Monday, January 23, 2017

Voices by Victoria Chatham


We have a new member of our family. A kitten acquired as a companion for our resident cat who was sad and lonely after his next-door cat buddies moved away. Uh-oh, you’re thinking, crazy cat lady here. Well, crazy possibly; cat lady, slowly getting there after being a life-long dog-lover.

I'd always known my dogs' voices. Like with my kids, they had their distinctive sounds which I could determine three fields away but I somehow never expected a cat to be so vocal. I’d had cats in the past, briefly as it turned out because moving cars can’t stop in time for them if the driver even cared to. I simply don’t remember their voices, but our Number One cat objected vociferously to the newcomer, going from the deepest, base growl deep in his chest to a continual and very disapproving ‘yuuuuaaaakkkk'. Imagine having something tacky on your tongue and try vocalizing it. Yep, just like that.

The kitten, on the other hand, has a squeaky little meow that sounds like a rusty hinge. She sometimes chirrups and mutters to herself with a soft ‘ft-ft-ft’ sound. At other times, mostly when secured in her cat carrier, it makes you wonder how a one-and-a-bit-pound kitten can make such a racket.

Voice is such an individual expression, whether it is cats, dogs, or kids. The guy on the corner is going to sound different to a movie actor, and look at the number of those who are now lending their voices to animated characters. Movie buffs know those voices. They are instantly recognizable. Maybe the actor’s name doesn’t immediately spring to mind, but the voice resonates with you. Most recently Dwayne Johnson (The Rock) and Matthew McConaughey have voice-starred in Moana and Sing. Last summer Ellen Degeneres was Dory, and who can forget Eddie Murphy as Donkey in the Shrek series?

So it is with authors. Each has a different voice. Unlike cats, dogs, kids and movie stars, authors’ voices develop over time. We may start out writing like our favorite author. Mine was Georgette Heyer, which brought me to writing Regency romance. However, I so enjoyed contemporary author Maeve Binchy that I couldn’t bring myself to write in that genre. How could I write like Maeve if I was not her? Go figure.

It is only in the constant practice of writing that an author develops their voice, their personal way of stringing words together. They may listen to the nuances of emotion in their minds when they write dialogue and transfer it to the page, or picture their favorite colors when describing a view or setting. They may have a particular take on life because of their origins, but none of this will be immediate when they first start writing.

There may be several false starts before a writer becomes aware of the choices they are making in their word usage. The wider a writer’s vocabulary, the more choice they have and will sound more authentic. When I read a word I don’t know, I make sure to look it up in my dictionary. I may never use it, but at least I’m expanding my vocabulary. Hiding behind common-or-garden phraseology may tell a story, but it will not have any impact. One author described voice to me as ‘having the confidence to bleed on the page’.

The world around us, our family and friends, our experience of life influences us in ways that we don’t always appreciate. I might think of our resident cat’s growl when my Alpha Male hero faces the villain or our kitten’s ‘ft-ft-ft’ when I describe my heroine having something of a hissy fit with her nose in the air.

It has taken me many years of constant writing practice to achieve the confidence I now have to ‘bleed on the page’, to have confidence in my writing and my essential voice.


Find me at:


Sunday, January 22, 2017

A Pink Smartie For My Sister

I was born in Beaverlodge, Alberta. I’ve never been there, but they tell me it’s nice. Well, I mean I left when I was two and moved Edmonton, Alberta. Okay, let’s make this clear, my parents left and I was taken with them. I wanted to stay behind, but the powers that be wouldn’t hear of it. The only thing I know about the town is that my older sister, Judy, is buried there. She had pneumonia when she was two and died. My mom told me that when I was two I also got pneumonia and was deathly ill. She got on her knees one night and prayed, “Dear God, let him live and I’ll take as many kids as you can give me.”

She did say after six more she should have put a limit on that promise.


