Musings from a Writer’s Brain–Are We Normal Yet? By Catherine Castle

Tags

A Groom for Mama, award-winning romance, scam calls, Sweet romantic comedy

photo Courtesy of Pixabay

While Ohio is mostly opened up from Pandemic status, I hear lots of newscasters asking “When will we get back to normal again?”

This question now is mostly related to the economy, workers going back to work, restaurants having their normal hours and normal menus back, schools and businesses being fully opened again, hospitals, airlines and nursing homes going maskless, and whether a new wave from a variant virus will set us back to 2020 shutdown status again.

There is, however, one thing that has come back to normal in record speed—Scamming and Phishing!

I’ve talked about phone scamming and phishing in the past, but I received a couple of calls that I think bear repeating. This past week or so our phone has gone nuts with scam calls. I received a call from a local hospital where my sister had been admitted a while ago. Not thinking about scamming, but wondering instead if she was in the hospital, I answered the call. It was a Medicare scammer. I bawled him out and hung up with a threat to report him to the FCC.

I had another interesting and doozy of a call the other day from Beverly Hill, California. I didn’t answer, but they left a voice-mail message. Our voice-mail system forces us to listen to the messages in order to clear them. Most of the time they are truncated messages that don’t give us much of a clue as to what the caller wants. As I punched the replay button that day, a computer-generated voice said. “Sorry. You did not reveal yourself to be human.”

If that’s not the pot calling the kettle black, I’ll eat my garden hat! It’s too bad all the other scam phone calls don’t recognize my computer-generated message isn’t worth their time as well. That would solve my constant ringing phone issue.

I’d love to hear your craziest scam phone call message.

There are no scam phone calls in Catherine Castle’s award-winning comedy with a touch of drama, A Groom for Mama, but there are plenty of scammy dates.  Follow the antics of Alison Walters and her mother Beverly as the pair works at cross purposes why gallivanting  across the country—one wants a wedding and one doesn’t. 

A Groom for Mama

By Catherine Castle

Beverly Walters is dying, and before she goes she has one wish—to find a groom for her daughter. To get the deed done, Mama enlists the dating service of Jack Somerset, Allison’s former boyfriend.

The last thing corporate-climbing Allison wants is a husband. Furious with Mama’s meddling, and a bit more interested in Jack than she wants to admit, Allison agrees to the scheme as long as Mama promises to search for a cure for her terminal illness.

A cross-country trip from Nevada to Ohio ensues, with a string of disastrous dates along the way, as the trio hunts for treatment and A Groom For Mama.

About the Author:

Multi-award winning author Catherine Castle loves writing. Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. She also lays claim to over 300 internet articles written on a variety of subjects and several hundred poems. In addition to writing she loves reading, traveling, singing, theatre, quilting and gardening. She’s a passionate gardener whose garden won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club. She writes sweet and inspirational romances. You can find her award-winning Soul Mate books The Nun and the Narc and A Groom for Mama, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Follow her on Twitter @AuthorCCastle, FB or her blog.

Musings from a Writer’s Brain–Celebrate Your Name –Even If You Change It by Catherine Castle

Tags

C;elebrate Your Name Week, Catherine Castle, essay about names, humor, Musings from a Writer's Brain, name changes, Names, nicknames

March 7-13 is Celebrate Your Name week. Established in 1997 by American onomatology hobbyist Jerry Hill, Celebrate Your Name Week (CYNW) is a week for embracing and celebrating your name.

Before you say, “Why would I want to celebrate my name?” think about this–your name identifies you. It is the one thing that will be in your life now and forever. It can define your ethnicity, your heritage, how you look at yourself, and sometimes how others look at you. If you hate your name you can change it, but the original moniker will still be on your birth certificate. Your name will be used throughout your life to identify you in a myriad of ways: on your driver’s license, bank accounts, health accounts, mortgage deeds, insurance policies, social media accounts, professionally, and friends and family will say your name hundreds of thousands, or even millions of times, over the course of your life.

Think about your name or names if you have a middle one. Do you know what they mean? Do you know how you got them? Do you know how long it took your parents to decide on what to name you? How important was your name to those who named you? Have you ever wanted to change your name, and if so why? How did that change work out for you?

I know the answers to a few of those questions. My birth names mean pure and peace. I was named after both of my grandmothers, whose names at the time of my birth were very old-fashioned. My aunt Ella, on my father’s side, always addressed me by my first and my middle names. I suppose she didn’t want me to forget my paternal grandmother, whom I never met. I can still recall my aunt’s voice addressing me. She was the only one who ever called me by both names and somehow it became extra special to me.

I don’t know how long it took my parents to decide on my name or whether they had chosen it before I was born or after. Back then you had to have male and female options, since the gender was a surprise until the baby arrived.

I do know that it was very important to my mother that people called me Catherine, not Cathy. While in high school I shortened my name to Cathy and introduced myself that way at school. Catherine was too long to write on homework papers and very old-fashioned at the time. I wanted to be hipper back then. At church, and in front of my mother, I was always Catherine.

That dichotomy caused me a lot of problems. Although I cautioned any boy to whom I gave my home phone number to ask for Catherine—not Cathy, they invariably forgot. When Mom got to the phone before I did, which was often since she had a phone beside her easy chair, I’d hear, “Sorry, there’s no one here by that name.” Then she’d hang up the phone and glare at me. I lost a lot of potential boyfriends and dates that way. One icy answer from my mother and they never called back. I think they thought I’d given them the run-around with a wrong number. As the years went by, I grew out of my Cathy phase and now I have to correct people when they shorten my name. I still answer to Cathy at my high school reunions. Mom’s not around anymore to glare at me in disapproval and it’s just easier for those few hours to answer to the nickname.

My grandmother was called Cat by her brothers. I used to think that was a horrible nickname and cringed whenever I heard her addressed that way. When my nieces and nephews came along, Cat was easier to say than Catherine, so I adopted Grandma’s nickname. It shocked the heck out of my family when I gave those babies the okay to call me Cat.  Now I’m Aunt Cat to all of them. I now eschew the high school nickname I gave myself and love the birth name I once hated. Ain’t life funny?

When I began my fiction-writing career, I changed my name again. I kept my first name, because I like it a lot now. I’ve grown into it. I also thought keeping my first name would be less confusing at writing conferences. If someone called me Nancy I might think they were talking to another person and unintentionally ignore them. That would be bad.  I did, however, choose a different last name—one that would fit easier on a book cover and had a nice alliteration to my first name. My pen name is Catherine Castle. With that name change I became an author of sweet and inspiration romance.

