Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Dear Readers

Those who went to Amazon and purchased a copy of A Cordial Christmas.. I thank you. I didn't know it was live until someone called me. Thank you I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I loved writing it.. MUCHA!!



Monday, September 26, 2011

Putting my toes in the water...

I did it. I stuck my toes in the water and tried this self publishing idea or indie. I did agonize and worry my friends to death over the grammar, story lines, and characters. In fact, I still am. Its the thought of standing there alone sharing a story that you feel so strongly for.

A Cordial Christmas is that kind of story. I think of it as Scrooge meets Bonanza sprinkled with Its A Wonderful Life. In this story Dobson Winters is as cold as his name implies. He lost his wife around the holidays and refuses to celebrate the holidays. But, in comes Curtis Watson and with his dying breath he tells Dob that the only way he can save his black soul is to find his daughter and get her to marry him.

Little Lucy and her antics with his Chinese cook steal the show for me. However its her adoration of Dobson that begins to thaw the ranchers frozen heart. I hope you'll zip over to Smashwords and soon to Amazon to pick up a copy of this novella.

Here's an excerpt below.

Chow Ming pushed the sweet dough out with the rolling pin. He paused and eyed the little girl standing on the wooden shoebox across from him, her apron covered in the same flour that kept the dough from sticking to his work surface of the small table in the center of the kitchen. She glanced up, her blue eyes twinkling and shimmering with delight. Lucy eyed his efforts with a smile.
"Yes, yes just thick enough," she said with a nod.
"So why we bake cookies again?" Chow Ming asked.
"Cause," Lucy began, dipping her biscuit cutter in flour before pressing it into the dough. "On Christmas Eve, Santa will come down the chimney and expect to find them."
"Why dis man not use front door?"
"Cause you aren't supposed to see him."
A rash of Chinese followed. "Sound like fat man in red suit a thief. Chow Ming take care of him." He reached behind and pulled his meat clever, brandishing it in the air.
Lucy's hands went to her hips. "Now see here Chow Ming, you do something like that and he won't leave you anything in your stocking."
"He take clothes too! Chow Ming think Christmas not good time of year. Prefer Chinese New Year. Then only contend with dragon."

Follow the links on my books webpage or copy this link for your browser.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Six sentence Sunday....

What would you do, If the love you wanted seemed so unattainable? Born on the wrong side of two races, Charity has made her way to the top of the parlor ladies at Sweetbrier Academy only to find rejection...

From Giving in to Charity

“And Washington?”
“I can’t take you there. Charity, what we have here is real, it’s now. It’s a treasured memory I can take back,” Aaron pleaded. His right hand closed over hers, drawing her against his front, while his left encircled her waist, holding her close. “Let me come upstairs with you one last time before I have to go back to that hell hole of the nation’s capital?”
The heaviness of his erection nudged against her skirts, and his fingers dug into her corset, undoubtedly branding her skin. Torn between Hell and Heaven, Charity closed her eyes and tried to will her mind to control her heart.

Check my website and click on the book cover for information on how to purchase this book.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

I was not cast off the island

I did survive the big blow. I have to tell you that I love writing about historical settings, but being thrust into the 18th century in such a cruel was was not fun. I spent the better part of the week before preparing for the arrival of Irene.

I took all the vegetables that we'd frozen over to my daughters big chest freezer. I cooked the meat in the freezer and we dined well. I bought some cans of ravioli, beefaroni, even the dreaded potted meat. I filled up the small pool for flushing. I was ready. Then came the storm. Not a mere 6 to 8 hours but all in all a total of 26 hours of wind and rain.

Our power went off at 10:30 Saturday morning just when things were beginning to wind up. I should have known something was wrong because they had predicted no loss of power until 3 p.m. So we armed ourselves with the weather band and moved to the garage to watch the storm's fury. The rain lashed the pine trees out front and each pine cone that feel was like its own guided missile. I believe we cringed as each one fell on the roof banging, thumping, and creating mischief. In my mind I pictured a creature similar to Pan sitting in the boughs of the tree gleefully laughing as he lobbed each one toward the house.

As night fell it did get dark. Our home is surrounded by trees blocking the setting sun - had there been one. Storms at night have their own terror. The inky darkness cloaks them, taking away your ability to create a defense. Armed with only a flashlight, you do feel like that gothic heroine poised to open the door and be confronted by the boogie man. But by noon the next day, the clouds were finally lifting, leaving behind the mist of humidity so thick it hung in low level clouds just above our heads.

But we were all alive, no damage to the house, and all safe. By the afternoon, the children ventured on the roof to help with clean up. Here is where things got interesting. My dear son who shall for the sake of his life remain nameless swept off the roof. Not bad you say. Oh, I agree, however he swept all the dirt and the oily residue from the roof into the pool I'd filled for flushing. My once clear water was now loaded with dark black sludge, rotting pine needles, and other gunk. The trash floating would stop up the commodes. I tried not to get angry. I really just took a deep sigh and walked away.

Instead of enjoying the peace and writing, sigh... I made two trips a day to get water from my daughter in order to flush the commode twice a day. Those of you with male children understand the plight. Rarely do they flush anyway but without water they do love to remind you every five minutes, you should do something about that mom, its gonna smell. Well, duh.

Finally on Monday afternoon, I went to my daughters to hide. I showered. Blessed water. I washed clothes and cooked a hot meal. Best of all I heard another woman's voice. I thought about all those women on the plains, the endless days of loneliness while their men folk were rounding cattle, following the trail up to the rail heads and back. Doing all the work plus tending to their children. Then in the lamplight, with only the comfort of their bible, they waited.

I understand them better now. I can hear their voices calling to me telling me how lucky I am that it was only 40 long hours not months and months of darkness. I marvel at how they held body and soul together and did not kill their young. I am humbled from my beginnings and I do love a flushable commode.

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