My favorite playground as I grew up was the Beverly waste oil pit and dump, before it was covered over and turned into the golf course. I dread to think of all of those thousands of tons of oil when they come seeping into the river someday. Man, the stuff we used to find in that dump. A storehouse of wonder for young boys. I bet there’s a lot great great great grandparent seagulls that still to this day tell the youngsters of all the grand feasts they used to have there and now all they get to snack on are inedible white balls.


I’ve been asked what makes me so determined to never give up. One of the most profound things that ever happened to me was when I was about fourteen or so, my second father died of cancer. He was the heart throb of my mom’s life. She never remarried and as far as I remember only ever went on one or two dates after. She tried to commit suicide, shortly after his death, she couldn’t continue living life without him. At that age I would have been the dad of six younger siblings.


I made it my resolve to never give up. After 398 rejections I finally got my first novel published and this spring I’ve got the fourth being released.





The motto of this story is I never, never eat pink Smarties. I’ve got all the pink Smarties, I’ve never ate on my desk. Well, it’s only one, but I was more of a M-and-M fan most of my life. And it’s actually a brown Smartie spray painted pink. But there’s no website devoted to brown ones so I painted it pink one day. Don’t believe me go to this website.
You think if people wanted to get married over pink ones and worship them, then you just can’t go eating them willy-nilly.  So, I’ve got another book to write, but before I go my intentions are to lay that pink Smartie on my sister’s gravesite in Beaverlodge one day and say “hi, saved something special for you.” I think she’d like that.

Sincerely
Frank Talaber

Frank Talaber’s Writing Style? He usually responds with: Mix Dan Millman (Way of The Peaceful Warrior) with Charles De Lint (Moonheart) and throw in a mad scattering of Tom Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get The Blues).
PS: He’s better looking than Stephen King (Carrie, The Stand, It, The Shining) and his romantic stuff will have you gasping quicker than Robert James Waller (Bridges Of Madison County).
Or as is often said: You don’t have to be mad to be a writer, but it sure helps.

Writer by soul. Words born within. 
Karma the seed. Paper the medium.  
Pen the muse. Novels the fire.

Twitter: @FrankTalaber




Coming in February 2017, Thunderbird's Wake

 A penitentiary is a dangerous place and into the world of the criminal enters a saint. Well, bearing rattles and guardian beasts, the native born find him a saint. To the rest he's more nuts than a squirrels winter stash. There's a god asleep, awakening. Humans that seek justice and a sprite that needs justice from humanity.
So what makes you want to break into one? You can ask Charlie, but he ain't telling. And if he did you wouldn't believe it in a dozen lifetimes. Come enter, the madness this spring

Endorsements for the upcoming Book

There are many aspects true to First Nation’s beliefs. For example the transformation of animals and anomalies within our realm. Frank Talaber’s writing is clear and concise, leaving no grey areas. But his true talent as a writer is not only a sense of time, history and capturing First Nation’s humor, but going from the real to the surreal and the supernatural. A gift he plies very well.
Tom Patterson
Nuu-Cha-Nulth Artist and Master Carver

Just when I was beginning to wonder where the next great Canadian story teller would emerge from, Frank Talaber has written a modern crime mystery with a twist. In “Thunderbird’s Wake” Talaber weaves the richness of Canada’s west coast aboriginal spirituality into the science of modern forensics. CSI comes to Haida Gwaii as the shaman and the detective conduct an investigation that will take them and the reader on a journey to a place where murder, redemption and ancient mysticism intersect.

Michael G de Jong, QC
Minister of Finance, Government House Leader,

Province of British Columbia



Saturday, January 21, 2017

New Releases at Books We Love


http://bookswelove.net/authors/schartz-vijaya/
 
Vijaya Schartz's final book in the Curse of the Lost Isle series, Angel of Lusignan (Book 8) has just been released.  This is an amazing book that caps off a truly wonderful series.  If you're a medieval romance and fantasy lover, you are going to love these books.

For more about all of the books in the Curse of the Lost Isle series (including a set of the first 4 books in the series) and links to purchase, check them out at Vijaya's Books We Love author page.

