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Catherine Castle

~ Romance for the Ages

Catherine Castle

Tag Archives: Book excerpts

Wednesday Writers Welcomes DeAnn Smallwood-Author of Unconquerable Callie

15 Wednesday Oct 2014

Posted by Catherine Castle in books, Catherine Castle author, Wednesday Writers

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Book excerpts, DeAnn Smallwood, Wednesday Writers, Western Romances

Today I’m welcoming back one of my favorite authors, DeAnn Smallwood. DeAnn writes wonderful westerns. I’ve featured her other books in earlier posts. So when you’ve read this excerpt, if you’d like to sample more of her books, just hop on over using the links at the bottom of the post.

UnconquerableCallie_850 (1)(8)

Without any further ado, here’s Deann Smallwood and an excerpt from her book

Unconquerable Callie

“For a minute there, I thought you’d decided to sacrifice yourself to Wolf Dog to be his bride.”

Callie wouldn’t meet Seth’s eyes. “I thought of it,” she said softly. “If he hadn’t accepted my offering, I would have.”

Admiration filled Seth’s voice. “I thought as much. I wouldn’t have let you. In fact, I was just getting ready to shoot when you offered him your hair.”

“Shoot?”

He looked away, shaking his head. “I was going to wound you and when you fell, the next shot would be for Wolf Dog.”

“You were going to wound me?” Callie’s eyes were wide with horror. “You, Seth McCallister, were actually going to shoot me?”

“Now don’t get to riled. Just in the leg.”

“Oh. Only in the leg. What am I getting so ‘riled’ about? Just a leg wound. I fully understand.” Callie’s hands were on her hips and fire sparked from her eyes and her voice held the chill of death.

 

Unconquerable Callie is available on Amazon.
Want to read more of DeAnn’s books? Wyoming Heather and One Shingle to Hang  are also featured on this blog.

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Bio: I live in Colorado with my husband and my two Yorkie kid dogs: Stormy, four pounds, and Eli, six pounds. I’m a native of Colorado, but I’ve lived several years in Wyoming and Montana. My historical romances are: Montana Star, Sapphire Blue, Unconquerable Callie, and Wyoming Heather. Tears In The Wind is a contemporary romance. I have just contracted for another historical romance, One Shingle To Hang, that should be published fall of 2014l Then I changed genres from my beloved romances and wrote, under the pen name of D. M. Woods, my first suspense/thriller: Death Crosses The Finish Line. The second book in this ‘death’ series, Death Is A Habit, came out January 8th, this year. I am currently working on the third book of this series, Death Walks C Dock. Truly, I mean it when I say my greatest pleasure next to writing is having my books read and enjoyed. There are many more stories just waiting to be written.

Connect with DeAnn through facebook or her website

 

 

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Wednesday Writers Welcomes DeAnn Smallwood, author of One Shingle to Hang

13 Wednesday Aug 2014

Posted by Catherine Castle in books, Guest Authors, Wednesday Writers

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Author interviews, Book excerpts, DeAnn Smallwood, One Shingle to Hang, Soul Mate Publishing, Western Romances

OneShingletoHang_850HIGHToday I’m welcoming DeAnn Smallwood again with another of her western romances, entitled ONE SHINGLE TO HANG—a story of a strong woman in a man’s job in the wild west. What’s not to like about that?

ONE SHINGLE TO HANG

By DeAnn Smallwood

Accused of rustling and facing possible hanging, Drew needed a lawyer—one good man. He wasn’t prepared for L.M. Wentfield, a beautiful blonde with a sharp tongue and fiercely won independence.

Everyone knew Lil Wentfield would never marry. What man would want her? She was too old by society’s standards, too set in her ways, and too damned opinionated. Granted, she was a real beauty.

Lil’s parents were long-suffering. In fact, they were ashamed of their ugly duckling yet to turn into a swan. They made sure all their society friends, and Lil, knew of their disappointment. To compound this disappointment, Lil had done the unthinkable. She had pursued a career as an attorney, thereby cluttering her weak female mind with knowledge meant only for a man. Knowledge that could only result in insanity.

Lil purchases a run-down mansion in the small Colorado town of Chesterfield, and hangs her shingle advertising L.M. Wentfield, Attorney At Law.

One of Lil’s first clients was a grey-eyed cowboy that came looking for an attorney to keep him from the hang-man’s noose. Chesterfield had one attorney, L.M. Wentfield. This was an answer to Drew’s prayers. He needed a strong man to guide him through the legal snarls and possibilities of his looming demise at the hands of a liar and cheat. When he finds out that L.M. Wentfield was not a strong man, but a strong woman, he refuses her help.

Drew is drawn to this beautiful woman. But Lil feels she has nothing to offer him. She’d make a terrible ranch wife. Drew feels he isn’t worthy of Lil, knowing she comes from money and he doesn’t even have a house on his fledging ranch.

Will Drew’s pride stand in the way? And will Lil be able to tell Drew of her love in spite of her inabilities?

One Shingle to Hang Excerpt

Everyone knew Lil Wentfield would never marry. What man would want her? She was too old, too set in her ways, and too damned opinionated. Granted, she was a real beauty, if you could get past all the other flaws. Long blonde hair, equally long legs, sparkling blue eyes, flawless skin, with just a hint of a European ancestor in the coloring. And lips, well to call them kissable would be doing them an injustice.

But spinster she was, with her hair coiled into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, as tight as the expression habitually worn on her lovely face. Wire rimmed glasses perched on her small nose, obscured flashes of emotion in those beautiful eyes. Except when it came to outrage. Then her eyes snapped, her spine stiffened, her chin raised, and she peered disdainfully at the offender.

Lil was like a badger when it came to proving her point and winning an argument. Her mother liked to say Lil was born arguing. What her father liked to say was more colorful and filled with disappointment. His only child compounded being born female, by having a mind of her own. Once Lil made a decision, she planted her feet firmly on the chosen path, and didn’t step off until her goal was accomplished.

Men found her unnerving. Lil Wentfield wouldn’t be any man’s ‘little woman’, her place in the home, serving her husband, and mothering children. She was unsettling; not material necessary for being the calming homemaker and acquiescent wife needed to soothe and support a man as he went about his business.

***

A loud knock broke into her thoughts. “Come in,” she called out.

Nothing happened, then another knock. “Please, come in,” she called again.

Getting no response, Lil came around her desk and, with some irritation at the interruption, jerked open the door, nearly toppling the tall man who held the doorknob on the other side. He muttered something under his breath, and tried to regain his balance only to bump into Lil, throwing her off stride. She stumbled backwards and would have fallen if not for the man’s quick reaction. He grabbed Lil and, wrapping both arms around, pulled her to him. Then, in a parody of the two-step, he danced her to safety.

Lil felt herself falling, then rescued by two strong arms. Not only was she pulled up short, but she was wrapped tightly against a rock hard chest, her nose buried in the man’s damp shirt. A very pleasant smell greeted her nose. The scent of summer rain and witch hazel. She found the masculine odor intoxicating.

Neither moved. Then Lil raised her head and looked into a pair of dancing gray eyes. His arms never relaxed their grip; in fact, they seemed to tighten around her as his mouth twitched, then broke into a smile.

“Didn’t expect to end up with a beautiful woman in my arms. For a moment there, I expected to land on the rug, Ma’am. With you alongside me,” he added with a chuckle.

He loosened his grip and gently pushed her away from the warmth and safety of his chest. Lil stepped back, feeling as though she’d just had something precious taken from her. She realized her hands still gripped his arms. Like a hot potato, she dropped them and turned away from the man’s disturbing presence. Like a fox heading for her den, Lil scurried behind her desk and gratefully lowered her trembling body onto the waiting chair.

With the desk between them, she was once again in charge. “May I help you?” she asked coolly, hoping the tremble in her voice went unnoticed. “I called come in not once but twice.”

“Sorry, Ma’am. Guess I didn’t hear you. I was just fixing to open the door when you did just that. Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Lil answered with no desire to elaborate. “I—I appreciate you catching me. Now,” she hurried away from that topic, “to repeat myself, how may I help you?”

