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

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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–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.

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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.

 

 

 

Catherine’s Comments–On the Road Again by Catherine Castle

Tags

A Groom for Mama, cars, Catherine Castle, Catherine's Comments, driving, essay, humor, road trip

photo from Pixabay

Yesterday I got behind the wheel and drove—all by myself. The car battery failed from not driving it during the COVID shutdown, and we had to take the vehicle down to the dealer to have it checked.

“Wait, “you say, “What’s the big deal? You’re not 16 and just getting your permanent driver’ license, are you?”

Nope, I’m mumble mumble years old, a long way from 16, but it’s been 486+ days since I’ve driven a car.

You see, Feb. 3, 2019, I fell and shattered my right shoulder and had a total shoulder replacement. The one time during that recovery period, which lasted until sometime in August, when I tried to haul myself into my SUV and drive, I couldn’t yet turn the steering wheel. Between September and early October of 2019 I had two other surgeries, for other issues, which kept me from driving. Then on October 19, I had a spiral break on the humerus bone on the same arm I had my shoulder replacement, which required another surgery.

I have a scar from the tip of my shoulder to about 2 inches from the crease of my elbow. The spiral break required a plate that is screwed into place on the unbroken sections of the bone and wrapped in a cable on the broken section. But not to worry, I’m almost completely functional again. Not as good as new, but good enough to haul myself into the SUV without pain, and steer the vehicle on the right side of the road. I didn’t cross the center line one time!

As I was driving down the state line road toward the car dealer, at about 25 miles per hour in a 45 mph zone (you don’t want to go too fast when you haven’t been behind the wheel in a while, you know), on my very first outing alone, while my husband trailed behind to make sure I got to my destination, I thought, Wow! This is great! I can go somewhere without my husband in the car.

Just because I think it’s great to drive alone I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for hubby’s chauffeuring skills. He’s been fantastic these nearly 500 days, chauffeuring me around and taking me to every appointment I needed to go to. He’s been right by my side as we shop and eat out. He’s taken great care of me and the house and the cooking and all the other things I couldn’t do. And truthfully, I didn’t really mind being a passenger. I could check my email and surf the net while he did all the driving. If I’d been in the back seat, which I couldn’t do with a busted arm, I’d have felt like royalty.

As I drove down the road with the wind whipping my hair over my face, all the car alarms beeping (they started ringing when we took the gear out of park), and a line of cars trailing behind me, I experienced a freedom I haven’t felt in a long time. There’s just something about the ability to get out on your own and cruise down the open road, no matter how fast.

Now, if the battery holds and we get the incessant beeping fixed and I can get up to the speed limit, the real fun will begin.

 

 

Catherine may not  be up to a long road trip yet, but the heroine and hero of her romantic comedy with a touch of drama, A Groom for Mama. certainly are.

Check out a sample of the book at Amazon.

 

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-Pondering Through, in and Around the Pandemic Brain by Bonnie Engstrom

Tags

Bonnie Engstrom, clean romance, Covid-19, essay, humor, Musings from a Writer's Brain, Noelle's Christmas Wedding, pandemic, Sweet romance, writing distractions

from Bonnie Engstrom

Brain fog! That’s what I have right now. Not really writers block, but a misty haze hovering around my head. My own personal cloud.

I know I have to write book nine, the final book in my Candy Cane Girls Series. I even started it and have two chapters. My publisher has been patient, but she did remind me right after book seven to hurry and write book eight because in a series, readers are anxious to know. I even have the title, inspired by a little old lady who walks her blind dog in a stroller in my community. Natalie’s Red Dress. It was easy to write Melanie’s Blue Skirt and Connie’s Silver Shoes, but Natalie is having trouble with her red dress. Rather, I am.

The blame game is easy. All the distractions and obligations are because of the pandemic. Right? I have to iron our pillowcases every Friday, the border of the sheet, too.

Yes, I have to. Crawling into a smooth bed at least once a week is important to my psyche. I never ironed them before. Flor always did it for me. But our daughter insists we have no one in our house right now. So, I mail Flor a check every week to make up for her lack of work. Poor thing, she has four kids and an elderly mother. Plus, she’s a prayer warrior.