 I still remember the first time a stranger in a bookstore asked, “Are you Catherine Castle?”

Startled, I looked at her and said, “Yes, I am.” No one had ever recognized my author persona before and I wondered how she knew me.

She must have seen the question in my gaze because she said, “I recognize you from your picture on your website.”

I left the bookstore with a big grin on my face that lasted for several hours. A complete stranger knew who Catherine Castle, the author, was! 

Shakespeare wrote, in Romeo and Juliet, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet…” This popular quote is often used to imply that it didn’t matter that Romeo’s name was associated with the house of Juliet’s family’s sworn enemy.

I suggest that your name does matter and that your name affects who you are. A boy named Sue will have a very different life than one named Chauncy. So if you love your name, or are just indifferent to it, embrace it. Take a few minutes this week to celebrate your name. Find out everything you can about your name. Dig into its history. You might be surprised as to why you are named what you are and how your name has made you who you are.

If you need to change your name for some reason, choose wisely. In the Bible, when a name change happened it often reflected some new aspect of one’s life, a thing that changed them and defined their new life paths. Your name can define you, too. So make your new name a good one.

Celebrate name week—Celebrate!

Catherine Castle is very picky about how she chooses the character names for her books. She once wrote an entire book inserting the name Mother 2 into the pages because she couldn’t think of the right name for that antagonist character. Her critique partners thought it was a real hoot, but when she finally came up with Mother 2’s name—Tiberia—they all agreed it fit her perfectly.

In her book A Groom for Mama, she named one of the characters in honor of a dear friend who battled cancer. You can read a sample of the book on Amazon. Here’s a peek at the blurb.

A Groom for Mama

By Catherine Castle

Beverly Walters is dying, and before she goes she has one wish—to find a groom for her daughter. To get the deed done, Mama enlists the dating service of Jack Somerset, Allison’s former boyfriend.

The last thing corporate-climbing Allison wants is a husband. Furious with Mama’s meddling, and a bit more interested in Jack than she wants to admit, Allison agrees to the scheme as long as Mama promises to search for a cure for her terminal illness.

A cross-country trip from Nevada to Ohio ensues, with a string of disastrous dates along the way, as the trio hunts for treatment and A Groom For Mama.

Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble

About the Author:

Multi-award winning author Catherine Castle loves writing. Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. She also lays claim to over 300 internet articles written on a variety of subjects and several hundred poems. In addition to writing she loves reading, traveling, singing, theatre, quilting and gardening. She’s a passionate gardener whose garden won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club. She writes sweet and inspirational romances. You can find her award-winning Soul Mate books The Nun and the Narc and A Groom for Mama, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Follow her on Twitter @AuthorCCastle, FB or her blog.

Catherine’s Comments–iPhone Misadventures by Catherine Castle

Tags

A Groom for Mama, Catherine’s Comments, essay, humor, iPhone, romantic comedy, Sweet romance, Techy misadventures

I got a new iPhone after Thanksgiving and, quite frankly, I’m ready to throw the thing across the room. Or maybe even in the nearest river!

To start off, I didn’t get the last of my five email boxes cleaned out. As soon as we transferred the email addresses over, the last email box began filling. And filling. And filling. Every time I read and deleted a new email, 100 more would come over.

When it reached 900+ I said to Hubby, “I’m shutting this phone down before it loads all 5,000 + unread emails.”

I spent the next five hours hunched over the computer keyboard deleting the unread emails down to about 84. Then I deleted the 15,000+ deleted emails left on the server just to be sure they didn’t come back. Better to be safe than sorry, as Hubby as seen a few of his deleted emails return to unread status and pop up on the iPhone. Yes, I know, I can’t blame the iPhone because I didn’t clean out my online mail inboxes and trash. But this was just the beginning of the iPhone misadventures.

Unlike my beloved Blackberry, there’s nothing intuitive about this iPhone. Swipe right, swipe left, touch right, touch left. Swipe from the upper corner, tap on the bottom, touch here, touch there. Push partway up and to the right to see where you’ve been on the internet. Swipe up to trash something, or click right, or left depending what app you’re in. Yikes! Who can remember all that?

Stupid iPhone!

Additionally, my finger either doesn’t work or I don’t even touch something and stuff flies off or onto the screen. Once, while merely holding the phone, a box popped up with the message, “To reverse this action, tap the screen with three fingers.” What action? What had I done? What had I erased? Fortunately, the screen told me which fingers to tap with, so I tapped. And tapped. And tapped. The screen didn’t move. It didn’t tell me the unknown action was reversed. I couldn’t even see a back button.

“Honey,” I yelled. “Think I did something wrong!” By the time Hubby came to the rescue I’d punched enough things that the screen was back to what I recognized. Only heaven knows what I might have screwed up!

For every action I did on the Blackberry with one touch, it takes two, or maybe three or more on the iPhone. I’ve read some of the instructions, and tried to search things out on the iPhone book, but apparently I don’t know the new lingo well enough to find things. And I’m usually pretty good with searching. However, nothing seems to have the same names as the Blackberry did.

My texts to my daughter are filled with strange words that I didn’t type, courtesy of predictive typing. I tried to type PTL (Praise the Lord) and it came over on the text as “Pyle.” The words But I came across as “Bilirubin.” And the text screen, filled with facial icons, bubbles holding your text message, and sometimes giant emojis, takes up so much screen space that I can’t easily see the text thread. When my daughter retyped “Bilirubin” I thought SHE had typed the word, not me. I had no idea she was rolling on the floor laughing until the next day when I scrolled up the text stream and saw what I’d done.

And if you think that’s wild, wait until you hear these next items.

The other day, using my iPhone, I tried to call my hubby, who was driving my car. I knew he wouldn’t try to answer his new iPhone, so I called my car phone.  At the same time the car phone was ringing, I heard another call beep in. I ignored it, thinking it was a phishing call. Hubby never answered, so I hung up and called him again. The same thing happened. So, I hung up again. As I pulled the phone away from my ear, the second time, my daughter’s name scrolled across the banner on the top of the phone, indicating she was calling.

When I answered, she said in a concerned voice, “Mom, is everything okay. Why are you calling me so much?” (I never call her during work hours.)

“I wasn’t calling you. I was trying to call your dad in my car,” I said.

As she hung up I heard her say to someone, whom I later learned was her boss, “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong. My mom has a new phone.”

When my hubby got to his destination, he called on his cell to see what I needed. He  couldn’t remember how to answer my car phone. It doesn’t have Bluetooth pairing like his car. He received my cell phone call on the car phone and, at the same time, my daughter also received a call from my cell phone.

