Since her mother had married a commoner, neither Margaret nor her sister would inherit the estate or, as women, the title.

Therefore, the entail and title belonged to Lord Isaac Whittington, the earl’s first cousin, once removed. Yet, everyone assumed Margaret and her sister would receive something of value. Otherwise, why should one of them be present when the will was read?

Margaret hoped for a portrait of her mother, whom she had never known, and perhaps even a portrait of the earl himself. In the past six years, they had corresponded by letters. She would value a likeness of her grandfather as a true treasure. 

Her gaze swept the deck, and a shiver of apprehension moved through her. Though the ship was far larger than the McGowan’s barn, the vast ocean surrounding it made it appear quite small. What if it sank? 

She shoved the frightening idea to the back of her mind and watched the other passengers strolling on the deck. In the front of the ship, she spied the two women who were to share a tiny cabin with her and her companion. Cecelia Cavendish, who was blind, and her cousin, Louisa Boulton, were young, probably near to Margaret’s own age of eighteen. Cecelia intended to go to Paris to meet Franz Mesmer, who claimed his treatment cured blindness. Margaret never heard of Franz Mesmer. Furthermore, she doubted his method. Only the Lord performed the miracle of giving sight to the blind. 

Louisa’s behavior disturbed her. Shying away from everyone, Louisa muttered to herself. She sat tucked between a mast and a barrel, staring at her fancy shoes. It seemed apparent the two women with their silk gowns came from wealthy families. Cecelia wore dark glasses, but possessed fine features. She sang in a sweet voice, entertaining the sailors as they went about their chores.  

Margaret glanced down at her plain brown frock, which she wore to church on Sundays. The midwife had given it to her three years ago in exchange for her baked goods. Cecilia and Louisa came aboard with two large trunks each, while Margaret’s necessities fit into a single small one. Still, the cousins must travel farther, for the ship would be going on to France after it stopped in London. Cecelia claimed she and her cousin spoke fluent French. 

Margaret did not know French. She’d acquired several German words from Hobart, her family’s hired man, and some Latin from her brother-in-law, but few Frenchmen stopped for any length of time in the small town of Leedsville. 

She rubbed the top of each shoe on her stockings to remove the dust. Despite her common clothing, she was the granddaughter of an earl. With her head held high, she decided upon a promenade around the deck. However, walking became difficult when the ship reached open water. Monstrous waves soon stymied her plans.  

She stumbled twice, holding onto railings as the ship went up and down. Out of nowhere, something hit her in the face. Unprepared for the force of the blow, she lost her balance and fell backwards. Two strong arms caught her, which prevented her from crashing on the wooden deck in an ungracious heap.

“Are you hurt?” The deep male voice came from behind her as he set her on her feet.

She stared at the rather elaborate hat on the deck in front of her and touched the welt swelling on her forehead. “No. Startled, though. I didn’t realize I needed to watch out for flying hats. Thank you for catching me.”

“My pleasure.” He steadied her as she straightened her skirts. “If I may introduce myself, I am Derrick Fortune, of Philadelphia.”

He carried an unmistakable note of pride in his tone. Did he think she had heard of him? Well, she had not.

“Miss Margaret McGowan, of Leedsville, a small town in New Jersey.” She fussed with one flounce before she stepped away, turned, and glanced upward. He stood rather tall, forcing her to tilt her head back. His clothing, though somber, was fashioned from fine cloth and showed the lines of impeccable tailoring. She would not call him handsome, for his sunken cheeks gave him a gaunt appearance. A disturbing thought heightened her anxiety. Did he suffer from consumption—the same disease which had taken the life of her dear Francis?

“Is Leedsville near a more notable city?” he asked.

She frowned. “We have no cities nearby, but there are larger towns like Monmouth Courthouse. That’s where the Battle of Monmouth was fought.”

A pained expression crossed his features. “Yes. I know of it.” The look in his soulful dark eyes caught her, and a curious sensation swept over her, leaving her somewhat bewildered. Perhaps the excitement of the journey affected her more than she thought at first, or the wretched movement of the ship unsettled her. 