Cleaning toilets is no picnic, either. At least I don’t have to mop the floors. Hubby has taken on that task. (Thank you, bad back, for cramping up when I bend over.) I have learned to cook again and relieve the master chef, occasionally. Ina Garten is more than The Barefoot Contessa, she’s my guru angel. Watching her videos sometimes takes up the afternoon. Can’t write when learning how to make zucchini casserole, can I? Will my hubby like it as much as Jeffery?

I cut my own bangs the other morning. I’m afraid to tell Robert. Or Lisa. My two alternate hair dressers. Have you ever tried to use waxing strips? They don’t do much for chin hairs, and certainly not for nose hairs. But, I can’t go to Kay’s salon.

It’s a sad commentary when the most stimulating discussion I have with hubby every morning is “What’s on Netflix tonight?” Or we rush to the back patio to see what the dogs are barking at.

Lola and Sam

“Maybe it’s the Golden Retriever. Or maybe the lady with the two little white dogs!” (Our whiny Lola hates the white dogs. Sam barks up encouragement.) I ask if he has any Skype calls with his university colleagues, and he asks if I have writing to do. Yeh, but . . .

I should be composing my weekly newsletter that converts to my Facebook page. It’s due to my VA Thursday. Thank goodness she’s forgiving when she gets it late Friday. Let’s see . . . there’s the American Christian Fiction Writers email loop with lots of chatter and questions I have no clue how to answer. There’s the Romance Writers of America forums for Pro authors. Boring. Everyone has an opinion. There’s the Moms’ Prayer Chain that I moderate. Lots of needs and thank yous back and forth. There’s the daily card I mail at the remote postal drop box just to get out for a half hour. There was the house I wanted to buy for our daughter and four grandkids. I stalked it every day. Can one really stalk a house? I did. I parked in front of it and prayed and brought up icons about perseverance on my cellphone’s Bible app. It sold to someone else.

Oh! It’s almost three o’clock. Time for my daily excursion to the mailbox to post a card to friend Jean telling her how special she is. Lipstick. Check. Watch. Check. Special bracelet. Check. Gotta feel human. At least I penciled my eyebrows this morning.

It takes exactly seven minutes driving slow to get to the isolated P.O. box for the 4:15 pm pickup. I still go to “the house” to pray. God doesn’t tease. He put the house idea in my head for a reason. Maybe it will fall out of escrow, or maybe there’s a better one soon. After my few minutes of prayer I wonder what the neighbors think about the crazy woman waving her arms out a car window. I doubt if they know I’m praying. Don’t care. The drive back home that should take ten minutes takes twenty-five on my long route. I prolong it by trundling along at twenty-one miles an hour in the forty-five-mile zones. Cars speed around me, but nobody honks. I am the little old lady, Miss Daisy, driving herself. No Morgan Freeman. I wish.

Then to stop on the way home at our bank of mailboxes to retrieve all the useless flyers and catalogues. I sort through the mail. Sam got a card from his vet, Dr. Nick, reminding him to get his teeth cleaned. Hubby got two bills and the Lou Malnati’s pizza catalogue. I got the latest Mornings with Jesus and a Steinmart ad. That’s a toughie. My favorite store, my home from home. Several years ago hubby had a quip, “If you can’t find Mom, call Steinmart.” Not this month, or maybe not this year.

Two of our grandchildren had special birthdays recently. Taylor turned fifteen, and Teagan celebrated thirteen. Big rights of passage, especially for girls. No hugs, just presents handed quickly over the back fence. Taylor had a party of sorts. Her best friend’s family came to sit on the lawn about twenty feet away from her family. Teagan got to indulge in her favorite sushi at Beni Hana since restaurants had opened. I count it a blessing that her family were the only patrons, except one man at the sushi bar. If you want to see the girls and their creative celebrations, go to my Facebook page and scroll down.

