Tasty Tuesdays—Grandma’s Meatballs and Spaghetti from Viola Russell

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food, Love At WAr, meatballs and spaghetti, recipe, Tasty Tuesdays, Viola Russell, WWII fiction

picture courtesy of Pixabay

My novel Love at War is a WWII historical romance set in New Orleans.  The family matriarch is a German native, and many of my family members noted similarities between the mother Magda and our own grandmother, Viola.  Of course, many family stories and lore formed the basis for Love at War.

I started writing the book after my mother died when I began reading letters her brothers wrote home while deployed.  The scene that aroused the most discussion, however, was not about battle scenes or historical documentation. Rather, a dinner table scene in the novel resulted in multiple emails, phone calls, and text messages. 

The family had gathered for Sunday dinner; the main dish was meatballs and spaghetti. Many of my cousins expressed horror that I’d described the gravy as “brown gravy.” My cousin Trudy said, “Grandma’s meatballs were never in brown gravy, always red.” Cousin upon cousin emailed about this issue.  “I vote red.” “I vote brown.” The red gravy cousins won. 

My cousin Emmett resolved the controversy surrounding my betrayal of family tradition.  “Grandma’s stewed chicken had the brown gravy. The meatballs were always in red gravy.”

 Well, I’m almost certain I remember some brown gravy with the meatballs, but I agree that she fixed meatballs more often with red gravy than with brown.

Pardon me, Grandma, for my inaccurate recollections! 

My mother used her mother’s recipe for meatballs and spaghetti, and I want to share it with this audience.

Grandma’s Meatballs and Spaghetti

Ingredients:

1. Shallots–3 stalks
2. Butter–1 Tablespoon
3. Breadcrumbs–1 cup
4. Ground meat–1 pound
5. Salt–1 Tablespoon
6. Pepper–1 Tablespoon
7. Lea and Perrins Sauce-1 Tablespoon
8. Cooking oil–1 teaspoon
9. Onion powder–1teaspoon
10. Garlic powder–1 teaspoon
11. Sugar–a pinch
12. Bay Leaf–3-4
13.  1 can tomato paste
14. Parsley–1 teaspoon
15. Oregano–1 teaspoon
16. Flour–2/3 cup
17. Bell pepper–1/2 of a bell pepper

Steps:

1. Chop Shallots into a bowl with the ground meat
2. Mix ground meat, shallots, breadcrumbs, salt, pepper, onion powder, garlic powder, and Lea & Perrins sauce into a mixing bowl.
3. Roll the ground meat in flour into compact balls and place in a pot.
4. Heat cooking oil in another pot and fry the ground meatballs. (The balls must be compact. My mother used to say that keeping things tight and compact was also good advice in life)
5. Set aside the meatballs.
6. Drain excess grease into an empty can.
7. Put a pinch of sugar and bay leaf into the tomato paste can.
8. Stir shallots and bell pepper with butter in a pot. 
9. Spoon tomato paste into the pot.
10. Add water or beef broth.
11. Stir while seasoning with parsley, oregano, salt & pepper.
12. When seasoning comes to a boil, add the meatballs.
13. Cook on a medium flame for one and one half to two hours.
14. Cook spaghetti for approximately 10-15 minutes.
15. Spoon gravy and meatballs over spaghetti.

While the sauce is simmering, check out Viola’s book Love at War, available on Amazon

Love At War

by Viola Russell

Nuala Comeaux and her brothers are part of a typical working-class family living life on the brink of World War II. Like most Americans, they pray war won’t come their way, but Nuala is more preoccupied with her budding romance with the handsome and intoxicatingly sexy Keith Roussell. Nuala willingly gives in to his charms, but soon, the tides of war will engulf Nuala and her family. Nuala marries Keith, and soon, Keith and her brothers are overseas, facing the enemy. 

Keith’s talent with a rifle earns him the respect of the top brass, and he soon works as a sniper under the command of ranking officers. When Nuala learns of Keith’s death at the hands of a dangerous German general, she joins the female branch of the military. From there, she is recruited for OSS and joins her highly decorated brothers on clandestine operations. Even though patriotism plays a part in her motivation, Nuala is also consumed with the desire to seek revenge for the murder of her sniper-husband. 

About the Author:

Viola Russell is the pseudonym for Susan Weaver Eble. A homegrown New Orleanian, she holds a doctorate in English literature from Texas A & M University. She has traveled far and wide and relishes the memories she has made in places as distant as England, Ireland, Canada, and Jamaica and as near as Mississippi, Texas, Oklahoma, California, and Massachusetts. She lives with her husband Ben, the love of her life, in a New Orleans cottage and is most comfortable at her computer creating the worlds that drift into her imagination.

Connect with Viola on her website

Musings from a Writer’s Brain–Shedding Light on 2020 by Gail Kittleson

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essay COVID, Musings from a Writer's Brain, WWII fiction

           

 During the past two weeks, we’ve been dealing with a pesky squirrel.

Our granddaughter climbed a ladder to staple beautiful blue lights along our front rafter, and then draped several strings around one of the pine trees near the porch.

She and I got going on this before Thanksgiving because things seemed so gloomy. Light is my answer to that, so why not brighten up our corner of the world a little early this year?

 For a week or so, everything was going great. Then suddenly, the tree lights stopped working. Upon investigation, we discovered that some creature had bitten the wires in two.

 Okay, so we put up a second set of strings. They lasted another few days, until…you guessed it:

  We live in a town of 1,000, so the two stores that sell lights were out of blue. Nonplussed, we opted for multi-colored strings. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and, possibly, our phantom harbors a distaste only for the color blue…

           

            We rather like the effect, and the image created after dark sort of goes with a consistent theme from the past year: things might not go the way you intend. Recollecting on the myriad plans that have gone awry in our nation during 2020, I could rephrase that about a hundred different ways.

You never know what might happen.

Be ready for surprises.

Have a Plan B…and C…etc.

I also could quote a line from Robert Burns’ poem “To a Mouse”: “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley.”

 Perhaps in ten years, we’ll still look back at 2020 as the year everything seemed to fall apart, but then, we don’t know what lies ahead, do we? We do know that people of past generations have come through some very difficult times, and studying about them reminds me that LIGHT, in any shadowy circumstance, is still the answer.

WWII definitely sent the people living through it into a situation where it seemed their world was falling apart. But they managed to survive in spite of all odds. Check out Until Then, Gail’s inspiring story of the women who persevered among the trials and hardships of war.  

Until Then is available on Amazon.

Until Then

By Gail Kittleson

March 3, 1943

Bethnal Green, London’s East End

Shortly after a quarter past eight, a siren split the air. Marian Williams lifted her sleeping daughter from her bed and darted down the stairs. Her mother and father-in-law, off on air warden duty, had left the front door unlocked.

