Wednesday on Writing: When You’re stuck

 

It happens to all of us from time to time. Below are my thoughts on what to try when the words won't come. 

Re-read.  Read what you have, and remind yourself of how far you’ve come.  It’s a good rule of thumb to go back and re-read your entire story every 5 chapters.  This refreshes your memory about plot twists and conversations and, if you are a pantser like me, sometimes you will get an “aha!” moment where something that happened early in the book can suddenly work with a twist later down the road. Almost like your muse knew what it was doing all along.
 

Do something mindless.  For some reason driving, being in water (washing dishes or taking a shower), folding laundry, vacuuming or tidying up, starting to paint that room you’ve been putting off—always helps jar something loose.  Maybe we use a different side of our brain for some of these tasks.  But it can help.

 Write the scene you see happening next.  This does not always work for pantsers like me.  The fun is in not knowing what will happen next and if I write a scene that’s farther along in the story than I am, it can spoil the “carrot on the stick” motivation I had going to get to that scene.  But sometimes it’s all you can do.

 Write something else.  Now tread with caution here because this is how we end up with 47 unfinished stories.  But sometimes taking yourself out of one story and into something else will help.  Maybe a blog post, or Facebook rant would work, or, if you do have some unfinished stories, immerse yourself in one of them.  Maybe something you wrote a few years ago and never finished will inspire something for your current WIP. Some writers find it helpful to just start typing random words and phrases on the page, sort of a way to purge the clutter, unclog the drain, and get the right words flowing again.  

 

Refill the well.  A friend of mine used to talk about letting the well fill up again.  Read.  Watch movies.  Bake.  Take a break from the blank page and create elsewhere or just give your mind and body a little break.  Hot cup of something, a cozy blanket and a good book or movie.  Sometimes that empty canvas in our mind is our body’s way of telling us it needs a break.

Til next time, remember...  Stories aren’t written all at once.  They’re written one sentence at a time.  Keep writing!

 

 

 

Monday Morning Musing: Finding peace in the Quiet

 

You know you are getting older when a great weekend means you stayed home and didn’t have to go anywhere. 

 

When you have spent years first as a daily caregiver and then most weekends cleaning out an estate, quiet weekends feel both rare and precious.  No, we are not done with the cleanout, but I think the need to spend every Saturday over there is pretty much over.  After three years.

 

Spending a quiet Saturday morning in the kitchen baking things that smell wonderful and draw your loved ones from their beds is one of my favorite things ever.

 

Getting up first and having the house to yourself for quiet time with prayers, coffee and pets is the best.

I used the word "quiet" a lot today.  I guess that's where I am finding peace these days.  In the quiet.

Until next time… may your coffee stay warm and your heart stay hopeful

 

 

In the Kitchen with Nic: Old Fashioned Lemonade Bundt Cake

 

Well it might not be the exact recipe I was searching for, but it's the closest I could come. 

Apparently the other recipe doesn't exist anywhere in any Betty Crocker cookbook, old or new, so it was either a family recipe, thrown together with ingredients on hand (those are the best!  But not always written down ), or it was in a magazine or on recipe cards.  

Either way, here is what I've come up with, pieced together form other recipes and clues from the cake mentioned in the nostalgic recipes video. 

I'll be making it this weekend! 

Happy Baking!

Til next time, remember... Some recipes aren't just recipes. They're family history, written in cups, teaspoons, and a pinch of love.

OLD-FASHIONED

LEMONADE BUNDT CAKE

A White Butter Cake Soaked in Fresh Lemon Syrup

———  ✦  ———

This cake brings the bright, tart flavor of summer lemonade into a tender white butter cake. The warm lemon syrup soaks deep into the crumb, and a thin crackled glaze finishes it—just as they made it in the old days, long before box mixes.

THE CAKE

2¼ cups  cake flour (or sifted all-purpose flour)

1½ cups  granulated sugar

3½ teaspoons  baking powder

1 teaspoon  salt

½ cup  (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened

1 cup  whole milk, at room temperature

1 teaspoon  pure vanilla extract

4  large egg whites, at room temperature

LEMON SOAKING SYRUP

¾ cup  granulated sugar

½ cup  fresh lemon juice (from 3–4 lemons)

SIMPLE LEMON GLAZE

1½ cups  powdered sugar, sifted

3–4 tablespoons  fresh lemon juice

Optional:  1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

METHOD

1.  Preheat the oven to 350°F. Thoroughly grease and flour a 10- or 12-cup Bundt pan (or use a baking spray that contains flour). Be generous in the crevices so the cake releases cleanly.

2.  In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the cake flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt until well combined.

3.  Add the softened butter, milk, and vanilla. Beat on medium speed for about 2 minutes until the batter is smooth and creamy.

4.  In a clean bowl with clean beaters, whip the egg whites until stiff peaks form. Gently fold the whites into the batter in two additions, taking care not to deflate them. The batter will be light and airy.

5.  Spoon the batter into the prepared Bundt pan and smooth the top. Bake for 45 to 55 minutes, or until a long wooden skewer inserted into the center comes out clean. The top should be lightly golden.

6.  Cool the cake in the pan on a wire rack for 12 to 15 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare the syrup: combine the sugar and lemon juice in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir until the sugar is completely dissolved. Do not boil hard. Remove from heat.

