How to Salvage A Manuscript

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author Catherine Castle, guest blogging at SMP Authors, How to Salvage a Manuscript, writing tips

 

I’m over at the SMP author site today with some tips on How To Salvage A Manuscript.

During a recent forage through an old Writer’s Encyclopedia for blog ideas, I came across an entry entitled “How to Salvage a Manuscript.” Great topic for a writer’s tip blog, I thought. Here’s what the book recommended, and I quote.

“A manuscript that has been returned to an author wrinkled or crumpled may be salvaged from the time and expense of retyping by ironing the pages.”

Not exactly what I had in mind when I thought about salvaging a manuscript. My mind was running more along the lines of fixing the story, not limp pages. I did get a good laugh, though, because eons ago, when you sent in paper submissions, I had some work come back looking worse for the wear. Funny thing is, I would have never thought about ironing the pages.

The article goes on to state that you should not use a steam iron on the pages, and you should iron the back side of the paper to keep the ink from smearing. Apparently, ironing will also take out paper clips crinkles. Who knew?

Upon further reflection, I recalled seeing an episode from Downton Abbey where one of the housemaids ironed Lord Grantham’s London Times so the pages would be crisp for the master of the house. Heaven forbid that they should give the lord of the manor limp newsprint! I thought the action odd, but my husband seemed to feel ironing the paper made perfect sense. Must be a male thing.

Anyway, I digress from the original theme of this post—salvaging a manuscript, sans the iron. When you think there’s no hope left for the story you’re working on consider trying the following. Click here to read the rest of the post

Wednesday Writers Welcomes J. Lynn Rowan

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Author Catherine Castle blog, book excerpt When In Rome, Catherine Castle Wednesday Writers series, Chick Lit, Italy, J. Lynn Rowan, Rome, Sweet romance, Sweet Somethings series, The Eternal City, The Spanish Steps, When In Rome

Today, Wednesday Writers welcomes J. Lynn Rowan, author of When In Rome, book 2 in her Sweet Somethings series, to the blog. Lynn’s description of how her setting was chosen made me want to run off to Italy with my man for some amore. Read on and see if you agree.

 

Rome, In Love

Kate Miller, the heroine of my second contemporary romance release, WHEN IN ROME, was a hard person to place. When she first showed up in BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE, the first in my Sweet Somethings series, she came across as something of a… well, it rhymes with witch, and let’s leave it at that.

But Kate had a vulnerable heart. As the author, I knew it. As the character, she knew it. Despite her best efforts to keep it hidden, that vulnerability needed to be shown.

I knew from the get-go that Domenic, the hero of WHEN IN ROME, would be the one to take on Kate’s passionate but often querulous nature. The question then became: where would she let down her guard and let her heart take some risks?

The answer came from my real life love story.

Rome.

In the spring of 2007, my then boyfriend, now husband, took me on a trip to Italy during my spring break from my first year of teaching. We were young, in our mid-twenties, and honestly hadn’t been dating that long. Seven months, in fact, and we’d started planning the trip when our relationship was barely three months in.

I never thought I’d make it to Rome. But that Easter weekend, I found myself in the middle of The Eternal City. Our trip was filled with amazing sights, delicious food (including lots of gelato!), and the sweet, slow feeling of falling in love.

For a long time, I imagined how wonderful it would be to draw on my personal experience in Rome when it came time to write a love story. When Kate Miller and Domenic Varezzi popped onto my storyboard and outline, I knew Rome would be the perfect setting for their romance.

Many of the locations featured in WHEN IN ROME are described as I remember them from my 2007 trip. Just like Kate, we wandered the Roman Forum. We ate gelato on the Spanish Steps. We laid on the hills of Villa Borghese. And when Kate and Domenic travel to Taormina, Sicily, the sites she sees, at least most of them, echo what we experienced. The Greek Theater. Views of Giardini-Naxos from the cliff-side plaza. Castelmola. The ruins at the beach of Mazzarò.

And of course, there was love. The beautiful, crazy, blossoming of love.

WHEN IN ROME

By J. Lynn Rowan

Love isn’t always picture perfect . . .

Atlanta-based photographer Kate Miller doesn’t believe in fairytale romance or relationships of the forever kind. She’s determined to build her own happiness through hard work and professional success. So, when the opportunity arises to join an exclusive fashion photo shoot in Rome, she jumps on the chance to gain international recognition. But she’s not counting on an instant attraction to the charismatic, sexy, and irritatingly arrogant director of the shoot.