She hugged her youngest child close. The blackout made the going difficult, but her husband’s instructions echoed in her brain: “Whatever you do, get down inside the station fast as you can.”

She hoped for a spot near the canteen, with access to milk. Uneven light shone over the paved steps. Then she tripped. Her knee hit the concrete, then something bashed her left side. Someone cried out. Another blow scraped her arm on the landing floor. Where was her baby? She attempted to get up, but an even heavier weight slammed her face down. A crushing burden descended, then all went black.

Riding in the backs of Army trucks across North Africa, throughout the Sicily campaign, up the boot of Italy, and northward through France into Germany, Dorothy Woebbeking served as a surgical nurse with the 11th Evacuation Hospital.

During World War II, US Army nurses worked and slept in tents through horrific weather, endured enemy fire, and even the disdain of their own superior officers, who believed women had no place in war. But Dorothy and her comrades persevered, and their skills and upbeat attitude made a huge difference in the lives of thousands of wounded soldiers.

Dorothy and Marian’s stories converge on a simple, hand stitched handkerchief.

About the Author:

A rural Iowa child, Gail Kittleson appeared at her local library counter every Saturday to haul home a new pile of books. Later, she taught English as a Second Language and college expository writing. Over a ten-year period, writing a memoir led to her addiction to the World War II era. Her World War II fiction, including the Women of the Heartland series, honors this era’s make-do women, and she loves to cheerlead others through facilitating writing workshops/retreats. Gail and her husband enjoy grandchildren and gardening in northern Iowa, and the Mogollon Rim’s beautiful Ponderosa forest during the winter months.

Connect with Gail on her social media at :

http://www.gailkittleson.com/

www.facebook.com/GailKittlesonAuthor

http://amazon.com/author/gailkittleson

           

Musings from a Writer’s Brain with Gail Kittleson

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Catherine Castle Musings from a Writer's brain, Gail Kittleson, Until Then, WWII fiction, WWII nurses

Using Real-life Experiences in Our Writing . . . Or Not!

by Gail Kittleson

Sometimes we can use our real-life experiences in our manuscripts. Often, something you’ve experienced fits right into your story—you know the emotional reactions by heart because you’ve lived them. But it would be a mistake to think that everything we go through in life qualifies as novel fodder.

My husband and I recently spent a week with our church youth group as they traveled to Arizona to work for Habitat for Humanity, help out at a food bank, and see some of the area’s sights.

What a great bunch of Iowa youth—they set out determined to maintain cheerful attitudes and make a difference in this needy world. Every time we’ve taken a youth group to do work like this, people are surprised at how much they accomplish and how fast they complete the jobs. Without fail, supervisors wish they’d prepared more for them to do. It’s ten a.m. of the first morning, and they’ve already finished a full day’s tasks.

This time, I was recovering from a stem cell procedure on my hip, so that limited my involvement. But I made myself available to play Scrabble or a card game in the evenings, and helped make sure the food supply remained adequate.

One evening, the array of healing supplements I was taking for my condition caught up with my gastrointestinal tract. After dinner, some of the adults were sitting around discussing the beautiful weather and the abundant wildlife all around us. A few elk appeared on the property, and the youth went out for a closer look.

That’s when the warning signs occurred. Unmistakable rumblings and gurgling. Yep, diarrhea had showed up. You know how sneaky it can be, and how quickly one needs to hurry to the closest bathroom.

Fortunately, it wasn’t far away, and I got there in time. Relief! But at the same time, concern overwhelmed me. How could I heal if I couldn’t handle taking the required supplements?

I uttered something like, “Good grief—I really need help!” After cleaning up the area, I headed back into the hallway.

Just then, two of our teenagers almost ran into me and asked, “Have you seen Mellie? We’re playing hide and seek and haven’t been able to find her for a long time.”

“No . . .”

Suddenly a teen careened from the small bathroom I’d just exited. She looked a little pale —a greenish cast to her skin. A little sick.

“Mellie? Where were you? We’ve been hunting all over.”

“In there,” she gasped. “I was hiding in the shower.”

“You’ve been in there this whole time?”

“Yeah, but somebody just came in and . . .”

Now I must have looked sick.

“Oh no!” I blurted. “I’m so sorry—it must smell just awful in there.”

One of the other girls took a whiff and confirmed the truth. Then she bent double with laughter and the other two girls joined her.

I hope Mellie isn’t traumatized for life.

We never know when life will surprise us, or how. At times like this, keeping our composure offers the greatest challenge of all. I wonder if Mellie and I will ever be able to look each other in the eye again without bursting into laughter.

I’ve also been trying to think how this scene might work for one of my characters someday, but so far, nothing has come to mind. When you’re dealing with life and death situations in wartime, a bout of diarrhea and a little embarrassment don’t even compare.

About the Author:

An Iowa “baby boomer,” Gail Kittleson became addicted to books at an early age and spent as much time in the town library as possible. After earning her M.A. in Teaching English as a Second Language and some missionary work in North Africa, she instructed college writing and ESL courses. Years later, she penned a memoir. Soon after that publication, the fiction bug bit her HARD, so she writes World War women’s fiction and facilitates writing workshops and retreats. She and her husband, a retired Army Chaplain, enjoy gardening and grandchildren in northern Iowa, and the amazing Ponderosa forest under Arizona’s Mogollon Rim in winter.

Connect with Gail at http://www.gailkittleson.com/

www.facebook.com/GailKittlesonAuthor

http://amazon.com/author/gailkittleson

Until Then

by Gail Kittleson

March 3, 1943

Bethnal Green, London’s East End

Shortly after a quarter past eight, a siren split the air. Marian Williams lifted her sleeping daughter from her bed and darted down the stairs. Her mother and father-in-law, off on air warden duty, had left the front door unlocked.

She hugged her youngest child close. The blackout made the going difficult, but her husband’s instructions echoed in her brain: “Whatever you do, get down inside the station fast as you can.”

She hoped for a spot near the canteen, with access to milk. Uneven light shone over the paved steps. Then she tripped. Her knee hit the concrete, then something bashed her left side. Someone cried out. Another blow scraped her arm on the landing floor. Where was her baby? She attempted to get up, but an even heavier weight slammed her face down. A crushing burden descended, then all went black.

Riding in the backs of Army trucks across North Africa, throughout the Sicily campaign, up the boot of Italy, and northward through France into Germany, Dorothy Woebbeking served as a surgical nurse with the 11th Evacuation Hospital.

During World War II, US Army nurses worked and slept in tents through horrific weather, endured enemy fire, and even the disdain of their own superior officers, who believed women had no place in war. But Dorothy and her comrades persevered, and their skills and upbeat attitude made a huge difference in the lives of thousands of wounded soldiers.

Dorothy and Marian’s stories converge on a simple, hand stitched handkerchief.

My heroine and her real-life nurse buddies during the war.