That reminds me I am giving away NOELLE’S CHRISTMAS WEDDING there to a commenter. Also, giving one away on this blog. Both signed copies, unless you prefer an eBook. You can have two chances to win it by commenting both places. It’s not just about Christmas or a wedding. (If you believe in Santa you need to read this book). Its message has a much deeper social issue about abuse and stalking (of Noelle, not a house) that takes place off stage. It’s the first in the Candy Cane Girls Series honoring Noelle, a teacher. (I love teachers, don’t you?) I hope you will like it so much you will want to read the entire series to meet Cindy, Candy, Connie, Natalie (yes, she has two books), Melanie and Doreen. You will also meet Jake (my sweet dog I still dream about), Lola (yes, the whiny girl who hates little white dogs) and Arthur, the dog who adopts Doreen and encourages her to dance. All the dogs are on the covers of my books.

Maybe Natalie should adopt a dog! One who pees on her red dress. I think brain fog is lifting and I have my story.

 

 

Nolelle’s Christmas Wedding

by Bonnie Engstrom

Noelle Day finally has the courage to break off her ill-fated engagement with her volatile fiancé and cancel their Christmas wedding. It’s embarrassing, and she has to share the humiliating reason with her friends The Candy Canes. The other five girls were to be her attendants in red taffeta gowns.

When she faints and falls into the arms of Braydon Lovejoy, the now former wedding florist, Braydon is confused by her abrupt manner. Who is this beautiful woman with the sepia hair and the huge brown eyes? Is she a damsel in distress as he suspects? He prays for an opportunity to find out.

Then he backs his delivery van into her precious red car, and he’s sure she would never go out with him, especially since he was hired to deliver a huge bouquet of roses to her from a secret admirer.

Noelle isn’t sure how to respond when Bruce, the school principal, physically forces himself on her. After all, he is her boss, and she’s just a first year English teacher.
She finally accepts a lunch date with Braydon, and he takes her to Sherman Gardens in Corona del Mar where she learns he is the local rose expert. But, Noelle worries their friendship is happening too fast and calls a respite.

One of the Candy Canes has a tragic accident, and the women bond together. But Braydon, who is not sure why he is involved, becomes their anchor.
Will Braydon’s prayers heal the hurts, physically and emotionally? Will the injured Candy Cane forgive the woman who caused her accident, the woman who is related to Bruce the principal? Will Noelle ever have her California Candy Cane Christmas?

Buy Link

About the Author

Bonnie lives in Scottsdale, Arizona with her psychologist husband Dave of fifty plus years. They have three grown children and six grandchildren, four of whom live in Arizona and two in Costa Rica where they surf. Pura Vida!

She is a PRO member of Romance Writers of America and a long time member of American Christian Fiction Writers; also, a member of Christian Writers of the West, the Arizona chapter of ACFW. Two of her books, Restoring Love at Christmastime and Melanie’s Ghosts, have garnered 5 Star Readers Favorite Awards.

Most of her stories are set in Arizona, and in Southern California where she and her husband lived for over thirty years and raised their three children. She likes to use real people (with their permission) and real-life experiences in her stories, and real dogs that are featured on her book covers. Readers love animals!

Social Media Links:

Website www.bonnieengstrom.com where you can see all my grandchildren and read about my writing journey, sign up for my newsletter and even order books

https://www.facebook.com/bonnieengstromauthor/ where you can win books and stash and have fun literary discussions and sign up for my newsletter

bengstrom@hotmail.com where we can connect and get to know each other. Be sure to put BOOKS in the subject line

Musings from a Writer’s Brain–Confessions of a Multi-genre Writer by Linda Wood Rondeau

Tags

branding, contemporary fiction, essay, humor, Inspirational fiction, LInda Wood Rondeau, Musings from a Writer's Brain, Second Helpings, writing tips

Perhaps it’s just another symptom of my indecisive nature. I’m the kind of person who stands in the grocery aisle for ten minutes trying to decide what kind of pasta to buy.

An agent told me, “You write so far out of the box, you’re in a different room.”

Maybe this is why it took me eleven years before I received my first book contract. I needed to learn not just to be unique, but to be identifiable enough that editors didn’t have to put a coat on to find me.

At every conference I attended, the harpies screeched “Branding! Branding! Branding!” How does an author who writes speculative, paranormal, romance/historical/contemporary women’s fiction brand herself?

As I watched American Idol, I was intrigued by what the judges would repeatedly advise: know who you are as an artist.

Is this branding? I wondered.

I realized some singers can effectively sing across charts. Elvis, for example. Yet, there is an identifiable trait in their delivery.