7.  Carefully invert the warm cake onto a serving plate or cooling rack. While the cake is still warm, poke holes all over the top and down into the ridges with a thin skewer or fork. Slowly spoon or brush the warm lemon syrup over the cake, letting it soak in thoroughly. Allow the cake to rest 20–30 minutes so the syrup can penetrate.

8.  For the glaze, whisk the powdered sugar and lemon juice together until smooth and pourable (add a little more juice or sugar to reach a good consistency). Drizzle the glaze generously over the cake so it runs down the ridges in thin streams. Let the glaze dry until it forms a delicate, crackled shell.

Note from the kitchen

This cake was made to stand up to July heat. The lemon syrup keeps it moist for days, and the thin glaze does not melt the way buttercream would at a picnic. Bake it the night before, glaze it in the morning, and it will still taste bright and lively by afternoon.

 

—  Enjoy with a cold glass of real lemonade  —

Wednesday on Writing: Gifting Yourself the Time

 

We've talked a lot here over the years about motivation, determination and the results of the very simple "butt in chair" philosophy.

Todays thoughts on writing are about the basics.  Gift yourself the time.  As a friend of mine once said "it's the only thing we get to do for ourselves."

Don't let work drama, family drama, financial worries, or other people's problems in right now.  Just go breathe life into those characters who are waiting to tell you their story. Whether you can give yourself an hour or just fifteen minutes, this is your time.  Make the most of it. 

Gift yourself the time.  🎁

Until next time, remember:  Stories aren’t written all at once.  They’re written one sentence at a time.  Keep writing! 

The Struggle is Real Week 8: When Life Hits Back

 

It’s been nearly two weeks since my last post. Did anyone notice I was missing?

 

But I have good news/bad news.  The good news. I wrote.  Finally.  The scene that had been in my head for well over a week.  It poured onto the page and it felt really good to get it out there. 

 

The bad news? Well pretty much everything since than has been downhill. First I was under the weather—not a bad bug, but enough to make me tired and run down and cranky.  And  enough to know I needed to rest when and where I could.  I don’t know about you, but since hitting my –ahem—"over 50s”, I have found if I don’t rest when I am sick it takes a lot longer to get well.  Gone are the glory days of my 20s and 30s where I could just down some Ibuprofen, chug some coffee and keep up the same pace, knowing I’d feel better in a day or two.  That ended some time in my 40s.

 

Then at the beginning of this week, just days after I was starting to feel better, FIL had a heart attack.  If you are regular readers, you probably know I am one of his caregivers.  But suddenly some things that were only in the “idea” stages had to happen –and fast.  We’d talked about setting up a downstairs bedroom for him, but it was still in the "just talking" stages.  And then suddenly it had to happen now.  We weren’t sure when they would send him home, but since hospital stays these days are pretty brief, we assumed it needed to be ASAP.  With the help of good friends and everyone pitching in, it got done in an afternoon.  We are still in the process of moving his clothes and toiletries etc downstairs and figuring out where everything will go, but the hard part is done at least.

 

So not a lot of time to write since that one lovely afternoon of writing bliss. 

 

But like I always say, I have not given up yet. 

The Struggle is Real Week 7: Refilling the Well

 

 

“Nicole, why didn’t you put your toys away when I asked you to?”

“I meant to, Grandma, but…”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions, young lady.”

 

I had a lot of conversations like that with my Grandma growing up.  If you were raised Catholic or had an Irish grandma, you may have heard similar phrases.  The sky was always falling.  Everything was doom and gloom.  Everything led to hell and everyone, it seemed, was headed there “in a handbasket”.

Even those of us who failed to put away our toys. 

I never fully understood that phrase, but the words did leave me with the lasting image of a foggy night and a dark winding road leading up to towering iron gates where a flashing neon sign featured a character that looked suspiciously like the creature on the Underwood Potted Meat label. 

This past week those words have echoed in my brain.  Good intentions. Road to hell.  

Well I don’t think not hitting my writing goals for the fourth straight week in a row will lead to hell (Grandma, I’m sure, would disagree).  But when I realized that my own thinking was becoming clouded with doom and gloom and negativity I wondered if those things weren’t impacting my writing.  The words are there, but the most important part—the butt in chair part—was not. 

I actually had a scene come at me—as they tend to do when we least expect it—full force a week or so back that I could not wait to sit down and write.  Yet I still haven’t done it.  No reason why other than me just not taking the time.  Yes I am still as busy as ever.  Yes I am still focusing on work.  But why didn’t I do it? 

Then I remembered a phrase a dear friend used to use.  “Fill that well up again”.  She was talking about writing and trying to write when “the well has run dry.” Sometimes, she would say, we need to do non writing things --watch movies, read, take a walk--to motivate ourselves to want to write again.

 Could that be it?  All the issues I’ve had these past few weeks, could it just be that in spite of the muse being alive and well and tossing ideas at me, the writing well needs a bit of ... water?

So I have been doing a lot of reading.  Not on my phone, the old fashioned kind of reading with an actual book. Not just to inspire my muse, but to inspire me to want to write again.  Last night’s rare balmy February temperatures found me tucked into bed with the window cracked open, happily reading by the glow of a booklight like I did when I was a kid.  And today I am feeling much closer to my characters and more motivated.  

