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?

 

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.

Review: Tangled in Tinsel by N. Jade Gray

 

Fun, lighthearted holiday story about reconnecting with "the one who got away."  Ryder and Madison are pure magic together as they try to navigate misunderstandings, family and holiday activities to find time to be alone together.  If the scene with the nosey dog walking neighbor concerned about the fogged-up windows on Ryder’s truck doesn’t make you laugh out loud, I don’t know what will!  But even amid the humor, the author takes the time, through the heroine’s adorable nephew and heavily pregnant cookie-craving sister, to remind us that the holidays are also about the importance of family. 

 

The story will leave you craving hot cocoa, Oreos --and feeling like you just watched a Hallmark movie.  I will definitely read this one again!

Check it out here

 

 

Throwback Thursday: Wild Texas Wind

Another fun blast from the past for Throwback Thursday, this time from my first historical western, Wild Texas Wind...


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 fiance 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 fiance 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.

~~~

Arden couldn’t be certain the exact moment she realized the approaching rider was watching her. But the chill crawling up her spine was the doing of the man lying unconscious beneath her. He’d deliberately tried to frighten her.

And for the moment, she was stuck. Her chin hovered mere inches from his chest. No matter how she struggled she couldn’t free her hair from beneath his dead weight.

“Wake up.” She tried to squirm free, to kick him—anything. She reached awkwardly around to slap at his cheek, but to no avail. He didn’t stir. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest assured her she hadn’t killed him.

The rider moved closer, slowing his pace to take in the scene before him. It was too late to play dead. She had a funny feeling it wouldn’t have done much good anyway.

The metal of the .44 grew warm against her palm, but her hand, pinned awkwardly between her body and the man she lie upon, was numb and tingly from lack of circulation. The rider stopped a few feet away and dismounted. He walked closer, then stopped, studying her with a smug expression. When the corners of his mouth turned up, she had the oddest feeling he considered himself the cat to her mouse. Every instinct screamed the truth. This was the killer.

In one grand attempt to remain alive, she rolled to one side, ignoring the sting of her scalp, and freed her arm. Cocking the hammer with her thumb, she trained the gun on him. “Don’t come any cl—”

A hand on the back of her neck slammed her face down on the ground. Her finger was squeezed tight against the trigger as he—the arrogant ass she’d been unable to rouse a moment ago—closed his hand over hers. Three shots rang out almost simultaneously, the kick from the gun lurching her arm as it fired. Something warm buzzed past her ear, like the hum of a bumble bee but much too fast and much too hot. She opened her mouth to scream but inhaled a mouthful of dust and dirt instead.

Silence reigned for only a second before he rolled off her, one hand pressed to his head where she’d struck him. “Son of a bitch.”

Sputtering, Arden sat up and wiped an arm across her mouth. The rider lay slumped at an odd angle in the dirt. She turned to the suddenly-conscious stranger “You killed him.”

He stood, hand still on his head. “You’re welcome.” With a motion of his finger, he wordlessly told her to stay put. Gun in hand, he approached the dead man, then nudged him with the toe of his boot. He bent to press two fingers to the side of the man’s neck. “He’s dead.”

“So I gathered.” She noted the precision of the two holes, one square in the chest, the other right between the eyes. Either would have been a lethal shot. Another chill slithered down her spine despite the sun’s merciless heat. Who was this man with such deadly aim?

“Do you know him?”

The sight of the corpse, already taking on a chalky hue, began to sour her empty stomach. She drew her knees up to her chin, shaking her head in answer to his question. “Do you?”

He glanced down at the man’s face, cocked his head as if considering. “By reputation only. At least I think it’s him.” He rose, reloaded, and holstered the .44. with a smooth motion that told her he did it often and without thought.

Friday Friends: Susan Macatee

I'm very excited to have my friend and fellow American historical author here today, Susan Macatee.  I've been a fan of Susan's work for many years, now it's your turn to get to know this super talented and lovely lady.

Hi Susan!  Welcome!  Tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.
I've always loved books and dreamed of being an author someday. But I came to my chosen genre in a roundabout way. As a teen and young adult, I devoured science fiction. So, that's what I first tried writing. It wasn't until years later, as a young mother, that I discovered romance. Times travels, followed by historicals, were my favorite escapes. Then my husband pulled me into Civil War reenacting. I love the romance of the period, as well as the grit, and just had to place my romances in this time period. As a result, my first romance novel was a Civil War time travel.

How long have you been writing?
I could honestly say since childhood. I remember writing picture books to distribute to friends. I had kind of a start in my early college years, when I tried submitting short stories to magazines and wrote for a 'Star Trek' fanzine. But it was after my youngest son started school that I joined Romance Writers of America and began to write both short stories and book length romance and submit my work to publishers. So, we're talking about 23 years.

Describe your typical writing day
My writing day doesn't start until afternoon, although I do a couple of email checks, plus a little book promo in the mornings. Once I settle down to write, I either have a word quota, if I'm writing a first draft, or a page or hourly quota, in the case of revisions, edits or plotting. I start with whatever project I'm currently working on, but if I have extra time before I have to start dinner, I might make notes on my next project before I stop for the day.

What was your “Aha!” moment—when you knew you had to write?
I took a creative writing class my junior year in high school. For my fiction assignment, I wrote a 12 page horror story and got an A++. My teacher would have read it to the class, if not for the length. From that point on, I knew writing in some form was something I was meant to do.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?