 You can find PATRIOT'S PRIDE at the publisher's site, Prism Book Group, as well as at All Romance Ebooks, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, and other book distributors. The ebook edition is only $3.99! A true bargain. :-)

Receipts to Recipes

I have been collecting recipes for a long time. Originally, I filed them in a box for 3 x 5 cards. However, I didn't copy them all to 3 x 5 cards. Some were letters, which I simply folded up and filed in the proper category. Some were clippings from the newspaper. (Hint: Newspaper clippings don't hold up well with time.) Some recipes came from the back of a box. A few were scribbled hastily on a small slip of paper.

Nowadays, I use a three-ring binder to keep my recipes in order. If I find a recipe online, I print it out, slip it into a plastic sleeve, and file it in the proper category in the binder. So much neater than the old 3 x 5 file box!

My heroine in PATRIOT'S PRIDE collects recipes, too. However, she calls them receipts. For a long time, recipes were called receipts. 

Dictionary.com has this reference:

receiptn.late 14c., "act of receiving;" also "statement of ingredients in a potion or medicine;" from Anglo-French or Old North French receite "receipt, recipe,prescription" (c.1300), altered (by influence of receit "he receives," fromVulgar Latin *recipit) from Old French recete, from Latin recepta"received," fem. past participle of recipere (see receive ). Meaning "writtenacknowledgment of money or goods received" is from c.1600.Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2010 Douglas Harper

There is a more detailed explanation in The Grammarphobia Blog, which you should read and can find in the link below:

http://www.grammarphobia.com/blog/2012/11/receipt-recipe.html

Language changes with time--just like newspaper clippings. Newspaper clippings get old, brown, and crumbly. Words fall into disuse. Most people decided they liked the use of recipe rather than receipt for cooking ingredients.

Margaret, my heroine from 1784, calls her collection of cooking ingredients receipts. She's still living in a time when the word was very much in use.

Do you think historicals should use words from the time period? Or should an author change the terms to those in use in our contemporary society? 

Cover Reveal for PATRIOT'S PRIDE!

Available on June 19th! 

PATRIOT'S PRIDE

WITH KNOWLEDGE, HE BELIEVED HE COULD FIND ANSWERS. SHE HAD ONLY FAITH.

Derrick, a surgeon, is haunted by his brother’s death. When his prayers went unanswered, he turned his faith to science. He believes studying with an esteemed surgeon in England will return meaning to his life.

Margaret’s fiancé died at the hands of a doctor who bled him to death.  On board the Prosperity, she meets the arrogant Doctor Fortune who considers her no less than a milkmaid. She considers him a butcher. Though she must journey to England to hear the reading of the will of her grandfather, the Earl of Broadcraft, she finds herself constantly confronting Derrick on his methods of healing. Yet, there is something about his soulful eyes that attracts her.

When a British ship presses the Prosperity’s sailors into service, Margaret and Derrick must work together if they are to reach England. But can they ever learn to trust each other enough to allow love into their hearts?

PATRIOT'S PRIDE is the sequel to PATRIOT'S HEART, but it can be read as a stand alone. Click on the image of the cover of Patriot's Heart to go directly to Amazon where you can read the reviews for that book. 

BLOG TOUR: The Last Princess of Meigen by Rachel James

An Inspirational Medieval Romance

**About the Book** 

A captivating tale of love and duty as the last princess of Meigen searches for her true purpose amidst conflict and betrayal. 

It is 626AD, and the ancient Kingdom of Meigen is left vulnerable to neighboring Saxons. To unite the kingdoms and bring peace, Princess Alena must enter into a royal marital
alliance. But when the handsome physician, Sherwin, befalls her, matters become
complicated. Torn between obligations to her young son and country, she faces a
difficult decision. Will Alena obey the king’s orders, or choose to follow her
heart? 

 

**Book Teaser**

**Excerpt**

 **About the Author**



Born and raised in England, Rachel writes inspirational historical romance, she is also married to a pastor, and has three beautiful little princesses. She minored in creative writing at university and strives to entertain, inspire and encourage others through her writing. Rachel absolutely loves romantic tales… combine it with a little history and a hot cup of tea, and she’s smitten! 

