Before the Magic Box by Roseanne Dowell

I was nine years old when our magic box arrived. We all gathered around and watched the deliverymen bring it in.  I’m not sure who was more excited, my parents or us kids. Never one to sit still for very long, it was difficult to remain patient while  they lugged it in and hooked up some odd looking things they called rabbit ears, and set them on top of the box.
“Everyone ready?" The men turned a knob and the little box lit up. Wavy lines flashed across the screen. They moved the rabbit ears this way and that way and suddenly a person appeared. They turned another knob and sound came out, just like in the movie theater only smaller. Way smaller.  "Enjoy," the men said and left.

 

My brothers, sisters, and I sat on the floor in front of it and watched as the voices we’d heard on the radio now had faces. It was the greatest thing since applesauce.  We all sat there mesmerized while the characters moved across the nine inch square.

Before the magic box, we always gathered in front of the radio and listened to stories played out by actors.  Life before the magic box was more imaginative. On cold winter evenings, we listened to our favorite radio programs, The Lone Ranger, Fibber McGee and Molly, and Jack Benny.

Our summer days, we spent our time bike riding, playing hopscotch, tag, kick the can, and oh yes, at twilight hide and seek and catching lightening bugs. We went on picnics in the park almost every night, weather permitting. Back then we didn't own a grill, let alone a gas grill. No one we knew did. Families went to parks to cook out. When my dad came home from work, Mom already had the picnic basket packed. While he washed up, we kids loaded the car and before you knew it, we were on our way to the park.

While Mom and Dad unloaded the cooler and picnic basket, we kids gathered twigs for kindling and larger dead branches for firewood. No, we didn't use charcoal back then either. My dad crumpled up newspaper and layered twigs on top for kindling. Once it caught, he added the larger firewood and we waited until it burned down and was glowing just right to cook.

Occasionally my aunt, uncle, and cousins joined us. Then a baseball game ensued. With eleven kids and four adults, it was quite a game. I can still hear us on that dusty field screaming if we hit the ball, or cheering someone on to run home, and yelling at someone in the outfield to catch the ball.              

                       

Sometimes we took a walk with my brothers up a long hill, to a place we called the witches house. The house is still vivid in my mind, covered in thickets of ivy, the yard overgrown with weeds and trees. It was probably abandoned, but as kids that thought never entered our minds. Besides, my brothers told us it was the witches house and our brothers never lied. 
Did they? 
We certainly didn't think so back then.

 We walked up the hill closer and closer to the house until someone’s imagination spooked us.
“Look there she is!” someone yelled. We raced down that hill, like the devil himself chased us.

It was a simpler time of life filled with memories of family togetherness. We managed to live without all the new electronics. I’m sure modern day children with their wide screen televisions, surround sound, cable or satellite dish, VCRs, DVDs, computers and nintendos can’t imagine life without them.

What have they missed I wonder? Where are their imaginations? Can they even imagine television with only three channels and signed off at midnight. Can they comprehend life without MTV, twenty-four hour programming and hundreds of channels. Has progress squashed the minds of our young people?

Probably not, now they have to figure out how to combat the evil doer on their x -box.  They are a different breed of children. Their lives, unlike ours, are involved in technical things.

I think back to memories of days before the magic box came along like a thief in the night and stole family life, and progress created individuals instead of unity.  I think back to a time when we gathered on the floor in front of the radio and played games. While we listened to our favorite programs, our imaginations played out the scenes in our minds. I remember many evenings spent in front of that radio listening to the Cleveland Indians in the 1954 World Series.

Ah, yes, I enjoy the memories of a simpler time. Before the magic box, when fun, love, and imagination abounded.

Strange, realistic visions and dreams invade Rebecca Brennan’s mind. When she experiences someone’s pain, she’s determined to find out who shares her mind. Her search leads to a small town filled with 

BUY FROM AMAZON

Victorian homes and interesting people and puts her life in danger.

To learn more about Roseanne's and all of her Books We Love books visit her Books We Love page

http://bookswelove.net/authors/dowell-roseanne/

Black and White and Shifters all over ... by Michelle Lee

Hello all!  Michelle Lee - back again with some advice for authors who are writing outside of their knowledge set.