He smiled, as if knowing her thoughts. Walking over to the desk, he removed his hat and stood with it in his hands. “I apologize for dripping on your floor, but it’s raining like hel—, uh, like heck out there.”

Lil tried not to look at how the ends of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. She focused instead on his hair, black and shiny with rain drops glistening on the wavy strands not covered by his hat. She didn’t realize she was staring at him until he shifted from foot to foot.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes,” Lil answered, pulling herself back to reality.

“What I’m here for is to see L.M. Wentfield, Attorney At Law.” He pointed at the window, in the direction of the sign.

Lil nodded. “Yes,” she said again. At this rate, he’d think she only had a one word vocabulary.

The man tilted his head to one side. “Could you direct me to L. M. Wentfield, Ma’am?”

“Of course I can. How may I help you?”

Two small furrows appeared between the man’s eyes. He peered closer at her. Perhaps he needed to try another approach.

“Ma’am, could I speak with your husband?”

“There is no husband,” Lil said with a hint of asperity.

“Oh,” he nodded as if finally understanding the problem. “I beg your pardon. I guess the person I need to see would be your father.”

“What for?” Now the furrows were between Lil’s eyes.

“Well, because I’m looking for him.”

“You’re looking for my father? Are you in need of a banker?”

“No. Not at all.” The smile was gone and those long lashed gray eyes of his had lost their twinkle. “A banker? Now why would you think I’d need a banker?”

“I didn’t think that, sir. You said it.”

“I did?” He shook his head and took a step back. He’d been thrown from horses and had his brain addled, but nothing compared to what this lovely young woman was doing to him.

“You did.”

“I guess I don’t rightly recall that. But,” he offered a weak smile, “I do remember asking to see your father.”

“Yes?” Lil let the word hang in the air. What was the matter with him?

His hands nervously fingered the brim of his wet hat. “I would like to see L.M. Wentfield, Attorney. If L.M. Wentfield isn’t your husband, and it appears he isn’t your father either, then who is he?”

“Me.” Lil sucked in her cheeks, delighted with the look on his face. Now it was all coming clear. Standing before her was a gorgeous specimen of man. Alas, it seemed he was also a specimen of man that had a preconceived notion of a woman’s role. And judging from the look on his face, it apparently wasn’t sitting behind a desk, attorney at large.

“You? You are L.M. Wentfield, Attorney At Law?”

“I am.”

Amazon Buy link

If you’d like to read about another of DeAnn’s western romances, click here to see an earlier post and excerpt.

IMG_0056 (4x6)(3)Bio: I live in Colorado with my husband and my two Yorkie kid dogs: Stormy, four pounds, and Eli, six pounds. I’m a native of Colorado, but I’ve lived several years in Wyoming and Montana. My historical romances are: Montana Star, Sapphire Blue, Unconquerable Callie, and Wyoming Heather. Tears In The Wind is a contemporary romance. I have just contracted for another historical romance, One Shingle To Hang, that should be published fall of 2014. Then I changed genres from my beloved romances and wrote, under the pen name of D. M. Woods, my first suspense/thriller: Death Crosses The Finish Line. The second book in this ‘death’ series, Death Is A Habit, came out January 8th 2014. I am currently working on the third book of this series, Death Walks C Dock. Truly, I mean it when I say my greatest pleasure next to writing is having my books read and enjoyed. There are many more stories just waiting to be written.

Contact DeAnn at:

facebook

website link

 

Wednesday Writers Welcomes Kelly Irvin

06 Wednesday Aug 2014

Posted by Catherine Castle in Blog, Guest Authors, Wednesday Writers

≈ 36 Comments

Tags

A Plain Love Song, Amish romance, Author interviews, Book excerpts, book giveaway, Kelly Irvin, Wednesday Writers

 

Plain Love Song AWednesday Writers  welcomes Kelly Irvin, author of the Amish romance A Plain Love Song. Kelly will be giving away a print copy of A Plain Love Song to one United States or Canadian commenter. Commenters on Kelly’s post August 6 through 12 will be put in the hat for drawing.

 Welcome, Kelly! Would you please tell readers about the book that is being showcased today?

 A Plain Love Song is the story of a young Amish woman named Adah Knepp who loves to write songs and dreams of being a musician. Musical instruments aren’t allowed in her faith and she struggles with how to channel her creativity in ways that are permissible. Then she meets Jackson Hart, an aspiring musician who dreams of being a country music star. Jackson teaches Adah to play the guitar and in the process falls in love. Adah has to decide what she’s willing to give up in order to follow her dreams. I had a wonderful time researching and writing this book, partly because I went to Branson, MO, for it, but also because I spent sometime thinking about my own goals in life and whether they were God’s plan for me or something I cooked up all on my own without consulting him.

Great theme, since following dreams often requires giving up other things in our lives. How did you come up with the concept for this book?

When it comes to my Amish romances, the stories frequently come from my desire to understand their faith and the parameters they place on the people who commit to the Amish faith. I don’t always agree and I ask myself why and on what basis. Does what I believe come from God’s scripture? Does what they believe? Are the two at odds or can we co-exist as lovers of Jesus who practice our faith in slightly different ways? It keeps me on my toes. Why not play musical instruments? Why not perform in public? In the course of writing this book, I began to see both sides of the story. The wonderful worship that comes from music and song and raising our voices together, mingling with musical instruments, and that more quiet introspective worship that comes from a more muted simple singing without instrumentation.

What are you working on now?

 A Plain Love Song was the last installment in the New Hope Amish series. I’ve moved on to a new series with Zondervan/HarperCollins called the Amish of Bee County. The first book, The Beekeeper’s Son, is slated for release in January 2015. Bee County is home to the only Amish district in Texas. The Beekeeper’s Son is in the editing phase now, so I’m deep into book two, which as the working title of The Bishop’s Son.

Speaking of music, some writers like quiet, others want music. Which are you?

I don’t play music while I write because I wouldn’t hear it. Once I get into it, I don’t hear anything. (My children can attest to that—they have to yell at me to get my attention, frequently resorting to my name when Mom doesn’t do the trick). I don’t really need quiet, it doesn’t matter if there’s noise—except TV, which I find really annoying when I’m writing.

LOL I so understand the getting so wrapped up in things that you don’t hear what’s happening around you. When you write are you a panster or a plotter?

Totally a panster. I hate outlining, it’s too much like homework and it takes the creativity out of the storytelling. If I outline then I lose a lot of the stuff that just “happens.” The good stuff I don’t know is coming. I know generally what the story is about when I start, but I don’t really know where I’m going. In the current book I’m working on, I didn’t know until the very end, which choice my heroine Leila would make, in terms of her life and love. The choice grew out of everything that happened in the story and I really didn’t know what she would experience. I love it when it unfolds like that. I’m non-linear in that I frequently get a glimpse of a scene that isn’t coming for a while, but I go ahead and write it because it’s in my head knocking around and I don’t want to lose it. I may write the last chapter only halfway into the book. If it’s there, it’s there.

Are you a fast writer or a slower writer?

Fast. I have to be. I have a full-time job and a lot of commitments at home so I can’t piddle around. Also, I used to be a newspaper reporter, so I’m used to working on deadline and producing copy everyday. I write before work in the morning, at lunch, and sometimes, if I’m on a roll, in the evening. I do a lot of my marketing stuff on the weekend, but try to squeeze in work on the WIP if I’m in the middle of an important scene. I honestly don’t know how many words I write in a day. It varies depending on my other commitments. It’s carving out those chunks of time and using them productively that counts for me. As long as I write everyday, at least five or six days a week, I feel good about it. I don’t want to lose the thread or the emotional connection to the story. If I let it lay fallow too long, it’s hard to get it back.

What is your revision process?