 

Wednesday Writers–A Flute in the Willow by Carole Brown

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A Flute in the Willows, Carole Brown, Catherine Castle Wednesday Writers series, Clean Reads Books, The Spies of WWII series, WWII fiction

 

 

Today I’d like to welcome Carole Brown back to Wednesday Writers. Carole loves the WWII era and will be talking today about how she injected romance into her book A Flute in the Willows, Book Two of The Spies of WWII. Take it away, Carole!

 

The Greatest of These is Love

by Carole Brown

 

My love affair with WWII began with my mother’s tales of living through the 1940s and the pictures I saw. The romance, bravery, fashions, vocabulary, the shows and music, so much nostalgia—all of it fostered a love of this period. Research was a fascinating and learning experience.

I don’t write romance novels, but I do include romance into my books. The warmth they give a book, the lightness of spirit that softens mysterious questions and the intense suspenseful drama in my books, and the emotional appeal it brings is a true and worthy incentive for me to add it. Today I want to focus on this romantic side of WWII, and specifically, how I brought that emotion to life within A Flute in the Willows, Book Two of The Spies of WWII.

You wouldn’t think romance would play a part in being a spy, but sometimes it does. Wives, girlfriends, and new friends that tie into a spy’s life—all of these relationships allow romance to blossom…and increase the danger.

Love, at times, carries fear with it. Fear of losing, fear of disappointing, fear of failing.

In this scene, Jerry’s fears for his wife’s safety overcome him and allows him to show his relief and protectiveness for her and the fear of disappointing:

From: A Flute in the Willows

Chapter 11

U.S.

With a jerk, Jerry pulled her tight against his body, his arms wrapped around her. He could feel the tension leaving her body, felt the moment she leaned into him, and tears choked his throat. How he loved this woman.

 Her wild mop of hair tickled his chin as she rubbed her head against his chest, and he almost picked her up to gallop home with her.

And once again, his acute memory sprang to life. He couldn’t. He couldn’t gallop anywhere. And he’d already made that unspoken promise to her to let her go. Give her, her freedom.

Even when writing inspirational books, love can compass passionate love that is pure and right for such books. And forgiveness. Josie’s family forgives them their rash actions. Jerry and Josie’s strong personalities demand strong reactions to each other.

In book one, With Music in Their Hearts, Josie Rayner and Jerry Patterson eloped, to the heartbreak of her family. But being who and what they are, they accepted the situation and drew Jerry into, not only their lives—as he already was—but into their hearts as a son and brother-in-law.

And being—who I created Jerry and Josie as—strong, determined, and a bit on the wild side—they had to be a married couple who loved each other fiercely and passionately.

From: A Flute in the Willows

Chapter 7

Sulky eyes roved over her face. Lips tipped up in a crooked smile, defying her to deny her love for him. Muscular arms spun her away, then drew her back, close to his chest.

His sinewy arms lifted and tossed her like a light-weight, fuzzy dandelion seed, into the air, floating, floating, floating higher and higher until, as she began drifting back to the ice floor, he caught her, setting her on her skates, guiding her to yet another magical dance move…

Love can be stressful under certain circumstances…and foolish.

Injured and suffering from PSTD intensifies Jerry’s feelings when he returns home. He thinks he must let Josie go, yet his love for her, and her love for him, give him second thoughts.

Can love survive such emotional stress as the two endure? Can love surpass the doubts, fears and regrets that remind them of their unworthiness?

From A Flute in the Willows

Chapter 7

Josie searched his gaunt figure, lifted a hand and ran her fingers over cheekbones that seemed barely covered with skin. What on earth had happened to him? “Jerry?”

He wrapped his arms around her then. His shudder shook her, seeming to last forever, and she swayed with him, unable to stop it. And just when she thought he’d never let go, that life was perfect again, his arms dropped.

Love can at times increase the fear of losing something valuable and the fear of failing the person you hold most dear, of failing the person you love best.

From: A Flute in the Willows

Chapter 38

But now, the thought of her dead, without a chance to take back those awful words he’d thrown at her, to tell her he’d never let her go, that he loved her more than anything…

God, don’t let my Josie die. I’ll do anything.

Only with the love and understanding of Josie’s family—and God’s help—can these two damaged, rebellious people learn that leaning on God instead of their own selves and abilities is the right and true way to happiness…and love.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

A Flute in the Willows

By Carole Brown

Both rebels in their own way, Josie and Jerry Patterson must figure out how to keep the other’s love…and keep the German enemy at bay.

She has two loves—her skating and Jerry, her husband. But when he returns home looking like a skeleton trying to return to life, she’s scared. What happened in Germany to change a man so much? Has another woman captured his heart?

Jerry has vowed to let Josie live her own glamourous life…especially after what happened in Germany. But when his wife’s life is threatened, Jerry realizes he can’t stand by and do nothing. Jerry has to risk all for the very soul and life of himself—Josie.

These two damaged, rebellious people learn the hard way that leaning on God instead of their own selves and abilities is the only true way to love and happiness.

Want to read more? You can buy A Flute in the Willows at Amazon

About the Author:

Besides being a member and active participant of many writing groups, Carole Brown enjoys mentoring beginning writers. An author of ten books, she loves to weave suspense and tough topics into her books, along with a touch of romance and whimsy, and is always on the lookout for outstanding titles and catchy ideas. She and her husband reside in SE Ohio but have ministered and counseled nationally and internationally. Together, they enjoy their grandsons, traveling, gardening, good food, the simple life, and did she mention their grandsons?

You can connect with Carole on her social media sites:

Personal blog: Facebook: Twitter:

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Writers–Gail Kittleson and A Secret Agent’s Inner Life

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A Purpose True, Catherine Castle's Wednesday Writers blog series, Gail Kittleson, motherless daughters, secret agent's inner life, With Each, WWII fiction

I’m welcoming back Gail Kittleson to the blog today. Gail will be talking about the emotional state of the secret agent heroine of her books A Purpose True and With Each New Dawn, set in the tumultuous time of World War II.

 

A Secret Agent’s Inner Life

On the outside, Kate Isaacs, the heroine of A Purpose True and With Each New Dawn, strikes us as an inveterate risk-taker, a woman able to do anything. She wastes no time pondering proposed actions—she’s too busy doing something! At first glance, she wastes not a moment watching life pass her by, and we applaud her “go for it” attitude.

People are drawn to this sharp-witted, well-read young woman. She eloped with her husband straight out of high school, followed him to London after his Royal Air Force plane was downed, and searched for him far and wide. Nothing can stop her.

But I caught her in one of her quieter moments and posed a simple question. “If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?” Her immediate response revealed a vast, yawning hunger in her soul.

“I’d have a normal childhood, with my mother and father alive and well.”

Ah…when I was writing Kate’s story, the old spiritual, “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child…” never entered my mind. But looking back, it’s clear that the huge hole in Kate’s emotional being helped shape her into the adult she’s become.