World famous, Domenic Varezzi is used to calling the shots. His clients trust his instincts and they’re willing to pay for the best. But while his career is thriving, his personal life has been lackluster at best. Hoping Kate could be the answer he’s been looking for, he’s determined to win her over. Every challenge she sends his way drives him to break through her tough-as-nails exterior to reach the vulnerable heart that matches his own.

Surrounded by the beauty and magic of Italy’s “Eternal City”, a foundation begins to form that could lead to a lifetime partnership, both in business and in love. Until Domenic’s past comes back to haunt the present and threatens to destroy everything.

EXCERPT

“Let’s get moving,” Domenic says, taking the boarding passes from Joe. “Pilot wants to be cleared for takeoff in twenty minutes.”

The team lines up, toes tapping, as he thumbs through the boarding passes and starts calling out our names. “Corrine. Rafe. Dave.” Each person steps forward to take their passes and heads toward the gate agent. “Lauren. Joe. Miranda.”

Then it’s just me. Domenic and me, staring at each other steps away from the jet bridge. He holds my boarding pass out to me, and a little surge of indignation heats my face. I want to hear him say my name, the way he said everyone else’s, like it’s validation for my spot on his team. My brows lower and my mouth tightens. I stride toward him, close enough to take my boarding pass.

But I don’t.

I glare at him.

Waiting.

A little coil of something hotter than indignation winding through my core at the amusement shining in his emerald eyes.

He thinks this is funny. My discomfort and impatience is a freaking joke to him.

“Well?” I grind out.

Slowly, he extends my boarding pass toward me. A half-grin pulls at one corner of his mouth as I continue to wait. Something else appears in his eyes alongside that irksome amusement.

My stomach flips.

“Kate.” His voice is low and sonorous, just loud enough for me to hear.

The flip, and the simmering annoyance that’s been building over the past three minutes, explodes into an eruption of raging butterflies. Dizziness threatens the stability of my stance, and my cheeks are on fire. Short of breath, I snatch my boarding pass from his artistically elegant fingers and march myself down the jet bridge.

Want to read more? WHEN IN ROME PURCHASE LINKS

 

About the Author

Lynn Rowan started writing stories as a small child, usually starring her favorite cartoon characters. Most of her work through middle and high school was filled with typical teenage angst and melodrama, and usually mirrored the books she loved to read. But eventually she found her own author’s voice and decided to seriously pursue a writing career.

Historical fiction remains J. Lynn’s “first love”, but she has enjoyed the journey to becoming an author of romance and chick lit. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Central New York Romance Writers, and the Historical Novel Society. She is also a teacher who tries to instill a love of learning, reading, and writing in her students.

When she’s not writing, J. Lynn enjoys travelling, gardening poorly but enthusiastically, studying various topics in American history for her own expertise, and channeling Julia Child every time she steps into the kitchen.

A native of Oswego, NY, she now lives in Charlotte, NC, with her own Romantic Hero of a husband and the most adorable baby on the planet.

Learn more about Lynn at: Email: Website: Facebook: Twitter: Pinterest: YouTube:

Goodreads: Amazon

Book 1 in the Sweet Somethings series BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE  is available at Amazon

 

 

WEdnesday Writers–Gail Kittleson–In Times Like These

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book about spousal abuse, fiction set in Iowa, Gail Kittleson, In Times Like Theses, verbal abuse, Women's historical fiction, Words and War, WWII fiction

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Writers’ guest today is author Gail Kittleson. Gail writes women’s historical fiction and will be highlighting her book In Times Like These, a story of spousal abuse during World War II, on today’s blog. Welcome back, Gail.

 

 

Words and War

 

The Iowa countryside makes a perfect setting for Addie Bledsoe’s story. At the beginning, fierce winter storms coat the farmstead with ice, just as bitterness envelops her volatile husband Harold. Furious with the draft board for refusing to allow him to join the fight, he takes his rage out on Addie. The terror that stokes worldwide battles has a local name, and that name is Harold.

But gradually, spring thaws the frozen plains, igniting dreams of brighter days ahead. There’s nothing like bitter cold transforming into warming winds, nothing like seeing that first robin and being able to get one’s hands into the soil again.

Like spring, letters from Addie’s friend Kate in London help her navigate the long winter, and Jane, her gardening friend just down the gravel road, cheers her, too. When Harold’s father dies, no one is more surprised than Addie to witness her mother-in-law emerge from grief with a taste for joy.

