Saturday, October 21, 2017

Sandra Masters -Welcome to Romance

Latest News from Sandra and an intriguing blog about Killer Clothing:   All the Rage In the 19th Century Arsenic dresses, Mercury hats, and flammable clothing! 
Hello and Hope this finds you well.

Many of you have been kind to contact me about my two surgeries within the past few months. Suffice it to say, it was “ouchville,” but am now on my way to recovery. In five days, I graduate to a less cumbersome splint. Thanks for your kind words.






Had a few signing events   with Anne Donovan of Branches Books and Gifts in Oakhurst, below in August.










Then the Authors Reveal Their Secrets presentation at the Friends of the Oakhurst Library event in July. Linda Lee Kane, Vicki Thomas, Sandra Masters, Kris Lynn and Cora Ramos.


And a TV interview by local Channel KSEE 24 with Kris Lynn and myself. It was a hoot and a holler. You can click on the actual interview on my website at: www.authorsandramasters.com on the home page.

I am working on edits for Book Six, The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke, of the Duke Series with the hope a contract will be offered.  It is a departure from my traditional Regency Romance since it is a Regency Fantasy Supernatural. Woke up one night after it was a halfway work-in-process and I had a vision of the supernatural creatures in a stained glass window.  Viola! Revisions made it a reality. More about this in the future. My dearest hope is that it will be available for print in 2017. 

This is my inspirational meme by Kris Lynn - Kristallynn Designs.
For all of my books, I create visionary graphics to allow me to escape my own world into my characters’.

               Sandra Masters, Historical author.
Sandra Masters Author Page - See all her books here:  http://amzn.to/2vQW1gt
Newsletter sign up: www.authorsandramasters.com



Now to some fascinating information. 

In all of my five Regency Historical Romance books, I do explain the fashions of the day and what my heroines and heroes wore.

In search of another topic, I came across a headline that indicated that fashion had its price and sometimes it was DEATH! It was sometimes referred to as Killer Clothing.

My shock was doubled since I spent at least twenty-five years in the fashion industry in New York City working for various textile manufacturers and never had a clue! Woe is me.

Killer Clothing Was All the Rage In the 19th Century
Arsenic dresses, Mercury hats, and flammable clothing caused a lot of pain.

Did you know that while sitting at home one afternoon in 1861, poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s wife, Fanny, caught fire. Her burns were so severe that she died the next day. According to her obituary, the fire had started when “a match or piece of lighted paper caught her dress.” At the time, this wasn’t a peculiar way to die. In the days when candles, oil lamps, and fireplaces lit and heated American and European homes, women’s wide hoop skirts and flowing cotton and tulle dresses were a fire hazard, unlike men’s tighter-fitting wool clothes.
It wasn’t just dresses: Fashion at this time was riddled with dangers. Socks made with aniline dyes inflamed men’s feet and gave garment workers sores and even bladder cancer. Lead makeup damaged women’s wrist nerves so that they couldn’t raise their hands. Celluloid combs, which some women wore in their hair, exploded if they got too hot. In Pittsburgh, a newspaper reported that a man with a celluloid comb lost his life “While Caring for His Long Gray Beard.” In Brooklyn, a comb factory exploded. In fact, some of the most fashionable clothing of the day was made using chemicals that are today considered too toxic to use—and it was the producers of this clothing, rather than the wearers, who suffered most of all!


MERCURIAL MALADIES

Many people think that “mad as a hatter” refers to the mental and physical side effects hat makers endured from using mercury in their craft. Though scholars dispute whether this is actually the origin of the phrase, many hatters did develop mercury poisoning. And even though the phrase has a certain levity to it, and while the Mad Hatter in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was silly and fun, the actual maladies hat makers suffered were no joke—mercury poisoning was debilitating and deadly.


In the 18th and 19th century, a lot of men’s felt hats were made using hare and rabbit fur. In order to make this fur stick together to form felt, hatters brushed it with mercury. “It was extremely toxic,” says Alison Matthews David, author of Fashion Victims: The Dangers of Dress Past and Present. “Especially if you inhale it. It goes straight to your brain.”
One of the first symptoms was neuromotor problems, like trembling. In the hat-making town of Danbury, Connecticut, this was known as the “Danbury shakes.”

Then there were the psychological problems. “You would become very shy, very paranoid,” Matthews David says. When medical examiners visited hatters to document their symptoms, hatters “thought they were being observed, and they would throw down their tools and get angry and have outbursts.” Many hatters also developed cardio-respiratory problems, lost their teeth, and died at early ages.

Although these effects were documented, many viewed them as the hazards that one had to accept with the job. And besides, the mercury only affected the hatters—not the men who wore the hats, who were protected by the hats’ lining.

“There was always kind of a bit of a pushback from the hatters themselves,” Matthews David says of these dangerous working conditions. “But really, honestly, the only thing that made [mercury hat making] disappear was the fact that men’s hats went out of fashion in the 1960s. That’s really when it dies. It was never banned in Britain.”

ARSENIC AND OLD LACE




Arsenic was everywhere in Victorian Britain. Although it was known to be used as a murder weapon, the cheap, natural element was used in candles, curtains, and wallpaper, writes James C. Whorton in The Arsenic Century: How Victorian Britain Was Poisoned at Home, Work, and Play.