My initial goal is to just get the story down. I don’t worry too much about being pretty, just the nuts and bolts. When I start each day I go back to the last scene and edit it to help me get the juices flowing again. Many times I find I’ve really only written a sparse version of the scene and I begin to add the detail, the setting, flesh out the dialogue, and so on. After I have the basics down of the first draft, I go back to make sure I’ve included all the senses, especially smell, because it’s so evocative. I have to go back and add setting detail because it’s not my strong suit and I don’t always think about what the place looks like. I have to do a lot of cutting because I tend to overdo the interior monologue. My characters do a lot of thinking! I try to read all my work aloud so I can hear the word repetition, smooth awkward phrases, make sure dialogue sounds authentic. I also do a read-through to make sure I’ve tied up loose ends and that the plot develops in a way that makes sense.

As we all know, writers are readers, too. Do you still read the same genre of books you did as a teenager?

I still read mysteries and romantic suspense. They’ll always be my favorites. I have certain authors, like Marcia Mueller and Sue Grafton, that I’ve been reading for twenty-five years or more. But my reading is more well rounded than it used to be. I also read historical fiction and I read The Help and other books that are more literary in nature. I stay away from Amish romances because I don’t want to accidentally echo other writers.

Do you have some favorite books?

I love To Kill a Mocking Bird, Gone with the Wind, and A Wrinkle in Time, among many others.

What’s the first book you remember reading as a child?

I read voraciously, everything in my hometown library, but my earliest memories are The Bobbsey Twins in the first grade. I have vivid memories of learning to read because it opened up this old new world for me, a place to which I could escape. As I got a little older I read all the Nancy Drew mysteries, the Hardy Boys, Harriet the Spy, The Changling, The Oregon Trail. I read just about everything I could get my hands on.

If your library is anything like mine, you have lots of books on your shelves. Name 3 favorite writing craft books on your shelves, 3 fiction books and the genre, and if you have them, 3 different magazines you read regularly

The First Five Pages, Don’t Murder Your Mystery, Self Editing for Fiction Writers

Stealing Home by Allison Pittman

Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers

Out of the Deep I Cry by Julia Spencer Fleming

“The Writers Digest,” “Writers Magazine,” “Poet and Writer”

 

Now for a few personal questions:

Do you have a day job?

I’m the public relations manager for the San Antonio municipal parks and recreation system

What’s in your CD player right now?

The soundtrack from the TV show, “Nashville.”

What do you do to keep in shape?

I work out on the treadmill everyday and sometimes mix that up with aerobics tapes.

Quickies:

Favorite food: My husband’s homemade pizza. He makes the crust and the sauce from scratch and he goes easy on the cheese and covers it with my favorite veggies so I don’t have to feel so guilty about eating it.

Favorite singer or band: That’s so hard, it depends on my mood, and there are so many great artists out there. Right now, I’d say Chris Tomlin because he’s never written or performed a song I don’t love. If I’m in a rebellious mood, I’d say Jason Aldean because I like my country music to have some attitude.

Favorite season: Fall, although we don’t have much of it in South Texas. It’s such an incredible relief after the summers of 100-plus temperatures and 90 percent humidity day after day for four or five months.

Favorite flowers: Sunflowers. They remind me of my home state of Kansas.

Favorite color: blue. Reminds me of wide open skies of Texas and gives me a peaceful, calm feeling.

Mug or teacup: My publisher Harvest House gave me a big white cup with their motto “Grow True” on it for Christmas a couple of years ago. I use it for my coffee every morning.

It’s been a pleasure having you here today. As you say goodbye, can you leave the readers with an encapsulation of your life’s philosophy?

How about some verses to live by? Micah 18-20 are the verses that help me get out of bed every morning. No matter how I mess up, I have a God whose grace covers me up. He’s compassionate and forgiving and loving. I only have to go to him with a repentant heart and a willing spirit and He welcomes me home.

“Who is another God like you, who pardons the guilt of the remnant,

overlooking the sins of his special people?

You will not stay angry with your people forever,

Because you delight in showing unfailing love.

Once again you will have compassion on us.

You will trample our sins under your feet

And throw them into the depths of the ocean!

You will show us your faithfulness and unfailing love

As you promised our ancestors

Abraham and Jacob long ago.”

 

Thanks, Kelly. Now here’s an excerpt from her book, which, after reading, I have put on my TBR list. Thankfully, I just downloaded a new Amazon gift card.

 

A Plain Love Song

By Kelly Irvin

 

She had to find her way to him…but first she had to find her way to God.

Adah Knepp wants nothing more than to make music. It’s all she’s ever desired—to sing and play the guitar and write her own songs. That’s a dream that will never come true in the confines of her strict Amish community. But then she meets Jackson Hart, and suddenly she sees the chance for a different kind of life…a real stage, a real guitar, and a real opportunity to sing her songs to a real audience.

But pursuing her dreams means turning her back on her faith, her family, and her community—and saying goodbye to Matthew, the gentle Amish farmer she can’t get out of her mind. Is it worth giving up the only home she’s ever known to pursue her dreams?

 

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Not having a pencil and paper handy made writing a song a challenge for Adah Knepp.

But then she liked a challenge.

Adah belted out the lyrics, the bob-bob of the horse’s head along with the clip-clop of his hooves kept time on the asphalt highway. The squeaking of the buggy wheels joined in. Her voice carried on the warm June wind across the wheat fields of Missouri. Sparrows preening on the power lines that ran along the road served as her only audience. They probably thought she’d gone crazy, talking to herself.

She closed her eyes for a second, listening to her own words. They weren’t quite right. They didn’t sound like the songs she heard on the radio while she cleaned the Harts’ house. Not like Carrie Underwood or Taylor Swift with their sweet voices. She sounded flat. Of course, she didn’t have the benefit of steel guitars, fiddles, keyboards, and drums. She stomped one black sneaker, and then the other, against the floorboard, picking up the beat. “Love like sun-kissed apples . . .” She shook her head. Nee, nee. “Love like a baby’s sweet kisses . . .”

No, that wasn’t it either. Still mulling the words, she turned into the open gate adorned with a huge wrought iron H and onto the sunflower-lined dirt road that led to the Hart farm. She would clean the house lickety-split and use the rest of the afternoon to work on her song before she went home. That way she wouldn’t be late and Mudder wouldn’t have cause to complain. Stop mooning around, Adah, and get to work. Those dishes won’t wash themselves.

Which, of course, they wouldn’t. Having six brothers and sisters, Adah surely wished they would. How about that for a fanciful notion?

She could write her song, cook, clean, and still be ready to take a ride after dark if Matthew Troyer should happen to shine his flashlight in her window. Gott was good.

A horse whinnied, an uncertain, unhappy sound that carried on a breeze that kept the day from being stifling hot. A man answered in a soft, coaxing sing-song. The voice reminded Adah of the announcer on the radio the Harts kept tuned to a country music station. It was husky like sandpaper, yet smooth and warm like kaffi made with an extra dollop of milk and three pinches of sugar.

“Come on, sweetie, come on, it won’t hurt you, I promise. It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s fine.” The voice sang in a steady patter of sweet nothings. “Let me just do this one thing and you’re gonna like it, I promise.”

Drawn by the velvety words, she hopped from the buggy and approached the fence. The voice belonged to a tall, lean man with a shock of black hair, ruffled and sweat soaked under the rim of a dirty straw cowboy hat. He held a blanket in one hand while he used his other hand to hold the lead rope attached to a tawny Palomino with a long dark mane and tail. The man wore a T-shirt and tattered jeans faded to a blue-white. The sun glinted on a huge silver buckle on a belt that hugged his narrow hips.

“Sweetie, come on, come on, baby,” he crooned as he crept closer to the horse. “It won’t hurt you, I promise. Remember this blanket. We played with it yesterday. You remember.”

At that moment he looked across the corral and their gazes met. “Hey there, Amish girl.”

He said Amish girl as if it were her full name. As if he’d been waiting for her. As if he were glad to see her. It made her smile. “I’m Adah.”

Letting the lead rope out, he sidled away from the horse without turning his back on it. The horse pranced and arched her long neck as if she knew she no longer had the man’s complete attention. “I know. Adah, the Amish girl. The house cleaner.”

Mrs. Hart called her the maid, a word that didn’t bother Adah in the least. She did honest work and what she earned helped her family pay for the things they needed, things they couldn’t grow or make.