And even though Mother Nature has taken away the warm breezes and sent us reminders (by way of damp, chilly rain) that it’s still winter, I am really looking forward to reading again tonight. 

If you are still with me this far in, I appreciate your time.  And I apologize for the late blog.  I just couldn’t find a way to say—yet again—that I failed to meet my goals. 

But on the outside chance you are struggling, too, here I am to remind you that it’s not just you, and it’s not just me.  Making the time and finding the time are two different things.  And sometimes we sabotage ourselves.  And sometimes we fall short of the goals we set for ourselves time and time gain.  

The Struggle is Real Week 6: Oops, I Did it Again

 

Did you ever play Dodge Ball?  I won’t say I have fond memories of it. I was pretty good at the “dodging” aspect but throwing and actually hitting something wasn’t in my skill set.  So yep, I was one of those always chosen last.

Anyway, some weeks it feels like I am back there in Miss Teeboone’s gym class at Virgil I Grissom elementary school dodging those flying balls.  Some weeks life flings stuff your way with all the aggression of a pre-pubescent boy who is still angry you beat him in last week’s spelling bee.  

Yes, that’s where I have been.  Dodging all sorts of missiles, or so it seems.  Bills-still sorting out the issue with FILs electricity bill. Caregiving--some weeks are just "those" weeks.  Family--always something, let's just leave it at that.  Puppy training, aka exhausting myself so hyper puppy will be less hyper LOL.  And work.  Lots and lots of work.  As I have said before, some weeks ya gotta go where the money is.  So that, unfortunately, has had to be my main focus.  

I did manage to eek in a few piddly writing moments, just to touch base with my characters once or twice.  But once again I did not meet the daily goal I had set for myself, even though it was fairly small. 

Is it just me, or did 2023 come in like a tidal wave?  It just hasn’t let up even once.  And it has yet to allow me to come up for air. 

I guess if it was easy we wouldn’t call it “pushing yourself”.  But I am not giving up.  Writing has been my balm, my comfort, my therapy for far too many years for me to let life keep pushing it out of my reach.  

But, my friends, the struggle is real.  

And it continues.  

Leave me a comment either here or on FB to let me know how you did this week.

 

The Struggle is Real week 5: A Day Late and a Dollar Short

 

Well, I am a day late posting this.  And not a lot has changed since last week.

 

Life still continues to hammer away at my writing time with the intensity of a nor’easter in mid-winter. 

 

Once again, I won’t bore you with details. Basically a “same stuff/different day” scenario.  But despite my best efforts to get back on track this week, I fell somewhat short of my goal.  Well more like a few miles, give or take a hundred.  😏

 

I did get in a couple of good afternoons of writing, and I thoroughly enjoyed the time with my characters.  So the issue is really not writer’s block or not making time.  It’s just other things getting in the way. 

 

It helps, to a certain extent, to look back at the week and realize it is not entirely me, there is a lot of demand on my free time and some days, that “me” time comes at an hour that’s just too late –my muse is not a night owl, after all. 

 

So as I continue to move forward and try to wrangle some time for me (are we, as moms, wives and caregivers even allowed to think about me time?  Sometimes I think not!) I will keep myself accountable and keep you updated.

 

How did you do with your writing goals this week? Did you meet them? Or did you fall short, or like me, miss them by a mile or more?

 

I’ll be back next week with another update!

The Struggle is Real - Week 4: Identifying Your Procrastination Triggers

 

Have you ever started to sit down to write and found yourself distracted by half a dozen little tasks that you absolutely must do right now?  Even if you’ve been neglecting them forever?

 

The sudden need to clean off your desk, clean out your email inbox, straighten the throw pillows on the living room sofa, sort the mismatched socks. Yep I am guilty of all of those this week.

 

For some reason we allow these things to suddenly become more important than the thing we want to do the most.  Procrastination: it isn't just for breakfast anymore LOL (okay some of you will get that but I am definitely dating myself).  

I struggled again this past week. Some of it was life induced, some of it was brought on by too many ponies on the carousel going round and round.  

But a lot of it was just me ... sabotaging ...me!   

I can kind of understand putting off a task that you are dreading or that you feel will take a long time—cleaning the bathroom, changing the kitty litter—But I am not sure why we do it when presented with time to do something we love. 

What are we afraid of? Failure? Success?  Doing something for ourselves?? 

So this week I tried to take stock of and identify my triggers, those things that stop me in my tracks, including the thought that I will write “after” I do whatever that one task is that suddenly cannot wait another moment. 

If this sounds familiar, then take a moment when you are in the midst of struggling to ignore those pesky tasks and take note of what they are.  The goal is to get on top of those at a different time of day, maybe before bed at night, or after dinner--whatever time is not your ideal writing time.  Getting those triggers out of the way ahead of time will save you stress and struggle down the road.  At least that is what I plan to try for the next seven days. 

Meanwhile keep in mind that some say a cluttered desk is the sign of creative mind.  Well, let’s allow our desks to be cluttered. Let’s allow our minds to be creative.  The mess can wait, and yes when we come up for air, chances are there will be more of a mess than what was there before.  

There will always be a mess somewhere.  

But there is not always time to write. 

Seize the moment and just do it.

 

 

Wednesday on Writing

 

The Struggle is Real Week 3: Crash. Burn.