Understanding this intuitively is a lot different from applying the truth to my writing.

I wanted to be the next Asimov, Tolkien or at the least Gene Roddenberry … George Lucas would be taking the comparison too far. I’d never come close to his genius. But why not write a space trilogy that changed the world?

I dashed back and forth from speculative, science fiction, romance, contemporary, historical and wondering all the time, “What kind of writer am I? What is my brand? Why can’t I settle on something and write only that?”

At every writing conference, I am asked, “What is your genre?”

How can I answer that?

I find in my writing, that I crave variety. I don’t want to write just one kind of story.

When I presented my dilemma, I was told, “Write what you like to read.” That doesn’t define me either. I like to read anything from a prairie romance to a spine-tingling horror book. I love a good story regardless of its trappings.

I was told, I’d never get published until I settled on what I wanted to write and focused solely on that until I “made it.” Then I might stand a chance to veer from that mode.

To determine what kind of writer I should be, I looked to my acting experiences. I pursued Community Theatre for over twenty years while living in Northern New York. I played such diverse roles as a transgender news reporter, an elderly murder-mystery writer, a ghost, a 19^th century estate owner, a yodeling country singer disguised as a German baroness, a detective, a backwoods philosopher, and a country-gospel singing nun as well as sundry other characters.

Biiggest Ain’t the Best

Making God skit at UMC in Norfolk August 2010

Those in our theater group said my strength as an actress was the ability to identify in some way shape or form with these outlandish characters, and making them come to life.

What I learned from acting is the truth that I don’t need to be them in order to understand them.

Is this then my brand? From the bizarre to the ridiculous?

As door after door slammed shut on a speculative writing career, I truly began to examine my brand, as it were. I found the stories I write, whether speculative, historical, or romance invoke a style that has come to be uniquely me: a blending of story-telling that encompasses the human spirit, healing from brokenness, and hope for lives damaged by wrong turns. I tell my stories from a deep point of view, sometimes first-person, and always infuse the inane in the telling.

I get it now. Branding is not the same as genre. It is voice and style and what makes you uniquely you. You cannot be unique if you copy. To quote another writer whose genius far exceeds the imagination of all writers, “This above all, to thine own self be true.”

What is your brand? How is it uniquely you?

 

Check out Linda’s special brand of writing in her book

 

Second Helpings

By Linda Wood Rondeau

 

Today is Jocelyn Johnson’s 45^th birthday. Unhappy with her marriage of 22 years, the parenting talk show host has planned a noonday tryst with her cohost. A phone call from her college daughter, a peek into her teenaged son’s journal, a sick preschooler, a Goth daughter’s identity crisis, a middle-school son’s prank, and her husband’s inflamed suspicions, not only interfere with her hopeful birthday plans but throw her family into more chaos than a circus on steroids.

In desperate need of counsel, Jocelyn invites a Christian to dinner, her guest from her morning talk show segment. However, the evening holds little promise of calm. In the midst of bedlam, a forgotten faith rekindles causing Jocelyn to rethink her life and her marriage.

You will laugh and you will cry from the first page to the last as you journey through the day’s events and Jocelyn’s search for Second Helpings.

 

Buy Link  Ebook : Print book

 

 

About the Author:

A veteran social worker, Linda Wood Rondeau is also a wife, mother, and grandmother. She is no stranger to family bedlam. Her stories of encouragement and hope come from the heart. She resides in Hagerstown, Maryland with her husband of over forty-years. When not writing, the author enjoys the occasional round of golf. She also enjoys theater and is actively involved with her local church. Find more encouraging words in her blog, Snark and Sensibility, found on her website, www.lindarondeau.com. Visit her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catherine’s Comments–COVID-19 Hair Perils by Catherine Castle

Tags

Catherine Castle, Catherine's Comments, Covid-19, essay, humor, The Nun and the Narc

Picture by Monikflores from Pixabay

 

My husband read something on Facebook today that said by the time the shelter-at-home COVID-19 orders are lifted there will be 88% fewer blondes. I laughed out loud at the quip when he read it. It was especially funny to me since just last night I mentioned to my husband the female news anchor on the local channel we watch had a very dark streak at the top of her very blonde head. To my knowledge, I’ve never see dark roots on her before.