“That’s me.”

For some reason she couldn’t string words in a simple sentence. She edged toward the buggy. She shouldn’t have stopped. She should’ve gone right up to the house. Mind yourself with these Englischers. Mudder’s voice echoed in her ears. You clean their houses, that’s all.

“I’m Jackson Hart.”

Adah figured as much. He looked the spitting image of his father. She’d started working at the Harts after Jackson left for the spring semester of college so she hadn’t met him, but she recognized him from the dozens of photos that lined the walls of the Hart living room and the room they referred to as the “study.” The study where she lingered over her dusting so she could run her fingers over the ivory keys of a grand piano while she stared at photos of family members posing with horses and steers and trophies and ribbons.

Jackson glanced at the horse, then back at Adah. “You ever seen someone break a horse to a saddle?”

“My daed—my father—does it.”

“Maybe he should come do this one. This filly’s a stinker.”

“She’s willful.” That’s what her daed said about Adah. He said she was worse than a wild horse when it came to being stubborn. Her mudder said she inherited that from Daed. Either way, she’d made more than her share of trips to the woodshed as a little girl. “She doesn’t want to give up her wild ways.”

Like Adah had been doing since starting her rumspringa. She’d been avoiding baptism for two years now.

“My brother says he can’t be ridden. The family we bought her from waited too long to break her, but I think she can be taught to be a lady. Today is her day to learn who’s boss.” Jackson grinned, his teeth white against the dark stubble on his chin. The bottom teeth were a little crooked, but they took nothing away from the blinding effect. “That would be me. I’m gonna turn her into a rodeo horse.”

Adah had seen the rodeo when her family went to the county fair to visit the exhibits. They didn’t have money to buy tickets, but she’d peeked into the arena. Riding a bucking horse or bull or lassoing a bawling calf for sport didn’t make much sense to her.

“I better get in the house.” The words came out in a stutter. Why, she had no idea. She heaved a breath and tried again. “There’s floors to be mopped.”

“Mom went to the grocery store. Then she’s stopping by the house in town.” Somehow he made this information sound like an invitation to stay. “You got all the time in the world.”

“This house is big. Takes me all day.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re pigs or anything—well, except RaeAnne, but she’s at the house in town most of the time. I’m pretty good at picking up after myself and so is Jeff.”

RaeAnne stayed at the farm sometimes and it always meant more work for Adah. Jeff, the other brother, kept his room neat and tidy, but she still had to vacuum, dust, take out the trash, and generally straighten up after him. She didn’t mind. That’s what they paid her to do. “You’re never here, so I don’t know.”

“I’m here now.”

No doubt about that. Adah couldn’t take her gaze from him, as much as she didn’t know why. She should get in the buggy. She didn’t move.

Still grinning as if he liked having an audience, Jackson edged toward the horse, who snorted and tossed her head.

“Sweetheart, it’s time. You know me. I’d never steer you wrong. You can trust me. It’s just a blanket. You’ve seen this blanket before, remember?” He held it up. “It’s nice. Soft. Warm. It’s light. You won’t even feel it on your back. I promise.”

A chill ran up Adah’s arms despite the June heat. Jackson spoke to the horse, not her. Still, she took a step back.

With a gentle flick of his wrist, he settled the blanket on the Palomino’s back. The animal responded with a high, angry whinny. She side stepped, snorted, and shook her head.

A second later, she reared and bucked, hooves flailing.

Still hanging onto the lead rope, Jackson stumbled back. “It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re doing fine.”

The words seemed overly optimistic. The palomino came down, then reared again, bucking and shrieking.

Jackson moved, but not fast enough. The horse’s front hooves connected with his chest.

Jackson crumpled to the ground.

 

Want to read more? Links to buy:

http://www.amazon.com/Plain-Love-Song-Hope-Amish-ebook/dp/B00K8BGEHE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1401552028&sr=8-1&keywords=A+Plain+Love+Song+by+Kelly+Irvin

http://www.christianbook.com/plain-love-song-new-hope-amish/kelly-irvin/9780736954983/pd/954983?item_code=WW&netp_id=1221444&event=ESRCG&view=details

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-plain-love-song-kelly-irvin/1117748801?ean=9780736954983

KellyFinal1Author Bio:

Kelly Irvin is the author of the Bliss Creek Amish series and the New Hope Amish series, both from Harvest Housing Publishing. Her latest release is A Plain Love Song, set in Amish country in Missouri, which debuted July 1. It is the final installment in the series, which also included Love Redeemed and Love Still Stands.

She is currently working on The Beekeeper’s Son, the first book in the Amish of Bee County series, for Zondervan/HarperCollins. She has also penned two inspirational romantic suspense novels, A Deadly Wilderness and No Child of Mine.

Kelly has been married to photographer Tim Irvin for twenty-six years. They have two young adult children, one gorgeous new granddaughter, two cats, and a tank full of fish. In her spare time, she likes to write short stories and read books by her favorite authors.

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Connect with Kelly at:

@Kelly_S_Irvin on Twitter

https://www.facebook.com/Kelly.Irvin.Author

website:

http://www.kellyirvin.com

 

 

 

Wednesday Writers Welcomes Jennifer Hallmark

30 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by Catherine Castle in Blog, Wednesday Writers

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

Author interviews, Book excerpts, Jennifer Hallmark, short story complilation, Sweet Freedoms: a la mode, Wednesday Writers

sweet freedom book 2Today I’m welcoming Jennifer Hallmark, who will be showcasing her work in Sweet Freedom. Jennifer will also give away a print copy of the book to one lucky United States commenter on her post. The giveaway will run from July 30 through August 5, so don’t forget to leave your email when you comment so we can contact you if you are chosen.

So, Jennifer, please tell the readers about the book that is being showcased today.

Sweet Freedom A La Mode is a compilation of short stories (the second in the series) that celebrate freedom. From a woman longing to start again but bound by her past, to a young man who must face his fear of death; to a woman offered a chance of true love but held back by crippling insecurities, the stories focus on moving forward.

How did you come up with the concept for this book?

The concept was actually thought of by my friend Jennifer Slattery. When I asked her this question, she said, “When I look back over my walk with Christ, I’ve seen a continual theme: Him moving me toward an increased level of emotional and spiritual freedom. This, I believe, is one of the greatest blessings His followers receive, and I long to see others grab hold of that same freedom, and I believe stories–real and fictional–can inspire people to move toward that.”

What are you working on now? Do you have a release date for this book?

I’m glad you asked! I’m working on two different series. First, When Wedding and Weather Collide [tentative title], a southern fiction about a disabled bride’s pursuit of her dream wedding dress, is in the hands of a publisher. I’m on pins and needles as they decide whether or not…well, you know. They’ve looked at it once, asking me to make some changes and resubmit. The other is a two-book fantasy series about a young woman who overcomes fear and a broken engagement to become an encourager in the kingdom of Ecclesia.

Tell the readers how you got started writing.

I wrote poetry and stories as a child and teenager, but when I married, my artistic bent took precedence through mural painting, needlework, and cake decorating. From 1993 to 2005, writing became a hobby. In 2006, I decided to take the leap and registered for my first writing class. In the years to follow, I educated myself through local and online classes, devoured books on writing, and joined critique groups and local writing groups. I’ve written and rewritten and edited and re-edited. J

I write poetry too, and would love to take up painting, but who has the time? Some writers like quiet when they write, others want music. Which one are you?

It depends. If I’m writing my rough draft, I want it quiet; no distractions. If I’m editing or blogging, I’ll usually have some praise and worship music playing in the background.

Are you pen and paper writer, strictly computer, or some combo of the two?

Combo. I do the majority of my work on the computer, but I keep a notebook by my bed and one in my purse for times of inspiration. I learned that I might think I can remember, but I don’t. I’ve written a lot of blog posts and articles while waiting for my bi-weekly allergy shots.

How have your reading (and writing) tastes evolved over the years? Do you still read the same genre of books you did as a teenager?

As a teenager, I loved to read classic novels and mysteries and still do today. I read very little Christian fiction as a teenager, so I’m catching up now. I’ve tried to broaden my scope by reading a very wide variety of genres.