Summer brings heartfelt relief, since Harold is so preoccupied with the crops and livestock. But thunderclouds envelop the farm from time to time, even felling an old maple in the yard. Addie is never free from her husband’s brooding nature, and when he lashes out, she unwittingly reinforces his behavior by believing his accusations. Surely, there must be a way she can change to make him happy.

Like George the mailman’s deliveries of Kate’s letters, autumn provides relief from summer’s heat and humidity, and a sudden surprise lightens Addie’s load. Their pastor becomes an army chaplain, and with so many joining up, the local church calls Harold, a self-made theologian and debate champion, to fill in. Then an unparalleled opportunity arises for him to receive seminary training from December through March. Imagine Addie’s relief at this unexpected reprieve!

But as harsh winds funnel east from the Dakotas, Kate’s RAF pilot husband goes missing in action. Within weeks, Kate’s situation turns from fearsome to sorrowful to desperate.

Like the solid, fertile land under her feet, Addie’s growing friendships with her mother-in-law and Jane nurture her faith. Even caregiving a dying World War I veteran (a task Harold foists upon her) reveals a silver lining.

***

The land, the seasons, and the war’s effect on quiet Iowa farm families . . . blending these together challenged me. I’m not sure I was always aware of the interplay of military battles and Addie’s ever-heightening tension. But I do love metaphors, and it’s so satisfying to see how this one works.

 

In Times Like These

By Gail Kittleson

 

Pearl Harbor attacked! The United States is at war.

But Addie fights her own battles on the Iowa home front. Her controlling husband Harold vents his rage on her when his father’s stoke prevents him from joining the military. He degrades Addie, ridicules her productive victory garden, and even labels her childlessness as God’s punishment.

When he manipulates his way into a military unit bound for Normandy, Addie learns that her best friend Kate’s pilot husband has died on a mission, leaving her stranded in London in desperate straits.

Will Addie be able to help Kate, and find courage to trust God with her future?

Want to read more?  Here’s the Buy link

Endorsement:

This extraordinary story classically captures the mindset of the 1940’s. Addie and her friend Kate reflect the voices women hear as they face confusing dilemmas almost seventy-five years later—my first read kept me up into the wee hours. I will refer my readers to In Times Like These! Patricia Evans, Author of The Verbally Abusive Relationship, Controlling People and other books listed at www.VerbalAbuse.com

 

About the Author:

 

Gail Kittleson lives in Northern Iowa with her husband of 38 years. In winter, Arizona’s Ponderosa pine forest provides another setting for her historical women’s fiction. She instructs creative writing classes and facilitates women’s workshops on spirituality, creativity, and memoir/fiction writing.

 

 

Contact Gail at her website: Facebook: author@gailkittleson.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Through A Writer’s Garden with Gail Sattler

Tags

bees in crisis, Gail Sattler, Garden blog, Love in Mistletoe Springs, Solitary Pollen Bee Nest, Through a Writer's Garden

Bees, Pleeze

 

Every gardener has a wealth of information they use to grow their flowers and crops, and most of the time that varies with where everyone lives and gardens. But one thing that is universal is that in order to have fruits and vegetables and flowers, bees need to do their bee thing and pollinate all the flowers. Where I live the bees are in crisis.
I’m trying to grow some blueberries, and as expected, my bushes are not overflowing with berries like they have been in previous years. But my small bush in the middle of the three is recovering nicely, so I’m very happy for that.

As well, even though I need to search for them, I have some lovely strawberries, too. With all the rain we’ve had, and then a blast of heat, my strawberries are great and many are ready to eat.

We completely cut back our crabapple tree this spring, and it’s now the thickest and bushiest it’s ever been. There are very few crabapples on it, which isn’t necessarily bad, because I still have lots in the freezer from last year.

Although I suspect that if we had a more healthy bee population, there would be more crabapples on my tree. I bought a handy little thing to help the bees, barely over $20. It’s not a hive, so I don’t have to interact with the bees, nor do I need to get any honey out. The instructions say to just nail it to the fence or something, and it is a place for bees to lay eggs, and then it keeps the eggs safe until the bees come out, and go make a new home.

solitary pollen bee nest

As you can see it’s not very big, and will not ruin your gardenscape. In fact, it makes an interesting conversation piece! If you’re interested, here’s a link to where I bought mine. http://www.leevalley.com/en/garden/page.aspx?p=70416&cat=2%2C47236 Happy gardening, and help the bees, because without them, you wouldn’t have a garden.

Go Garden!

About the Author:

Last year I had a photo of myself holding a tomato plant at the end of my article, but this year I thought I’d post something more fun, which is a photo of me with my jazz band after a gig we did for a fundraiser in a local mall. I’m the one with the bunny ears.