**Giveaway**

Entry-Form

Connect with Rachel

I Came Late to Instagram

Instagram has been around since 2010. I joined last year at the urging of one the other artists in the painting workshop I attend. She has--at last count--1351 followers on Instagram. I have 270. Clearly, I'm not quite getting the hang of this wildly popular app, though I do enjoy it. I am fascinated by the gorgeous photos and while I find the proliferation of hashtags annoying, there are some people who actually write lovely prose or poetry to go along with their pictures, but those folks are rare. Mostly, it's photos and hashtags.

Nevertheless, if there were no hashtags, finding anything on Instagram would be impossible. And, as it turns out, hashtags can help when it comes to attracting new followers. I discovered this fact at http://www.wikihow.com/Get-1k-Followers-on-Instagram, which is a good place to learn how to work Instagram. I am studying it carefully and intend to become more daring with hashtags.

I doubt whether getting more followers on Instagram will help me sell books. Selling books is tough. Still, to me the one big advantage of Instagram is the ability to share a photo from there to Twitter and Facebook at the same time. In the case of Twitter that is a huge plus because it is nearly impossible for me to stick to 140 characters. I am, after all, a romance writer.

If you're on Instagram, please follow me @marzecpenelope and like some of my pictures. I'll do the same for you. :-)

Memorial Day

Boots and Bugle
Painting by Irene S. Kierce

Both of my grandfathers served in World War I--one in Europe and the other on the Mexican border. They both came home. My mother and her five brothers served in World War II and the Korean War. They all came home. My father and his brother served in World War II. My father came home, but his brother did not. My brother served during the Vietnam era. He was a navigator/bombardier in an F-111 which was being tested in New Mexico. His plane crashed. He and the pilot died.

Memorial Day isn't about the beach or a great sale at the store. It's about the cost of our freedom. Please don't forget that.

KISS OF BLARNEY Print Edition Uploaded!

Being a glutton for punishment, I decided to put out a print edition of Kiss of Blarney. I am aware that very few people will buy the print version. Why should they when the digital edition is only $0.99? Nevertheless, it is nice to have a physical book to put on the table when I go to a booksigning event. So I struggled with Word to make the correct size page with mirror image pages. Then I uploaded the file to Createspace. I looked at the preview and realized I had forgotten page numbers. I had to redo the file with numbers and upload it again. It made my brain hurt.

While it is possible to proof the book online, I have found that buying a genuine paper copy is the best method. When the paper copy arrived, I found ERRORS. I hate that. The mistakes were small, but they still annoyed me.

So I went back and fixed the errors and uploaded the book AGAIN. The inexpensive paper version should be available shortly--though there are more expensive Crescent Moon Press editions still floating around. I set my own paper edition at $5.50. I won't make much money on it, but I don't mind. Selling books is not easy. Selling high priced books is impossible--unless  you're already a celebrity.

Kiss of Blarney is a short read. The new print version is 85 pages long. Don't you want to read about an Irish princess hidden in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey?

Read some of the reviews on Amazon. (CLICK HERE FOR REVIEWS) It's a fun book. 

Nostalgia

I've always enjoyed the music of Emmy Lou Harris. "Back When We Were Beautiful" is from the Old Yellow Moon album with Rodney Crowell. I listen to it frequently. This video on YouTube accompanies the song with photos the World War II era. Lovely, but bittersweet.

Evening Primroses

My sister--the one with the Masters in Horticulture, who is also a Master Gardener--gave me these primoses. She was pretty sure I could not kill them. The plants grow like weeds. They spread all by themselves. Deer don't eat them. Their abundant yellow flowers look really nice in the yard and they bloom for several weeks in June.

I sure wish all flowers were as easy to grow as these!

Gaining a Future

This is an anniversary for my father. Seventy-three years ago, he walked into a recruiting station. I am here because he did not die in combat, though his brother did. My father wrote this short article about his experience. In the photo below, he is on the right.

Gaining a Future

by Raymond Kierce 

Seventy-three years ago on May 8th, I was a twenty-year old novice journalist and college freshman, but there was a war going on. I knew that if I was drafted I would not have a choice in which branch of the service I would serve. So I caught a bus from my parents' Jersey City home and went to a military recruiting facility. I passed the physical and enlisted in the Army Air Force.

After training at Jefferson Barracks, Missouri, and a golf course in Miami Beach, my fellow recruits and I were shipped to San Francisco where we boarded an ocean liner and sneaked out of port.