Her mentor back in London warned her that waiting for an assignment would trouble her, and her sojourn as a secret agent in Southern France provided plenty of solitary times. During those periods when she had little control over anything, her mother’s face appeared from photos Kate had seen, and the reader finds her carrying on a conversation with this woman who gave her birth and died during Kate’s early childhood.

Kelly McDaniel, LPC, writes: “Hope Edelman’s book Motherless Daughters…offers help for women who experience early maternal death… ‘at some very deep level, nobody wants to believe that motherless children exist. …in our psyches …mother represents comfort and security no matter what our age.’ Italics mine.” https://kellymcdanieltherapy.com/wp-content/uploads/MotherHungerExplanation.pdf

 Kate may seem independent and in charge, but the look in her eyes tells another story. When all is said and done, when she’s avoided the Gestapo again in a heart-pounding near-disaster, when she’s all alone in an isolated cave and the future seems so tenuous, this mother hunger rises from a place deep within.

But it’s World War II, and no therapist or support groups exist. Kate’s role often demands solitude. In these honest moments when her hunger envelops her, she confronts her great need. She speaks with her mother…declares her longings out loud. And sometimes, in a way she finds difficult to verbalize, she senses her mother near.

Each confrontation of her deepest fears increases her breathing space a tiny bit more. As she risks her life for the freedom of la France, her own freedom grows, as well. This universal premise rings true for us all—facing our fears, though it’s terrifying, strengthens us in ways we could never have imagined.

About the Author:

 

Forever intrigued by the writing process, Gail researches ongoing World War II projects, including a co-written cozy mystery. She enjoys time with grandchildren, walking, and reading. Winters find her hiking with her husband under Arizona’s Mogollon Rim. She loves hearing from readers and facilitating writing workshops.

Social Media Sites: Website  Facebook  Amazon  Twitter  @GailGkittleson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Women of the Heartland series by Gail Kittleson on Wednesday Writers

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Catherine Castle's Wednesday Writers blog series, Gail Kittleson, In Times Like These, With EAch New Dawn, Women of the Heartland series, WWII fiction, WWII romance

Today I’m welcoming Gail Kittleson back to Wednesday Writers. Gail, who has been a guest on several of my blog series, is the author of The Women of the Heartland series. Gail likes to write about not-too-distant bygone eras, specifically WWII. Today she’ll be talking about the roots of her just released book, Each New Dawn. By the way, Gail, I love each one of your covers with their WWII flavor.

Thanks, Catherine.

We don’t often reflect on the forces molding our childhood experiences until much later in life. Here I am in my sixties, finally considering how much World War II affected my parents, and therefore, my siblings and me.

The Women of The Heartland Series, I realize now, found its roots in my parents’ moorings. Dad served four years in the war, and Mom anxiously awaited her two brothers’ return from the infantry. Her barefoot singing in the kitchen surrounded us as children, and what did she sing? World War II tunes, of course. There’ll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover …Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey A kiddley divey too, wooden shoe … I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places … I’ll be with you in apple blossom time …

So when the heroines of In Times Like These and With Each New Dawn, came to me, those songs danced in my memory bank. Not consciously, of course. Actually, I didn’t “get it” until someone at a book signing asked, “So, did you pattern your heroines after anyone?”

“Nope,” I blithely stated. But then I had a flash about how much certain characters resemble my mother, a hard working, mid-western make-do woman from humble circumstances. So I backtracked and shared the epiphany.

Katherine Anne Porter wrote, “The past is never where you think you left it.”

Ah, isn’t that the truth? We’re products of our past, and orphan Kate Isaacs, the heroine of With Each New Dawn, proves this point. Her longing for information about her parents drives her right into danger.

With Each New Dawn

By Gail Kittleson

In war-torn London, American Kate Isaacs grieves her husband, awaits their child’s birth, and welcomes her best friend Addie. But after her miscarriage, another meeting with mysterious Monsieur le Blanc launches her into Britain’s Secret Operations Executive(SOE). In late 1943, Kate parachutes into Southern France to aid the Resistance.

Domingo, a grieving Basque mountain guide-turned-saboteur, meets her parachute drop, tends her injured ankle, and carries her to safety. Reunited a few months later, they discover the injured Monsieur le Blanc who, with his dying breath, reveals a secret that changes Kate’s life.

In the shadow of the Waffen SS, Domingo’s younger brother Gabirel is missing. While Domingo seeks Gabirel, Domingo’s parish priest, Père Gaspard, creates a new identity for Kate.

As Kate and Domingo subject their mutual attraction to the cause of freedom, can mere human will and moral courage change the war’s tide and forge a future for them?

Buy link for Each New Dawn

About the Author:

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

Connect with Gail at:

http://www.gailkittleson.com/

www.facebook.com/GailKittlesonAuthor

http://amazon.com/author/gailkittleson

www.twitter.com/GailGkittleson @GailGkittleson

To read more about Gail on this blog check out her other posts: Wednesday Writers, A Writers Garden, The Writers Block, Home for the Holidays

Wednesday Writers–Soar Like Eagles by Terri Wangard

Tags

Catherine Castle's Wednesday Writers blog series, Doughnut Girl, historical romance, hostoricla fiction, Red Cross Clubmobiles, Soar Like Eagles, Terri Wangard, WWII fiction, WWII Red Cross

Today Wednesday Writers welcomes Terri Wangard and her book Soar Like Eagles. Today’s post is a bit longer than most, but I found the background on her heroine’s job fascinating, and I got caught up in the excerpt. Soar Like Eagles won the ACFW First Impressions contest as a historical, but could be considered a historical romance. I hope you’ll enjoy them too. So, here’s Terri.

Thanks, Catherine.

For the third book of my World War II series, I needed something to involve my main character with. At first I considered the train canteens, where volunteers laden with food met troop trains crisscrossing the country. That wouldn’t work though, because my navigator was heading overseas and I didn’t want a correspondence relationship. Then I discovered the Red Cross clubmobiles.

The American Red Cross operated canteens on the home front and clubs and clubmobiles overseas during World War II to provide soldiers and sailors with a cup of coffee, a doughnut, and a bit of friendly conversation that gave the men a familiar connection with home.

The Red Cross operated canteens in World War I when thousands of service personnel were traveling by train between their homes and camps and then to the ships that took them overseas. With the United States’ sudden entrance into World War II in 1941, the American Red Cross once again cared for troops on the move. Stateside, the Red Cross operated canteens near military installations, at train stations, ports of embarkation, and at military airfields. Canteen volunteers worked tirelessly securing donated and purchased supplies, preparing food and drinks, setting up facilities, and serving the troops.

Around the world, the Red Cross staffed permanent service clubs, traveling clubmobiles, and other recreational facilities. Service clubs provided refreshments, accommodations, and comfort and recreational activities wherever American troops were located overseas. In major cities, they offered meals, recreational activities, overnight accommodations, and barbershops and laundries. Some also provided sightseeing opportunities, touring museums, castles and cathedrals, and attending local theaters and movie houses.