I’m a blonde. I was born a towhead blonde. I had lovely blonde hair most of my young life. I have always been a blonde. I will always be a blonde until such time as my hair comes in a beautiful silver shade, which is only happening at my temples right now.

After laughing at the Facebook quip, I thought, Why is that so funny? I’m beginning to resemble that remark. Then I pulled out my cell phone to take a picture of the top of my head.

I have a ½-inch dark streak at the crown of my head. It’s shot with silver, but not enough to lay claim to beautiful. In fact, it looks a bit like a reverse, skunk streak. No “Darling I am growing old, silver threads among the gold,” for me. It’s more like “Darling, I am growing old, dishwater blonde among the gold.” Not pretty. In fact it’s downright ugly. It looked much worse than what I could see in the bathroom mirror.

And, no, I’m not going to show you that photo. I don’t want to give you nightmares. It’s bad enough that I saw it.

In this forced stay-at-home time, many people are thinking “When can I go back to work? When can the kids go back to school? When can I go see a movie or eat a sit-down meal at a restaurant?” Not me. My first outing thought is “When can I go to the beauty parlor?”

I just hope I don’t have to wait as long for an appointment as I’ve had to wait to buy toilet paper. A girl can only stand so much, after all.

 

If you’re waiting for your next beauty appointment, or any other non-COVID-19 event, check out Catherine’s multi-award-winning, inspirational romantic suspense The Nun and the Narc. This action-packed adventure will take your mind off your COVIS-19 troubles—for a while at least.

 

The Nun and the Narc

By Catherine Castle

 

Where novice Sister Margaret Mary goes, trouble follows. When she barges into a drug deal the local Mexican drug lord captures her. To escape she must depend on undercover DEA agent Jed Bond. Jed’s attitude toward her is exasperating, but when she finds herself inexplicable attracted to him he becomes more dangerous than the men who have captured them, because he is making her doubt her decision to take her final vows. Escape back to the nunnery is imperative, but life at the convent, if she can still take her final vows, will never be the same.

 

Nuns shouldn’t look, talk, act, or kiss like Sister Margaret Mary O’Connor—at least that’s what Jed Bond thinks. She hampers his escape plans with her compulsiveness and compassion and in the process makes Jed question his own beliefs. After years of walling up his emotions in an attempt to become the best agent possible, Sister Margaret is crumbling Jed’s defenses and opening his heart. To lure her away from the church would be unforgivable—to lose her unbearable.

BUY LINKS:  Ebook Amazon  PRINT: Amazon Barnes & 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.

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Writers–When Life Goes Viral by Mary Gant Bell

Tags

book excerpt from When Life Goes Viral, Christian fiction, clean romance, humor, Mary Gant Bell, sibling relationships, Wednesday Writers, When Life Goes Viral

 

 

Today’s Wednesday Writers guest is Mary Gant Bell with an interesting take on how the muse inspired her book, When Life Goes Viral. Welcome, Mary!

 

 

 

What Inspired the Novel When Life Goes Viral?

The day I needed tags for my car was an ordinary day. Not a day I wanted to stand in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles, but sometimes we have to bite the bullet and get things done anyway. The first employee I encountered didn’t even greet me. The initial words out of her mouth were excuses about why she couldn’t do her job. So I went to another office and waited in a second line to watch the employees drink their morning coffee by the copy machine. I had plenty of time to daydream, as authors are prone to do. So I let my mind wander (because my feet certainly weren’t moving.)

Greta, the main character of When Life Goes Viral, was born in line at the DMV. I entertained myself by imagining what I would do if laws and socially acceptable behaviors had never been defined. How could I vent my frustration at this disorganized bureaucracy and apathetic staff? What does a childish temper tantrum look like in an impatient adult?

Obviously, there was no way I could do any of the things that came to my mind. But Greta could. Main characters act with impunity and confidence. Real life doesn’t always permit us to choose the consequences of our actions. But as an author, I could control not only Greta’s actions, but their consequences as well. So while I controlled my body parts and my mouth muscles, Greta went wild. Right there in the DMV. Greta let loose on the temper tantrum to top all tantrums.