What is it you might ask?  It's really very simple ...

And it will make your life so much easier in the end run ...

And keep those 'troll' reviewers from having something to tear you apart about ...

Ready for it?  Here I go ... it's a wonderful things called FACT CHECK.

That's right!  Check facts before you use them.  Simple right?

If you are writing a historical - you fact check.

If you are not in law enforcement, and you want to write a suspense story - you fact check.

Right?  Right - I know you do your due diligence and the absolute best you can.

Yet sometimes common misconceptions still slip in anyways. Right?  Come one, we know they do. I think part of the reasons why so many slip by us, to grind on other people's nerves, is that we have so very many misconceptions in our common culture.  Especially when it comes to certain topics.

Now what got me going on my pet peeve tangent here?  Well - despite the whole knowing you need to fact check when it comes to historicals, and suspense, and all the other various genres - a lot of writers seem to miss the concept when it comes to the basics of biology and, gee, science.  Why? Probably because of an honest belief they have a handle on it.

As a biologist however - they jump out at me and can truly ruin a good story.  Today I am going to focus on the big cats.  Why?  Because of some of the shifter stories I have read recently (which is what resulted in this post).

Here's the first one ...

Black Panthers

There is no such thing as a species called a black panther.  It is instead a collective term for a big cat with a genetic caused melanistic (or pigment coloration of black) cat.  (This is not however what causes black household cats - I am talking only of the big cats).

So what is the correct term?  Well there are two ...

A Black Leopard and a Black Jaguar - depending upon which species of cat you are referring to.

Let's start with a black leopard.

Now for the black jaguar.

So how to tell them apart?

Well in their normal coloration, it is easiest by comparing their size, facial structure and their spot patterns.  Jaguars are a little stockier than leopards,  Their faces are fuller, but have a more streamlined jaw.

A common misconception with the black leopards and jaguars is that they lacks spots.  But it you look closely, you can still see them.    Just like their normal colored counterparts, their spots are also different - even though both have rosettes.  With a jaguar, there is an additional black spot in the middle of the rosette that is lacking in the leopard spots.

Here are a couple of info-graphics for comparison.

Here's a chart with a Cheetah's spots for comparison.

So if you are going to write about one of the big cats that has a black coat - pick one!  Jaguar or Leopard. 

Now for my second big cat misconceptions ... 

White v Albino

A white tiger is not the same as an albino tiger.

There is a normal pigmentation to tiger, resulting in a orange-brown color or cinnamon with a black strip pattern.  Then there is a mutation that results in the lack of the orange-brown-cinnamon pigment, while the stripes of black are still present.  This results in a white tiger or in some cases a snow-white tiger, and it is only found in the Bengal species of tiger.

An albino tiger is one who lacks all melanin, resulting in a lack of pigmentation. Quick way to tell?  Presence of black stripes and those gorgeous blue eyes.  Albino tigers have no pigment at all - so they lack stripes and their eyes are red or pink.

This is a goo side-by-side composite image.  First is the normal pigmentation, then the white tiger, and finally an albino tiger.

The same is true for lions.  They can have a normal coloration, a 'blond' coloration, or be albino.  The blond-white does not mean albino.

Pictured here is a normal colored lioness and a white/blond lioness.  Notice the eye color and hints of pigmentation, especially in the ears - not an albino.

What about a black tiger or lion?

So far, there have been no reputable reports of black lions.  There is one photoshopped image that keep floating around.  But when you consider the habitat of the lion, it makes sense that if there was a gene for melanism, it would quickly be selected against.  So while at this time it is considered to be possible, it has not been documented by a reputable source.

As for black tigers ... that is the results of a pseudo-melanistism, where the black stripes are so close together, they appear to be melanistic, but are in fact, not.  They have the normal orange-brown or cinnamon pigments, it is just expressed in small bands.

Well that conclused today's pet peeve and science lesson. So what is the take home?  Simply put - just because it is part out our common culture does not mean it is correct. So due your due diligence and fact check - even if you think you understand it.