The stupid iPhone called my car phone, while husband was driving it, and called my daughter at the same time.

Here’s the kicker—I did NOT call my daughter’s cell. No way. No how. Not even possible. I swear I never touched her number. I clearly, and positively, know I called my car phone. Yet the iPhone showed it made both calls.

The phone somehow dialed both numbers at the same time! How is that even possible?

Stupid iPhone!

Later in the day I was having a conversation on our home land line when my cell rang. It was my daughter.  I knew it was her because I’d attached an ‘Oogah Oogah’ old car horn sound to her calls. An unmistakable and very loud sound. I answered and quickly said, “I can’t talk now. I’ll call back in a few minutes.” Then I hung up. A few minutes later I got another call from her on my cell—the same “Oogha-Oogah ring, but it was my son-in-law on the other end. “Can I call back?” I asked. “I’m in the middle of another call.”

Son-in-law said, “She can’t talk. She’s on the house phone with her mother-in-law.”

 “Then why did she call me just a minute ago?” I asked.

Son-in-law calls out to my daughter, “Why are we calling your mother?”

In the background I hear her say, “I didn’t call her. She called me! Twice!”

I know I didn’t call her. The iPhone log showed she called me. She still swears she didn’t call but that I called her.

Stupid iPhone!

Earlier that same morning I was trying to comment on a blog I’ve always had access to on the Blackberry. I’d reached the site via clicking on the title of the blog I’d received in my Catherine Castle mail inbox. The site kept kicking me off. I couldn’t like, share, or comment. So, I went back to the original email, which was still open on my email inbox, and scrolled down to the like button. Click—and I was over to the page instantly, all nicely opened. While complaining to my husband about the wretched phone’s behavior, I slid my finger down the screen to check for my author icon. I wasn’t there, but our joint author icon was.

“Did you just comment on her page?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I was just headed over there right now.”

I rotated my phone screen so he could see it. “You’ve already commented.”

He squinted at me. “Did you open our author email and like the post? Because I did not like that post.”

“I didn’t!” I protested. Although, in all honesty, I sometimes have a problem and click the wrong email box on my phone. I did it with the Blackberry quite often by mistake. So much so that hubby’s threatened to take our joint author email off my phone.  He leveled a glary squint at me, not at all convinced I knew what I was talking about.

I switched back to my Catherine Castle email box. The email in question was on the top. I scanned it again. In the To: line it didn’t say Catherine Castle. Instead it had my husband’s name. Somehow the email addressed to his personal email box (which is another glitch I’ll not go into), got scrambled and put in my author email box and linked our joint author photo to it.

Stupid iPhone!

I could go on with my misadventures with the stupid iPhone, which I’m sure will continue until my weary blonde brain figures it all out or I end up in the funny farm. However, I’ve already exceeded a thousand words on this rant.

On the bright side, there are a couple of things I do like on the iPhone. I did discover one useful tool. I accidently deleted an email one evening and moaned in distress over my actions.

“Shake it!” Hubby said.

“What?” I replied.

“Shake it! Shake the phone!” he yelled urgently.

Bemused and befuddled, I did as he commanded, although I hadn’t the foggest idea why. An icon popped up on the screen.

“Now, tell it to untrash,” he said. “Hurry before the icon disappears.”

I did, and, Lo and Behold, my trashed email reappeared like magic.

Pretty cool for such a. . . Stupid iPhone!

I can also draw pictures in my emails. A feature that I’m sure will be a giant time suck. I’ve already drawn and sent pictures to my daughter, and I’m considering how I can use this tool for Christmas email cards.

Twitter works again and so does Pinterest. So I can waste endless hours surfing instead writing, cleaning and practicing the piano. Although piano is never a waste of time. It’s more of a joy.

Hopefully, as time passes, I’ll find more to like and less to complain about. One thing is for sure—as I learn this new device I’m giving my family and friends lots to laugh about.

Do you have an iPhone? Have you any tips for me?

Catherine loves to laugh at herself and loves to write comedy. Check out her award-winning romantic comedy, with a touch of drama,A Groom for Mama.

Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble

A Groom for Mama

By Catherine Castle

Beverly Walters is dying, and before she goes she has one wish—to find a groom for her daughter. To get the deed done, Mama enlists the dating service of Jack Somerset, Allison’s former boyfriend.

The last thing corporate-climbing Allison wants is a husband. Furious with Mama’s meddling, and a bit more interested in Jack than she wants to admit, Allison agrees to the scheme as long as Mama promises to search for a cure for her terminal illness.

A cross-country trip from Nevada to Ohio ensues, with a string of disastrous dates along the way, as the trio hunts for treatment and A Groom For Mama.

About the Author:

Multi-award winning author Catherine Castle loves writing. Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. She also lays claim to over 300 internet articles written on a variety of subjects and several hundred poems. In addition to writing she loves reading, traveling, singing, theatre, quilting and gardening. She’s a passionate gardener whose garden won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club. She writes sweet and inspirational romances. You can find her award-winning Soul Mate books The Nun and the Narc and A Groom for Mama, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Follow her on Twitter @AuthorCCastle, FB or her blog.

Tags: Catherine’s Comments, iPhone, essay, humor, A Groom for Mama, Techy misadventures, romantic comedy, sweet romance

Musings from a Writer’s Brain—A Southern Slang Lesson from Mary Ball

Tags

Christian romance, essay, Mary L. Ball, Musings from a Writer's Brain, Southern Joy-Book 1, Southern slang

I’m thankful to my publisher (Winged Publications) for allowing me to write a series based on characters in their autumn years. Southern – Joy book 1 is a Christian romance. I also enjoyed added a little southern slang to the story.

As a lifetime southern gal I had fun introducing my heroine Robin, from my Southern Joy – book 1, to a little bit of the south.

Tucker (her love interest) and Robin’s her new friend Edith, uses some good old southern slang. 

Robin, being from Ohio, had a bit of difficulty with this language.

To quote her friend Edith, “Not everyone speaks with slang, but all southerners know the sayings. We hear it from our parents or grandparents.”

No matter where you’re from slang can be humorous. Here’s some of the common jargon.