Gail Sattler lives in Vancouver BC Canada, where you don’t have to shovel rain, with her husband, sons, dogs, and a guinea pig who helps mow the grass on a sunny day. Gail enjoys gardening, writing, and music, and the order of that depends how hard it’s raining on the west coast. See Gail’s newest book – Love in Mistletoe Springs. You’re invited to visit Gail’s website at http://www.gailsattler.com/ Serious comedy – no kidding!

How to Make Your Computer Behave

Tags

bad computer mojo, computer death, computer humor, failed laptop, how to make your computer behave, misbehaving computer

We’ve all experienced it. The sluggish computer that doesn’t respond to your touch. The monitor screen that locks up and freezes. That spinning circle that never seems to stop. The blue screen of death.

Some of us experience that phenomena more than others. I happen to be one of those unlucky users. Six months ago my computer died. Computer death is not an uncommon event in my office. It happens more than you would expect. The latest mortality was probably the third computer I’ve had in ten years. My husband, on the other hand, has had the same computer for ten years.

I don’t know what the problem is, but I go through computers like crazy. Blame it on my electrical personality. Blame it on my animal magnetism. Blame it on the phases of the moon. I kill computers so fast that I’m not allowed to touch the hubby’s machine.

I kid you not!

I can’t turn his machine on. I can’t turn it off. And I certainly can’t touch the keyboard. NO. NEVER! I’m often surprised that he lets me touch the second monitor he set up for me to look at when we work together on projects. Occasionally, he lets me unplug the electrical cord, and that’s it. He probably allows that because the computer is plugged into a surge protector and is insulated from my bad computer mojo.

The new computer we bought six months ago, to replace my failed laptop, is an HP All-in-One. I love the convenience of no hulking tower on the desk. The computer fits great in the desk cubby-hole. I have plenty of room around the front and sides for my office necessities: eyeglasses of varying magnifications, typewriter notepad and pen set, tissues, high intensity lamp for late night writing sessions, piles of papers and references books, and chocolate. We all have chocolate, right? The computer also has a nice big screen. The speakers are built-in. Gotta love that.

Sounds great, right? Well the stupid thing has been driving me bonkers since we got it. On any given day you’ll hear me holler, yell, and say bad words to the misbehaving machine. The hubby’s name accompanied by shrieks of frustration leveled at the computer is a common disturbance in our home. The neighbors walking by my front office window probably have their fingers poised over 911 on their cells, waiting to see if something flies out the window in a domestic fracas.

Some of the issue might be Windows 10, but I don’t think I can blame the program entirely. My computer doesn’t play nice with the internet. Loading my email on the internet is a nightmare because of all the stupid ads they put on the screen. I type fairly fast, and can finish a sentence on my WIP, look up at the screen, and see NOT A SINGLE WORD made it from the keyboard to the virtual paper! ARGGHHHH! Anyway, after listening to me yell at the computer for six months, the hubby decided it was time to rectify the problem, so we went out and bought a very powerful, new computer.

The day we brought the new, shiny machine into the house, my All-in-One suddenly decided to play nice.

For the past week I been able to have five windows and as many programs open on the screen at the same time and nothing fails. Stuff opens up on the internet in what I consider a relative flash. I’ve loaded posts onto WordPress in a fraction of time that it’s been taking me since I got the All-in-One. I’ve only got the blue screen of death in the middle of something once this week, and that was while I was trying to get the machine to leave the internet. And, wonder of wonders, every single letter I’ve typed has appeared on the screen the second I touch the keys!!!!

So, if you’re wondering how to make your misbehaving computer behave here’s the secret:

Go by a newer, more expensive model. Bring it home and set in somewhere near the old computer. A few verbal taunts thrown at your troublemaker wouldn’t hurt either. As soon as your misbehaving computer picks up on the news that it’s history, it should start humming along like a well-oiled machine. At least until you pull the plug on it.

 

What about you? Do you suffer from misbehaving computer syndrome?

Through A Writer’s Garden with Author Jamaila Brinkley

Tags

Catherine Castle's garden blog, Jamaila Brinkley, New Beginnings, Sweet romance, Thieves' Honor, Through a Writer's Garden

New Beginnings

I have had a fruitful (if you’ll pardon the pun) vegetable garden for the last ten years. My husband built me a fabulously large raised bed by the side of our house, and no matter what I did, how neglectful I was, if I could just get the plants in the ground sometime in April, we were rewarded all summer with herbs and vegetables from the garden. And trust me, I have been very neglectful! Between nature and I, my garden has endured overgrowth – from weeds to cucumber vines; underwatering – thank goodness for rain; and even tornadoes and earthquakes – most notably, both in one year, and that year was the one when my tomato plants grew ten feet tall!