 

Well, this past week saw me crash and burn with regard to touching base with my story every day.

 

What happened?

 

Life.

 

First an unexpected appointment.  Nothing serious, just something I had not planned my schedule around that day.  

The next day it was arguing with the power company over a $900 utility bill my FIL got in the mail.  The man has one TV and a couple of lamps he uses for a few hours each day.  He is old school Italian and will turn a light off in a room while you are still in it.  I don’t think he uses that much electricity in a year, let alone a month.  Turns out I was right, but it still took a full day and a half and 12—I kid you not—12 phone calls to get it all sorted out.  Such is the life of a caregiver. 

 

Weather.  I’m a migraine sufferer.  Not the whiny kind who uses the word “migraine” as an excuse to take to her bed and retreat from life.  The kind that powers through no matter how bad they are, but on the really bad days, knows when it is time to quit.  Well by the time I was able to quit, it was bedtime and I was not about to go sit at my desk and write.  Nope.  Just not happenin’.  Thank God by the next morning things were better but the roller coaster temperatures of this mild winter have not been kind to my head.

 

Then came the day when I just plain forgot!  Yep.  Got busy and forgot all about it.  I have been working a couple of hours in the evening each week to try to stay on top of my daily work and just as I was gratefully switching off the bedside lamp to go to sleep –oopsie.  I forgot to write today.

So I definitely sat at my desk and made up all this missed time over the weekend, right?  

Right???

Nope.  I worked a lot and by the time I was done for the day writing was not on the radar.  I hate that I let myself--and my characters--down but it is what it is.  Sometimes you just have to do what will pay the bills.  

And while it's true I veered off course this week, I am not done yet.  I am going to right the ship, turn this bus around, get myself back on track, place the gerbil back on the wheel etc and do better over the next seven days.  Stay tuned.

 

So how was your week? Did you hit your writing goals?  Or like me, did Live have other ideas?

 

Wednesday on Writing: Things I wish I'd said

 

The Struggle is Real - Week 2: Purging Procrastination and Ditching Distractions

 

So this week I will share some of the small steps I am taking to keep myself on track and adding writing back to my daily routine. I am following along with author Kim Turner’s blog and her Time to Write series.  If you have not already seen her posts, mosey on over and check it out!

 

Right now I don’t have the hour to give that she recommends, but even I can do 15-30 minutes. 

 

This past week I refreshed myself on the story and wrote a few lines each day, just to sort of jump start the ol’ muse. I had some days where I wrote a lot, and days where I wrote somewhat less than "a lot".  But I made up the time to myself and only had one day where lifus interruptus got in the way of me finding time to work on my story.  

 

I have shut off notifications on email, IM etc and my phone during this time.

 

I’ve also gone through my email and unsubscribed to a bunch of marketing emails—I don’t know about you, but when my procrastination hits, I will dive down those rabbit holes and get lost for hours. Do I really need to browse sales in stores that I don't ever intend to shop in?  And I certainly don’t need the temptation of clearance sales!  And who needs a cluttered inbox anyway?

 

One other thing that is beneficial in more than one way is walking a puppy.  In November we adopted a 4-month-old German shepherd mix puppy.  He is a busy boy, and as a rescue, he comes with a bit of baggage and needs lots of reassurance—and lots of walks.  A tired puppy is a good puppy, after all!  And I am really enjoying those daily walks.  Because I am still training him, I don’t use my phone while I am out walking him, my focus is entirely on him and what we are doing. That somewhat mindless activity gives my muse time to come along and start … well, musing!  I find this is really helpful in sorting out plot issues and has even allowed a new character or two to come into my head.

 

And all that walking certainly isn’t hurting my health or stress level any...

 

So in a nut shell—

• avoiding distractions
•  taking care of my health and stress levels 
• scheduling time to write. 

Small steps in the progress this week, but all steps in the “write” direction!

The Other Heroes of Gettysburg

This is a re-post of a blog I originally posted in July, 2017

I’ve always loved American history, in particular the Civil War. And when it comes right down to it, I admit…I’m obsessed with Gettysburg. So obsessed that I set my 2014 release, Northern Temptress, right in the midst of it all.

But it's not just the bloody battle fought by soldiers in blue and grey that intrigues me— it's the battle fought by some incredibly brave people. The civilians of Gettysburg.

 Since we are smack dab in the middle of the anniversary of the battle (July 1-3, 1863) I'd like to introduce you to some of the heroes you may not have heard of.

Some fast facts before we meet our civilian heroes:

The town of Gettysburg consisted of 2,400 civilians. 

When the armies moved out, they left behind 22,000 wounded men. 

In all 51,000 men were reported killed or missing. 

And let’s not forget the hundreds of horses, mules and livestock killed during the battle.

I don’t know about you, but I can’t even imagine having my hometown turned upside down by a battle of that scale and then being left to deal with the results of said  battle. 

While John Burns and Jennie Wade are arguably the most famous civilians of Gettysburg, there are other unsung heroes and heroines who quietly did what needed to be done.