• In many places people use a shopping/grocery cart at the store, but in the south it’s a buggy.
• Any dark carbonated drink is a coke, not a soft drink or pop.
• I’m fixin’ to, simply means I’m going to do something.
• Where I’m from having a mind too, means you’re thinking about doing something
• If you’re as slow as molasses, then you’re very slow.
• You’re preachin’ to the choir when you say something that is obvious to the listener.
• Y’all, yes, that’s you all!
• If you’re being ugly in North Carolina, then you’re misbehaving.
• Britches are the pants you’re wearing and a clicker is the remote.
• When someone in the south can’t do a task anymore then, they used to could.
• We don’t crave food in the south, we hanker for it.
• Are you fit as a fiddle? If soyou’re healthy.
• Everything is honkey dorey. (great)
• When we get upset in the south we throw a hissy fit or pitch a fit.
• Nearabout is almost.
• After a long day’s work you’ll either tuckered out, or wore slap out.
• There are no snobby people in the southern states, all those folks are uppity.
• If you’re from my town, you’ll never assume anything, but you’ll reckon so.
• If something tastes delicious we say, “It’ll make you want to slap your mama,” and Heaven forbid, that is something we’d never do!

These are only a few of the many slang sayings throughout the beautiful southern states.

The last one I want to mention is Bless your heart. This phrase has different meanings and depends on the tone used or the facial expression. If a southern gal thinks you’re pitiful she’ll say, “Bless your heart!”

If you don’t understand what we’re telling you, then, bless your heart.

Also “Bless your heart” means, I’m hurting for you and wish I could help.

I guess you can say I’m GRITS (girl raised in the south) proud. We care for each other, call one another honey as a term of endearment and like to hug.

Southern Joy – book 1

By Mary L. Ball

Robin Young has worked for one of the largest audit and assurance firms’ in Ohio for thirty years. Her career has left little time for relationships. After receiving an urgent call from her sister’s neighbor, she hurries to the small southern town of Fairhope, Alabama.

The ambiance of Alabama has Robin contemplating life and meeting Tucker Ray, the quintessential “good ole boy” of the south, adds to the charm.

Her stay in Fairhope uncovers a secret, and a chance for love, but the Buckeye state is where she belongs.

Can Robin accept change and unravel matters of the heart?

Look for Southern Joy on Amazon:

About the Author:

Mary L. Ball is a multi-published Christian author. She lives in North Carolina and enjoys fishing, reading, and ministering in song with her hubby at functions. Her books are about small-town romance, suspense, and mystery, influenced by the grace of Jesus Christ.

Connect with Mary at her Web Page: Facebook or Twitter @inspires4mary

Catherine’s Comments–Not My First Rodeo by Catherine Castle

Tags

A Groom for Mama, broken bones, Catherine Castle, Catherine's Comments, humor essay

courtesy of Pixabay

A week from yesterday my husband called me into his office to look at something on his computer. On the way into the room I jammed my foot against the metal chair leg of my office chair, pitching me forward, toward the sharp corners of a metal file cabinet. I managed to catch myself before I fell into the furniture, saving my upper body from injury. The lower half wasn’t as lucky.

As a jolt of pain shot through my baby toe, I yelped out the name of a beaver’s home. The expletive came out before I could stop it.

Hubby peered around his computer monitor. “What did you do?”

“I hit my toe on the chair leg.”

“You okay?”

I limped into the chair. “I won’t know until the pain stops.”

“Sheesh, Catherine. Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

“I would, if I could see my feet.”

“Why can’t you see your feet? I can see mine when I walk.”

Sounds logically enough, if you’re a man, and you don’t have a well-endowed front porch that blocks your vision from the chest down. And if your middle name isn’t Graceless. And if you haven’t run into chair legs so many times that it’s become a normal habit.

“I’ll be all right.” I pulled my computer screen closer so I could see. We have a double screen setup in his office.  “Now what did you want to show me?”

Half an hour later the pain had subsided, but there was still enough aching that I was pretty certain I was not going to be all right. I eased myself out of the chair and limped into the living room where I could get a better view of my foot. It hurt to walk.

“Honey,” I called. “You need to come look at this. I think I broke my toe … again.”

He obliged. After a quick look at my toe, he said with a cringe in his voice, “You really did a number on it this time. Your toenail is to the outside of the toe.”

“Nah,” I said. “It’s been like that since I broke it about twenty years ago. You should see how I have to contort my foot to clip that nail. But that…” I pointed to the way the toe was separated from the other digits. “That is not normal. I think you need to go down to the basement and get me one of the old rigid-soled walking shoes from the last time I broke a toe.”

“Do you want to get it x-rayed?” Hubby asked.

“I’ll wait until tomorrow. Our insurance will pay for an ER visit for an accidental injury up to 72 hours from the event.  And I sure didn’t plan to walk into this chair, so it’s an accident. It’s not hurting as much now. If the bruising is worse we’ll go in the morning. Besides, this isn’t my first broken toe rodeo. I know what to do.”

A few minutes later he came back up with three different walking shoes. “There’s also one that’s boot height and another that reaches to the knee. Which one do you want?”

“I’ve got five different broken-toe shoes? I had no idea we’d saved so many of them.” I grabbed the black shoe. “This one has a rubber sole. It will be safer to walk in on the linoleum floor.” Remember my middle name is Graceless, and the other shoes had hard plastic soles. I don’t know what the designer of those shoes was thinking, putting plastic on the bottom of a broken-foot shoe. “If the x-rays indicate I need one of the other types of walking boots, we’ll just come home and lace me into a taller version.”

As a purple bruise crept across my foot, I knew with certainty that’d I broken my left baby toe. The same one I’d broken in February of 2019 when I shattered my shoulder. I prayed the break wasn’t in the same place, or I’d be in the knee-high boot for eight weeks. I covered my toe in comfrey ointment to help the bruising, put on a tight sock to keep the toe aligned, and eased into the walking shoe.

The next morning the ER nurse was quite amused when I refused a wheelchair, saying, “I’ll walk. It doesn’t hurt, and this isn’t my first broken toe rodeo.”

Heck, over my life time it’s not my first broken anything rodeo. I’ve broken my right ankle; my right big toe (I dropped a bowling ball on that and still bowled three games.); my right baby toe twice, once on the morning I was supposed to get surgery on my knee;  my left baby toe twice, my shoulder, and my right arm. And yes, the right is my dominant side.  My husband who played softball and purposely dove head first and slid feet first into bases and other ball players has never broken a single bone. But then he can see his feet.

Fortunately this break wasn’t bad or in a spot that gets a lot of pressure when I walk, which is why it doesn’t hurt. Unfortunately, I was only 33 days away from making it a full year since my last bone break on October 19, 2019. The ER doctor said I’d probably have to only wear the shoe for 4 to 6 weeks. Since I never wear heels it won’t cut into my fashion sense too much. And it gives me an excuse to toodle around the grocery store in a motorized cart. That’s a much cooler option for shopping, when you’re wearing those lovely COVID masks, than trudging around the aisle breathing in your own carbon dioxide, getting lightheaded from the fumes.