What my garden cannot endure, however, is leaving. And that’s what we have done. Just before the end of tomato season last year, my family packed up our trowels and moved. I gathered all the tomatoes I could, ripe and unripe, from the garden, and took them with me to the new house. Some ripened; some were fried green (yum); and some just… didn’t make it. It feels a little like a metaphor for dreams, although I’m not sure what exactly is standing in for what.

Our new house is beautiful, and big, and in a much better school district, something my two-year-old twins will surely appreciate someday. But it doesn’t have a space that screams for a garden.

The old house had the perfect spot; a strip of grass that was so unused as to be useless, in between the house and driveway, perfectly sized for a raised bed. We built it, and the garden flourished while we renovated the entire house, got married, and had babies. Now, a tenant lives there. She has dogs, and doesn’t garden, although I hear that my rosemary has survived regardless.

Here in the new house, we’ve swung through April and into May, and I haven’t planted anything. I’ll be buying my herbs and tomatoes from the farmstand this year, I suspect, until I can figure out where to put something. I love my new backyard beyond belief, and we have a fabulous patio, but a thin strip of mulch behind it is the only place the previous owners thought to leave any garden space. The layout doesn’t leave room for my preferred raised beds – the sunniest area of the yard is the most child-friendly, and I suppose if I must choose, I have to choose my children over tomatoes. It’s the done thing. But I’ll find a way. Gardening, like life, involves planning. I’ll get there again soon.

 

About the Author:

 

Jamaila Brinkley grew up on a farm, and has always preferred to live where she can have land to roam. Her taste in gardening is decidedly vegetable in nature; her harvest regularly shows up in her kitchen. She now gardens and gambols with her two young children in the suburbs of Baltimore, Maryland. A debut author, Jamaila’s first release is ‘THIEVES’ HONOR,’ a light historical fantasy romance which features a shy wizard, a sassy thief, and an interfering duchess in Regency London. This sweet novella is available from Soul Mate Publishing exclusively on Amazon.  You can find out more about Jamaila on her website.

 

 

Wednesday Writers-Denise Gwen Returns

Tags

book excerpt from Molly's Folly, Catherine Castle Wednesday Writers series, clean romance, contemporary romance, Denise Gwen, Molly's Folly, Sweet romance

 

 

Today Wednesday Writers welcomes Denise Gwen with an excerpt from her sweet romance Molly’s Folly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Molly’s Folly

By Denise Gwen

 

A high-powered Washington insider, Molly Brandenburg has been sent back to Bellefleur, a sleepy river-town on the banks of the Ohio, to set up a headquarters for her senator boss. But when she runs back into the guy who took her to the senior prom, Michael Carson, her one true love, she begins to wonder if perhaps she didn’t make a mistake when she kicked the dust of Bellefleur off her heels sixteen years earlier? 

Because, on the fateful night when Mike told her he loved her, something happened be-tween them that would change their lives forever after. 

 

Excerpt:

As Molly eased off Highway 32, the James A. Rhodes Appalachian Highway, and headed north onto Highway 7, her heart flooded over with a thousand sensations. After seventeen years away, she was coming back home, and she didn’t quite know how she felt.

Meredith, snuggled down in the front passenger seat, stirred and looked out the window. “Wow,” Meredith murmured, “what’s that?”

No wonder the enormous power plant attracted Meredith’s attention. This particular power plant, with its high-spiraling towers emitting steam and fire at all times of the day and night, and with its strange assortment of tall silos and dangerous-looking pipes and windowless concrete bunkers, possessed a strange and terrifying power in Molly’s mind. At night, when the lights on all the towers shone, the power plant took on an eerie, mystical transcendence, looking like a modern-day castle.

“The power plant.”

“It’s huge.”

“It sure is. When I was little, and my mother drove me back home to Bellefleur after the holidays in Cincinnati, I used to keep an eye out for it.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Molly said, blinking back tears, “whenever I saw the power plant, it meant we’d made it back home.”

Meredith scoffed. “A power plant, taking up valuable land on a river, and with enormous cooling towers billowing out noxious smoke? You thought of that as home, Mom?”

Molly smiled through her tears. “I know. Lame, right?”