What’s the book you are reading now?

Uh, that would be books. I usually have four or five going at all times. At the moment it’s This Shadow by Jerusha Agen, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain, and Secrets by Kristen Heitzmann. In the past two weeks, I’ve also finished three Inspector Alleyn mysteries by Ngaio Marsh.

Do you have an all-time favorite movie that has stuck in your mind or that you’d watch over and over?

Probably my all-time favorite is Chariots of Fire. I love the story behind the two runners in the 1924 Olympics and find Eric Liddell such an inspiring figure. I also have watched The Lord of the Rings movies umpteen times.

I love the Lord of the Rings, too. I’d freeze frame all the hobbit house scenes and inspect them item by item if I could. Can you name three interesting things most people don’t know about you?

One, I’m a huge NFL fan. I would play fantasy football, but I just can’t commit the time to it. Two, my mom had seventeen brothers and sisters. I have over 30 first cousins. Three, I’m allergic to milk. I guess that’s not as interesting as it is sad for me. No cheese.

Thirty cousins must make for some huge family reunions!

It’s been a pleasure having you here today. As you say goodbye, can you leave the readers with an encapsulation of your life’s philosophy?

Wow. There are so many good scriptures and life verses. Proverbs 3:5-6 stands out for me. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make straight your paths.” NKJV. I need this reminder daily that it’s not all up to me. I can trust God, follow Him, and He won’t let me down. Thanks so much for letting me drop by today. It’s been fun!

 

Sweet Freedom: a la mode

For some, the fourth of July is a celebration of freedom; for others it is a reminder of bondage. Of pain. Of fear. Of hopelessness. But there is a hope that is deeper, a love that is truer, and a freedom that no one can ever snatch away. 

How can one take a step toward that freedom when the road appears shrouded with insecurities and doubts? These pages contain numerous stories: a woman longing to start again but bound by the failures of her past; a young man who, upon reaching adulthood, must face his fears of death; a woman offered a chance of true love but held back by crippling insecurities.  Is God even there? Does He care…enough to reach down and pull these men and women from the messes they’ve landed in, some of them by their own hand?  Freedom. Peace-saturated, joy-infusing freedom.  We pray our stories demonstrate what it looks like in the day-to-day…and provide a little insight into how one grabs hold of that treasured state of heart and mind.

 

Excerpt: Cool water lapped at my feet as I leaned back in my beach chair. Ocean stretched in front of me. Ono Island, a barrier island off the coast of Alabama, shimmered in the spring.

Tourist season hadn’t begun, and I appreciated the quiet. “Nothing is better than dipping one’s feet in the Gulf in April.” I frowned. “Unless it was dipping my feet with a good-looking man at my side. Or better yet, climbing Mt. McKinley with this same gorgeous man.” I stared into the cloudless sky. “God, what’s wrong with me? Can’t anything go the way I want?”

Another wave wet my feet. Apparently not. My mountain climbing vacation I’d scrimped and saved for had been put on hold. My sister, Angie, had decided to marry during my two-week vacation and asked me to make her wedding cake. I couldn’t do both.

At least one of us was getting married. I’d given up on any man loving me…

 

jen

Jennifer Hallmark: writer by nature, artist at heart, and daughter of God by His grace. She loves to read detective fiction from the Golden Age, watch movies like LOTR, and play with her two precious granddaughters. At times, she writes. Jennifer and her husband, Danny, have spent their married life in Alabama and have a basset hound, Max.

Sweet Freedom A La Mode

Links

http://www.jenniferhallmark.com

http://jenniferhallmark.wordpress.com

http://writingpromptsthoughtsideas.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/jenniferhallmark

https://www.facebook.com/authorjenniferhallmark

https://twitter.com/JenHwrites

 

Wednesday Writers Welcomes Yvonne Anderson

23 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by Catherine Castle in Blog, books, Wednesday Writers

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Book excerpts, Christian Science Fiction, Gateway to Gannah, Ransom in the Rock, Wednesday Writers, Yvonne Anderson

Lost and Found

Wednesday Writers has the privilege of hosting Yvonne Anderson today. Yvonne writes Christian Science Fiction. I’ve read the first book in her Gateway to Gannah  series and loved it. I’m currently reading Ransom in the Rock. If you like Star Trek type characters and a twist on the faith elements, you will like this series.

Yvonne will be giving a lucky commenter the opportunity to choose any of the three books in the series currently available. She can offer print or e-book in the US, but e-book only for those who live elsewhere.

Please leave a comment with your email so I know how to get in touch with you. The drawing for  the book will be on Monday July 21, so be sure to spread the word to your friends who might be interested.

So, without any further ado, I’d like to welcome, Yvonne. Please tell the readers about the book that is being showcased today.

Ransom in the Rock is the third title in the science fiction series “Gateway to Gannah.” Although they all work together to tell one story, I’ve tried to make each book self-contained enough that you won’t be lost if you haven’t read the earlier ones.

In the second book, Words in the Wind, Lileela sustained a spinal cord injury at the age of five and was sent to her father’s native planet, Karkar, for treatment. Now, in Ransom in the Rock, she’s a teenager, and she’s coming home to Gannah. But she’s not happy about it. Is already looking for a way to leave.

She soon discovers, however, that being dragged to this backwoods little settlement is the least of her problems. Generations before, Gannah had attacked Karkar, and Karkar has nurtured a deep resentment ever since. Now they can taste revenge, and they don’t care who gets hurt when they take what they feel is their due.

Lileela’s family paid for her medical bills and the cost of transporting her home by giving to Karkar a considerable amount of precious ores—that’s the “ransom” the title refers to. However, it also reflects the theme that weaves throughout the story: the steep ransom Christ paid for each one of us.

How did you come up with the concept for this book?

Once upon a time, I read a little nonfiction book called The Gospel in the Stars, which put forth the theory that when God created the heavens and the earth, He organized the stars into constellations that pictured the gospel story for early man to “read.” That concept inspired me to write a story in which the characters discover this “story in the stars.” But once I got started writing, it kind of got out of control.

Y’see, I’m a pantser. I started what I thought was going to be a short story, and I had an end in mind for it. Problem is, too much had to happen before we could get there, so the short story turned into a novel. But it kept going on and on, and I had to find a stopping place even though I wasn’t at the end I’d envisioned. So I had to write another one. That was fun, but, unless I wanted to end up with a thousand-page behemoth, I had to end that one, too, before I was ready. This book, the third in the series, was my next attempt to get to the end of the original story. I didn’t make it this time, either.

LOL. See what happens to us when those stories and characters get a hold on us.  Do you have a release date for the next book in this series

I’ve completed the fourth in the series, and I plan to release it in October of this year. And finally, it ends at the point I originally envisioned. Hooray!

What next after that?

Meanwhile, I’m working on a short nonfiction piece that describes how to process a North American whitetail deer from the field to the table. The title is A Deer in the Dining Room: A Hillbilly’s Guide to DIY Bambi Butchering. I’ll include several recipes, along with a number of general gluten-free suggestions. No release date on that one yet.

Oh, my. That’s quite a title! Some writers like quiet when they write, others want music. Which one are you?

I can’t concentrate with music in the background, because I tend to focus attention on what I’m hearing and forget to think about what I’m writing. Same thing with voices, whether on radio, TV, or live conversation. However, I have no trouble tuning out the sort of noise that doesn’t convey meaning, like machinery or traffic. I used to do a lot of writing while sitting on the front porch. We lived on a busy county road, but the cars, trucks, and tractors passing by the house were much less distracting than sounds of the family and the TV inside.

I know exactly what you mean. I need quiet, too. So, when you write are you a panster or a plotter? Linear or non-linear writer?

As indicated earlier, I’m mostly a pantser. I start with a beginning and an end in mind, as well as a couple of major events that will occur along the way. I am, however, well acquainted with my major characters before I start, because I spend a lot of time with them in my mind. (You play with imaginary friends too, don’t you?) I don’t do any outlining, character sketches, or any other sort of pre-writing, but I live in my story world mentally for quite some time before I put down a word.