And do you want to know the really funny part? All three of the old walking shoes came apart after only three days of use. Two came apart while I was out shopping. I had to Frankenstein walk to the car, dragging my left foot behind me so I wouldn’t end up barefooted. The rubber-soled shoe cracked right where my toe needed to be supported. We spent our own dime—or rather dollars—on a new walking shoe.

I just hope this walking shoe sits so long in the basement that it falls apart before I need it again.

No! Wait! I hope I never need it again!

Oh, and don’t feel bad if you’re laughing at me. I laugh at me all the time.

 

What about you? Do you have your own broken toe stories you’d like to share?

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Multi-award winning author Catherine Castle loves writing. Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. She also lays claim to over 300 internet articles written on a variety of subjects and several hundred poems. In addition to writing she loves reading, traveling, singing, theatre, quilting and gardening. She’s a passionate gardener whose garden won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club. She writes sweet and inspirational romances and loves writing humor. Follow her on Twitter @AuthorCCastle, FB or her blog.

 

Check out Catherine’s romantic comedy with a touch of drama A Groom for Mama. You can find her award-winning Soul Mate books The Nun and the Narc and A Groom for Mama, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

 

A GROOM FOR MAMA

By Catherine Castle

Beverly Walters is dying, and before she goes she has one wish—to find a groom for her daughter. To get the deed done, Mama enlists the dating service of Jack Somerset, Allison’s former boyfriend.

The last thing corporate-climbing Allison wants is a husband. Furious with Mama’s meddling, and a bit more interested in Jack than she wants to admit, Allison agrees to the scheme as long as Mama promises to search for a cure for her terminal illness.

A cross-country trip from Nevada to Ohio ensues, with a string of disastrous dates along the way, as the trio hunts for treatment and A Groom For Mama.

 

 

 

 

 

Catherine’s Comments–An Unexpected COVID Side Effect by Catherine Castle

Tags

A Groom for Mama, Catherine Castle, Catherine's Comments, Covid-19, essay, humorous post about clutter, pandemic pantry, romantic comedy

You can’t turn on the news nowadays without hearing about another long-term COVID side effect: lung damage, heart damage, brain damage, blood clots, post-traumatic stress syndrome, depression and anxiety. All those are pretty scary. It’s enough to make me want to retreat into my home and never leave, turning me into an agoraphobic.

But the side effect this pandemic has had on my home is pretty scary, too.  Not only am I turning into a hoarder of toilet paper, facial tissues, rubbing alcohol, and bars of soap…and I won’t even mention the stack of paper items and non-perishable foods in the basement pantry.  I’m also facing the dreaded issue of clutter. An issue I thought I’d conquered, at least in the public, open floor plan spaces of my home.

 

Once dealing with the mail was simple. You took it out of the mailbox, opened it, sorted out the bills, and threw away the junk mail. Easy peasy, right?

Now we have a new system. Remove mail from the box, using a plastic bag; open the bills that need to be attended to right away; place everything else on the side board in order of date received. Once mail has sat for seven days, you can now look at the non-essential items. This process has turned my side board into mail-center central. Not a very pretty sight.

This clutter extends to other parts of the house, too.

When our groceries come in, I wipe everyone of them. However, as my disinfectant wipes dwindled (because you can’t find them anywhere!), I’ve begun setting things on the floor beneath the kitchen bar until I feel it’s safe to touch them. Twenty-four hours for paper and cardboard products and packages that come in the mail, because they won’t fit on the sideboard. Three days or more for items with hard surfaces like glass or plastic and items in plastic bags.  Germ phobic that I am, it’s usually more, rather than just three days.

The other day my husband said, “Honey, you’re going to have to take care of the stuff under the bar. I’ve been kicking those bags for days now because they’re creeping into the living room. And the exterminator is coming this week. She won’t be able to spray along the edges with all those bags in the way.”

I gingerly peeked into one of the bags. “Hey! Remember those socks you were looking for?”

“The ones we bought a month ago?” Hubby asked.

“Yeah.” I picked up the bag with the socks. “I think they’ve been in quarantine long enough.”

Hubby snatched the bag. “Ya think?”

“Ooh,” I said as I looked into another sack, “Scratch the cheese crackers off the grocery list. I just found another box.”

I could go on, and on, and on, but I think you get the drift. COVID has turned me into a clutter bug…once again.

Only last September, in preparation for the installation of our new flooring, we’d moved, packed up, or given away all the items we didn’t want in our open-plan living area any more. The rooms had become untidy with too much inherited furniture and stuff. The knick knacks on top of bookcases and cabinets were removed. I sorted the overflowing bookcases, trimming them down. I dressed up the kitchen table with a flower centerpiece. We rearranged the furniture to make the living area appear more spacious. Sitting in the living area was calming and enjoyable again like it had been eighteen years ago when we first moved in.

I’d conquered clutter!  At least in the places visitors would see.

For nearly six wonderful months my main living area was spotless, airy, and open. I could see the walls. There was space around the furniture! I’d kept it that way, for the most part, so guests could walk in anytime and see an orderly house.  A quick sweep of the main room, and a few door closures, tidied everything up.

Then COVID hit. I went into pandemic buying mode, because I was not going to be caught without food in my pantry or an empty toilet roll. I canceled the cleaning girl indefinitely. She has to touch sooo many surfaces to clean (and I really miss her because her arrival forced me to pick up before she came). We cleared out shelves in the basement to hold most of my pandemic food supplies, which created giant piles of things to go through and trash or give away.

The kitchen pantry is jammed again, as are both freezers.

And I’m getting ready to tear out my hair!

COVID, thy name is CLUTTER!

And I’ve succumbed. I just pray it’s temporary.

The sad thing is there are only two of us living in this jam-packed house. I can’t imagine what COVID CLUTTER must be like for larger families.

What about you? Are you suffering from COVID CLUTTER SYNDROME?

 

Take a break from the pressure of COVID issues and lose yourself in Catherine’s award-winning romantic comedy, with a touch of drama, A Groom for Mama.

A GROOM FOR MAMA

By Catherine Castle

Beverly Walters is dying, and before she goes she has one wish—to find a groom for her daughter. To get the deed done, Mama enlists the dating service of Jack Somerset, Allison’s former boyfriend.

 

The last thing corporate-climbing Allison wants is a husband. Furious with Mama’s meddling, and a bit more interested in Jack than she wants to admit, Allison agrees to the scheme as long as Mama promises to search for a cure for her terminal illness.

 

A cross-country trip from Nevada to Ohio ensues, with a string of disastrous dates along the way, as the trio hunts for treatment and A Groom For Mama.