Smaller clubs provided food in outlying areas near American military camps. The Red Cross also operated rest homes, often in stately manor houses in rural, tranquil locations overseas, for service personnel needing respite from the pressures of war.

To serve military sites in isolated areas, the Red Cross used clubmobiles in Great Britain in 1942 and later, the continent. Staffed by three American Red Cross women and a local driver in England, they visited several sites in a day, bringing refreshments, entertainment, and a touch of home to the troops in a foreign land. They used converted half-ton trucks and single-deck London buses, which featured kitchen equipment for making and serving doughnuts and coffee. Some carried phonographs and loudspeakers to provide music for the troops, and the women often danced with the servicemen. On the continent, the women had to drive and service their trucks.

Many American servicemen had never traveled far from home. At Red Cross clubs and clubmobiles in far-flung places around the globe, they received a connection to home and civilian life through friendly American women and familiar food. The Red Cross served a basic purpose of raising morale.

 

Soar Like Eagles

By Terri Wangard

 

Carol Doucet of Soar Like Eagles was proud to be a Doughnut Girl.

She wants to do her part for the war, but struggles to maintain her ideals.

He joins the air force, hoping to find peace.

            Carol becomes a Red Cross doughnut girl, serving GIs and boosting their morale. Believing wartime romances are doomed to disappointment, she attempts to avoid entanglements and transfers to France, away from Chet, the airman she’s falling for.

Chet’s father always belittled him. Now a well-regarded navigator, he longs to prove him wrong. After he’s ditched in the North Sea, parachuted into France, and been called before a review, his focus changes to staying alive, and winning the Red Cross girl he keeps crossing paths with.

 

Chapter 1

Dennison, Ohio

Wednesday, December 29, 1943

Carol Doucet unscrewed the bolt and wrestled the meat grinder off the table’s edge. As she scraped the last of the ham sandwich spread out of the grinder, her friend Fran laid out slices of bread.

Fran blew a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “I still can’t believe you gave up your job.”

Carol pursed her lips. Why couldn’t Fran understand her desire? They’d been over this countless times since she’d received notice from the Red Cross to report to Washington.

“Giving up my job as a society reporter can hardly be considered a sacrifice.” She twirled her spoon in the air. “‘Olive Sullivan wore a crimson gown trimmed with antique lace to last night’s Rotary Christmas party.’” The spoon hit the table with a clank. “That is so frivolous. Who cares with, a war going on? I’m determined to do my part in the war effort, no matter how insignificant it seems.”

“What do you call this?” Fran waved her hand around the train station’s back room before grabbing the bowl of ham salad. She slopped the spread onto the slices of bread. “We’re volunteering our time, our food, and our thanks to the servicemen coming through Ohio. Carol, you don’t have to go overseas to serve coffee and doughnuts.”

Carol added top slices of bread, cut the sandwiches in half diagonally, and stacked them on a platter. “No, but I want to go. The war is having a profound effect on our generation and I want to be part of it, to see it. I want to help. I’m sure I’ll still have opportunities to write while overseas, maybe not as a reporter, but about my own experiences.”

“Wars are deadly, Carol. You could be killed.”

“The Red Cross won’t send us to the front. I’ll be safe.”

“Are you sure you’re not just running away from Sally and Mike?”

Fran’s quiet question stopped Carol’s hand from draping a tea towel over the sandwiches. “I can’t believe you would think that.”

Someone started a phonograph record, and the melancholy strains of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” flooded the train station. Carol winced. A song about a soldier dreaming of being home with his loved ones for the holiday was not going to cheer the soldiers and sailors criss-crossing the country in training and preparation for shipping out to the war zones.

Another canteen volunteer poked her head in the kitchen door. “A train arrives in five minutes, ladies.”

Five minutes. Good. The song would be finished by then.

Carol hoisted the platter, careful not to topple the sandwiches, and headed out for the serving tables. If she was honest with herself, the opportunity to leave Sally behind was a joyful thought. She bit her lip. Someday, the events that had transpired last fall might be funny, but for now they were still too shocking to be believed.

After three dates, Mike had asked her to marry him before he reported for naval training. Carol didn’t regret saying no. He possessed a wild streak that scared her. Wartime marriages might be patriotic, sending off a sailor happy in the knowledge he had someone at home waiting for him. But what about when he came back to a stranger? How many of those quickie weddings would lead to lifelong love? Carol envisioned her parents laughing together as they washed the supper dishes, and sighed. She couldn’t imagine sharing intimate moments with Mike.

She’d been shocked when her good friend, Sally, waltzed in four days after the rejection and announced she would marry Mike. What was Sally thinking? They’d had five days together before Mike shipped out, and now Sally was pregnant. Carol shuddered every time she thought of it.

Fran followed her out with a heaping basket of apples. “I know you’re relieved not to be in Sally’s shoes, but I heard someone ask if you wish you hadn’t turned your back on a husband and baby. Busybodies can get annoying real fast, and the timing of your departure suggests a desire to avoid them.”

Long tables groaned with goodies set out for the troops in transit. Carol shifted a bowl of someone’s homemade divinity candy to make room for her sandwich platter. She accepted a rack of quart bottles of milk from a neighbor and began pouring the milk into glasses.

“A coincidence. You know I’ve wanted to join the Red Cross all year, but they have that minimum age requirement. Next month I’ll be twenty-five and eligible. As it is, I’m surprised I’m allowed to report for training before my birthday.”

The train whistled in with a squeal of brakes and a hiss of steam. A deluge of young soldiers and sailors raced into the station. Carol smiled. It was always the same. Some of the boys stepped right up while others stopped and stared at the abundance of food. She grabbed a knife to slice one of the cakes on her table.

“I hope you boys brought your appetites.” Mrs. Wills served as president of the Dorcas Society at the church Carol attended. “Help yourself. We’ve got all kinds of sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, fruit, cookies, cakes, pies, coffee.” Her voice faded into the din of hundreds of voices.

A tall, quiet officer dressed in an airman’s uniform stepped up to the table and hesitantly selected a sandwich he placed in an empty box marked with a “K.” Carol scooped up a slice of cake and offered it. “How about some delicious, prize-winning cherry cake?”

He smiled and accepted the dessert. With his first bite, his eyes brightened. “Mmm, I can see why it’s a prize winner.”

Carol grinned. “My neighbor made it. Another slice for the road, or should I say, the rail?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Holding out his box, he plucked an apple from the basket and added it to his meal. “This is really great, what you’re doing here. Do you use up your own ration stamps?”

“It’s our way of thanking you for what you’re doing. Communities from all around take turns providing food. Today it’s a ladies group from a church in Canton.” Carol removed an empty plate and helped Fran slide in a new tray of cupcakes.