I smiled as the scenes came to life in my head. By the time I had the car tags in hand, Greta and I were best friends. She’s strong and courageous with a layer of crazy covering it all, like frosting on a cake. She’s also very loyal and protective of her sister, Tricia. Tricia wasn’t with us at the DMV that day, but Greta told me all about her. I like her, and I think you will, too.

When Life Goes Viral is the story Greta gave me that day. It recounts what would have … could have …. happened if I had done what I really wanted to do while standing between the crowd-control ropes.

Because Greta is such a loyal sister, she asked me to make her story book one of a series. I agreed and am working on her sister’s book, When Love Unites, now. The third book will uncover the sordid past of their mutual friend, Sandy. Greta will introduce you to Sandy in chapter one of her book. Spoiler alert: You’ll like Sandy, too. She’s really sweet (or at least that’s what she wants you to believe.)

If you enjoy romance or stories about the rocky relationships between sisters, When Life Goes Viral is perfect for you. All of these stories are clean of both sexual content and vulgar language. Greta and her friends are all Christians, struggling to apply Biblical principles to their everyday lives and actions. Some are more successful than others.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts about Greta and her circle of friends. Follow the link below to order your copy today.

 

 

WHEN LIFE GOES VIRAL

Mary Gant Bell

Genre – Christian Romance

 

What really happens when a video featuring something you regret goes viral?  All Greta wanted was an ice cream sundae. Instead, she became an overnight sensation. If she weren’t such an extreme introvert with severe OCD issues, it might have been funny. But it’s not.

The woman who barely leaves her apartment, let alone town, finds herself escaping on a cruise ship. It’s the only place she can think of that doesn’t have internet access or perpetual news coverage. It’s the only place she can avoid seeing her own face every three seconds.

When John literally bumps into her, his attraction is instantaneous. But is he attracted to her or her fame? Is it true what they say? Can love really overcome all things? Even the fame caused by one viral video?

When Life Goes Viral is book 1 of the series.

Excerpt

When the employee behind the counter caught his eye, the man yelled, “This is a hold up. Put your purses and wallets on the table. Jewelry too. And … and the cash register. I’m taking that, too.”

Through the haze of people screaming and chair legs scraping the floor, Greta’s anger boiled to the surface faster than a frog’s tongue grabs a fly. Her body did not consult her brain. It stood on its own and shouted. “Not today! You picked the wrong day to mess with me!”

The man’s head jerked in surprise, and he pulled a gun from his coat pocket. He walked to Greta and pointed the gun in her face, its barrel inches from her nose.

“Your purse and jewelry, lady! Now! Don’t think I won’t use this thing.”

Greta’s hand sliced through the air and sent the gun flying. In one fluid motion, she grabbed his pinkie finger and bent it backward. Three more millimeters and the bone would snap. Greta used this surprise to twist the man’s arm behind his back. In the process, he tripped on the table leg, hitting his chin as he collapsed on the floor.

Greta’s fury dated back to the days when everyone called her Maggie. The time before the crash. It was too late to stop it now. Greta unleased every ounce of penned up rage onto this man.

Hint: You can read all of Chapter 1 by visiting my website https://marygantbell.com/

Buy link

 

About the Author

Mary Gant Bell began her writing career about fifteen years ago to give voice to the ideas rattling in her brain. She started with genealogy books and later Christian fiction romance novels. She married a man who craves adventure. Together they parent one daughter and a gaggle of attention-seeking cats. When Mary is not writing, she quilts or cleans seashells from her latest trip to the beach. She never learned to cook, so don’t show up at dinner time. She’d much rather chase her characters from chapter to chapter than preheat the oven.

Social Media  Facebook:  Instagram: mary_gant_bell_author  Lulu Author Page:

 

 

 

 

 

Musings From a Writer’s Brain–Now I Understand by Anne Montgomery

Tags

Anne Montgomery, cars, essay, humor, Musings from a Writer's Brain

from Anne Montgomery

I have never cared much about cars. Never understood why people spend so much to get the newest, fastest, sleekest version with the most gadgets. The last vehicle I bought came after my mechanic pointed at my ancient Geo Prism and ordered me to drive it one last time.

“Take it to a dealership and turn it in,” he advised. “Get a new car!”