Elizabeth Thorn.  German immigrant who was acting as caretaker of Evergreen Cemetery, a job normally performed by her husband, Peter.  But Peter was with the 138^th Pennsylvania, and during the Battle of Gettysburg, he was stationed at Harper’s Ferry and Washington, D.C.  Elizabeth moved her family, which consisted of her elderly parents and three sons ages 7, 5 and 2 from their little gatehouse out of harm’s way and back again more than once during the three-day battle.  She also dug graves for more than 90 dead soldiers during those three days.  Elizabeth was six months pregnant during the battle of Gettysburg.

Salome Myers.  Salome “Sally” Myers was a schoolteacher and assistant to the principal in Gettysburg.  She lived at home with her family during the battle.  Her father was a justice of the peace and the Myers’ were one of the wealthier families in town.  She admitted to being squeamish at the sight of blood, yet got over this quickly and cared for many wounded men from both sides of the battle.  She risked her life many times by traveling back and forth from her home to makeshift hospitals. In the early days of the battle she cared for a badly wounded soldier by the name of Alexander Stuart, sitting with him for days until he succumbed to his injuries.  In late July of 1863 she received a thank you letter from his mother.  A year later Stuart’s mother—along with his brother Henry—traveled to Gettysburg to personally thank Miss Myers.  A romance developed between Sally and Henry and they married in 1867.

Matilda “Tillie” Pierce.  Tillie was only 15 years old at the time of the battle.  Her parents sent her to a neighbor’s farm to wait out the battle.  The farm sat behind what we now call “Little Round Top” and  Tillie became an eyewitness to some of the fiercest fighting of the Battle of Gettysburg.  Tillie provided food and water for the wounded and assisted surgeons and nurses caring for the wounded.  Twenty six years later she wrote of her experiences during those three days in July, 1863.

Virginia “Jennie” Wade.  Jenny, as most people know, was the only civilian killed during the battle. The twenty year old was baking bread to feed the Union soldiers when  she was struck by a single bullet that traveled through two doors on the third day of the battle. 

John Burns.  Much like Jennie Wade’s story, Mr. Burns’ story has been told and retold so many times it’s hard to separate fact from fiction.  Nearly 70 years old at the time of the battle, John Burns was a veteran of the War of 1812. When the rebels invaded his hometown, the elder patriot took up his trusty musket and joined the Union soldiers in battle.  He fired 18 of his 25 rounds of ammunition before he was wounded, and claimed to have killed three rebels.

Elizabeth Butler, AKA “Old Liz”.  53 year old Elizabeth Butler was a washerwoman in Gettysburg.  Her husband Samuel was a wagon maker. They owned their own home and enjoyed a comfortable standard of living compared to most African-Americans in 1863.  In the earliest days of the battle Old Liz was taken captive by the Confederate army, with plans to be returned to the south and sold into slavery.  She escaped her captors and returned home the day after the Confederate army retreated. 

Daniel Skelly.  Daniel was a teenager during the battle. While confederate troops camped in the street outside his home on Baltimore Street, Daniel and his mother hid union soldiers in their cellars and outbuildings. Later during the battle he helped his mother care for wounded soldiers.

Daniel also went on to write about his experiences. 

Catherine Garlach.  Catherine and her 12-year-old son, Will also lived on Baltimore Street. Since their house was in direct line of fire for Union sharpshooters, they hid in their basement.  Several times Confederate soldiers tried to commandeer the Garlach home –and each time they were driven back by Mrs. Garlach herself. 

Albertus McCreary.  First young Albertus was nearly killed by Confederate sharpshooters while peeking out a rooftop door of his home.  Then a short while later, while standing on the porch of his family home, wearing a Union kepi given to him by a solider, a Confederate officer tried to take him captive, assuming he was a soldier.  It was only over the protest of his father, and after questioning several neighbors as to whether or not the boy actually lived in town, that the officer let him go.

Agnes Barr.  While other townspeople hid inside their homes on July 3, avoiding the fetid smell of decaying men and animals, Mrs. Barr left her home on Baltimore Street—darting between buildings to avoid the sharpshooters—many times in order to take food and supplies to the makeshift hospitals and care for wounded soldiers. 

Source: When the Smoke Cleared at Gettysburg, George Sheldon; Days of Darkness: The Gettysburg Civilians, William G. Williams; What A Girl Saw and Heard by Tillie Pierce Allman; A Boy’s Experiences During the Battle of Gettysburg by Daniel Skelly.

Let's Get "Back in Time"

 

Normally when we hit late June/early July my thoughts turn to the town of Gettysburg.  I know, I know, mildly obsessed.  But it has been that way most of my life and after the years of research I did into the battle and what the civilians went through for my 2014 release Northern Temptress, it’s not about to stop now.

 

Most years around the anniversary of the battle, I re-post a blog I wrote a few years ago about the civilians during the battle, but I did not get a chance to do that this year.    

 

So I am back today to take a step—and a leap—back in time.  First a small step back to early July of this year, when I should have posted this. And then a leap, back to July of 1863.

 

Most of us know about the Battle of Gettysburg, if only from history class in school.  Even those who are not history buffs have at least heard the name and –hopefully--understand the significance of this battle.  Okay, maybe they just understand that it was significant.

 

But I always wondered about the people who lived and worked in the town at the time and why they were not talked about more.  (Thought it’s easier to find information on the civilians now, at the time I first began researching the townspeople of Gettysburg, information was quite limited). The military aspect is undeniably heroic—what those men did in the heat of early July is nothing short of amazing.  I could go on ad nauseum about the different battles, the courage of the enlisted men and commanders from both sides and what that battle meant to our country at that time. 