I’m definitely a linear writer — probably because I don’t usually know what’s going to happen until it does.

Reviews are important to most writers. What review have you received that you most like, and why?

 My all-time favorite to date is a one-star review on Goodreads of the first in the series, The Story in the Stars. The reader didn’t like the book one little bit, but she “got” it completely – more so, it seems, than some of the readers who gave it five stars. I love it when people enjoy my books, but I find it far more satisfying when their comments show that the story conveyed exactly what I intended.

Those are the most rewarding reviews. Of course, it’s nice when the “get it” and give you  higher star.  Speaking of reading, how have your reading tastes evolved over the years? Do you still read the same genre of books you did as a teenager?

When I was in elementary school, I used to read mostly mysteries. Somewhere along the line I graduated to classics. I’m pretty much of a generalist in my tastes nowadays and read a variety of things, but I generally avoid romances and anything involving the supernatural. After realizing I was a sci-fi writer (which came as a complete surprise to me), I’ve been reading more in that genre to learn more about it. I like nonfiction, too. In fact, the last two books I read were nonfiction. One of them was Leaving the Wire: An Infantryman’s Iraq by David Ervin. Definitely not a Christian book, but very well worth the read.

What’s the first book you ever remember reading as a child?

I was a voracious reader as a child, back in the days when I had the time for it. I can’t say what was the first book I read, but I well remember the first time I ever read a book that absorbed me so much I hated to see it end. I was probably in 2nd grade. I’d been home sick from school for a few days and had already read everything in the house that was on my level. Bored nearly to tears, I picked up a chapter book that had a boring cover and no pictures. It didn’t really interest me, but I was desperate for something to read. It was Pierre, the Young Watchmaker by Jean Horton Berg. Once I started reading, I was sucked in in a way that had never happened before. I read and read, eager to see what happened next. But when I finished it, I cried, because I didn’t want it to be over.

Do you have a day job? If so, what is it?

I’m the secretary for Welsh Memorial Baptist Church in Frostburg, Maryland. Fortunately this is not a full-time job, so I have time for writing. And other things. But I love the job.

Even if you don’t write to music, what’s in your CD player right now?

Nothing. I don’t have a CD player. Well, I guess there’s one in my car, but I don’t know that I’ve ever used it. I have some music loaded onto my computer, but I don’t often listen to music. Because the world is such a noisy place, I prefer quiet when I can get it.

Tell us a little bit about your hobbies outside of writing?

 2 lb PotatoI don’t know if you’d call it a hobby, but I like everything having to do with food–beginning with growing it. At one time, my husband and I raised almost all our own food – Now, That's a Radishmeat, milk, and eggs included. There were a few exceptions (flour, sugar, orange juice, and Jell-o come to mind), but what we had to buy, we paid for by selling things we raised. For the space of a couple of years, we ate for free. It was a lot of work, but it was immensely satisfying. We don’t do it on that scale anymore, but I do still love my veggie garden.

 

 

 

Oh my goodness those are huge veggies! That’s what I’d call a TEXAS Potato!

After all that garden time, what do you do for relaxation?

Read. Sleep. I enjoy both very much, but don’t do as much of either as I’d like.

It’s been a pleasure having you here today. As you say goodbye, can you leave the readers with an encapsulation of your life’s philosophy?

Oh, wow, that’s a hard one. Hmmm… let me think about this for a little bit….. Okay. I wouldn’t say this is the theme of my whole life, but it’s where I am at present, beautifully articulated in a snippet of an old hymn: “I hear the Savior say, Thy strength indeed is small. Child of weakness, watch and pray. Find in Me your all in all.”

I love that old hymn, and I’ve loved having you here today. Yvonne has a blurb and except of Ransom on the Rock. Thanks for visiting!

 

Ransom in the Rock

How much is a life worth? And who will pay the price?

Fifteen-year-old Lileela returns from the planet Karkar, frothing with bitterness over what she perceives as abandonment by her parents. Why do they want her back now? And why does Karkar demand such a huge payment for delivering her? Neither she nor her family suspects that Karkar’s true motive is revenge. The tiny New Gannahan settlement has no hope of repelling an invasion – no hope, that is, except for One the Karkar can’t see.

 Her chest tight with dread, Lileela opened the closet.

She could only bring one outfit. One outfit? How insane was

that? No way in Karkar could she narrow her wardrobe to one item. It was almost enough to make a girl scream. But, tempting though it may be, fifteen was a little old to be throwing a tantrum like a toddler.

She chewed her lip, trying to think.

It should be a multi-piece ensemble. Though technically one outfit, she could wear separate parts on different occasions, making it seem like more. But then, she’d have to coordinate it with something Gannahan, which would putrefy the entire look.

She’d never survive this.

Swallowing a sob, she climbed the stepstool to reach the control that activated the display. One by one, each item in her closet appeared on the screen then faded away to reveal the next.

This was going to be a tough decision.

“Lileela?”

Great. Aunt Skiskii was here already.

“We need to get to the shuttle bay.”

Ignoring her, Lileela watched the delicious parade of apparel march past her vision. If she took the knee-length brushed yueeed jacket and the Eutarian silk blouse—no, not that silk. The paler one, with the little flecks of—no, maybe the solid would be better.

“What’s this?” Skiskii’s voice could cut through glass.

Lileela limped down from the stool and exited the closet, leaving the display running. “What’s what?”

“These cosmetics in your case. What are they doing here?”

Lileela tipped her head back to look her aunt in the pale yellow eye. “I’m taking them. What else would they be doing there?”

Skiskii’s ears tilted back. “Weren’t we told they don’t wear cosmetics on Gannah? And you’ve scarcely left room for clothes. You said you were bringing one civilized outfit, but I don’t see it.”

“I haven’t packed it yet.” Lileela slipped between Skiskii and the suitcase. “Still trying to decide which one I want.

Skiskii’s exasperated sigh reverberated around the room. “What have you been doing all day, buying every eyeliner on the ship? You’ve got a lifetime supply in there.”

“That’s the plan. If they don’t wear cosmetics on Gannah, that means I can’t buy it there, which means I’ll have to bring my own. Because I’m not about to walk around with a naked face the rest of my miserable life.”

Skiskii’s lips parted as if she was about to shriek again but then her ears tipped outward. “Well. Well. I suppose it can’t do any harm. But we do need to get to the shuttle bay, so let’s grab whatever else you’re bringing.” Two swift, long-legged steps put her in the closet. “Let’s see…” Pressing an icon, she changed the display to one that showed thumbnails of the entire contents.

Row after row of miniscule images filled the wide screen. Lileela was proud of her wardrobe, but it did make choosing difficult.

She watched her auntie—actually, her cousin; Skiskii was her father’s first cousin on his mother’s side—scan the selection. She’d miss the old thing. More than she cared to admit. That was one reason she had such a hard time deciding what to bring. It wasn’t just clothes she’d be leaving behind.

“Here.” Skiskii pressed a selection. “This is perfect.” She chose the very jacket Lileela had been thinking of, along with fashionably snug trousers of the same length and a filmy but triple-layer ruffled blouse, the color of which picked up the mauve of the jacket’s piping. To Lileela’s delight, she added a floor-length skirt besides.

Lileela couldn’t have chosen better herself. “Oh, grab that cream-colored sash, too. And I’ve got the most darling bangles to match the jacket buttons.” She scurried to her jewelry armoire and flung it open.

That was another thing she would sorely miss. What sort of accessories would she find on Gannah? Trying to remember if her mother wore jewelry, all she could recall was a ring. The signet of her authority as toqeph.

The closet rack whirred as it spit out the clothes Skiskii selected. While she removed them from their hangers and folded them, Lileela boxed the earrings and brooch, all connected to one another with a neck chain, wrapping the delicate links around the box’s spindles to keep them from tangling.

Her hands trembled, and she took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm herself. The breath turned into a sob.

Skiskii left her folding and reached for Lileela, pulling her into a long-limbed embrace. The grinding noise in her throat was supposed to be comforting, and to a Karkar child, it might have been. But it only made Lileela’s tears flow more freely. She was no longer a child, though on Skiskii’s planet she was the size of one. And she was only one quarter Karkar, though she could barely remember living anywhere else.