 Because it dyed fabric bright green, arsenic also ended up in dresses, gloves, shoes, and artificial flower wreaths that women used to decorate their hair and clothes.
 VIEW IMAGES
For example, in 1861, a 19-year-old artificial flower maker named Matilda Scheurer—whose job involved dusting flowers with green, arsenic-laced powder—died a violent and colorful death. She convulsed, vomited, and foamed at the mouth. Her bile was green, and so were her fingernails and the whites of her eye. An autopsy found arsenic in her stomach, liver, and lungs.

Articles about Scheurer’s death and the plight of artificial flower makers raised public awareness about arsenic in fashion. The British Medical Journal wrote that the arsenic-wearing woman “carries in her skirts poison enough to slay the whole of the admirers she may meet with in half a dozen ball-rooms.” In the mid-to-late 1800s, sensational claims like these began to turn public opinion against this deadly shade of green.


SAFETY IN FASHION
Public concern over arsenic helped phase it out of fashion—Scandinavia, France, and Germany banned the pigment (Britain did not).
The move away from arsenic was hastened by the invention of synthetic dyes, which made it “easy to let arsenic go,” according to Elizabeth Semmelhack, senior curator at the Bata Shoe Museum in Toronto, Canada.

 VIEW IMAGES
This raises interesting questions about fashion today. While arsenic dresses might seem like bizarre relics of a more brutal age, killer fashion is still very much in vogue. In 2009, Turkey banned sandblasting—the practice of spraying denim with sand to give it a fashionable distressed look—because workers were developing silicosis from breathing in sand.
“It’s not a curable disease,” Matthews David says of silicosis. “If you have sand in your lungs it will kill you.”
Yet when a dangerous production method is banned in one country—and when the demand for the clothing that method produces remains high—then production typically moves somewhere else (or continues despite the ban).

In the 1800s, men who wore mercury hats or women who wore arsenic-laced clothing and accessories might have seen the people who produced these items on the streets of London, or read about them in the local paper. But in a globalized economy, many of us don’t see the deadly effects that our fashion choices have on others.​

Mauve boots dyed with the new synthetic color containing arsenic, picric acid, and other toxic chemicals, English (early 1860s) (Collection of the Bata Shoe Museum, photograph by Ron Wood)
For example, there’s the achingly narrow shoes worn by women to slip into a “beauty ideal,” and for men and women alike there was mauve footwear tinged with the first synthetic dye. Created by William Henry Perkin in 1856, mauve was revolutionary in influencing color tastes. It was unfortunately incredibly toxic, made with arsenic, picric acid, and other harmful chemicals. Around the same time tortoises and elephants were being spared in making hair combs, but the manufactured celluloid was explosive. Ballerinas draped in tulle were pirouetting into gas lights on the stage at such a frequency it was called a “holocaust.” Even the high heel, which had come back into vogue in the late 1850s, deliberately threw women off-balance as part of a very confined, yet alluring, form of femininity.

The 19th century shoe demonstrates the movement over the era from personal relationships with independent artisans to industries like the 700 embroiderers who labored on boots in the factory of François Pinet. Matthews David points out how with these elaborate shoes, “the same object exists in both spaces,” moving from the unsanitary, debilitating conditions of the unventilated factories to the foot of a strutting member of the upper class. Likewise all those gleaming, shined boots were not kept clean in the dirty 19th century by the rich wearers, but by the numerous, poor shoeshine boys who worked the streets for scraps of money.

Murphy, photograph Arnold Matthews) Hands damaged by arsenic dyes, lithography from an 1859 medical journal (courtesy Wellcome Library)


Perhaps the most evocative fatal fashion trend of the 19th century is the color green. Before inventor Carl Wilhelm Scheele came along near the end of the 18th century, there was no color fast green, only the option to do a blue overlay with yellow or vice versa. By mixing arsenic and copper, Scheele developed a pigment that would hold, whether in wallpaper, paintings, or clothing. It also happened to look fantastic under natural and new gas light, an important duality for the time. By the mid-19th century, when, as Matthews David notes “nature was disappearing from the environment,” this “Emerald Green” was incredibly popular in artificial flowers. It was also highly toxic, even deadly, and it’s no coincidence that Baudelaire titled his book of tormented poems Les Fleurs du Mal — The Flowers of Evil — just as the death of a young artificial florist was being investigated.
RESOURCES AND FURTHER INFORMATION:

Becky Little is a writer focusing on history. Published October 16, 2017
Fatal Victorian Fashion and the Allure of the Poison Garment ; https://hyperallergic.com/133571/fatal-victorian-fashion-and-the-allure-of-the-poison-garmen
Sources: Wickipedia, Internet
In no way does this author claim originality for this information.

Originally posted on https://www.authorsandramasters.com/single-post/2017/10/20/Newsletter

Friday, October 20, 2017

In the garden with Lynn Turner

Welcome Lynn Turner

Lynn, do you plot or let the story unfold as you write?

Both. Before I start a story, I have at least the major scenes (conflict/ love scenes/ big emotional moments) in mind, but no clue how I’ll get to them, lol. I’ll have the dots, basically, and the lines connecting the dots unfold as I write.

Do you research your sex scenes?

 I research EVERYTHING. Hahaha. I’m obsessive about it. For sex scenes, I don’t research the mechanics, but I think a lot about the buildup to the moment, where it will happen, the tone (i.e. angsty, funny, cute, intense) and in whose point of view.

How did you come up with the title?

This was one of my favorite parts of the process! I wanted a clever title related to distance, because it’s a long-distance love story. I loved Between You and Me, because it’s a play on the distance aspect, the developing romance, and Finn’s “stunning secret.”



Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

NOPE! And it makes me really happy, lol. This might sound preachy (not sorry), but diversity isn’t hard to write, nor is it trendy. It just…IS. There doesn’t NEED to be a message to justify the existence of marginalized people. Just write them! I promise we have more commonalities than differences, and if a writer is nervous about writing someone of another ethnicity, faith, socioeconomic background, orientation, etc... find someone with one or all of those identities and ask allll the questions. It's just research, really, and as writers, we're good at research. 😉 (That prooobably wasn't the point of the question, but my brain is hard-wired for activism. I promise I'm not a drag at parties. Haha.)

What are your current projects?

I’m almost finished with a dance/ ballet/ Broadway romance between a black French prima ballerina and a dancer/playwright/choreographer from the Bronx. It was partially inspired by Misty Copeland’s documentary “A Ballerina’s Tale,” and the enemies-to-lovers romantic comedy movie, “The Cutting Edge.” I’m having SO much fun with it!

Tell us more about you

Who do you see as a hero in your life?

My undergrad academic adviser, who pushed me to complete my STEM degree when I wanted to quit and study creative writing. She said, “You can do ANYTHING with a science degree. You’re already a writer. Nothing will make you more creative than understanding the world and how it works.” Of course, writing isn’t just getting ideas on paper—it’s so much more than that, but I think my adviser was onto something. 😊




You can erase one embarrassing experience from your past. What will it be?

I was a super late bloomer, and by fourteen, “mosquito bites” wouldn’t even describe my boobs. They were like, gnat bites. So, I’d cut the shoulder pads from my grandma’s blazer and stuffed my bra with them. At some point during ninth grade English, one of them slipped out. Thankfully, my mortification was limited to the nice girl sitting next to me, who discreetly picked it up and returned it to me. I still wish I had the flashy thingy Will Smith’s character used in Men in Black to erase people’s memories. Lol.


Are you jealous of other writers?

I don't know if it's jealousy or just a deep admiration for their talent. It can be intimidating sometimes, but I try to single out what I admire about those writers and see how to hone those skills myself. Also, reading works by those authors is a GREAT cure for writer's block.


What makes you laugh?

My kids, my husband…spontaneous, totally-not-meant-to-be-funny things…things that make me uncomfortable (defense mechanism), anything written by Penny Reid...


What is your favorite comfort food?

Wine.


Where can we find out more about your and your books?

www.LynnTurnerAuthor.com 

www.facebook.com/LynnTurnerAuthor

www.twitter.com/Lynn_Writes

Goodreads - https://goo.gl/yM3P7y

Title of current release: Between You and Me

To purchase Lynn's current release, click here. http://a.co/1Ui3YC3






Tuesday, October 17, 2017

A Surprising Collaboration

What do you think of the young woman you once were? Do you respect her? Do you like her? Is
there anything she wants to tell you? Anything she wants you to do for her?

Until the last few years, I didn’t give much consideration to my young-adult self because, to be honest, I didn’t much respect her. I discounted her importance in my life.

Why didn’t I respect her? Well… she was young. She didn’t know much. She had some priorities I don’t agree with.

For example: she often confused the desire to be loved with actual love. That confusion got us into some relationships that now seem like a waste of time. She valued other people’s opinions too highly. She didn’t know how to take care of herself, and not taking care of her self meant not taking care of me. I’m kind of mad at her for that. She put everyone else’s needs ahead of her own.

I know what she would say in her defense. She was a teenager—of course teenage girls are all about what others think of them—and then she was the mother of young children. Mothers have to put their kids’ needs first, right? Yes, right, I get that. Also (more of her defense) she and my husband had a business that needed attention 24/7. I should be thanking her (she would say) for her hard work, because it contributed to the financial security that gives me time to write now. Well, yes, but still…
My kids are grown now, and I’m retired—except for this writing thing—so it’s easier for me to define and enforce boundaries than it was for her, but really I don’t think she even knew what boundaries were, and I don’t think she knew she deserved to have some.

Anyway, this young woman from whom I’ve been somewhat estranged, had at least one passion that was so strong she found time to indulge it. She wanted to be a writer. She wrote a few magazine articles that were published; she wrote a sort of Erma-Bombeckish weekly gardening column in the local newspaper; and she drafted three romance novels.

I have to admire her for that. When she drafted those novels, she was living in a one-room cabin with two small bedrooms for the children partitioned off behind the wood stove. (The bedroom she shared with our husband was an open loft above the rest of the cabin.) So she had no privacy, no quiet, and no time to herself. Still, she wrote. She wrote until one day the other demands on her time were just too great. She stashed all her manuscripts in a banana box and put them in the garden shed.



Those three unfinished novels sat in that banana box and were moved to various basements, attics and garages over a period of twenty-five years until a year and a half ago when I decided to dig them out and have a look at them.

I’d just finished work on a non-fiction book, Touching Bellies, Touching Lives (published under my married name, Judy Gabriel), and I missed writing, so I thought I’d see about those unfinished novels. The box was brim full with so many revisions all thrown in randomly, it was hard to see what I had. There were a few 3 ¼-inch disks (for those of you too young to remember, 3 1/4-inch disks were standard back then) at the bottom of the box. I bought a drive for those disks and began trying to sort through my old work.