~  Michelle

If you enjoyed this post, you might also enjoy this Bio. Fun Fact filled post ...

Something has been missing from my life…by Sheila Claydon

Something has been missing from my life for a long time but I haven’t been able to figure out what it is. Now I know. I’d lost my writing companion.

Anyone who has visited my website at www.sheilaclaydon.com will know that I lost my beloved dog Newton nearly 3 years ago. It was very sudden and he was far too young, and after the heartbreak was over we agreed no more dogs. Why? Well we have friends and family who we visit in Australia, Canada and America, and we also like to travel abroad with our friends, so having a dog is impractical. Obviously. We are also getting older which means that having a puppy is impractical. Obviously. So if we ever think about getting another dog (which we are not going to do) it will have to be an adult who is already house-trained and well away from its teenage years. Obviously.

That was last month’s conversation. This month we welcomed Elfie to our home. She’s eight weeks old, cries when we put her to bed, and has to be taken outside a dozen times a day. Totally impractical. Obviously.

After only 4 days, however, the gap in my life has closed. Elfie is already a constant companion who likes nothing better than to lie on a blanket at my feet while I’m writing just as long as I give her some attention when I take a break. Soon we’ll be able to go walking together too, to explore all the places Newton loved so much. Places that have featured in some of my books. 

In wind and rain, as well as in sunshine, the wild beach, the woods and the sand hills will become part of my daily life again. I’ll no longer be the fair weather walker I’ve become in recent years. Walking with Elfie will inspire new books too. I have my writing companion again.

The books inspired by my walks with Newton can be found at amazon.com/author/sheilaclaydon  and Mending Jodie’s Heart (Book I of the When Hearts Meet trilogy) is set amongst the sand hills and woods that we walked together.

BUY FROM AMAZON

When musician Marcus Lewis buys the derelict farmhouse next to Jodie’ Eriksson's riding school he doesn’t know whether to be amused or irritated by her angry reaction to his plans. Then her sister Izzie visits him and makes things a whole lot worse…or is it better…because now he has an excuse to see Jodie again. Although, when he sees her, it’s not exactly a meeting of minds, they do discover they have one thing in common; they both believe they know what’s best for Izzie, and for Marcus' son Luke.

It turns out they’re wrong. The children they thought they were protecting need to be set free. It’s Jodie and Marcus who have the problem; but can two broken hearts make one whole one? The battle lines that were set when they first met have long since been breached but the war won’t be over until Jodie learns how to trust again, and until Marcus allows himself to believe in his son.
________________________________________

Things My Mother Never Taught Me by Roseanne Dowell

Dedicated to my mother who passed away Nov. 22, 1996  

My mother never taught me about the thrill of a first kiss or the hurt of that first breakup. She never told me about the love between a man and a woman and the joy of standing at the altar vowing before God, family and friends to love him forever.

My mother never taught me about the emotions of holding my newborn child in my arms for the first time, or the feeling of responsibility for their lives. She never told me about the overwhelming sense of awe I'd feel knowing that this child came from within me. That I created the life, nourished it for nine long months, and now had to nourish and care for it in the real world. She never taught me I'd feel this amazing sense of awe with each child.

My mother never taught me the feeling of swelled pride at watching my children take their first steps or hearing her first words.

She never taught me about the combination of pain and pride I would feel as I watched my children waltz off to school looking so grown up and yet so young. So independent. She never told me how I’d feel when they came home and said “But Miss so and so said it was better to do it this way.” and the realization that I was no longer the sole influence in their life.

My mother never taught me about the fear of having a child in the hospital undergoing tests by a neurologist after a normal eye exam discovered a problem or sitting in an emergency room while your child undergoes an emergency appendectomy. She never told me how difficult it would be to watch your child suffer through typical childhood illnesses, stitches or broken bones.

She never taught me about the fear of letting your child go down the street to play or crossing the street for the first time by themselves.

My mother never taught me about dealing with my daughter’s first crush and heartbreak and lost love. She never told me how hard it would be to watch my children struggle to get good grades or make the team or try to fit in.