The airman lingered nearby, sipping a glass of milk, watching the hubbub, and nodding in time to “Angels We Have Heard on High.” After pointing out to a trio of sailors which sandwiches were ham, chicken, or egg salad, Carol came back to him. “Are you traveling cross country?”

He grimaced. “No, thank goodness. That’s not a fancy Pullman car we’re riding in. I can’t tell you how good it feels to walk around.”

He snatched an egg from a platter being carried to the table, and his jacket gaped open. Carol spotted navigator wings adorning his shirt. The only planes she knew of that employed a navigator were the big four-engine bombers. She shivered as though someone had allowed the winter breeze to sweep in.

The airman didn’t seem to notice as he finished the slice of cake and wiped his fingers on a handkerchief. His eyebrows lifted. “What does the C stand for?”

“The C? Oh!” Carol touched the flowery initial embroidered on her blouse. “Carol. And you are?”

“Chet.”

“All aboard.” The stationmaster’s call echoed through the station.

Chet handed her his empty glass. “Sure doesn’t take long to get the train watered when there’s something worth getting off for.” He dipped his head. “It’s been nice talking to you, Carol.”

“Godspeed, Chet.” The farewell slid off her tongue as though she said it every day. She’d heard it explained in church as “May God prosper you.” As she watched the handsome brown-eyed airman stride outside, the expression seemed most appropriate.

The canteen emptied as the servicemen ran back to their train. A moment of silence reigned as the ladies caught their breath.

“Whee. I don’t know what they feed them in the military, but it must not be enough.” Fran materialized beside Carol. “We’ll be lucky if our food holds out until the next shift arrives.”

“I’ve heard they subsist on K rations or C rations, or some little box of canned stuff they have to eat cold. This is a smorgasbord in comparison.” Carol stared out the window as the train chugged away. Chet’s box must have held K rations at one time.

“Carol? Come on, we have to get ready for the next train.”

“Right.” She looked at the glass in her hand. “I’ll wash coffee cups and glasses this time.” She turned toward the kitchen, but Fran stood in her way.

“You want to wash dishes? What’s gotten into you?”

Carol leaned back against the table and grinned. “Did you see who I was talking to? Three dates with him and I might have to change my mind about saying no.” She straightened up with another shiver. “Seriously, I wouldn’t mind getting to know him, except he’s on a bomber crew. In Europe, they’re dropping faster than flies.”

 

Want to read more? You can find Soar Like Eagles Amazon

 

About the Author:

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

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

WEdnesday Writers–Gail Kittleson–In Times Like These

Tags

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

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

Words and War

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

 

In Times Like These

By Gail Kittleson

 

Pearl Harbor attacked! The United States is at war.

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

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

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

Want to read more?  Here’s the Buy link

Endorsement:

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

 

About the Author:

 

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

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Writers Welcomes Gail Kittleson

Tags

Author interview with Gail Kittleson, In This Together, Wednesday Writers Welcomes Gail Kittleson, WWII fiction

Today Wednesday Writers welcomes Gail Kittleson. Gail, tell us about the book you are showcasing.

In This Together, Dottie Kyle’s story, stars a Gold Star mother from World War II who has lost her son and husband. This, my debut novel, released on Nov. 18—yes, last week. That was a long-dreamed-about and awaited day.

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

I love the WWII era, so full of challenges, change, and courage. I grew up in a huge old house that could easily have served as a boarding house, and one day I was in another upstairs. That’s when the idea for Dottie came to me. Then she simply became so real I couldn’t NOT write her story.

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

I’m working on the third in a series of World War II women’s fiction novels that span from Iowa farmland to London to Resistance fighting in southern France. The middle one, A Purpose True, has found its publishing home—Lighthouse of the Carolinas—and is due out in early 2017. The first one is being reviewed right now, and the third … its future remains to be seen.

Do you write in more than one genre? If so, why?

I do. Non-fiction and women’s fiction. My memoir, Catching Up With Daylight, took about ten years to complete. My first assignment for the Oregon Summer Writing Program (Thank you, Nancy Knowles, again for nominating me for that.) got me going and I couldn’t stop.

The leap between the two was quite the ride, I must say. I taught college expository writing and fancied my skills would easily adapt. NOT SO MUCH!!! I had a lot to learn, and it was humbling. Don’t we love that?

But I did adapt, and the fiction writing has become such a gift to me. During all those long years without a publisher and plenty of rejections, every day, I still work up with an urgent desire to write. That certainly told me something. I’m finally doing what I was born to do.

I find you have to believe in yourself in order to write confidently. And for many years, I didn’t. That confidence has been extremely slow to develop, but I’m so glad I didn’t give up.

Tell us about your writing space.

Here’s a picture for you. Am I transparent or what—my desk is FULL of notes like this, maps, etc., but I do try to clean it off between manuscripts. My one wall hanging that says “Once in a while in an ordinary life, God gives us a fairytale” inspires me. So does a little block that says “GIVE THANKS,” and another tiny sign that says “It’s all about the journey.”

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?

Great question. You know, I do still read the same genre: women’s historical fiction and biography. I love history, which leads me to these 2 genres. I’m not sure my tastes have evolved much, to be honest. I loved To Kill A Mockingbird, Gone With The Wind (I read it during algebra class), and biographies of famous men and women back then, and I still do. Of course, Annie Dillard hadn’t written The Living yet, nor had Barbara Kingsolver penned The Poisonwood Bible—such incredible sagas!!

Likewise, I couldn’t have fallen in love with Jane Kirkpatrick’s work back then, or The Cloister Walk, or The Art of Spiritual Writing, a non-fiction wonder by Vinita Hampton Wright that encouraged me SO much in my writing, or … you get the idea. But I’d say every book I love has a spiritual dimension, one way or the other.

Right now, I’m reading Johnnie Alexander’s Where Treasure Hides and loving it.

It’s impossible to choose a favorite book, but Five Quarters of an Orange is so skillfully written. I love it when an author uses a child’s voice—I haven’t the courage to give that a try yet. And Five Quarters is about World War II, so that puts it right up there.

I also stand in awe of C.S. Lewis’s ability to create a believable fantasy world people by REAL children … and again, that was during World War II. Funny how this keeps happening?!?!

Writing is such and sedentary job. Do you do anything to keep in shape?

I love walking. It’s been a spiritual and physical discipline for many years, and has kept me from going over the edge a few (hundred) times. Walking motivates me to work out whatever’s driving me crazy. I’ve had imaginary conversations out on country roads that would make your hair stand on end. But when I get back, I’m ready to face whatever it is again.

The mountains do something wonderful for me, physically, mentally, and emotionally. In the winter, thanks to my very uncooperative sinuses, I spend a couple of months in the wonderful Mogollon Rim area near Payson, Arizona in the Ponderosa pine forest. With clean air and snows that melt in a couple of days, and afternoons when you can walk in jeans and a sweater. Oh my. It doesn’t get better than that.