It was odd to experience my material almost as if it had been written by someone else. I was impressed with Young-Me’s story-telling ability, but still I thought I could probably write better than she could. (Part of my lack of respect for her.) So I put the banana box back in the garage and began writing one of the stories again from scratch.
About thirty pages into the effort I was reminded that crafting a story is hard work. I decided I didn’t want to do that work all over again if I didn’t have to, so I went back to the old manuscript. My book, Escape from Behruz, published by The Wild Rose Press last spring, is the original story, as written by Young-Me, tweaked and in parts rewritten by Now-Me.

What happened while I worked with Young-Me’s writing is that I developed new respect for her. She wrote a beautiful story, one that only she could have envisioned. (Also, she was just back from living, working, and having a baby (!) in the Middle East, which is where the story is set, so the setting was fresh in her mind.) I love the story, and I came to love her for giving it to me. I realized I owed it to her to finish Escape from Behruz. When she packed those pages into that banana box, she was counting on me to do that for her someday.

So I did. I think we worked well together, she and I. When I hold the book in my hands now, I’m proud of what we achieved.

I’ve just finished a sequel, Midwife in Behruz (The Wild Rose Press, Nov. 1, 2017). This second book was written entirely by the woman I am now, but it would never have been conceived were it not for the inspiration I got from the woman I was then. I thank her for that gift.

There were two other novel-length manuscripts in that banana box. One, although it has some merits, doesn’t interest me now. The other one, however, a story set in Mexico, is lovely. So there’s one more manuscript written by Young-Me waiting for my attention.

I’ll have one more collaboration with the young woman who grew up to be me: one more opportunity to know her and grow my respect for her and integrate her better into my life.

Judy Meadows
www.judymeadows.com

Escape from Behruz on Sale now for .99 at Amazon, Nook, and Itunes















Monday, October 16, 2017

Review:A Sweeter Spot

A spunky Librarian,  a former foot-ball star with a tween daughter, a status conscious grandmother, and an ex-fiance anyone would drop like a hot potato.
These are the main stars in Donna Simmonetta’s newest release from The Wild Rose Press, A SWEETER SPOT.

Magda “Maggie” Horvath bolts from her NY home and job when she discovers her fiancé is doing the nasty with someone else. In all truth, Maggie’s never real felt she and Pierce were going to get a happily ever after of their own, but her domineering and social status conscious grandmother – who’s also Maggie’s employer – pushed the two into an engagement that was more a merger than a marriage.

So Maggie does the run-away-bride-to-be thing and lands in River’s Bend, Virginia to help her old college chum, Bethanne, who’s laid up on bed rest while pregnant. Beth’s the town librarian and Maggie agrees to run the library until Beth has the baby and in back on her feet. Beth’s husband has a business partner, Jeff ( the ex footballer) who’s more than a little gobsmacked when he meets Maggie. Jeff’s got a tween daughter, Samantha, and he’s always been worried about bringing any new females around his daughter. But when his attraction to Maggie makes him start rethinking that, Jeff makes his move.

Maggie’s ex, Piece the Prick, is not only a cheater, he’s a drug abuser. He needs to marry Maggie to settle some very extensive debts, and her leaving is in no way going to stop that marriage. Armed with a pistol and a serious drug habit, he follows her to River’s Bend.

I hate spoilers, so I won’t tell you what happens, but will Maggie and Jeff have a shot at true love? Will her obnoxious grandmother ever see her for the person she is and not some substitute for Maggie’s own mother? Will Pierce get his comeuppance?
All questions you’ll have to read this delightful book to find out.

I truly enjoyed A SWEETER SPOT. It was the perfect mix of romance, a little suspense, and a
whole lotta emotional growth on everyone’s part – my favorite kind of romance!

Do yourself a favor and get a copy. Then settle onto an old chair, get a cup of tea, and feel the warmth and love that flows through this book.


***I was given an arc of this book for an honest opinion and my humble, honest opinion is that it’s a goodie! 

Peggy Jaeger Writing about strong women, the families who support them, and the men who can't live without them.
mmj122687@yahoo.com | PeggyJaeger.com

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Review: The Fountain of Youth

Posted with permission from Midwest Book Reviews

MBR Bookwatch: October 2017
James A. Cox, Editor-in-Chief
Midwest Book Review
278 Orchard Drive, Oregon, WI 53575
 
 
Donovan's Bookshelf
 
 
It's rare that romance novels include more than surface passions, and even less common that they embrace issues of dementia, moral and ethical questions, medical conundrums, or the struggles of Alzheimer's patients. Mix all these issues with love and you have a strange blend, indeed.
 
But one of the special features of The Fountain of Youth lies in its ability to deftly weave all these seemingly-disparate threads into a unified, precise, memorable story line, making it a top recommendation for not just romance readers, but anyone interested in issues of aging, changed capabilities, and the impact a small thing (such as quiz book) can have in one's life.
 
In this case, narrator Robert Glickman is determined to defy a family history of dementia and his seemingly-inevitable decline by using a quiz book to test his facilities so he can do something about any decline before it really takes hold. In the meantime, he also lives life in Youth Fountain Senior Living Facility (termed "The Fountain of Youth" by its residents - an aptly named old folks' home, where he has an apartment), holds an infatuation with a retired therapist, faces a neurotic and mentally declining sister, confronts a possible hiding Nazi, and interacts with a host of characters who each struggle with their own uncertain lives.
 