“So lame.” Meredith settled back down, but remained awake. She gazed out at the open road with wide-awake eyes. “That’s an interesting story, Mom.”

Molly chuckled inwardly. How typical of her little girl to not see it through Molly’s eyes. And it struck her as funny, the disdainful manner in which her daughter spoke to her. Never, ever, had Molly spoken to her mother in the same tone of voice Meredith reserved for her. Was it a generational thing? Or had her mother, Vera Brandenberg, simply not tolerated the withering condescension of her then-teenage daughter? Still smiling to herself, she drove past the massive power plant and tried to recall what, exactly, it was about the place that used to send such shudders of fear and awe through her heart. The terrifying structure, with its eerie stacks and white steam and bright lights on every turret, resembled a gothic city-state, with secrets tucked away inside every chimney.

On every trip back from Cincinnati, she had looked for it. “When I was little,” she said softly, “I called it the castle.”

Meredith turned to look and nodded. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Whenever I saw the castle, with its ghostly lights and steam billowing out, I knew I’d arrived home.”

“Uh, huh,” Meredith noted politely, then fell silent.

A lump formed in Molly’s throat. Home? Who was she kidding, referring to Bellefleur as home? And thoughts of her mother, wow. It marked the first time she’d thought of her mother in how many years? Then again, back when she was Meredith’s age, her mother had already been struggling with cancer. In her first year of the horrible disease, her mother wasn’t in the least condition to be teased or kidded, let alone censoriously looked down upon with the withering condescension of a teenage girl.

“I was poor growing up,” Molly said.

“I know, Mommy,” Meredith said kindly. “You told me.”

“And yet, I never felt at a disadvantage, at least not when it came to my mother.”

Meredith said nothing, but gravely turned her gaze to Molly.

“At least not in that way,” Molly continued. “No, I simply accepted it as a given. My mother and I formed a family, our own insular unit.”

“Mmmm hmmmm.”

“We weren’t wealthy, but Mommy was so good, so clever, at scouring the thrift stores and the day-old bread stores for provisions. Mommy knew how to stretch a dollar to the breaking point. Despite our poverty, I always wore clean, fresh, new-looking clothing, and the fridge was always full.”

Meredith remained still.

Molly couldn’t help it. She simply could not stop talking. She’d loosened the flood gates when she passed the electric plant, and she simply had to share her history, even if it might be a bit dark and bleak to share with a teenager. Molly simply could not help it. “Of course, growing up in a working-class town like Bellefleur, it was actually kind of easy to be poor, because everybody else was poor, too. It was easy, quite frankly, to fit in. On a fraction of the budget, I still managed to look like the rich, fashionable, girls at school.”

“We wear uniforms,” Meredith noted, “so we don’t have that problem, but then everybody’s rich.”

“That’s true,” Molly agreed. “The rich girls always showed up at school the first day after the summer break, wearing their brand new outfits from the fancy stores. But I didn’t pay those girls any mind. And, up until my fifteenth birthday, I never really wanted for anything.”

“What happened when you turned fifteen?”

“My mother got cancer.”

“Oh,” Meredith said in a small voice.

As Molly glanced through the rearview mirror and saw the enormous city of lights and vapor she recalled another memory. It was always dark, for some reason, whenever she and her mother drove back into Bellefleur. And in the dark, whenever she saw the plant, Molly felt safe and warm and protected. The hard, cold city loomed outside her window, but inside, seated beside her mother, with her mother’s competent hands securely on the steering wheel, guiding her home, Molly felt secure in the protective bubble of her mother’s presence. She wanted to tell Meredith all these things, to share all these thoughts and emotions and sensations, but she resisted the impulse. She’d already shared enough. Sometimes it was too hard, and too painful, to bring up every memory from the past.

Want to read more? Check out the book at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

 

About the Author:

One night, when Denise was thirteen years old, her mother kept her up half the night, in order to edify her and make her aware of the many charms and talents of Jane Austen.

Her mother then proceeded to act out key scenes from a copy of Emma, which her mother then presented to her as a gift. Denise read Emma and didn’t really ‘get’ Jane Austen. Not right away, in any event. It wasn’t until she read Pride and Prejudice, that Denise finally ‘got’ Jane Austen, and instantly became a convert and worshipful admirer of all things Austen.

Denise hopes that one day her writing will reach the same sublime level as a Jane Austen novel; all she can do in the meantime, however, is continue to work at her craft.

Denise lives in Cincinnati with her husband and two cats, one of whom is an excellent mouser, the other one, not so much. The cat, you know.