She never taught me about the pride of watching my child march down the auditorium to receive their diploma or hearing about their first job. My mother never told me of the deep fear I’d experience when they learned to drive or getting that phone call that told you they had an accident.

My mother never taught me of the excitement of their engagement and the trials of planning a wedding. She never told me of the happiness and pride I’d feel watching them walk down the aisle to stand beside the one they would vow to spend their life with or the worry that this child was now totally independent of you.

She never taught me of the sense of wonder I’d feel holding my newborn grandchildren for the first time.

She never explained that these feelings of worry and concern never go away when my children grew up. My mother didn't tell me the worries would only strengthen as my children married and had children of their own. That I’d have more to love and worry about.

She never told me was how it feels to be a mother.  She never told me about the joy, pain, and overwhelming awe of being a mother and grandmother. I now know why my mother never taught me these things.  Because these thing have to be experienced to understand the wonderful sense of being a mother.  

But the biggest thing my mother never taught me was how I’d feel when she was no longer here to talk with, to share my feelings with after she passed from this world. She never taught me how to deal with the sense of loss at losing a loved one or the pain deep within that I would carry through the rest of my days. She never told me how much I’d miss her.

Roseanne's books can be found at  Amazon

CLICK TO BUY

Forced to stay in a nursing home while undergoing therapy, seventy-two year old, Mike Powell refuses to get out of bed, won't cooperate with the nurses, and won’t take his medicine. At least not until he meets Elsa. The tiny, spunky little Elsa sparks new life into him. 

Seventy year old, Elsa -left in the home while her son takes a family vacation - joins forces with Mike, setting the home on its heels, and later discovers deception and fraud. Can they find happiness together? 

Magical Birthday Wishes by Cheryl Wright

Click to Buy Book

I recently discovered a new technique for colouring backgrounds. It's very quick and easy, and is done using shaving brushes!

To try this technique, I went to my local $2 shop and bought a couple of brushes. The above card was my first attempt, and as you can see, the pink came out a little streaky. I have since come to discover you need a very light hand when doing this technique. Subsequent cards were much better.

This was an extremely quick and simple card to make, and after this one, I ended up making four more. All five will be going to Combat Cards in the very near future.

This card uses the following stamps:

Greeting:  Gina K Designs (from a very old set)
Stars:  Star Cluster by Lavinia Stamps
Main image: Mushrooms from Stamp-It Australia

I hope you've enjoyed this card. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time!

Links:

My website:  www.cheryl-wright.com 
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/cherylwrightauthor 
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/writercheryl
BWL website: http://bookswelove.net/authors/wright-cheryl/

I remember Mom

She was always there. All my life, no matter whether things were bad or good. Mom was always there.  I'm one of the lucky ones, mom lived to be 94 and I guess I just got used to her listening to me.  Sometimes I'd tell her the same thing over and over again, working through my pain, my disappointment, or celebrating some triumph that only mom could understand just how much it mattered.

Mom at my home in Kansas City with my girls and my brother's two boys, taken shortly before my husband died.  I moved then, and moved again, and again, through it all mom was always there.  She was there for my girls and she was there for me. Mom kept me going; it didn't matter how crazy my life got, mom was there. 

A different life, another daughter, growing girls, and smiling faces, Mom was there, and when I left and went back to the youngest girl's father, mom was there. And when it fell apart again, mom was there. And when he died, she was there then too

Another life, girls all grown, and finally someone for me to trust mom loved that, loved my husband and the way the three of us shared our lives together.  For 23 years that never changed, the three of us together.  We shared so much, the three of us, the years came and went, in the fall she'd fly off to my brother's and while she was there we'd talk on the phone and she'd tell us about all the fun she was having in the sunshine, and in the spring she'd come back and life would pick right back up where it left off in the fall.  Mom was always there - there when I cried and there when I laughed, always there was mom.

 

A daughter, so beautful, so full of life and laughter, so much love - it hurts so much, so much pain and so many tears, so much loss.  Mom was there, always mom was there, she was there at birth when I said hello and she was there at death when I said goodbye. Always mom was there.