 

About the Author:

Multi-award winning author Catherine Castle loves writing. Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. She also lays claim to over 300 internet articles written on a variety of subjects and several hundred poems. In addition to writing she loves reading, traveling, singing, theatre, quilting and gardening. She’s a passionate gardener whose garden won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club. She writes sweet and inspirational romances. You can find her award-winning Soul Mate books The Nun and the Narc and A Groom for Mama, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Follow her on Twitter @AuthorCCastle, FB or her blog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catherine’s Comments-Do You Hear What I Hear? By Catherine Castle

Tags

A Groom for Mama, Catherine Castle, Catherine's Comments, humor essay, men versus woman, Sweet romance

 

The other morning while having breakfast my husband said, “Listen. Do you hear that?”

What?” I asked.

“That whoosha whoosha sound.”

I listened intently. “Nope. All I hear is the ticka ticka ticka of the refrigerator in its thaw cycle.”

“No,” he replied. It’s definitely a whoosha whoosha.”

I cocked my head toward the fridge. “No it’s ticka ticka.”

“Wait,” he said. “It’s changed. It’s now zzz zzz zzz, like the vibrating sound my toy football players used to make on their metal field.

“That’s more of a rooma rooma rooma noise.” I replied.

“No. It’s zzz zzz zzz,” he insisted.

Breakfast was on hold and the cereal got soggy in our bowls as we argued back and forth while the sounds of the thawing cycle of the fridge changed every few minutes. Neither of us heard what the other heard.

Finally, the debate ended with a Ka-thunk at the end of the defrost cycle. Silence filled the kitchen

“I don’t hear anything now.” I spooned up a serving of mushy bran cereal, anxious to get back to my breakfast before it dissolved any more.

“Tick tock tick tock,” hubby said as the Mickey Mouse clock second hand rounded the clock face.

“I hear that,” I said.

It was the only sound we agreed on…and it’s one that is universally known to represent a clock.

Now, I know men are from Mars and women are from Venus, and we are different in sooooo many ways. But I always thought hearing was hearing. After all, our ears, male or female, are built the same way. We have the same little ear canals connected to the same parts of the brain.  I knew, even when I couldn’t hear the sounds, what the writers meant when Batman and Robin fought the bad guys and cartoon balloons appeared on the television screen screaming BAM! POW! SOCKO!

But that morning in the kitchen I had a revelation: I wasn’t to blame when I couldn’t get a mechanic to understand me! All those years I failed to fully communicate with male mechanics wasn’t because I lacked something.

When my husband describes a funny sound in our car, the mechanics all nod their heads knowingly. But when I describe the odd sounds, the male mechanics look at me like I have two heads. I always wondered why I could never get my point across to them, no matter how many times I repeated the explanation of the sounds.

Now, I know why.  Apparently, men lack the finite hearing of a woman. They don’t hear things right. A rattle rattle, clatter clatter, boom boom boom probably sounds like chicka chicka, sissa sissa, thunk thunk thunk to them. And anyone with a pair of ears can hear that there’s a world of difference between the two sounds.

Hummm. Maybe I need a female mechanic. She’ll get it…unlike a guy.

What about you? Does your man hear the same things you do? And I don’t mean when someone speaks to you. That’s a whole ‘nother blog post. J

Catherine Castle writes sweet and inspirational romance that readers have described as really funny—even when she didn’t know it was funny. Check out her award-winning romantic comedy with a touch of drama A Groom for Mama.

 

A Groom for Mama

By Catherine Castle

Beverly Walters is dying, and before she goes she has one wish—to find a groom for her daughter. To get the deed done, Mama enlists the dating service of Jack Somerset, Allison’s former boyfriend.

The last thing corporate-climbing Allison wants is a husband. Furious with Mama’s meddling, and a bit more interested in Jack than she wants to admit, Allison agrees to the scheme as long as Mama promises to search for a cure for her terminal illness.

A cross-country trip from Nevada to Ohio ensues, with a string of disastrous dates along the way, as the trio hunts for treatment and A Groom For Mama.

 

Multi-award winning author Catherine Castle loves writing. Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. She also lays claim to over 300 internet articles written on a variety of subjects and several hundred poems. In addition to writing she loves reading, traveling, singing, theatre, quilting and gardening. She’s a passionate gardener whose garden won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club. She writes sweet and inspirational romances. You can find her award-winning Soul Mate books The Nun and the Narc and A Groom for Mama, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Follow her on Twitter @AuthorCCastle, FB or her blog.

 

 

 

 

 

Musings from a Writer’s Brain–The Call of the Australian Outback by Catherine Castle

Tags

A Groom for Mama, Australia, Catherine Castle, essay, humor, Musings from a Writer's Brain, slang

The Call of the Australian Outback—Slang That Is

 

 

Hubby and I have become hooked on an Australian television series called “McLeod’s Daughters.” We thought it might be fun to see the landscape as the show is filmed entirely in the Australian outback. “McLeod’s Daughters” is an Australian television series that ran from 2001 to 2009. We watch it on Hulu, which has become our main form of entertainment, especially since COVID hit and we don’t go to the movies anymore. We tend to binge watch, and once we run out of one series, we hunt for another. We only have 4 shows of Murdoch’s Mysteries (out of Canada) left, so we started watching “McLeod’s Daughters.”

It took us a few shows before we understood the Aussie accent, which I think is pretty cool. It annoys my husband a great deal when I parrot the actors’ lines in an attempt to get a handle on their accents. I had no trouble with the more well-known Aussie slang words such as G’day (hello), righto (okay), mate (friend), have a good one ( good-bye), and walkabout (lost, can’t be found).  Now, after three seasons of shows we can catch about 99 percent of what they say, as long as they don’t rush the sentence, although one of us almost always says. “What did they say?” at least once per show.

One night we were watching and a character came into the ranch’s kitchen and said, “The windmill’s cactus.”

Hubby looked at me and said, “What did she say?”

“Sounded like cactus, to me,” I replied.

“Cactus? Why would she say that?”

I shrugged, and a second later another character repeated the word, this time more clearly. “Definitely cactus,” I said. Hubby gave me a blank stare. “Maybe it’s Aussie slang,” I suggested. Then I pulled out my cell phone and went to the fount of all wisdom—the internet—and googled What’s the meaning of the Aussie word cactus?

 Sure enough, it was Aussie slang. CACTUS in Aussie slang means: beaten, finished, ruined, kaput, dead, useless, broken.