We like to travel. What is the farthest place from your home that you have visited?

The farthest I’ve ever traveled is Bariloche, Argentina. It’s in Patagonia, and might just play a role in that third novel of my WWII series, since some Nazi leaders took refuge there. That flight was looooong, and then we got stuck in Miami for many extra hours. Being from Iowa, it was tough to believe that a TORNADO was spotted an hour from the airport, right when we happened to be waiting for our plane home. Go figure. Ah…traveling.

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? (a quote, a Bible verse, a precept you live by or have tried to instill in your children?)

Thanks so much for having me, Catherine. Well, I could talk on and on here, but it’s time to close. One thing I believe, to seek truth, stands me in good stead. Although I have to say, seeking truth isn’t always comfortable, pleasant, or full of instant gratification. I think this hunger for truth is why I like the ancient mystics so much. Meister Eckhardt’s quote, “If the only prayer you ever say is thank you, that is enough,” really motivates me toward gratitude.

As the header on my author page says, words can lock you up (hold you captive), and they can also set you free—so often our philosophies are two-edged swords. Being thankful isn’t always so easy/simple for truth seekers, but I’d like to live the rest of my life with a healthy blend of these two.

 

Excerpt from In This Together

 

Al laughed out loud.

A few minutes farther on, he motioned to the right. “Turn in here.

“Here” turned out to be Almira’s Café. Dottie pushed back her dripping hair. “I must look a sight.

Al grinned, a raindrop balanced on the tip of his nose. “Me too, but who cares? How about I treat you to a California hamburger? Otherwise, it’s dumplings for the third night in a row.

“You’re going to go broke, Al Jensen.

“Nope. Del owes me for a lot of hours at the store. Even though I’ve only been working mornings the past couple of weeks, I rack up the hours. Besides, we’ve got something to celebrate.”

“Del pays you?” She could have sworn Al told her he volunteered at the hardware.

He made a Stan Laurel face. “No, but it sounded good. Del’s still making monthly payments on the store, though, and will be for a good long time.”

He helped her with her coat. “What a sudden storm. Hope it lets up by the time we’re ready to go.” He handed her a menu from behind the chrome napkin holder.

“Dottie?”

“What?”

“I meant it. I’m indebted to you. What’s something you would really, really like? Somewhere you’d like to go, maybe?”

The falling star and her wish to see Cora and the children flashed through Dottie’s mind. That scene out in the starry back yard replayed, her hands raised to the heavens and her heart open to surprises. But she tore her eyes away from Al’s to stare at the menu.

 

About the Author:

Our stories are our best gifts, and blooming late has its advantages—the novel fodder never ends. Gail writes from northern Iowa, where she and her husband enjoy gardening and grandchildren. In winter, Arizona’s Ponderosa pine forests provide relief from Midwest weather and a whole raft of new people and stories. Gail’s memoir, Catching Up With Daylight, paved the way for fiction writing, and she’s so excited to announce the release of her debut women’s fiction novel, In This Together (Wild Rose Press/Vintage Line) on November 18, 2015. She hopes you’ll get to know Dottie and cheer for her on her post World War II journey. Also, please feel free to contact her—meeting new reading friends is the frosting on her cake!

Contact links: Website  Facebook   LinkedIn  Goodreads

Want to read more about Gail? Check out her other posts on this website Through the Garden Gates  The Writer’s Block–Quilts and More

 

Wednesday Writers Welcomes Johnnie Alexander

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author Catherine Castle, Author interviews, historical fiction, Johnnie Alexander, Wednesday Writers, Where Treasure Hides, WWII fiction

Today Wednesday Writers welcomes Johnnie Alexander. Please tell the readers about the book that is being showcased today.

Where Treasure Hides is about a Dutch-American artist, her father’s greatest masterpiece, and the Nazi officer obsessed with having both.

But of course, it’s much more than that. Alison Schuyler, whose grandfather owns an art gallery in Rotterdam, is intent on protecting the city’s artistic masterpieces from the looting Nazis. The man she loves, British officer Ian Devlin, fights at the Battle of Dunkirk and is captured as a prisoner-of-war, As they fight their own personal battles, Alison and Ian strive to entrust their future into God’s hands.

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

While researching various aspects of WWII history for another manuscript, I watched a documentary called The Rape of Europa. It’s about Hitler’s well-orchestrated attempt to steal Europe’s most cherished art for an extensive museum he planned to build in his hometown of Linz, Austria. What Hitler didn’t claim for his own purposes, other highly placed Nazis did.

I was fascinated not only by the thefts, but also the attempts to hide and protect the art. Even before I had a main character, I knew this would be a major theme in the story.

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

World War II Europe has been left behind for modern-day central Ohio. My next novel, Where She Belongs, is the first in the three-book Misty Willow Series. It releases from Revell in January 2016.

I’m currently finishing up the second book in the series tentatively titled, Love’s Deeper Season, which releases in September 2016. The third book will appear in May 2017.

Do you write in more than one genre? If so, why?

Writing in two genres wasn’t in my plan. I love historical fiction and have ideas for a few more novels in that genre. But God has directed my journey onto a dual-genre path.

After publishing Where Treasure Hides, my acquisition editor asked if I had a contemporary. I pulled out a manuscript I’d been playing with since 2005 when it appeared as a NaNoWriMo draft. It was the first manuscript I’d taken to writers conferences, and I’d rewritten the opening chapters several times.

Finally, the opening scene received a Bronze Medal in the My Book Therapy Frazier contest.

Based on the judges’ feedback, I rewrote the opening scene one more time—and from another character’s point of view.

The proposal garnered attention from a few publishers, and I signed a three-book contract with Revell.

I love my contemporary stories, but I still love historical fiction, too. Hopefully, I’ll find fans in both genres.

Are you a pantser or a plotter? Linear or non-linear writer?

On the pantser/plotter spectrum, I land left of center. However, I think of myself more as an intuitive writer than a pantser. Though I have an idea of where the story is going, or at least specific events to write toward, I do very little plotting.

I start at the beginning, getting to know my characters and being surprised by them and the story. Though I rarely write scenes out of order, I often write new scenes while revising. I find it helpful to begin the revising process before reaching the end of the story. The more solid of a foundation I have, the easier it is to move forward.

Tell us about your writing space.

I write at the kitchen table. It’s set in a rectangular nook so there’s a window directly ahead and also one to the side. The house is perched near the top of a Tennessee hill so the large yard slopes to the road.

The alpaca herd (yes, you read that right) wanders past the windows throughout the day, and sometimes I see the littlest ones racing around the yard. Cardinals, bluejays, and other feathered friends flit among the trees.

 

 

One morning, a week or so ago, I looked out the window while writing and saw a fox, a raccoon, and a deer. Though not at the same time.