The characters who inhabit The Fountain of Youth are somewhat reminiscent to those in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, minus much of the insanity. They are quirky, obstinate, sometimes defiant personalities who have their own perspectives of their pasts, presents and futures; yet are somewhat to fully cognizant of the fact that the Fountain offers anything but youth or longevity - only a relatively safe haven at the end of the long road of life.
 
As events and lives unfold, the unexpected happens: Robert's gruff, observational voice becomes a compelling chronicler of the process of facing not only imminent mortality, but the decline of one's connections to life itself. What opens as and seems like an observational piece about an increasingly limited world and abilities becomes a special window into the hearts, minds, and ethical issues facing the aging and those around them at the end of life.
 
Who has power and control over one's life? What happens when circumstance limits, then takes away, not only abilities, but personalities? The psychological depth belays any possible description of The Fountain of Youth as a romance novel. While many a reader may pick up the story for this element, most will be delightfully surprised at the depth offered by the evolving story, the quirky and fun personalities revealed behind the closed doors of an elderly facility, and especially the story's important message about the right to live - and die - on one's own terms.
 
What begins as a seeming romance or institutional probe becomes something much more: a compelling, engrossing story fueled by the passions, perspectives, and worries of Robert as he seeks to take back power in his world, keep his promises, and exert control over his own destiny and the quandaries life and death poses. It's very highly recommended for audiences seeking depth and insights from fictional stories.
 

Diane C. Donovan, Senior Reviewer
Donovan's Literary Services
www.donovansliteraryservices.com

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Traveling in Australia

While flipping through some photos I came upon a file marked “OUR TRAVELS.
It was like a trip down memory lane, and I thought I’d share some with you in the next few weeks. I hope you enjoy them.

Here is the first.

Life on the road is fun. Two people, a caravan, a car, the open road. No worries, no commitments,
As novice caravanners, we had just made the big decision to retire and take to the road. We left Sydney and headed north along the Pacific Highway with a 7.3metre van, setting out on our big adventure; to see Australia with a large van and two small dogs.
Mimi was a 14-year-old miniature poodle. She had been our good mate for ten years, since we rescued her from the pound. The day we brought her home she was frightened, in need of a bath, and had a red and green ball clamped in her mouth. Her “security blanket"
I decided to nurse her on the trip home. She looked at me with trust in her eyes, put her head on my shoulder and cuddled up to me. She won my heart then and was able to wrap me around her little paw from then on. “Saved from death row,” said my friend Maria, “to live a life of luxury.

Lucy was a four year old Maltese-Shizu whom we inherited when she was two and had grown to love equally with Mimi. The two were good pals but Mimi never left any doubt as to who was top dog, a fact reluctantly accepted by Lucy.

On our second day out of Sydney we approached the White Albatross Caravan Park at Nambucca Heads. It had been a fast learning curve; travelling with a large and unfamiliar rig on one of the busiest highways in Australia. Now we looked forward to a few quiet days in this peaceful spot.

The entrance to the caravan park is not well marked. Peter mistook the turn off and went straight onto the fishing area next door; a narrow wharf with sea ahead, fence on the left and a row of cars parked on the right. No room to turn. No option but to reverse 500 metres. Not an easy task with only two days experience at maneuvering this leviathan!
With me, rookie navigator, trying to guide him in a straight line while two dogs barked encouragement from the back seat he finally extricated us from the dead end. When we reached our site and unhitched the van, he mopped his brow. “Well, I guess the locals enjoyed watching that and had a good laugh.”
A little later, Peter was chatting to another vanner, who remarked, “By the way, I must thank you for winning me $10.”
“Really? How come?”
“A group of us were watching from the tavern upstairs when you came in, and took the wrong road. It was obvious you were fairly new to backing a van. There was a lot of banter as to whether you’d be able to back up and turn or not. I bet $10 you’d make it. Thanks for that.”

Well, the only thing dented was Peter’s pride.

After our eventful day we both looked forward to a good night’s sleep. We settled down happily. But. Lucy decided in the wee hours that she needed to go outside.
Peter took her out and, after she had attended to her needs, he was shepherding her back inside when disaster struck. In the next van lived a fox terrier that chose just that moment to also heed the call of nature. He came past to our van, a situation not to be tolerated by Lucy.
With a loud bark, she decided to chase him away. Away they both went. How those dogs could run! We hadn’t nicknamed Lucy ‘the pocket rocket’ for nothing. Through the park those two dogs tore, calls from their masters totally ignored. In and out between the vans. What fun!
Finally two angry and flustered men collared their dogs and shoved them inside. Lucy happily settled down to sleep away the rest of the night, but we heard that foxie barking for the next hour.

I told you life on the road is fun!

http://www.kateloveday.com
A Woman of Spirit
just follow the sun and your own inclinations.

Monday, October 09, 2017

PUSHING THE 'WRITE' BUTTONS

“My avocation was a spark ignited by sugar.”

Remember Candy Dots? Sometimes called buttons, those little rows of rainbow sugar were easily peeled off long white strips of paper. (I always ate the cherry rows first.) Penny candy and nickel chocolate bars were sweet rewards in my childhood. Neighborhood Groceries or “Dimestores” displayed glass canisters of candy that could be scooped into little bags for little cravers deliberating over choices like Atomic Fireballs, Tootsie rolls, Root Beer Barrels, Sugar Babies, Blackjack Gum, and Taffy squares in four flavors. I was lucky to get my fix for a dime…at a little red brick store
about half way (six blocks) between home and school. (Yes, I once walked a mile for a two cent box of candy cigarettes.)