“I don’t want to go, Auntie!”

Skiskii’s dinner-plate-sized, six-fingered hand stroked Lileela’s dark, curly-bobbed head. “I know you don’t, dear one.” She crooned like a Cephargian alley cat yowling in pain. “I know you don’t. But Gannah is your home. You were born there, your family’s there.”

Lileela pulled away. “You’re family, and you’re not there. I don’t remember my parents anymore, and I’ve never even met my younger brothers and sisters. Why do they even want me?”

Skiskii’s ears wobbled. “Your parents love you. They’ve missed you. The family’s not complete without you.”

“That can’t be.” Lileela pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. “There’s got to be some other reason.”

Skiskii sat on the vanity bench, but she still had to look down at Lileela. “They do love you. You’ve been gone for so long, and they want you home so they can get to know you again.”

For a moment, Lileela felt her auntie’s sorrow at never having had a child of her own. But that moment was short, fleeing before her greater self-pity.

“Your neurological treatment has been a considerable expense to them, you know.”

Lileela pouted, a feat that never failed to impress the blank-faced Karkar. Especially when she managed to produce a few tears in the corners of her eyes, like she did now. “Why should that worry them? They’re rich, they own all of Gannah, but people there don’t use money. It wouldn’t burden them to keep me on Karkar the rest of my life.”

Skiskii’s answer was cut short by an urgent beep followed by a whistle from the speaker above the door. Then an electronic voice intoned in tinny Karkarish, “Lileela Pik. Please report to Shuttle Bay Three immediately. Lileela Pik. Shuttle Bay Three.”

Skiskii hopped up and turned back to the half-packed suitcase. “We’ve got to scoot. We should have been there a quarter hour ago.”

Lileela slammed the jewelry box into the bag. “All right. If you don’t want me any longer, I’ll go down to that awful planet. But—”

“That’s not the case, and you know it.” Skiskii’s ears twitched in irritation. “Stop acting like the spoiled brat I’ve allowed you to become.” She snapped the bag shut.

Lileela let out a shriek. “Wait, I need shoes!” As fast as her labored, deliberate gait allowed, she moved to the closet and up the stepstool. “I know which ones I want, it’ll only take a sec.”

When the shoes she selected emerged, she tossed them to her auntie, who stuffed them into the suitcase and closed it again with swift movements.

Skiskii snatched the case with one hand and ushered Lileela out the door with the other.

Lileela went, but she scowled all the way. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. Just one decent outfit, one real pair of shoes, and no cosmetics. They’re going to make me dress like a barbarian—”

In the hall outside, Skiskii slid the bag into the rack in the back of the scootercart. “Yes, yes, just get in. I’ll drive.”

“Oh, my tote!” Lileela limped back into her room, grabbed her purse and returned to the scootercart while continuing her rant. “A barbarian, I tell you. They’ll have me dressing in scratchy old sacks and eating with my hands.”

The cart lurched forward, slamming Lileela into the seat. “Eating nasty roots dug out of the filthy, wormy ground, and then picking my teeth with a stick. After all you and Uncle Ogliziizl have gone through to teach me how to be civilized, they’re going to want me to go back to—”

“That’s enough, Miss Lileela.” Skiskii’s stern voice would have sent Lileela cringing to the far side of the scootercart if she hadn’t known her auntie was all bark and no bite.

Skiskii pulled the horn, and people in the hall moved out of her way. “I know you don’t want to go, but we have no choice. The arrangements have been made, and it’s out of our hands.”

Lileela crossed her arms and scowled at her shoes. They were cute shoes, too. She was certain never to find anything like them on Gannah. “So what am I, a commodity to be traded by agreement between planets?”

Skiskii sighed. “We’ve been through this, Lileela, and I won’t explain it again. Your parents have finally come up with the means of paying for your care. And it’s a king’s ransom. You should be touched that they’d—”

“Pay so much for my release? Some release. They’re buying me from Karkar so they can use me for a slave. My father used to beat me, did you know that? He beat me with a rod, then made me sit in a drab, gray room for hours on end, just because he didn’t like the way I was dressed, did I ever tell you that?”

“He did not. Don’t expect me to believe that.”

“He did! And I was little then. How do you think they’ll treat me now? They’re Gannahan, they’ll do terrible things to me!”

Skiskii cornered a little too abruptly, and Lileela had to grab her tote to keep it from flying out of the cart.

“They’re your parents, they love you. The League of Planets has ordered us to turn you over to them now that they’re able to pay off their debt. I have no doubt you’ll be well cared for there.”

“Humph.” Lileela smoothed a curl back from her forehead. “I’ll remember you said that when I’m imprisoned and forced into hard labor.”

Skiskii negotiated another turn, a little more carefully this time, onto the last hall before the shuttle bay elevators. “It will be nothing like that, and you know it.” She patted Lileela’s leg. But her worried ears and tearful eyes belied her comforting words.

 

Currently, Ransom in the Rock is available on Amazon in print or e-book, and at Barnes & Noble in print only.

 

headshot oct 2012Yvonne Anderson writes fiction that takes you out of this world.

 

The Story in the Stars, the first in the Gateway to Gannah series and her debut novel, was a Carol Award finalist in 2012. The adventure continues with Words in the Windand Ransom in the Rock and concludes with The Last Toqeph, scheduled for release in the fall of 2014.

 

She lives in Western Maryland with her husband of almost forty years and shares the occasional wise word on her personal site, YsWords. Speaking of blogs, she’s on staff with Novel Rocket, where she’s been the administrator of the Launch Pad Contest for unpubbed writers since its inception in 2010. She also works with The Borrowed Book, and was a formerly regular contributor to Speculative Faith.

 

Give her a holler here.

 

 

Wednesday Writers Welcomes Jaye Garland

23 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by Catherine Castle in Blog, books, Catherine Castle author, Romance, Wednesday Writers

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Author interviews, Book excerpts, Jaye Garland, romance books, SMP authors, The 25th Hour, Time Travel Historical Romance

Today on Wednesday Writers we are featuring Jaye Garland and her Time Travel/Historical Romance The 25th Hour. She is going to answer a few questions and share an excerpt from her book. Welcome, Jaye!

Hi Catherine, it’s great to be here today and I’m looking forward to sharing with your readers. Ask away!

the25thhour2_850Please tell the readers about the book that is being showcased today.
The impossible can be quite simple, actually. Just imagine…. Chased through time by her father’s murderer, a lady architect lands in the arms of a 19th century Wyoming rancher. The time-crossed lovers must find the killer before another life is taken—and the window of time separates them, forever. THE 25th HOUR is Time Travel / Historical Romance and is my debut novel. It’s available on Amazon in both paperback and eBook format.

By the way, I love this cover!
How did you come up with the concept for this book?
This story formed from three unique concepts.
a) I was house hunting in Sheridan, Wyoming and fell in love with an original Victorian home that had been built on the outskirts of the historic community. The town had since enveloped that house and its outbuildings. The mid-nineteenth century home needed a complete updating including all modern conveniences like plumbing, electricity, etc. Nope, didn’t buy it.
b) Fast forward a few years and I was an accountant for a restaurant construction firm in Houston, Texas. They hired a young, blonde, architect with high-concept designs, and her name was Sheridan. Well…Snap! My story was born.
c) Having been raised on a ranch, it was a natural fit that the hero of my story needed to be the cowboy that built the original Victorian house, and my modern-day heroine needed to do the updates. A Time Travel was the perfect element to bring these two lovers together.

What are you working on now? Do you have a release date for this book?
Actually, I just had an epiphany about this series and am drafting a brand new story that will follow my debut novel. I’d originally planned on two books to come after THE 25th HOUR, and I’ve written three-fourths of what will now be the third book. This new story’s timeline falls right after the first, but it’s a straight Historical Romance. THE 25th SUNDAY is now on the front burner. Then comes THE 25th PASSAGE, another Historical Romance. Last in the series is THE 25th HOUSE, a Contemporary Romance and will bring the storyline and characters full-circle to close the series. Release dates for these next books are pending.