 

But that’s not what we’re here to talk about today.

 

The idea for Northern Temptress came about when I realized that after the battle, when the military pulled out, the civilians-- a town of about 2,400-- were left to handle some 22,000 wounded as well as bury the dead (in all 51,000 men were reported killed or missing) and that included hundreds of horses, mules and livestock.

 

We’ve seen enough disasters and wars in movies and on the news to give us an idea of what this must have looked like—but it’s impossible to grasp from the comfort or our spoiled 21^st century lives just what an enormous task this town faced.  The idea of the Red Cross was only just forming in the mind of Clara Barton.  There were no government agencies who would swoop in with aid and food and water, no news crews to offer live reports and no online accounts by which to donate money. And the men? Well all the young and able ones were off to war.  The ones who had served their time and come home were few and far between. 

 

There were Christian charities who came in to help and arrived within days of the battle, just as the trains started moving again. But those agencies were small potatoes compared to the scale of things we are accustomed to seeing today.

 

So this week I’d like to focus on the civilians, and the town and the battle and share some snippets from the story of my heart.  I did spend the early days of July this year watching the movie Gettysburg, as I usually do, and have been watching documentaries about the battle and the Civil War in general. And I've been reading, in some cases re-reading, events written by the civilians who lived through the battle.  

 

I am also enjoying the YouTube channel from The Adams County Historical Society, as well and enjoying the new content debuting weekly. I am happy to see that they offer information about the civilians as much as they do about the battle itself.  Right now my writing is focused on finishing up my Wylder West projects, but the muse is definitely not done with Gettysburg. As we speak there are a lot of characters waiting for the chance to pull up a chair and tell me their stories. I cannot wait to listen!

 

Christmas in July Part III: Chocolate Chip Christmas Wishes

 

Have you ever been waiting somewhere, such as a doctor’s office waiting room, or in line at the grocery store or bank and someone just starts chatting with you—and won’t stop? 

Writing is a lot like that for me.  One minute you are just minding your own business trying to check everything off the "to do" list for that day-- and then some character shows up in your head, pulls up a chair and starts talking. 

(No, it doesn’t mean I need medication, LOL.  This is very common for writers.)

Jake Misteletoe was one of those characters for me.  Though I do have a couple of contemporary stories out, for the most part, I am an historical author with a head full of cowboys, sheriffs and soldiers and Civil War nurses and widows, even a female outlaw or two--so who is this guy who claims to be half human, half elf, of all things, and why does he want to tell me his story?

 

Well whether it made sense to me or not, he wouldn’t stop jibber jabbering.  I finally sat down to write what he had to say just to see if that would keep him quiet--and the words just poured out.  This was just for my own purposes, I had no thought of publishing his story anytime soon—again, historical author here.  Not North Pole, magic and elves. 

 

Once that was done the story stalled for a while and I didn’t give it much thought until I heard about The Wild Rose Press series Christmas Cookies.  I knew my story would fit that series perfectly!  So I pushed myself to finish it and the result is a fun, lighthearted Christmas story called Chocolate Chip Christmas Wishes that adds a little magic to the season.  

 

Turns out Jake is one of my very favorite characters ever, probably because he lived in my head for so long.  I am so happy the right opportunity to get his story out there came about.  I hope next time  you are in the mood for a little Christmas, you’ll consider reading this story.

 ~*~

Jake Mistletoe is the North Pole's resident bad boy.  Half elf, half human, he is the only child of a single mother who just happens to be Santa's head elf. Fed up with his wild, partying ways and lack of direction, his mother sends him to the real world for a dose of reality.

 

Lucy Prescott is all alone in this world.  Since the death of the grandparents who raised her, she has struggled to keep their Christmas novelty shop running in a dated, dying Christmas-themed tourist town. 

 

When Jake appears in town, magic seems to be in the air. For the first time in ages, life holds excitement, and Lucy finds herself wondering … what if?

 

~*~

 

She studied him as he sat up. Unconscious, the several days’ growth of stubble and mussed dark hair looked sloppy.

But awake, that disheveled look gave him a devil-may-care aura. How had she missed the chiseled jaw line, the dark brows that framed eyes fringed with long, sooty lashes or the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous?

 

He looked around the room, wiped a hand over his face and turned a slow half circle on the couch, gaping at the racks of holiday ornaments, animated characters, motion-activated novelties and Santa figures that played Christmas tunes.

 

She cleared her throat to draw his attention. “Good afternoon.”

 

He yanked the Santa hat from his head and pulled a frown before tossing it aside.

 

For lack of anything else to say, she chose the standard, cheery greeting used by locals. “Welcome to Christmasville, where it’s Christmas all year long.”

He turned to her with eyes a startling shade of blue. “Let me guess. I died, and this is Hell.”

 

Christmas in July Part II: Christmas in the Wylder County Jail

 

Some stories just write themselves…

 

When starting a new story, it’s a little like taking a journey, and you never know who is going to join you for the ride.  Well it’s that way for us “pantser” writers anyway, I suspect plotters have fewer surprises along the way.