Young knight Raymond of Forez, blaming himself for his uncle's death in a hunting accident, falls off his horse at the very sight of the lovely Melusine. He has no knowledge of their turbulent past. Even less that she is an immortal Fae with angel blood... afflicted by a curse. He doesn’t believe in the local legends... yet how can he resist such beauty and loving wisdom?

Melusine, who waited for him in Aquitaine, is full of remembered love. But can she trust this young knight with her mission, or her deadly secrets? In this explosive religious climate, the Church is suspicious of everyone, and the slightest rumor of witchery or Pagan magic could send them both burning at the stake. Can their love overcome the curse this time?

Friday, January 20, 2017

Nosy Neighbors

http://bookswelove.net/authors/rose-j-q/


 
Hello and welcome to the Books We Love Insider Blog!

Because I'm a writer, I have a good excuse to use my imagination to make up stories with quirky characters and interesting settings. In keeping with the humor in my latest cozy mystery, Dangerous Sanctuary, I thought we'd have some fun imagining a conversation with the main character, Pastor Christine Hobbs, and her Nosy Neighbor. 

You know how nearly everyone has a nosy neighbor in the neighborhood. Well, the pastor’s neighbor called her to find out about the murder at Pastor Christine’s church. Realizing the neighbor’s right to be concerned since she lives so near the church and parsonage, Christine took time to answer her questions. Perhaps they’re some of the same questions you may have about this romantic suspense, Dangerous Sanctuary.

Phone Conversation between Pastor Christine and her Nosy Neighbor
Nosy Neighbor: Oh, Pastor, what in the world happened over at Dayspring Church? Ambulance, fire engines, police were over there on Thursday morning.
Pastor Christine: Oh dear. I bet you were scared when you saw all the emergency units here at the church. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. It’s been pretty crazy around here.
Unfortunately our talented Director of Music, William White, was found dead in our church basement.  We’re trying to deal with his loss as best we can. We’re having a difficult time imagining anyone would murder this kind young man.
Detective Cole Stephens considers our custodian, Dutch, and myself to be “persons of interest.”  Perhaps you saw something from your window that morning that could help the police with the investigation?
NN: Oh, no Pastor. I didn’t see anything till the emergency vehicles arrived.  I must admit I did see the story on the news and in the newspapers. It’s so ridiculous how the stations play the story over and over 24 hours a day. But what is crazier is to accuse you and that gentle custodian of murder. I’m so sorry this has happened at your church.
PC: Thank you.
NN: Can you tell me how you came to minister to the people at Dayspring Church? I mean they’ve NEVER had a female pastor in all the years I’ve lived next door.
PC:  I love being the spiritual leader of the folks at Dayspring. I’ve been there about a year now, but I’ve been in the pulpit for five years at another church. I was happy to move away from that area, not because I had problems at the other church, but because I could put distance between my ex-husband, Brad, and me.
I’m having a terrific experience getting to know so many wonderful people at Dayspring. We’re becoming a family. Of course, there are always conflicts that arise when dealing with so many personalities. The president of the women’s group, Mrs. Jewell is not exactly happy that I’m caring for a pig and kangaroo in the back yard of the church parsonage and that I’ve taken in Mrs. Whitcomb’s cat after that sweet lady passed. I’m looking for a family who wants the darling tabby cat. Bitsy is litter trained and I have re-assured the parsonage committee that Bitsy has not had any accidents on the church-owned parsonage floors. Say, you wouldn’t consider taking in this adorable cat, would you?
NN:  Oh no, Pastor. I’m very allergic to cats. I was wondering about the animals in your back yard though.
PC: Well, yes. Now the backyard is another story…you know pigs like to root up the ground and eat everything in sight. I keep telling President Jewell that their stay just temporary, and I’ll replace all the bushes, trees, flowers, and grass when their owner re-claims the animals.