Then there was this, seemed like maybe my time was over - triple negative - the worst kind, lump the size of a golf ball, but mom was there. Always there was mom, she was there to listen to me and cry with me and laugh with me, always mom was there.  And when I beat it all, and we went back to being us and I survived, mom was there, always mom was there.

The years kept going by and finally she was 94.  Where did they go.  She was weakening, we knew she was, but none of us want that, we didn't want the change.  Mom knew time was growing short, and of course I knew, but she knew I didn't want to know and we pretended.  She didn't want to eat, but I'd cook soup and bake biscuits and tempt her and she'd eat. She didn't want to, we both knew she didn't but she would, just because I made them for her.  I'll never forget the last words she ever said to me.  I'd made her soup and she didn't want to eat, and I left the room.  I was hurt, and she knew it because I hated it when she didn't eat -- it made what was coming seem so close.  That night, I went back in the room to see if she was ready for bed and she held up her bowl.  "I ate it all,"  she said and showed me her empty bowl.

I hugged her, and helped her into bed.  She'd taken the mild sleeping pill the doctor had prescribed for her and she was already falling asleep.  I propped her up on the pillows and smoothed her hair.  She was already asleep.

I miss you mom, so much.  Love Judy

 

We've got Cows! By Tia Dani

(With apology to the writers' of the movie, "TWISTER".)

BUY FROM AMAZON

Whenever we work at a restaurant, it means we're usually creating a new book.

Beginning a new story, always fires us up, however, sanity also rears its annoying pointy head and sniffs, "Where are you going to start?"

Since our stories are generally character driven, we first like to know our characters inside and out. We talk about who they are and what they specifically want. Once we've got their names and backgrounds, flaws, and why they are driven, then we work on where we're going with the story.

Actually sometimes a plot line will come to us first, but that's a topic for another blog later on. (Has anyone picked up we're always saving things for other blogs?)

Back to brainstorming. Our second step is who opens the story in their point of view? Normally we gear our books toward the romance genre (Dani's strong point), so we usually start with the heroine. Sometimes the hero will protest and win the argument. We're really not gender driven.

But here's where it gets tricky. Once we know the characters, know the underlying plot, we have to add flesh and blood to the story…the stuff that not only draws readers avidly into the book, but ourselves as well.

We rely on our handy dandy writing class rule. Every scene needs three parts:

1. Goal. What does the character want? CHECK. DONE THAT.

2. Conflict. A series of difficulties characters must face on the way to reaching their goal. CHECK…WAIT! HOLD ON…We're not exactly there yet.

Several minutes (actually hours) of discussion, heavy research, and some wine, maybe a lot of wine, one of us (usually Tia) yells, "We got cows!"

Imagine in the restaurant the looks we get are quite comical. "Cows? What cows?" Several people look around nervously. "Where?"

We grin at everyone and explain we're co-authors, Tia Dani, and Tia's yell, "We've got cows." is an expression for seeing difficulties (like in the movie where cows fly in the middle of a tornado.) Some nod and say, "I see." Others…look confused then go back to eating.

Now onto Rule Three: 

The Ultimate Disaster. What keeps characters from reaching their goals? By this time Tia is jumping up and down, waving her hands at a bunch of unseen cows in her mind. (Remember how she loves a great disaster.) Even Dani can't help but get drawn into the excitement. She has her own cows. With rapid-fire description, she embellishes great love scenes to go along with Tia's disaster(s).

By this time we have new people around us and we have to explain all over again.

But the really funny thing is, our waitress, who's gotten to know us quite well, strolls by and says with a grin, "Katie, bar the barn door. Tia Dani has their cows!"

                              This is how we look by the time we've finished brainstorming a book.

                                       © Graphixparanoid | Dreamstime.com - Mad Cow Photo

                                        cow photos by @ElisaLocci/DreamstimeStockPhoto

To find out more about the writing team Tia Dani and our books visit us at: 

http://bookswelove.com/authors/tia-dani/
https://tiadaniauthor.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/tiadani.author