 

Sometimes there are characters who are larger than life and can easily—if not kept in check—take over your entire story. While writing The Wylder County Social Club, my heroine’s mother, Miss Adelaide (spoiler alert: she’s the town madam) was that character.  She was fun to write for, and when she was in a scene, it was hard not to let her take over.  Her character just leapt off the pages for me.  But it wasn’t Addie’s story.  It was Eliza and Coyote’s story.

 

Meanwhile my friend and fellow author, Kim Turner, who was also writing a story for The Wylder West series (Wylder Hearts), was having a similar time with her uncle’s hero, Russ Holt.  We had already decided that Addie and Russ would be having a secret/not so secret romance and the two provided a lot of comic relief in our stories.  Well ol’ Russ stole every scene he was in. 

 

The problem with secondary characters is that they are not usually hero or heroine material.  They are fun, they can be quirky or unusual--and since they don’t have to be heroic, like the main characters, they can be seriously flawed.  So it’s tricky when they strike such a chord with readers that you find yourself being asked over and over to write their story.  How do you turn an un-heroic character into a hero or heroine??

 

And who wants to read a story about an old drunk and the town madam?

A lot of readers, apparently.

 

Which led to Kim and I putting our heads together.  After all, neither one of us had ever been in a co-author situation, or even thought about writing that way. 

 

But fast forward a bit and with a lot of talking and planning, we came up with a system that worked.  And the result is one of my very favorite stories, Christmas in the Wylder County Jail.  

 

I’ll post the blurb and an excerpt below.  If you have not read this story yet about second chance romance, and love between two flawed individuals who are no longer starry eyed young’uns, I hope you will consider doing so. 

 

~*~

Adelaide Willowby is having a bad day. It’s a week before Christmas and she has just kicked out the love of her life. Her sister and her daughter are barely speaking to her, one of her best girls is getting married, and ownership of the Wylder County Social Club is in jeopardy. Now she has landed in jail—for murder.

 

Russ Holt has relied on alcohol to quiet the ghosts from his past for far too long. His latest bender has caused him to let down both Addie and his son, and he knows something has to change. When a stranger in town is found dead and Miss Adelaide is arrested for murder, Russ smells a rat.

 

Can he battle his demons, hunt down the real killer, and win back the woman he loves?

 

 ~*~

Excerpt:

The amber liquid glugged as it filled Addie's teacup. She’d likely hate herself come morning—she already hated herself for being a hypocrite. She’d harped on Russ like an old nag about his drinking. Yet the first sign of trouble and here she sat doing the same damn thing.

Should she find him and apologize? They weren’t married, after all, despite Russ proposing every other week. The cup came to her lips as if it had a mind of its own. She swallowed it all in one gulp, welcoming the mind-numbing warmth that spread through her.

No, Russ’d show up. Sooner or later, he’d show up.

Til then, she needed to talk to Clancy. Alone. Maybe she could get him to settle for less if that lawyer wasn’t there talkin’ out both sides of his mouth.

She rose, swaying a bit unsteadily on her feet. Wind rattled the windows outside, reminding her of the coming storm. For a moment she considered waking Abraham and having him accompany her. No, that wouldn’t be right, that would only wake Em and get her all worried, then she’d tell the rest of the girls, who’d wake Aoife… Besides, she didn’t want it to look like she was tryin’ to intimidate Clancy by bringing her hired man along.

Her reticule was in the bottom desk drawer, so she grabbed it. She checked inside to see her trusty derringer. Russ had given it to her years ago and taught her how to shoot. Not that she could hit the side of a barn—’less she wasn’t aiming for it.

Aww Russ.

Agony stabbed at the back of her mind at the memory, but she forced it aside. There would be time to examine her feelings later, when all this was dealt with.

She dropped the little gun into the drawer, no sense borrowing trouble.

She wrapped her favorite shawl around her, the one Sarah Taylor had embroidered when she first come to town. Another rattle at the window and she grabbed her cloak as well. Her favorite mother of pearl letter opener caught her eye and she tucked it into her cloak pocket. Just in case she needed it for protection.

After all, it was late, and decent women weren’t out alone at this hour.

Well, nobody had ever accused Adelaide Willowby of bein’ a decent woman.

 

Christmas in July - Times Two!

"If I had a great big house, I'd have a Christmas room... when things about me all went wrong, I'd find Christmas still in bloom..."  Jimmy Dean

There are two kinds of people in this world, I've decided.  Christmas folks... and grinches! LOL.  I could live Christmas all year long, and if I had that great big house that Jimmy Dean sang about on my mother's favorite Christmas album (and a favorite of mine, as well--Jimmy Dean's Christmas Card), I'd have one of those rooms, too.  

But I don't.  So I have to settle for writing Christmas stories in the summer (which I am not doing this year--kind of sad) and reading Christmas stories.  Or watching Hallmark's Christmas in July movies.  Guilty pleasure LOL.  Or all of the above! 

Last year at this time I was happily at work on not just one but two Christmas stories!  First there was Chocolate Chip Christmas Wishes, part of The Wild Rose Press' Christmas Cookies series.  If you haven't met half elf/half human bad boy Jake, you are missing out on some fun!

I was also working with friend and fellow Wylder author Kim Turner on Christmas in the Wylder County Jail.  That story was so much fun!  After the first Wylder stories were released in December of 2020, readers were asking for more of Miss Addie, the town madam, and Russ Holt, a wealthy rancher from town with a fondness for the bottle. 