In college, I took a few elective psychology courses and did really well in them. I think I would've majored in psych if I wasn't fixated on writing.

What is your best cure for writer’s block?
The absolute best cure is to read a good book by another writer. Always gets me in the mood to get back to work on my own project.

Tell us a little bit about your new release, Thoroughly Modern Amanda

Thoroughly Modern Amanda is a sequel to my 2009 Civil War time travel romance, Erin's Rebel. This new story is set in 1880 and the heroine, Amanda Montgomery, was a child in Erin's Rebel, the daughter of the widowed hero. The hero, Jack Lawton, is a modern day construction worker who wants to refurbish an old Victorian home, but the owner dies and her heir wants to sell the land and have the house demolished.


Believing anything is possible, magazine reporter Amanda Montgomery dreams about being a modern woman in a nineteenth century world, much like her exceptional step-mother.  But society expects well-off young ladies to focus on finding a suitable husband and raising a family.  And then Jack appears—with no past and unconventional ideas. Does he hold the key to another century as well as her heart, or is she destined to stay in her own time?

Construction worker Jack Lawton wants to preserve an old home that's scheduled for demolition.  But when he sneaks inside for a final look, a loose beam falls on his head, and upon waking, he finds himself in the arms of a beautiful woman.  His only problem—he's no longer in the twenty-first century.  Can he find his way back home? Does he really want to?

Jack blinked, focusing his gaze. Blinding pain in the back of his head nearly caused him to pass out again. The last thing he recalled was a beam blindsiding him.

“Sir?” a female voice cooed. “What’s happened? Did the beam hit you?”

He tried to focus on a face hovering above him. “Yeah, the beam hit me. It must have knocked me out.” He lifted his arm, intending to probe his aching head.

“Don’t move,” the woman said. “I have a rag covering the gash. You need a doctor, I think.”

He gazed at the woman. With her red-gold hair piled on her head and her old-fashioned looking gown, she didn’t seem real. Like something out of a crazy dream. If her face wasn’t so smooth and youthful, he’d believe he was back at Mrs. Grayson’s house, but the old woman was dead and she’d never dressed like this.

“Where am I?” he groaned. A flash of pain shot through his skull.
The woman’s blue eyes widened. “You don’t know where you are? The beam must have taken your memory.” She glanced around. “This house is under construction. You’re obviously one of the workmen hired to build it.”

“Under construction?” A new wave of pain pierced his skull. “No. This house is going to be torn down.”

“Shh.” She placed a finger over his lips. “You must have had a memory lapse.”

Her soft touch and scent enveloped him. Something seemed familiar about her, but he wasn’t sure what. He tried to rise, but she pushed him back.

“Don’t try to get up. I’ll go for help.”

“No.” He rubbed his head. “I think I can sit up with your assistance. Pushing onto his elbows, he gazed around the room. His heart dropped as he realized this wasn’t the dilapidated house he’d been exploring. The scent of fresh cut wood and unfinished walls chilled him.

“You say this house is under construction?” He made an effort to sit up straight.

She moved to brace his back. “You mustn’t move so quickly. You could aggravate your injury.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” He reached for the towel she’d placed against the back of his head. The rag slid down his back.

She retrieved it, then gently probed his head.

He winced at the pain.

Her gaze met his. “It doesn’t look so bad now. The bleeding’s stopped, but you will need someone to look after you. I’ll contact your family.”

“There’s no need. I can drive. Just help me to my car. It’s parked outside.”

“Car?” She bit her lip, drawing his attention to her full, ripe mouth. “You mean carriage? I saw no carriage outside.”

“No, I mean a car. It’s a dark green four door.”

“I saw no carriage as you describe.” She wrung her hands glancing toward the open doorway. “I’ll go find help.”

His hand shot out to stop her. He didn’t want her to go, even to get help. If he was able to stand…

“Help me up,” he said.

She frowned, but grasped his hand. Pushing up on his legs with her assistance at his side, he stood. But his equilibrium seemed off. She braced her weight against his.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here? I’ll find a neighbor to help you to go…” She hesitated. “Where do you want to go?”

“Home, but I need my car to get there.” His hand dropped to his pocket to search for his wallet, but a strap and two buttons on his waistband diverted his attention. He wore a pair of suspenders, a loose fitting shirt with four buttons reaching from his mid-chest area to his collar, and baggy wool pants. These weren’t the clothes he’d been wearing when he’d explored the house.

What the hell?

His alarmed gaze drifted down to the woman who still supported his weight. The clothes he wore matched the period of her gown. And the condition of the house, compared to the dilapidated building he'd been in, set his brain awhirl.

“Where in hell am I?” he gasped.

The woman’s eyes widened as she gazed open mouthed at him.


Anything else in the works you can share with us?
Yes, I’m currently working on a novella based on a minor character from my 2009 Civil War romance, Confederate Rose. In ‘The Physician’s Irish Lady’ the hero is a small town doctor, who served as a Union army surgeon during the Civil War. The heroine is an Irish immigrant on the run from a man she met in New York City, who tried to sell her to a brothel.

Leave a comment on this post for the chance to win a PDF copy of Thoroughly Modern Amanda and a $10.00 gift card for The Wild Rose Press.

Buy link: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=195&products_id=5074

Susan, thanks so much for visiting with us today!

Everything you never wanted to know.... and then some

Today is my day to post on the Sweethearts of the West blog and August is sort of a "getting to know the Sweethearts" month where we post about ourselves (gulp!!)

It took weeks to write and still feels way too long and boring, but you can learn more about me than you ever cared to know, LOL.  Stop on by and say hello!

Nic