So, as my mouth is now under construction for implants with three dead molars needing replacement, I’m shamed into recall. Did the origin of my porcelain decline begin with a landmark splurge after winning my first writing contest at age ten? A Western Union Telegram (remember them?) notified me of my win. A five dollar prize in the hands of a ten year old with a sweet tooth was dangerous. I blew it on Candy Buttons.

The win propelled a normally shy little redhead to the front of her class for Show and Tell. I like to imagine classmates were more awed by telegram proof of my new literary status than the candy strips I distributed.

Decades later, as I prepare a power point presentation for Book Clubs and organizations interested in the novel journey of a writer with a crammed portfolio and sore gums, I am reminded of those Candy Buttons and what literary lessons I might salvage from that bittersweet splurge:
Everybody loves a winner! True. It is easier to get noticed when you can show you have some credible awards and great reviews. This requires losing enough humility to put yourself out there. I try to do a lot of 21st century Show and Tell now that I’m an award-winning author working on my fourth book.


Marketing means spending to receive! So true. Candy was once a sweet incentive to grow attention. Not so much today. Adult readers in a market with more supply than demand crave discounts, free books, gift certificates or even trendy gadgets to win their attention. Book parties--online and off--feature incentive give-a-ways to promote a book. However, the price of those give-a-ways and necessary ads, as well as review and promo services, can take a bittersweet bite out of royalties. New novelists are like minnows swallowed up by bigger fish with a publisher or a unique platform that attracts schools of followers. I think of “50 Shades of Gray”—and turn 50 shades of green over the 16,000 reviews it garnered and how the book saved a Publishing House. No candy or freebies required?


Creative people need to promote creatively! Right. When a promotion works well, writers are encouraged to repeat the success and always think outside the box. Candy Buttons inspired celebrity a half century ago. Are they still sold—like candy cigarettes and tootsie rolls? I check online and find Minnesota’s largest candy store (a 90 minute drive away) sells new and nostalgic candy. In a historic town closer to home, I find a chocolate shop that also sells Candy Buttons. Five packages for $6.00 inflates the childhood price by about 1000%. Still, it’s a small price to pay for renewed celebrity and more readers. When I present my “Novel Road” power point to Book Clubs and aspiring authors, I’ll have a sweet reminder to give away with bookmark swag. It feels right—a nostalgic treat to promote a taste for my nostalgic brand of fiction.

“Sweet!” My eight-year-old granddaughter approves the idea with a high five and a toothy grin white as chicklets. She loves to read, but actually prefers veggies.

Cj Fosdick still craves chocolate, but gleans sweet rewards from her Romantic Suspense/Time Travel www.cjfosdick.com and http://amazon.com/author/cjfosdick
novel series that began with “The Accidental Wife.” Follow her on FB, Goodreads,

Friday, October 06, 2017

Sometimes It Is All About The Destination

The day we arrived in Charleston she was underwater, as she often was, after every drenching summer rain. It was disconcerting, dodging the hordes of tourists, umbrellas braced against the downpour, winding our way around knee deep water at every intersection. Charleston, I’d thought, would be a proper setting for my story, rich with history and culture, but looking around at the drenched crowd, now I wasn’t so sure. Scouring the travel logs, it had seemed far more exotic than rural, dusty Ohio (although the two ended up melding seamlessly into not dissimilar small towns).
Charleston, it turned out, had everything I was looking for, and I was hoping for just a little bit of this city to rub off on me, so I could take it home and pour all her little details back into my story. I hadn’t expected the cobblestone streets, or the crushing crowds, the smell of horses mixed with sweat, or how close the stately mansions were to the Battery. Or how close the ocean was to everything. Experiencing this first hand changed everything in the book in subtle ways. In better ways.

I discovered some great new settings for book two; King Street shopping area was trendy and busy and I’d have never thought to include it in a book unless I’d actually walked up and down it. Standing on the Battery at sunrise helped me fine tune my character’s reaction during a confrontation she had on that very site. The wedding cake antebellum mansion, now a B & B on Meeting Street, turned into perfect house for my bad guy, while driving the roads north of the city helped me create a realistic travel timeline for my heroine. The smells, the feel, the taste of the city all were translated, in some small way, back into the book. None of which would have been possible sitting at my desk.
Now the only question is how soon until I can go back?

L. A. McGinnis
https://lamcginnis.com/

Thursday, October 05, 2017

Welcome to Lynn's Lair

Does marketing and promo give anyone else hives? No? Just me? K…

I’m an introvert who extroverts on occasion, so my release day was both exciting and terrifying! Thanks to a unicorn named Lisa Dawn, and the amazing support of my fellow TWRP authors, the terror went from a 20 to about a 7, and the excitement had me downing two bottles of sweet red, half a bottle of mango prosecco (thanks, Trader Joe’s), and an indeterminate number of truffles…and that just covers my consumption until noon. #DontJudge

Now that my baby, Between You and Me, is officially out there in the universe (SQUEEEEEE!!!), I thought it would be fun to share something light with you all: My writerly space!

I don’t have an office (my husband snagged it first, so he can do his Dexter’s Laboratory thing without tiny humans getting into his mustache-twirling world domination plans), so I have a little nook in my bedroom that I dub, Lynn Central.


While I love coffee shops (and bagel shops, and donut shops…stop judging), it’s cheaper and cozier to write at home. I’m usually a nomad with my lap desk, writing in bed, on the couch, or even outside, but with the addition of my shabby-chic chaise, I’ve been using my nook a lot more, dahling.

My little ficus is made of silk, on account of I can’t keep anything green alive, and cats can't eat it. My favorite inspirational quotes (back of photo), and a shadow box containing my debut novel (right side of photo) adorn the walls.



I have lots of sunlight coming in from the back yard, and I can multitask on weekends—writing and keeping an eye on my tiny humans.


Currently, this is where I #AmWriting my new interracial contemporary romance (coming soon), tentatively titled Pas De Deux. It’s an enemies-to-lovers (ish), ballet - to- Broadway romance between a contemporary choreographer/ playwright from the Bronx, and Paris’ newest superstar ballerina.

Where Between You and Me is sweet, this one has a bit more sass. Though the chemistry is there from the beginning, these two will bump heads a lot. Head over to my blog, http://lynnturner.me/blog/ for the blurb, and a sneak peek at the first two chapters!

XOXOXO
~L

Post script - To Cindy Davis (my lovely editor for BYaM who possesses the patience of Job, Jesus, and Moses altogether): If you’re reading this, you’re dope. (Metaphorically, not literally.)


Lynn Turner
http://www.instagram.com/lynn_writes

Monday, September 18, 2017

Writing from the Heart by Kate Loveday

As writers, we’re urged to write from the heart. If we search the innermost corners of our heart, what might we find? What might any of us find? Writing gives us an excuse to go to the deeper, darker parts of our heart, to dig deep and bring out parts that are buried deep. The parts that are kept hidden from everyday life, the parts we never reveal.

Is there anyone who has never done anything they regret, something they’d rather no-one know about, something to keep hidden? Who hasn’t lost someone dearly loved, and felt pain too sharp and intense to bring out and expose to the daylight?

These deepest parts of our hearts are part of life for all of us. Until you experience them you haven’t truly lived.
As writers we have the opportunity to reveal these hidden parts of our hearts under the pretext of imagination. And it’s the knowledge of life we gain from the secrets lurking in the recesses of both heart and mind that add poignancy to a story. Even the most light hearted tale benefits from a dollop of darkness. Too much sweetness and light is cloying.

Don’t we all love a villain? Don’t we revel in dastardly deeds? In the old-time melodramas the audience were encouraged to cheer the hero and hiss the villain. And they loved it! Don’t we all love a sad story? “It was wonderful – I cried all the way through it!” That used to be the catch-cry for the old sob-story movies. Is today’s reader so much different from those old-time audiences?

It’s the interplay of light and shadow that creates a story. And the blacker the shadow, the more intriguing the story. But that darkness must be real, it must come from the heart, because readers aren’t easily fooled. They can tell the real deal.
Are we all willing to bring out those buried secrets and expose them to the light of day? Or is that perhaps why we love to write - the opportunity to reveal so much of ourselves under the guise of fiction?

How much of YOU is in your writing?

Kate Loveday

Australian author
romance-mystery
historical-contemporary
https://twitter.com/LovedayKate

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

ONCE UPON A DUKE BY SANDRA MASTERS

Setting: Regency England 1817
Serena, an artist and widow, has no desire for another husband. When she meets His Grace, Duke of Sutton, attraction sizzles to a scorch. Stolen days and nights ignite forbidden passion. On a first name basis now, Geoffrey asks Serena to be his mistress, but she wants commitment, love and marriage, not an affair with a notorious rake.
Geoffrey realizes Serena might be the one woman who can care for his tortured soul, and maybe release his demons. The magic they shared is shattered when he learns she has been forced into an engagement with another. He vows to save her even at the cost of his own life.
Will Geoffrey’s gallantry prove he truly loves Serena? If he survives, will Serena surrender all to him?

Author: I thought to have His Grace answer the questions from his viewpoint. Here goes.

Author: What is your main fear, my lord?
His Grace: Getting leg shackled by a woman. I feared commitment and what love can do to a man. My interaction with Lady Serena started out as just another notch on my bedpost, but somehow it grew into something profound when I saw the scars inflicted on Serena’s back by her sadistic husband. My heart melted at the sight and I found a need to show her tenderness. I demonstrated to her the gentleness of a man and woman who share a real relationship. In a caring gesture, I gifted her with a puppy, who she named Adonis, after me and the mythical God of Love.

Author: What is the main conflict?
His Grace: She wanted a commitment of marriage. I offered the position of mistress. She refused. I left without saying Goodbye. It was not a manly thing to do.

Author: What has messed up your life?
His Grace: When I arrived in sooty-air defiled London, I found everything a bore. My thoughts were consumed with Serena whom I left behind. I did return and visited her surreptitiously one night at the lakeside manor and it was comfortable. Her maid prepared a warm meal for me. Adonis, the pup I gave her, wagged merrily and tried to bite my shoe as usual. Serena said, “WE missed you.” I wondered how along the way I had acquired a family: woman, a maid and a puppy. Our lovemaking was unbelievable and this time I woke her up before I left.

Author: Did the thought of family scare you?
His Grace: Yes. I returned to London and all I could do with think of her. The concept of a future relationship started to intrigue me. I returned to visit her the next week, but she was gone. I met with her brother and he told me she was engaged to another man and that she only toyed with me to make him jealous enough to propose marriage. He did. She accepted. Her brother approved. They were to be married in three weeks. Her brother informed me she ordered the puppy drowned and my portrait burned because it only reminded her of how foolish she had been.