 

Check out Denise’s other posts on this site here.

 

 

 

Through A Writer’s Garden with Tina Susedik

Tags

A Writer's Garden, Author Catherine Castle's garden blog, flower pictures, gardening after a move, New FlowerGardens, Tina Susedik

courtesy of wpclipart

New Flower Gardens

 

Once again my husband, Al, and I are on the move. We recently sold our house in the country and purchased a house in the city three doors down from my daughter. We decided it was time to downsize and, since I’m home alone a lot, I needed to be near people. I’m excited about the move, but hate the idea of moving. So much to pack – even after getting rid of junk. Once we get in our new house, and see what I need, I can probably get rid of more.

One of the things I’m so looking forward to is that this is the first house I have EVER lived in where there are already existing flower beds. It’s been about two weeks since I’ve been in the back yard, so I don’t quite remember what she has planted (plus most things weren’t up yet), but I plan on digging up some of my plants from where I live and transplant them. I was so excited to see a lilac bush in the backyard, I nearly did a cartwheel down the sidewalk. There is also a gorgeous flowering crab in the front yard.

I’m trying to decide which of my containers to plant before the move. I’m afraid if I wait until after June 30th when we close, there won’t be much to choose from in the garden centers. Once my husband and I get back from vacation, I’ll pick up several flats and plant them. That will give them a good start before we move – that is if I can find the time. I found a bucket of daisy seeds I collected last year, so I plan on spreading a few of those. I guess it’s a tradition for me whenever we move.

One of the other things I’m looking forward to is gardening with my grandkids. Since they live only three doors down, it’ll be easier to have them over to help me. They love to plant—their mother, not so much. It was too hard to get them to where we live now to help plant.

I thought I’d post a few pictures of my flower beds here. My bleeding heart plant was doing so well, but then we have a major frost and it was ruined. I’ll miss my gardens here, but I’m excited to start anew.

 

About the Author:

Tina Susedik looks forward each year to the first blooms of spring. When she’s not gardening, she writes sensual romantic mysteries and has developed one that involves flowers – of course. She lives in Northern  Wisconsin, where there have been too many years where late frosts have taken out the tulips and lilacs. For more information on Tina go to tinasusedik.com

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Writers Welcomes Terri Wangard

Tags

Catherine Castle Wednesday Writers series, Character interview, Christian Historical Romance, No Neutral Ground, Terri Wangard

 

Today Wednesday Writers is welcoming Terri Wangard, author of the Christian historical novel No Neutral Ground, set in the WWII era. The book is the second book of her historical Promise For Tomorrow series. Here’s a quick blurb on the story, and a character interview of her heroine, Jennie Lindquist.

No Neutral Ground

By Terri Wangard

After his father divorces his mother because of her Jewish ancestry, Rafe and the rest of his family flee Germany. As a B-17 navigator, he returns to Europe. Flying missions against his former homeland arouses emotions that surprise Rafe. Despite being rejected, he is troubled by the destruction of Germany and his heart still cries for his father’s love.

Sweden may be neutral, but it’s full of intrigue. Jennie assists the OSS at the American legation in Sweden. She thought she’d be doing passive, behind-the-scenes work. Instead, she’s pushed into an active role to gain intelligence and frustrate the Germans.

How can Rafe and Jennie succeed in their dangerous roles when they are so conflicted?

 

Now, let’s chat with Terri’s heroine, Jennie.

Hello, Jennie, and welcome to Wednesday Writers. You traveled overseas in 1944. What did you do in the war years before that?

I worked at the Chicago art museum where I put together special exhibits like “Art in War: American Artists’ Record of War and Defense.” I also conducted tours through the museum for school groups.

What prompted you to go overseas?

Rumors of layoffs swirled around the museum, with the understanding that the last hired would be the first fired. I don’t know how true the rumors were, but my dad saw them as an opportunity to spread my wings and go to Sweden, where he was a military attaché.

Being ringside to a vicious war didn’t sound appealing, but my boss said I could scout out possible exhibitions for after the war. Other countries wouldn’t be able to take part in exchanges, what with the mess they were in and their art stolen or destroyed.

You traveled across the Atlantic on the Queen Mary. Were you concerned about submarines?

By 1944, the U-boats weren’t having the success they enjoyed earlier in the war. Both of the Queens were supposed to travel so fast, the U-boats couldn’t set up a shot. I never heard of either ship having a torpedo fired in their direction. That gave me confidence I wouldn’t have had if I’d traveled on a Liberty ship.