The day I abandoned my Prism in a dealer’s parking lot, I found a vehicle that spoke to me. It was a black Ford Ranger pickup. Slightly used – I think I read 14 thousand miles on the speedometer. Black paint sparkled in the Arizona sun. I drove it around the block.

“That’s the one,” I said to my sweetie pie, who’d accompanied me on my car hunt. Following what felt like half a day of paperwork, I drove my new truck home.

Later, I stood proudly by my recent purchase. My mother squinted at the pickup’s bed where I’d installed a bright silver toolbox to hold my rock collecting gear, camping equipment, and emergency rations on the off chance I might find myself stuck in the wilderness for any length of time.

She stared at me. “Aren’t you afraid of what people will think of you?”

“I am a black pickup kind of girl, Mom.”

She shook her head.

“Really.”

My truck is now going on 19. I love my old truck. We share lots of memories: good, bad, and ugly. Together we’ve had countless adventures into the mountains and deserts, some wondrous, some difficult, and a few rather dangerous, in retrospect. Still, we always made it home. Eventually.

Then, my parents, in their nineties, mercifully decided to give up their car. I had been begging them for years to stop driving. Anyone who’s butted up against that major-life decision understands the complexities inherent in taking the keys away from mom and dad.

“We’ll sell the car,” my mother finally announced.

That vehicle, a blue 2010 Ford Fusion, now sits in my driveway. Though my mom continues to tell anyone who will listen that I took the car, Ryan and I wrote them a check for a little over seven grand.

A funny thing happened when I started driving the Fusion. I liked the built-in bells and whistles. Note that the vehicle is not high end, but compared to my truck, the little car is like owning a rocket ship. We call her Zippy. Now, when I drive my pickup, it feels only slightly more mobile than a covered wagon.

Then I got a letter in the mail: AIRBAG RECALL! I stared at the red triangle depicting a driver facing a steering wheel that had burst into flames. I read the section that said, “Until parts are available …your dealer is authorized to provide you with a rental vehicle.”

Today, a 2018 Ford Fusion Platinum sits in my driveway. The car boasts a power tilt/telescoping steering column with memory, dual integrated bright exhaust, premium leather-wrapped and stitched instrument panel and console rails, and myriad other extras I couldn’t possibly explain. The overall effect is…well…Wow!

I’ve had the rental for several months. It seems Ford is having a great deal of trouble getting the parts to fix the airbag that might explode and shred me with shrapnel. Apparently, 37 million vehicles have been identified as needing the fix, and more are expected to be added to the list. Takata, the maker of the defective airbags, announced it might take five years to install all the replacements.

I wonder sometimes, especially when those comfy leather seats are hugging me in their soft embrace, when I will have to return my pretty sedan. Neither Ford nor the rental company seem to care that the $40,000 vehicle is occupying space in my driveway day after day.

I have never cared much about cars. Never understood why people spend so much to get the newest, fastest, sleekest version with the most gadgets. Until now.

Perhaps Ford will forget about my cute little rental. I’ve grown quite fond of her.

Here is a brief intro to my novel dealing with abuse and it’s aftermath. I hope you’ll take a moment to peek into it.

Two Arizona teens find their fates intertwined. Are there any adults they can trust? Can they even trust each other?

Rose Madsen will do anything to keep from being married off to one of the men in her Fundamentalist Mormon (FLDS) community, even endure the continued beatings and abuse of her mother. But when her mentally handicapped baby sister is forced to strangle the bird she loves at the behest of the Prophet, Rose frees the bird and runs away.

Adan Reyes will do anything to escape the abusive foster care system in Phoenix, even leaving his good friends and successful high school athletic career behind him. Ill-prepared for surviving the desert, Adan hits the road only to suffer heat stroke. Found by a local handyman, he catches a glimpse of a mysterious girl—Rose—running through town, and follows her into the mountains where they are both tracked and discovered by the men of the FLDS community.

With their fates now intertwined, can Rose and Adan escape the systems locking them into lives of abuse? Will Rose be forced to marry the Prophet, a man her father’s age, and be one of dozens of wives, perpetually pregnant, with no hope for an education? Will Adan be returned to the foster home where bullying and cruelty are common? Is everyone they meet determined to keep them right where they belong or are some adults worthy of their trust?

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Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.

When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.