So two vastly different stories, one contemporary fantasy, and one western historical. I'll be back later this week to talk about each one of those stories!!

Jimmy Dean's Christmas Card can be enjoyed here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eReW43ji1gk&list=PL-D-0v1EFhNLO18XJTWtH9WO-lJG9q-SI

Monday Morning Musing: Wild Texas Wind

 

Publication date: June 18, 2010

Amazon link

Audible

 

For the next few weeks, as I countdown to the release date for Chocolate Chip Christmas Wishes and Christmas in the Wylder County Jail (co-written with Kim Turner) I will be revisiting some of my older stories. 

~*~

All Raz Colt wants is land, a quiet peaceable existence and to put his life as a hired gun in the past.  When the chance to earn a sizable fortune by rescuing a kidnapped heiress comes his way, he seizes the opportunity.  Trouble is, the heiress doesn't want to be rescued.  Offsetting Arden O'Hara's beauty is a rattlesnake personality and shrewish temper.  Despite her claim that she faked the kidnapping so her fianc? would ride to her rescue, Raz knows someone is out to kill her.  And if anyone gets the pleasure of wringing her lovely neck, it's going to be him.

Arden O'Hara is desperate to go home.  Her fianc? was supposed to ride to her rescue, proving it's her'and not her father's money? he loves.  Instead an arrogant stranger, with weapons strapped gun-fighter low and a decided lack of sympathy for her situation, shows up spouting a ridiculous tale about someone trying to kill her.  It's infuriating when Raz Colt's claims prove true after not one but several attempts are made on her life.  She has no idea who this fast gun with the deadly aim is, or why he makes her feel as wild and untamed as the Texas wind.  But like it or not, if anyone is capable of getting her home alive, it's Raz Colt.

This week I am talking about my first published historical story, Wild Texas Wind. I know we are not supposed to play favorites among our stories, but this one holds a very special place in my heart.  Not just because it was my first historical, but because it was so much fun to write.  

 

What is it about a bad ass, take no crap, bad boy hero that we all love?  Give him a fast gun and a whole lot of attitude and I’m there.

 

Wild Texas Wind was not supposed to be written first.  It was actually the sequel to another story I was writing.  My hero was half Indian; a small-town sheriff accused of murdering a white woman.  The heroine was the wife of a man he’d just killed in a shootout. Talk about conflict!

 

His sidekick was a bounty hunter with a jaded outlook, loads of sarcasm, and a pair of very fast guns. His name was Raz Colt.  The story quickly became Raz’s story, I looked for reasons to include him. 

I had a terrible crush on him.

 

In truth, I loved him. Maybe even more than I loved my hero.

 

And then he took over.

 

The idea for his story came at me in waves that I couldn’t ignore. 

 

Wild Texas Wind opens with Raz soaking in a hot bath before preparing to sample the delights in a whole house, and savoring a job well done.  He is reflecting that he has just helped clear a friend’s name of a murder charge and taken the real killer to justice.  That references the original story—I still intended to write it, but Raz’s story was coming at me so strong I had to switch gears and write it now.

 

While at the whorehouse, he learns a young girl has been kidnapped and her father, a wealthy rancher, is offering a sizable reward for her safe return.

 

Money, as it turns out, is the way to Raz’s heart. 

 

Arden O’Hara is the kidnapped heiress.  Only she’s not a young girl.  She’s a grown woman.  Oh, and she hasn’t been kidnapped either, she set that up to test her fiancé’s affections.  Does he love her, or her daddy’s money? 

 

Arden is spoiled, obnoxious and distractingly beautiful.  She also has the foulest mouth Raz has ever encountered, worse than his own.  So when he comes to her rescue, she has no intention of going anywhere with the likes of him, it’s her fiancé Geoffrey she is waiting on to rescue her.

 

But Raz has a bit of shocking news for Arden.  Geoffrey thinks she is dead.  And, surprise, the fake kidnapping she set up didn’t happen, she has actually been taken for real. And since her daddy didn’t give in to the ransom demands of the kidnappers, there is a man on his way there to kill her.

 

Arden does what any heroine would do in her place.  She laughs in his face.  And clocks him over the head with his own gun. 

 

Putting these two on the page together was a bit like match-meets-gasoline.  They loathed one another.  They were too much alike, both used to having their own way.  But they were also very attracted to one another, even if they didn’t want to be.  But if Raz gave in to his attraction to her, he wouldn’t get the money for rescuing her.  And if Arden gave in to her attraction for him, she couldn’t marry Geoffrey.

 

And at every possible turn someone was trying to kill them.  Pretty soon she realized if there was anyone capable of getting her home alive, it was Raz Colt. Of all people.

 

I am not sure if the prequel to their story will ever be finished.  It’s hard to go back and rewrite an old story, and two sequels (Wild Texas Bride and Wild Texas Outlaw) have already come from that story, both of which I hope to complete in 2022.

The story was made even better in 2018 with an audible release narrated by the amazingly talented Dawson McBride.  He "got" the character of Raz and only Dawson, with that deep drawl of his, could have done the story justice.  I highly recommend this version! 

 

But at this point it had been a while since I’d written a shorter length story and I knew those were popular with readers.  So what to write next?