All that wildlife sounds distracting. Most writers are readers, too. What’s the book you are reading now?

Once Beyond a Time by Ann Tatlock which is so good it distracts me from writing; A Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp; a book on how we read; a book on math principles; and two writing books.

 

Most writers love books—our walls are lined with them. 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.

Craft Books

Story Trumps Structure by Steven James

Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Browne and King

Dancing on the Head of a Pen: The Practice of a Writing Life by Robert Benson

Novels

Les Miserables by Victor Hugo

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

The Silmarillion by J. R. R. Tolkien

Magazines

The Writer

Writer’s Digest

Smithsonian

 

I love going to the movies. Do you? If so, what was the most recent movie you’ve seen?

I love going to the movies and seeing epic films on the big screen. A friend and I recently headed to the cinema after church to see San Andreas. Wow!

Before that, I saw The Woman in Gold twice. Anyone interested in WWII art theft should see this movie which is based on true events.

We wanted to see The Woman in Gold, but missed it. Do you have an all-time favorite movie that has stuck in your mind or that you’d watch over and over?

Classic movies are my favorite, and several Cary Grant films show up in my contemporary series. It’s too hard to pick one, but for repeated viewing, let’s go with Notorious (Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman); Pride and Prejudice (the A&E version with Colin Firth); and, oh my, I’m going to say Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl because I actually went to see it in the theaters nine times! (What can I say? The dialogue intrigued me.)

Name three interesting things most people don’t know about you.

I’m only a couple of generations away from being a hillbilly (and I say that with pride).

I once got an obstinate two-hundred pound pig inside a dog crate all by myself.

On two occasions—yes, two!—I’ve taken medication meant for my dog.

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? (a quote, a Bible verse, a precept you live by or have tried to instill in your children?)

Making memories together is more important than material things.

I love that my adult children believe this as deeply as I do and are instilling this same value into their children.

One of my favorite verses, which is also Alison’s in Where Treasure Hides is Proverbs 31:25 which says, “Strength and dignity are her clothing; and she smiles at the future.”

 

 Where Treasure Hides

by Johnnie Alexander

Artist Alison Schuyler spends her time working in her family’s renowned art gallery, determined to avoid the curse that has followed the Schuyler clan from the Netherlands to America and back again. She’s certain that true love will only lead to tragedy—that is, until a chance meeting at Waterloo station brings Ian Devlin into her life.

Drawn to the bold and compassionate British Army captain, Alison begins to question her fear of love as World War II breaks out, separating the two and drawing each into their own battles. While Ian fights for freedom on the battlefield, Alison works with the Dutch Underground to find a safe haven for Jewish children and priceless pieces of art alike. But safety is a luxury war does not allow.

As time, war, and human will struggle to keep them apart, will Alison and Ian have the faith to fight for their love, or is it their fate to be separated forever?

 

 Excerpt

After they first meet at Waterloo Station in London, England, Alison and Ian go to Minivers, a nearby tea shoppe, for their renowned cherry scones.

As Ian devoured one of the dainty sandwiches in two bites, Alison stifled a giggle.

“Papa said he could leave here hungrier than when he came in. If not for the scones.”

Ian nodded in agreement as another petite sandwich disappeared. “Is your father an artist too?”

“He is. Was.” Alison twirled her finger around the rim of her teacup. “The Van Schuyler Fine Arts Gallery has been a renowned Rotterdam institution for almost three hundred years.”

“What happened to your ‘Van’?”

“Papa emigrated to America and dropped it somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. At least, that’s the story he used to tell me when I was young. I was born in Chicago.”

“But now you live in Rotterdam.”

“With my grandfather, yes. He owns the family gallery.”

“And your parents? Are they still in Chicago?”

“Papa . . . travels.”

“For the gallery?”

“Mostly for himself.” Alison felt Ian’s gaze upon her as she added more tea to her cup. “You’re wondering about my mother.”

“You haven’t mentioned her.”

Alison stared at her cup for a moment. The words were never easy, but she had learned over the years to keep them few and simple. “She died shortly after my fifth birthday.”

Not unexpectedly, sympathy appeared in Ian’s eyes. That was how most people responded when hearing her forlorn explanation. But unlike most people, Ian didn’t look embarrassed or awkward. “That’s a difficult wound to heal,” he said gently.

“Papa never painted again.” The words slipped out without warning, and Alison coughed with surprise. She had buried that truth deep inside, had felt churning anger when her grandfather condemned his son for throwing away his talent. But she used them as an excuse for him, her personal consolation to explain Pieter Schuyler’s paternal lapses. Unfortunately, the excuse, a double-edged sword, only compounded her loneliness. Eventually she had lost her father, too.

“We were fine for a while.” Alison held her cup with both hands, staring into its depths as if to find some explanation for the odd willingness to share her family history with a stranger. But she wanted Ian to know. Somehow it felt right to tell him. “Our gallery was small but reputable. The clientele was growing and Papa seemed to be coping with his grief. Then the stock market plummeted. Taking our gallery with it.”

The Great Crash. October 1929. It hadn’t meant much to Alison, caught up in her little girl world of school lessons and china dolls. But only a few short months later, that innocent childhood had grown frighteningly dark.

“Our clients couldn’t pay their accounts; no one could afford our paintings.” She shrugged, trying to lessen her embarrassment at the family’s financial failure. Of course, men with more savvy than Papa had suffered just as much, perhaps even more. A few had killed themselves rather than face the shame of bankruptcy.

She shuddered, remembering the grown-up whispers she had overheard, Papa’s crying moans when he thought she was asleep. “There was an auction. We lost everything.”

Ian reached across the table and covered her fingers. His hand felt cool and strong against her skin, giving her the courage to face the long-buried memories. She didn’t pull away.

“Everything but The Girl in the Garden.” Her voice softened almost to a whisper as she imagined the painting. “My mother’s portrait.”

“She was his muse?”

“And his life. He painted it shortly after they met at Wrigley Field.”

“They were baseball fans?”

“No, that’s what was so strange. Neither of them particularly cared for sports. But it was love at first sight.” The Van Schuyler fate. But Ian didn’t need to know that.

Like what you read? Here’s a link to Chapter One

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About the Author:

Johnnie Alexander writes inspiring stories that linger in the heart. Where Treasure Hides, her debut novel, won the ACFW Genesis Contest (2011) and Golden Leaf Award (2014). The first of her three contemporary romances, Where She Belongs (Misty Willow Series), releases from Revell in January 2016.

She also has won Best Novel and Best Writer awards (Florida Christian Writers Conferences), and Bronze Medalist (My Book Therapy Frasier Contest).

A graduate of Rollins College (Orlando) with a Master of Liberal Studies degree, Johnnie treasures family memories, classic movies, road trips, and stacks of books. She lives in the Memphis area where her morning chores include feeding dogs, cats, chickens, and a small herd of alpacas.

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