NN: How much longer will they be there for heaven’s sake? Of course, they aren’t bothering me, but Wilda just a few doors down from the parsonage is worried that pig is going to get loose and root up her yard! And, uh, I’m sure she’s also concerned the pig might get in the road and get run over.
PC: Of course, she’s concerned about the pig getting hurt…Please assure her the animals will be gone as soon as their owner is healthy again. She’s in the hospital. And, well it’s a long story how I ended up with Abraham the pig and Katy the kangaroo in the back yard.
NN: I often see the flower shop’s delivery truck at the church and in your driveway. You know, I just notice when I’m outside walking. I’m not watching out the window at your comings and goings, of course.
PC: That would be my friend Lacey, the gal who owns the flower shop.  She’s the petite strawberry blonde. We tease each other about our difference in height because I’m six feet tall.  With the weddings and funerals, she’s always delivering flowers to the church, so we have time to talk and get to know each other.
 NN: You know, I have a very tall nephew who’s divorced. He’s a sweet guy and after awhile, you don’t notice his big ears or his lisp. Can you date being a minister?
PC: Well, yes I can. I’m not a monk. I’m a real person who likes to enjoy a movie, and a beer and pizza with my friends. Thank you so much for wanting to introduce me to your nephew, but I’m just not ready to date anyone yet.
NN: Not even thinking about that cute Detective Stephens? I’ve seen him going into the church and parsonage—a lot!
PC: Strictly for the murder investigation. Why would I be interested in a man who wants to put me in jail for murder?
NN: Why, of course not. I’m sorry I asked, but he IS around a lot and I just thought…
PC: Hey, look at the time. I’m almost late for a meeting at the church. Good talking to you. I’ve got to run. Good-bye.
NN: Okay. Well, I’ll bring my nephew over when he stops in again. Uh, hello….hello. Are you there???

# # # #
Author J.Q. Rose

Connect with J.Q. Rose online at

Thursday, January 19, 2017

Spatchcocked! by Stuart R. West

My wife told me she wants to "spatchcock" a turkey. After my initial giggle-fit ended, she explained that spatchcocking's a method of cooking poultry by cutting out the backbone and flattening the carcass. It's supposed to cook more evenly. Or something equally gross.
Spatchcock Monthly July Cover Model
That doesn't matter. What does matter is I've found a fabulous new word. I'd like to "trend" the word. I wanna' make it rain with spatchcockery.

Spatchcock. Everyone take a minute and say it out loud. I'll wait. Done? It's fun to say, isn't it? Rolls right off the tongue. Kinda' cathartic, too. Violent sounding without the physical fall-out. And wonderfully, subtly vulgar; it makes the twelve-year-old boy in me laugh.

But the word can be used in many more creative ways. The next time someone gets on your nerves? Try this: "Are you looking to get spatchcocked?" Or how about this? "Looks like I've stepped in a deep pile of spatchcock." Or "I'm gonna' spatchcock this yard with my rake." See what I mean? A multifaceted word, guaranteed hours of fun.
A painful looking display of human spatchcockery.
Where in the world did this awesome word come from? Mr. Wikipedia wasn't much help, nor Ms. Google. I wonder if some guy went postal on his turkey, ripped out the backbone in a fit of cooking rage, and screamed, "I'll dispatch you yet!"

Or maybe some chef was embarrassingly named "Spatchcock," an unfortunate footnote in cooking history.

But, as I said, none of that matters. Please use this term, incorporate it into your daily vocabulary. Then sit back and enjoy the fun.

I'll update once (if?) my wife and I ever end up spatchcocking a turkey.
 
Intentional spatchcockery--akin to "Hitchcockery"--abounds in my cozy, (I hope) amusing mystery books: the Zach and Zora comic mystery series. Don't take my word for it. I wouldn't. Click on the covers for free samples:

https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B019BI3KUI&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_wcvBybFV0Z5A4

https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B01JSM76ES&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_pfvBybJA7XBG5



Wednesday, January 18, 2017

A Peek at my Office by Nancy M Bell



A Longview Wedding is the third book in my A Longview Romance series. Cale and Michelle finally get things to go their way. Available at all good book sellers. Click on the image to see my BWL author page and all my books.