Author: What was your reaction to this horrendous news?
His Grace: You can imagine how outraged I was. I did not care about the portrait she burned, but to order Adonis killed—how could I have misjudged her? I drank myself into a stupor with a good friend and while I tried to find any woman who might ease the pain of her loss, they all were found lacking. And just when I thought there was no other choice than to forget her, all she said, all she did, and all she represented to me, visitors came to my London townhouse. It was Serena’s maid and the groomsmen who had returned the puppy to me, unharmed, the week before. Her maid handed me a personal letter written hastily by her mistress. Serena advised she was being held prisoner in an armed fortress and that the marriage was forced upon her, without her knowledge or consent. She reaffirmed her love for me and indicated she would throw herself from a parapet into the ocean rather than marry the monster of a man who was to become her husband.
It was then I realized, when I was shown a picture she had drawn of the three of us, as a family, Serena, myself and the pup, that her brother lied to me—about everything. To add to this, the maid brought the portrait she had painted of me, the one that was purportedly burned, and I knew that her brother lied for his own selfish purposes. Serena’s letter ended with the words that she would love me forever, in this world or the next.

Author: Did you have plans to save her?
His Grace: What else could a rake do but reply that Emma, the maid, should return to her mistress and tell her that she would either attend our wedding—or my funeral.
I leave you to come to your own conclusion on how the ending of the novel came about.

Author: For our readers, what is the name of this debut novel?
His Grace: ONCE UPON A DUKE. I think it’s a racy title and I like the double entendre meaning. I also like the way YOU tormented me with longing and desire to obtain the unobtainable.

Answer: You can visit the author’s website where there is an excerpt at sandramastersauthor.com and you are invited to leave a comment on the Guest Page.
http://amzn.to/2aOacuc US
http://bit.ly/2fwzqfi Wild Rose
$2.99
http://www.authorsandramasters.com
Once Upon A Duke
My Divinely Decadent Duke
Thorn, Son of a Duke
The Duke's Magnificent Bastard
One Night With A Duke (Release Date June 2017)
The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke (Release Date End 2017)
Amazon | Kobo | BN | Apple iBookstore | The Wild Rose Press
Follow Sandra Masters on Facebook
Follow Sandra Masters on Twitter

Once in a while
In the middle of ordinary life
LOVE gives us a FAIRY TALE.




Wednesday, September 06, 2017

Character Profile: Pappy Cantrell


There's been some grumbling in the squad room. Apparently not everyone is pleased with the attention Jefferson Chene has been receiving.  So it seemed only appropriate that another primary character from "Why 319?" get his turn.   Here's your chance to learn about Captain Prescott "Pappy" Cantrell, the man in charge of Squad Six.



Tell us a little about yourself.

 (takes a drag on his ever present cigarette) Ah’m from the deep south of Tennessee.  After my hitch in the army, Ah moved to Michigan. Ah met a girl from Detroit when on leave. So Ah came here and started workin’ as a policeman for the state.  Ain’t never been married.  Ah’m too restless for it.

How did your background get you involved in this novel?  

More than twenty-five years chasin’ crooks mayhap somethin’ to do with it.  Me and my squad close cases. Keeps da Governor happy.

Who came first, you or the author?

(chuckles loudly) Well, he is ol’ as dirt, so probably was him.  Seems to me he was buyin’ drinks one night and we got to talkin’.  He liked hearin’ bout sum of our cases. He’s awright … for a Yankee.

What’s your greatest strength?   And of course, we want to know the opposite, your greatest weakness.  

(another puff on the cigarette) Ah’m good at pickin’ the best cops for my squad. They all different. But they git it done.  And it bothers me to admit, but Ah’m good at politics. Ah know how the systems works.  My biggest weakness?  Southern cookin’ and pretty women. Though not always in that order.

What is it about this mystery that sets it apart from the others?

Damn killings don’t make no sense. Ain’t no connection ‘tween the three girls. There’s more’n 2,000 square miles in them three counties we cover. And the killer leaves that message on the mirror ‘Why 319?’ The hell is that supposed ta mean?  But don’t y’all worry. We gonna find that sumbitch!

Tell us something about your background that may or may not be revealed in the book?

(chuckles) Y'all sure Chene ain’t gonna see this?  Ah read a lot of legal stuff. Court cases, lawsuits, government shit, stuff y’all might find borin’. And Ah won a boxin’ tourney back in the Army. It weren’t pretty, but it was a win. Ah’m also a pretty good dancer, if it’s real music.

Are you the type of person who always seeks out the company of others?

Ah do enjoy bein’ around a pretty woman or two. It’s hard work bein’ in charge of the squad. We works together to close them cases. But when the day’s over, y’all need some distance.

What do you do to relax after a day of fighting crime?

A thick steak, cooked rare, some fine Tennessee whiskey and… (chuckles) well, y’all figger out the rest.

What’s it like working with Jefferson Chene?

(hesitates and exhales a plume of cigarette smoke, watching it drift toward the ceiling) Chene’s awright. He’s stubborn.  But my daddy learned me long ago, y’all do better havin’ good people doin’ the heavy liftin’.  Chene’s smart. He kinda sees around the corners, diggin’ out the answers. He’s awright…for a Yankee.

Which do you prefer, music or television?
Ah don’t even own a television.  Music works just fine.   Like this one.






This blog originally posted on
http://motownmysteries.blogspot.com/