Curious about this usage, I  did some research. Apparently the prickly pear cactus, which was brought to Australia in the late 1700s, is the source of this interesting terminology. The plant quickly became a pest, overrunning farmland. In the 1920s, the caterpillar/moth Cactoblastis was introduced to combat the pesky plant. The insect was successful and practically  eliminated  the plant within a few years, hence the word cactus came to mean beaten, finished, dead, kaput.

Over the course of three seasons we’ve learned a few new slang words, and I’ve gone down the Aussie slang rabbit hole. I’m sure I’ll learn more as the show progresses. After all, I sit with my cell phone ready to access the internet at any word I don’t know. In the meantime, I thought I’d share some of the new ones I’ve learned with you.

• Brumby: wild horse.
• Cactus: beaten, finished, ruined, kaput, dead, useless, broken.
• Mozzie: mosquito
• Rack off: get lost
• Stuffed: tired
• Show pony: someone who tries hard, through dress or behavior to impress others around him.

The last term, show pony, was first used when the estranged McLeod sister Tess, newly arrived from the city, was asked if she could ride a horse. She replied in the affirmative and then tentatively approached her horse whispering for him to be kind to her. The other four women in the scene in chorused, “Show pony.” While the sister tried to mount her horse, the four women burst into laughter and rode off.

It wasn’t until I stumbled on the meaning of show pony, that I fully understood what was going on in this scene. I thought the women meant the city sister had only had a few horse riding lessons. Instead, they were recognizing her attempt to fit in and impress her new country family and friends. Knowing the meaning of the slang word changed the whole scene for me.

I’ve found Aussie slang rather colorful, and have decided to adopt some of it. Granted, I won’t have much occasion to say Brumby, since I’m a city girl. The only wild things I’ve ever seen in my yard are birds, squirrels, feral cats, rabbits, and an occasional deer sitting on my ornamental grass. Never any wild horses. But I rather like cactus, show pony, and stuffed. I think I’ll also add righto, and thingo (whatchamacallit) which I ran across in my research. In addition to the new terms I’ve learned, I discovered I’ve been using Aussie slang much of my life without even knowing it.

I’ve always said fridge, vedgies (veggies in the USA) veg out (which I can do quite nicely), Vee Dub (Volkswagon), spiffy (great, excellent), and no worries (no problem, forget about it).

Who knew I could speak Aussie? I’ve never  set foot on the Australian continent, and I’m halfway to being part Aussie. I may even add the famous greeting G’day! to my repertoire. In fact, this summer while I’m working in the garden (translate yard to American English) I’ll even be doing the Aussie salute as I wave away the bothersome flies and gnats.

Ain’t slang grand? With all my new-found language skills, I’ll fit in like a show pony with the next Australian I meet. In the meantime, have a good one.

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You won’t find any slang in Catherine’s romantic comedy, A Groom for Mama, but you will find plenty of humor in this award-winning book. You can check out a sample on Amazon, or purchase the book at Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

 

A Groom for Mama

By Catherine Castle

Beverly Walters is dying, and before she goes she has one wish—to find a groom for her daughter. To get the deed done, Mama enlists the dating service of Jack Somerset, Allison’s former boyfriend.

The last thing corporate-climbing Allison wants is a husband. Furious with Mama’s meddling, and a bit more interested in Jack than she wants to admit, Allison agrees to the scheme as long as Mama promises to search for a cure for her terminal illness.

A cross-country trip from Nevada to Ohio ensues, with a string of disastrous dates along the way, as the trio hunts for treatment and A Groom For Mama.

 

About the Author:

Multi-award winning author Catherine Castle loves writing. Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. She also lays claim to over 300 internet articles written on a variety of subjects and several hundred poems. In addition to writing she loves reading, traveling, singing, theatre, quilting and gardening. She’s a passionate gardener whose garden won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club. She writes sweet and inspirational romances. You can find her award-winning Soul Mate books The Nun and the Narc and A Groom for Mama, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Follow her on Twitter @AuthorCCastle, FB or her blog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catherine’s Comments–Blonde Math by Catherine Castle

Tags

A Groom for Mama, award winning book, Blonde jokes, Catherine Castle, Catherine's Comments, essay, humor

 

 

 

 

I’m a blonde. Always have been a blonde.

Always will be a blonde.

If I had any doubt about that it was reinforced the other day when my husband brought me a new blonde joke.

You have to understand that I love blonde jokes. The dumber the blonde the funnier I think the joke is. That’s because at my core I know blondes are really smart, and we know how to work things to our advantage. That’s why so many women, and men, want to be blondes nowadays.

I have a collection of blonde jokes sent to me by friends and that I have garnered from the internet. One of my favorites is about the blonde driving down the highway knitting.

A highway patrolman pulled alongside a speeding car on the freeway.  Glancing at the car, he was astounded to see that the blonde behind the wheel was knitting!
Realizing that she was oblivious to his flashing lights and siren, the trooper cranked down his window, turned on his bullhorn and yelled, ‘PULL OVER!’
‘NO!’ the blonde yelled back, ‘IT’S A SCARF!’

I get that joke. I also get the one about the three construction workers, also one of my favorites.

Three male construction workers—an Italian, a Mexican, and a Swede—are sitting on a high construction beam eating lunch.

The Italian pulls a meatball sandwich from his lunch pail and says, “If I get another meatball sandwich for lunch, I’m going to throw myself off this high beam.”

The Mexican pulls a taco from his lunch pail and says, “If I get another taco for lunch, I’m going to throw myself off this high beam.”

Then the Swede pulls a sardine sandwich from his lunch pail and says, “If I get another sardine sandwich for lunch. I’m going to throw myself off this high beam.”

The next day, the Italian pulls a meatball sandwich from his lunch pail and throws himself off the beam. Then the Mexican pulls a taco from his lunch pail and throws himself off the beam. And finally, the Swede pulls a sardine sandwich from his lunch pail and throws himself off the beam.

At the funeral for the men the wives were commiserating. “If I’d only known he hated meatball sandwiches, I wouldn’t have packed them,” said the Italian’s wife.

“If I’d known he hated tacos, I wouldn’t have packed them, either,” said the Mexican’s wife.

Then the two women looked at the Swede’s wife.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “He packed his own lunch.”

I get this joke. Duh…the Swede could have just packed something different and then he wouldn’t have to throw himself off the construction beam.

But the following joke stumped me, proving I’m a true blonde, even when my roots grew out 3 inches during the COVID-19 shutdown.

“Listen to this,” my husband said as he came into the kitchen and proceeded to tell me a new blonde joke.

A blonde answers the door and sees a census worker who asks her a variety of census questions. Then he says, “How old are you, ma’am?”