Racing across the vast Pacific with only dolphins as our escorts, we celebrated the Crossing the Line with King Neptune when we crossed the equator.

I soon found myself with the Fifth Bomber Command on the other side of the world in New Guinea. The Japanese government gave us an explosive welcome with an air raid by 100 bombers. It was quite a sight as our P38 fighters tore among them.

The Japs owned most of New Guinea at that point. American and Australian soldiers stopped their advance 17 miles from Port Moresby. Port Moresby is only 530 miles from Australia. Australia came very close to being overrun by Japanese forces.

For the next three years, the Allies pushed ever closer to Japan, seizing back territory, island by island.

In August, 1945, to my surprise, I was given a leave home to Jersey and ordered to return to Clark Field, Manila, in thirty days.

I learned many years later that President Harry Truman had ordered plans drawn for Operation Olympic (attacking the southern island of Kyūshū) and set November 1, 1945, for the invasion of Japan.

More than 40% of all servicemen still in uniform in 1945 would have been assigned to two amphibious assaults. At that time, it was estimated that American casualties would have totaled one million during that invasion.

Since I would have been back in the Philippines in September, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have been assigned to the invasion of Japan.

When the two atomic bombs were dropped to end the war, millions of servicemen gained a future, including me.

Sandy, a Little Irene Story

Little Irene 

Ever since my mother passed away, I find it difficult to walk into a card shop to buy cards for Mother's Day. It reminds me of how much I miss Mom. She was a very special woman. Fortunately, she left behind many lovely paintings and a wealth of stories. My sisters and I called the reminisces of our mother's young life the Little Irene Stories. Two years ago, I posted one of her memories on her birthday at http://penelopemarzec.blogspot.com/2013/11/a-story-my-mother-told-me.html

Mom grew up in western Pennsylvania. Her father was a coal miner and she was one of seven children. Today, I thought I post another of her stories, the one she titled "Sandy."

When I was eleven years old, my sister and I started to go to religious classes at St. Mary's so that we could be confirmed. I decided to choose Sandra, or Sandy, as my confirmation name. My sister, Grace, loved the name Allison. Unfortunately, we both had to walk many miles to go to the classes and as a result wore out our shoes. My father put new soles on using rubber tires but even those didn't last. He told us we couldn't go to the classes any longer.

"You're wearing out the shoes," he said.

It was heartbreaking that we could not complete the requirements for confirmation. Nevertheless, I decided to keep my middle name as Sandy. It seemed to fit me somehow, young and full of energy as I was at that time.

I loved the rolling hills of Pennsylvania and our small farming town. To me, it was a magical, exciting place. I learned to save shoe leather by roller-skating or cycling to my friends' homes at neighboring farms.

I used to enjoy visiting one special friend whose mother was a herbalist. The mother would show me different herbs and list the magical powers of each. Since that was more than 60 years ago, she was ahead of her time. She always wore black clothes and a dark babushka (scarf) and could be rather frightening.

She scared me when she began to recite tales of people with horrible ailments that she cured with her herbs. She seemed to relish going into great detail about their illnesses. It alarmed me to listen to her and soon I stopped visiting.

Her daughter, who had porcelain-like skin, went on to become a teacher in the local school.

I played baseball with my brothers, walked in the woods and dreamed of becoming a famous artist.

Later on, after I married, Sandy seemed like a childish name for a woman with a husband and children. Still, I had promised the priest who married my husband and I that I would be confirmed and so when my older children were ready to received the sacrament, I finally made my name Sandra official by being confirmed as well. I did not wear a gown like my daughter with a red beanie for the ceremony. I wore a light blue suit and sat in the back of the church with other adults who were being confirmed. The weather that day held all the blustery misery that March can dish out. It had snowed and then rained, so that we all had to step through nearly a foot of slush as we picked our way through the parking lot to the church.

One of our neighbors was my sponsor. I felt good about finally receiving the sacrament of confirmation, even though I had been married for about fifteen years at that point. Nevertheless, I did keep my promise to the priest.

Even so, I used my given name of Irene, which means peach in Greek. With a growing family, I wasn't the carefree Sandy I had once been.