I thought it would be fun to let you all see where I work and create. It's a bit crowded, okay, more than a bit. But it has a big window and three antique book cases. The book cases are stuffed with research books, antique books, series of books I collect by my favourite authors. Charles de Lint, Mercedes Lackey, Anne McCaffrey, Patrick Taylor, Jack Whyte and Diana Gabaldon. To name a few...LOL


The middle of the bookcase that takes up the whole west wall of my office. You can see some of my Beswick horse collection.


A rest of the bookcase that takes up the whole wall, jam packed with books. This is where I keep the copies of my own books. The picture at the end of the case is of Nanjizal in Cornwall. The split in the rock is called the Song of the Sea. The bay is also known as Mill Bay. This location is featured in my Cornwall Adventures book Go Gently.


The wall by office door. The white horse is White Spirit an Alberta Wildie stallion living on Crown Land up near Sundre, Alberta. Below him, the picture is 'moose hair tufting'. First Nations artists create these by pulling moose hair through in a pattern and then cutting and shaping the hair to create original and lovely pieces of art. Some are coloured with natural dyes while some like this one are left the natural colour.


The bookcase and desk combo, lots of my crystals, hawk feathers from the pair that nest over the road from me, and some treasured books.


The bookcase on the south wall in front of the big window with my pretty peacock Tiffany lamp on top. This is the case with most of research books hide.


The wall above the long bookcase with the tapestry of the Battle of Bruges. A gift from a friend of mine. The small framed piece beside the tapestry is an example of 'birch biting'. It is a dying First Nations art created by folding white birch bark and marking the bark with a pattern by biting with the incisor teeth. I first saw this in Flin Flon, Manitoba and bought a small piece. It is lovely and all are one of a kind.


Prints on the wall to the left of the door.



As you can tell the place is pretty crowded but I have all my research books and information at my fingertips. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration. Usually, I'm sifting through my books and moving stuff so I can get the cabinet doors all the way open. It's a great environment for creating my stories. The dogs sleep on the floor in the doorway, and my big white cat likes to sleep on my comfy chair.

I hope you've enjoyed this small tour of my work area.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

The Ladies With The Blue Hair - Janet Lane Walters



About 70 years ago, I was 10 years old and I noticed the lady across the street had blue hair. This puzzled me and I wondered why. She was a lady who had a gardener to care for her yard. When she went places, a man drove a shiny car to take her places. She didn't ride the streetcar or the train that stopped not far from where we lived. How did her hair become blue? This fascinated me and I believed that to become a lady one had to have hair this color.


Janet Lane-Walters Special Edition


Then one morning I noticed my mother added this blue stuff to the white clothes she was washing. Was this the answer? I imagined this was the source of the hair.


Then I began to see other women with blue hair. These were also women who wore nice clothes, had nice jewelry and arrived at church wearing hats and gloves. Perhaps this was the answer. Maybe blue hair ran in their families. My grandmother had gray hair but hers wasn't blue.


This puzzled me for years. Then I met my husband and mentioned the ladies with the blue hair. He nodded. He had noticed blue hair on some women where he lived. He also had no idea how their hair became blue. He did say they were ladies and wore nice clothes and were women of importance in his town.


Aha, I thought. He finished medical school and we moved to a large town in Western Pennsylvania, not that far from where we had grown up. I joined the Women's Medical Wives group and I noticed there were women with blue hair. They always wore hats and gloves to the meetings. Maybe, just maybe I had found the answer. They were ladies and maybe I could become one.


Now, I was a jeans kind of person but I did have a pair of gloves, or thought I had. I went to the meeting in my jeans and a velvet tunic top. I wore my fancy boots bought when we lived in Texas but I could only find one glove. An elbow one left from some party I'd had to attend. I went to the meeting and walked in. To add to the looks I always received since I had no intention of wearing a little black dress, pearls, a hat and gloves, I pulled off the glove.


"I couldn't find the other," I announced.


I did not ever discover how all those years ago those ladies had learned how to blue their gray hair. But that led to other outrageous actions - like how I celebrated my 35th birthday. Perhaps I'll tell you that tale some day.


Oh, by the way, I now have a streak of blue in my hair. Not a lot but then I'm not a lady.

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