Do you write in more than one genre? If so, why?
I write the story that needs to be told. I start with the main characters and build from there. The stories tend to be Historical, Contemporary, or more in line with Women’s Fiction. As in my debut novel, I’d blended two genres to create a time traveling experience.
Some writers like quiet when they write, others want music. Which one are you?
I cannot create something out of nothing when in the midst of chaos. I need vast quantities of solitude.

Me too, any little noise distracts me.
Are you a pantser or a plotter? Linear or non-linear writer?
I started out pantsing, but none of those stories ever found their way to The End. Once I began to plot out my stories, they took shape, and Voila! I finally finished a whole manuscript. I tend to write linear, but if a scene begs to be written, I’ll scratch out the basics so I can edit/revise when it falls into place. I’m not a fast writer and have been known to draft in gel ink on yellow legal pads. I’m learning Scrivener, so hopefully my speed will improve. As for revisions, I work in both computer and on paper. Each has a different feel so I’m apt to catch stuff in one that my eyes gloss over in the other.

How have your reading (and writing) tastes evolved over the years?
Yes, they’ve both changed—right along with the times. The more we read, the more we expect a stronger experience. Our entertainment factor has paralleled our impatience quota. We want it now, and it had better be good. So, as writers, we’ve got to up our game or be left in the dust.
Do you still read the same genre of books you did as a teenager?
One of the first books I’d read as a pre-teen was Zane Grey’s WYOMING. That wonderful story stuck with me for years. I found a copy at an antique mall recently. Could not get past the first few pages as it’s so descriptively detailed. The action doesn’t start until the book is half finished. But, I’ve read GONE WITH THE WIND at least five times. Margret Mitchell wrote with such passion and truth that this story never feels dated.
How often do you read non-fiction?
I just finished a fascinating ‘running from the law’ biographical called MORE THAN EVERYTHING by Vanessa G. Foster. Her experiences date back to the mid 1980’s and reveal how easy it was to be caught up in the world of drugs, sex, and bags of money. It’s difficult book to process, emotionally, but riveting.
What’s the first book, in the genre you write in, that you remember reading?
SHANNA, by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. A friend loaned me that book, and I was hooked forever on Romance. I also loved THE WOLF AND THE DOVE, but THE FLAME AND THE FLOWER was my favorite of all her books.

What’s your favorite television show currently running? Favorite show of all time?
I’m hooked on The Vikings on The History Channel, and finding that more and more, Rollo, the brother of the show’s hero, Ragnar Lothbrok, is the Viking that’s landed the best part. It doesn’t hurt that Rollo’s hunk factor is exponentially high.  My all-time favorite has to be the original Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson. His comedic timing was incredible. Classic!
Name three interesting things most people don’t know about you.
A: My Texas native oil-man hubby whisked me away to the desert sands of Saudi Arabia where we lived for seven years and were fortunate to travel the world. While in Saudi Arabia, I snorkeled The Red Sea…and was THIS close to Eve’s grave in Jeddah. The religious police had constructed a high wall around the cemetery so you couldn’t get in. Darn!
B: I stood in line for eleven hours to sign the guest books before Princess Diana’s funeral. As her coffin rolled by at The Horse Guards the next day, followed by the Princes Philip, Charles, William, and Harry—all within arm’s reach of where I stood—we could hear the gravel crunch beneath the carriage wheels and as the four somber men marched behind Diana’s casket. Most indelibly etched moment, ever.
C: And, on a lighter note… For about 15 years, I was extremely allergic to cashews, but can now eat them without breaking out, nose to toes, in an itchy-blistery-rash. Yea!

Eleven hours in line to sign the guest book. You’re a hardier soul than me.

It’s been a pleasure having you here today. As you say goodbye, can you leave the readers with an encapsulation of your life’s philosophy?
My favorite is one of the precepts of the Samurai and pretty much says it all: make a desperate effort.
Thank you, Catherine, for hosting me today. The questions were thought-provoking and fun!

You’re welcome, Jaye and good luck with your book.

 

Janet, SquareBorn and raised on the Great Plains, Jaye Garland thrives on ‘what-if’ scenarios by turning ordinary life events into novels steeped in adventure on the American West. Her debut novel, THE 25th HOUR, was published by Soul Mate Publishing on August 27, 2013, and earned #46 on the Amazon Best Sellers in Time Travel Romance.

Contact Links:

http://jayegarland.wordpress.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JayeGarlandAuthor

Twitter: @jayegarland

 

 

the25thhour2_850

Chased through time by her father’s murder, Houston architect Sheridan Wells unwittingly ‘erases’ herself and hurtles back to 1877 Wyoming Territory, to the moment that changed her family’s history forever—to the source of her father’s wealth—wealth the villain swears is his.

Heart locked by guilt, widower Alexander Reed, a War of the Rebellion hero-turned-rancher, attempts to disprove the transient woman’s story, labels her a charlatan and intends to dismiss her, but his precocious daughter has already claimed Sheridan as her new mother.

When the villain renews his quest for wealth and vengeance, Sheridan and Alexander must combine forces to defeat the crazed killer. This time, and no matter the cost—Alexander vows to protect his family. Will Sheridan’s stalker claim his due, or will she find sanctity within the family of her heart…before the window of time fades forever into the 25th hour?

 

Excerpt, the moment the heroine falls through time:

Sheridan rolled her shoulders and throttled her frustration. The blueprint copy had to be clean. As she attacked the last line, the eraser felt hot in her hand. Her knuckles ached and the effort sent an odd, tingling sensation sparking up her arm and into her shoulder. Conquering the task, she pressed again, harder. Almost there . . .

R-r-r-r-i-p! The eraser broke through the tracing paper, skidded across the fragile blueprints, and left a trail of dark eraser leavings in its wake.

“Double Dutch, damn!” Sheridan’s stomach whirled in sickening regret . . . yet she felt, somehow, sinuously liberated. She stared at the damaged blueprints. The image whirled like a plunked stone disturbing a glassy pond. Her fingers clenched into the heat-softened putty and merged with the watery vision while her arm faded into a translucent aura, as if her body was becoming one with the textures of the aged blueprints.

My God. What’s happening? She couldn’t let go of the art gum eraser. The fiery connection seared her flesh but she felt no pain.

A warped vision loomed before her eyes as Gordon Dix, the salt-and-pepper Gibbs-Wannabe, entered through the foyer. Ginger stood wide-eyed, motionless at his side.

A whiff of Wannabe’s trendy cologne burst through her sinuses as the heavy scent wafted on the fresh air from the open front door, and her stress headache exploded.

A mass of graphite-saturated leavings swirled in concert with an ever-increasing sense of falling. What have I done? Mesmerized, her arm passed through the layers of pages. Dear God! I’m falling . . .

“Sheridan! What’s happening?” Ginger’s voice sounded faint, far away.

“Help me, Ginger. Pull me back!”

Her world spun faster, escalating with each constricting circle. She held her breath against the toxic whorls of incinerating rubber. Wannabe strode toward her but his feet lodged in muddy graphite while his body lengthened like a lion leaping upon its prey.

Her mind fought for control. He called her name but his voice echoed like jungle drums against the ever darkening, spinning tunnel. In a desperate lunge for sanctuary, she reached for his outstretched hand. Gibbs Wannabe grabbed her wrist, but his touch felt hot, like flames licking her skin, and he fell along with her into the abyss.

Clawing against the fiery rip current, she willed air into her lungs just as an electric flash blinded her. Petrified he’d push her farther into the darkening whirlpool, she wrenched free of his grasp, and a dark cloud of eraser leavings swirled between them.

Together, she and the salt-and-pepper Gibbs Wannabe tumbled through the blueprints, down through her portable workstation, and on through all things material—passing one another, yet never again connecting—through a vortex void of light, texture, and sound.

Silence roared in her ears as she collapsed into utter darkness, and her world fell away.

 

 Buy Links:

http://amzn.com/B00ETJCKZG

 

 

 

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