How did you like being one of few women among all the troops making the crossing?

Over twelve thousand servicemen packed in, plus the nurses in a few medical units. But you know, being so crowded made it safer for us. There was no privacy. No man could be improper toward us without someone to rescue us.

You managed to have a shipboard romance.

Oh, I wouldn’t call it a romance. Rafe and I did spend a lot of time together, and I hoped to see him again after the war. I wondered about him often. Being part of a B-17 crew was so dangerous. And then his plane crashed in Sweden and there he was, covered in blood. My heart stood still.

You had a brief but intense training course for the OSS. You saw no danger there?

I was convinced I’d work behind the scenes. And I was going to Sweden. That was hugely different from being an agent in Germany. Still, when I was assigned to leave the legation and meet with agents, I had qualms. Not until Rafe joined me did I start to enjoy our outings. They could still be nerve-wracking, but Rafe made it fun. Of course, as a former German national, the war was very personal for him.

Do you have any misgivings about Rafe being from Germany?

Never. I knew the day we met that he was angry with the Germans and with his father for rejecting him and the rest of their family because of Jewish ancestry. It hurt him to see Germany being destroyed. By war’s end, he came to understand how his father had been unable to cope with the belligerence of the Nazis. How would any of us react if we had a government turn so vicious? I’m so glad we found Rafe’s father in Cologne after the war and their relationship began to heal. Remembering their embrace still brings tears to my eyes.

Thanks for letting us get to know you, Jennie, and to Terri for bringing you to visit. If you want to know more about Terri’s book, you can buy No Neutral Ground   at Amazon

 

About the Author:

Terri Wangard grew up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, during the Lombardi Glory Years. Her first Girl Scout badge was the Writer. These days she is writing historical fiction, and won the 2013 Writers on the Storm contest and 2013 First Impressions, as well as being a 2012 Genesis finalist. Holder of a bachelor’s degree in history and a master’s degree in library science, she lives in Wisconsin. Her research included going for a ride in a WWII B-17 Flying Fortress bomber. Classic Boating Magazine, a family business since 1984, keeps her busy as an associate editor.

Connect with Terri: www.terriwangard.com Facebook: Pinterest:

 

Presentation Petrification

Tags

Midwest Writers Conference, presentation fright, Stage fright, synopsis workshop, writer's panels

Only nine more days before The Midwest Writers Conference in Indianapolis, Indiana, where I’ll be giving a Synopsis workshop. This will be my first workshop as a published author, and it’s exciting and scary as heck. This is even more nerve-wracking than a first book signing. You know—the signing where you have nightmares that no one comes to your table, and if they do you stumble over your words like an idiot. Or maybe they buy your book and come back before the signing is over and ask for a refund. Talk about nerve-racking!

From A House for Hannah (c) by Catherine Castle Art by Catherine Castle

 

It’s not that I haven’t been in front of an audience before. I’ve sung solos since I was 6 years old; acted in a number of plays where you have to memorize lots of lines, and cues, and blocking, and be ready to improvise if something goes wrong—which it usually does. I’ve been a speaker at local writers’ workshops. I’ve spoken to school children about writing poetry and using real life events to create stories. I even created a flip book of a children’s book I wrote to share with them.

 

 

 

Singing is second nature to me. I’d be fine if I could sing my presentation. When I was acting a lot, while nervous I might forget my lines, I was never terrified to go on stage. After a few lines I got in the zone. The school children and writers’ groups were small and didn’t seem as daunting as this gig. Talking to children and people you know doesn’t have the visual impact of a group of strangers staring at you. Hanging on your every word. At least you hope they are and are not checking their email because you’re boring them to tears.

Recently, I’ve been part of a writers’ panel at a library, and I’m planning on contacting my county library to see if they’d be interested in writer panels. Panel discussions aren’t nail biters. You’re sharing the limelight with others.

But here’s the crazy part. I’m considering offering my synopsis workshop and developing other writer workshops to pitch to the local library. Considering the previous sentence, I have to wonder What’s got me so rattled over the Indianapolis workshop?

I’ve thought about it a lot, and come to conclusion that it’s been a while since I’ve faced this particular challenge. Sometimes when you’re out of practice, you’re scared to take a leap of faith—even when you’re sure you can do it. Could it be as simple as that?

I hope so.

In the meantime, I’m going to memorize as much of my workshop as possible and practice on every writer who will listen.

I’ll also be sure to employ that old speakers’ tip—picture the audience naked.

Then again … maybe not.

 

What about you? How do you get over stage fright?