“Well,” says the blonde,” I was married when I was eighteen and my husband was thirty. He’s sixty now, which is twice his age, so that makes me … thirty-six.”

There was a pregnant pause in the kitchen, and then I said, “So what’s the punch line?”

My husband started howling with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Her husband was thirty when they married and now he’s sixty.”

“Yeah,” I said, “twice his age.”

“And she’s how old?” he asked.

“Thirty-six. Eighteen plus eighteen is thirty six, right?” I said.

“He’s thirty years older,” my husband said. “He’s now sixty. Do the math.” When I didn’t answer right away he started laughing even harder. “No wonder you were thirty-seven for so many years. You really are a blonde.” Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

“I didn’t add wrong,” I hollered at his retreating back. “I just forgot how old I was for all those years.”

As soon as he was out of sight, I pulled retrieved my phone calculator and did the math again. Eighteen plus eighteen still came out thirty-six.

Thank heaven for calculators, because I flunked word-problem math in seventh grade. Without my calculator I’d be lost doing higher math problems.

Are you a real blonde, too, or do you know the answer my hubby was after? I’d love to know.

∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼

Catherine may not be great at higher math, but she sure can write, as is testified to through her multiple book awards. Check out her romantic comedy, with a touch of drama, A Groom for Mama, for more funny situations.

 

A Groom for Mama

By Catherine Castle

Beverly Walters is dying, and before she goes she has one wish—to find a groom for her daughter. To get the deed done, Mama enlists the dating service of Jack Somerset, Allison’s former boyfriend.

The last thing corporate-climbing Allison wants is a husband. Furious with Mama’s meddling, and a bit more interested in Jack than she wants to admit, Allison agrees to the scheme as long as Mama promises to search for a cure for her terminal illness.

A cross-country trip from Nevada to Ohio ensues, with a string of hilarious and disastrous dates along the way, as the trio hunts for treatment and A Groom For Mama.

 

BUY LINK AMAZON

 

About the Author:

Multi-award winning author Catherine Castle loves writing. Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. She also lays claim to over 300 internet articles written on a variety of subjects and several hundred poems. In addition to writing she loves reading, traveling, singing, theatre, quilting and gardening. She’s a passionate gardener whose garden won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club. She writes sweet and inspirational romances. You can find her award-winning Soul Mate books The Nun and the Narc and A Groom for Mama, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Follow her on Twitter @AuthorCCastle, FB or her blog.

 

 

 

Musings from a Writer’s Brain—Memorable Mishaps Equals Madcap Material by Tina Susedik

Exploding fireplaces. Fear of parking. Bottles of steak sauce with loose caps. Fainting goats. What do these have to do with writing you ask. Well . . .

Authors get asked many questions about what we do. Where do we get ideas? How long does it take to write a book? Are you rich? How many books have you sold? (One that my brother-in-law always asks.) And my favorite – do you use any of your own experiences in your books? The answer – oh, my yes.

On my first date with my now husband, it was our college homecoming. We both came from poor farms, so going out to dinner was a real treat for us. I was eighteen, away from home, an adult. I had borrowed a dress, did my hair and makeup. We went to a place called the Big Steer, which is equivalent to Perkins. I ordered steak. (I was an adult after all.) Sitting on the table was a bottle of Heinz 57 Steak Sauce. (There’s more to the story as to why this was important to me, but I don’t have enough space to write it here.) Anyway, I picked up the bottle and slapped the bottom against the palm of my hand, just like my dad always did. But . . . what I didn’t do was check to make sure the cap was on tight. Slap. Slap. Cap flies off. Steak sauce all over the wall, the table, my borrowed dress, my face, my hair. I could have died. I really liked this guy. It was our first date. I was so embarrassed. After going back to the dorm and showering and changing clothes, we continued the date. I really like this guy, and to my surprise, he asked me out again. We’ve been married 47 years!

Exploding fireplace? My attempt at creating a romantic night for hubby. Kids were gone at friends. I set up an air mattress in front of the fireplace. Lit candles. Set out wine, cheese and crackers. The whole nine yards. Cozy. Romantic.

Until . . . the fireplace exploded. We didn’t get hurt but listening to the air hissing from the air mattress and stomping out burning glass on the carpet, rather ruined the mood.

Fear of parking? Let’s simply say we drove around a lot and ended up at the end of our driveway. Try climbing into the backseat while covering the dome light so the kids, who were home, didn’t see us was an experience we still laugh about. (The kids were teenagers.)

Fainting goats? Well, you had to be there.

There have been so many things in my life that I’ve used in my books. All of them embarrassing to me, funny to my husband, and scenes for my books. One reader said whenever she reads one of my books, she tries to figure out if a scene really happened to me or not. Except for those mentioned above, it’s a secret.

Will I keep using events from my life in my books? Absolutely. In fact, this past week my husband and I went camping. We were on a lake.

Our boat was parked by the dock. The water was rather murky and mucky along the dock and shoreline. The dock was narrow. The night was dark. I’d had two glasses of wine when . . .

If you’d like to discover what other mishaps Tina might have included in her books, check out her award-winning sweet romance

The Balcony Girl.

 

The Balcony Girl

by Tina Susedik

When Julia Lindstrom and her sister, Suzanna, made the decision to move to Deadwood, South Dakota in 1879, Julia never suspected that she would meet her future husband, secretly befriend the madam of a brothel, or jump in to assist when disaster strikes the turbulent mining town. Can she survive all three?

Daniel Iverson followed the gold rush to Deadwood back when it was in its heyday, only to discover gold prospecting wasn’t the life for him. Now working as a lawyer, a case falls into his lap regarding a rash of recent illnesses affecting the men visiting the town’s saloons and brothels. Is it a disease or something more sinister?

Will a secret tear them apart or bring them together?

“The Balcony Girl” is a finalist in the prestigious RONE awards with Ind’tale magazine and has garnered several five-star reviews.

Buy Link for “The Balcony Girl”

ABout the Author

Tina is an award-winning, multi-published author who has been researching and writing books since 1997. She is published in non-fiction with military and local history books. She is also has published children’s books and romantic mysteries. She loves to add humor in her books, putting her characters in situations and finding a humorous way to get them out of them.

Besides writing, Tina gives talks to schools and organizations, judges writing contests, and helps in the business she and her husband own. She also hosts her own radio show, Cover to Cover With Tina, where she interviews authors of all genres. She lives in northwestern Wisconsin with her husband and adores her five grandchildren. In the spare time she has, Tina loves to camp, hike, bike, scrapbook and, of course, read, read, read.

Social media links:  Website: Podcast FB page for “Cover to Cover with Tina:”

Twitter: @tinasusedik   Facebook: