Dressing up? Um…no #MFRWauthor

Dressed up party girlsThere was a time in my life where I wore a dress or skirt every day and dressed up for going to the theater or out to dinner. When Jack was at VMI, we attended five formal events a year. And I loved it. Then I got real.

I don’t live in New York or a city where one is expected to dress way above casual for a meal out. And I don’t party—even for New Year’s Eve. In effect, I’m a party pooper. I value comfort over fashion, function over form. I can’t even remember the last time I had a dress on…

That’s not to say that I don’t love seeing girls decked out for a prom come into a restaurant. Or posing for pictures on the street. I think fondly on the days when I used to do that. The pictures make me nostalgic. But not so nostalgic that I want to go back to the good old days.

Fortunately for me, I don’t have a husband who insists on nights on the Casual all the waytown either. The last time I suggested he wear a tie to an event he looked at me as though I had two heads.

I’m safe.

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA

RWISA Showcase

POETRY by D. L. Finn

ICICLES
The icicles dangle downward
Reaching for the substantial snow
Each drop bringing them closer
As the landscape merges into itself
It is silent in its existence
Until a raven reveals itself
Wondering what’s in the trash
Yet, the moment remains peaceful
Sitting and surveying in the chill
An instant promising potential
When there is no celerity
When crackling fires call
When surroundings are concealed
Soon, the renewal will be revealed
But now it’s the stage of contemplation.
For sustenance
For solace
For soul
To live on our abundance of the past
This is the gift of the snow
When we can replenish our hearts
In the silence of the icicles.

FREEDOM (Musings from the back of a Harley)
The freedom of the blue skies
Welcome us warmly back
Our path is asphalt
Our vehicle a mechanical horse
Our guide is the wind
Lush green walls soar
The sun illuminates the way
Oaks are waking up after a long nap
And I…
I fill my soul
With nature’s flowering renewal
Bursting with beauty and abundance
In the freedom of spring.

WHERE THE RIVERS MEET
Roaring white, pounding the granite
Swirling, swelling, splendor
The air is heavy with anticipation
It blows over me like a lover’s touch
Filling my heart with sweet floral ecstasy
I relax into the experience
Each breath carries away my worries
My eyes fill with abandonment
As the rushing liquid serenades me
Singing the praise of this paradise
Until the different directions converge
After a brief resounding rumble
They combine and continue on their way
Leaving the moment where the rivers meet.

OCEAN
As I sit perched up high on our lanai
Comfortable on my recliner in the shade
The ocean draws my gaze
Its sapphire and emerald water calls me
While the blue pool floats in its space—uninviting
I hear the sea’s song as it smashes onto the shore
The surfers ride its motion
The snorkelers gaze into its depth
And the swimmers float on its perception
Our attraction is undeniable
Opposites: one of air, one of water
It beckons, and I must respond
Offering myself up to the hidden world
Under the cerulean summon
I answer, embracing the ocean completely.

D.L. FinnThank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

D.L. Finn’s RWISA Author Page

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA

RWISA Showcase

The Road by John W. Howell © 2019

Just a couple more hours and I’ll be able to rest my eyes. Been on this damn highway for what seems like forever. His head slowly nods until the rumble strip noise causes him to jerk awake. “I have been asleep,” he yells. He yanks the wheel, and the tires screech in protest as he swerves back on to the highway. He can feel his heart in his chest and pressure in his eyes. In an instant, he regrets being so weak as to give in to the physical need. He also becomes alarmed since now he knows that sleep could overtake him without notice.  One second, his eyes could be open and the next closed. Thank God for the jarring and noise of the rumble strips since without its alarm, he is sure he would have ended up piled into a tree.

As his heart settles down, he concentrates on the road ahead. There’s someone at the side about a half mile away. A hitchhiker by the looks of a backpack. A sign in the person’s hand is not readable at this distance. The thought occurs that It would be a good thing to have someone else in the car to help him stay awake.  Of course, there are dangers in picking up a stranger. As he gets closer, he can see that the hitchhiker is not a guy like he thought. It’s a young woman about his age.  She is wearing some kind of overalls, but the distinctive female form still comes through. He decides to slow down and assess the situation. A girl makes all the difference in trying to reach a decision for or against a pickup. After all, who knows where this could lead? He does know that in all probability, she is not likely to stick a knife in his ribs and demand his wallet after a couple of miles down the road.

He eases the car to the shoulder and can’t help kick up some dust in the process. The sign is facing him even as the person turns away to avoid the dust storm he has created. Kansas City in black marker on cardboard is all it says.

He opens the passenger door and waves her over. “I’m going to Kansas City. Want a ride?”

The young woman looks back at him, and he can tell she is doing an evaluation on the safety prospects of accepting a lift. She slowly hoists her backpack on to her shoulder and walks with hesitant steps toward the car. She puts her hand above her eyes to cut the glare of the sun and stops short of the door. She leans in. “Did you say you’re going to Kansas City?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I also asked if you would like a ride.”

“That all depends on your intentions?”

“My intentions?”

“Yeah. You are offering a ride. How much will it cost me?”

“Cost you? I’m going to Kansas City. Your sign says Kansas City. Why would it cost you anything?”

“Just want to make sure is all.”

“No charge. I’ve been on the road forever, it seems, and I would welcome the company. My name is James.”

“Sorry, James. I know I sounded a little ungrateful, but I have also been on the road and have met several guys that think I owe them something for a ride.”

“I can understand that. Let’s just say you can ride or not it’s your choice. No other decisions to be made.”

“Fair enough. I accept your offer. My name is Sarah.” She slides in and slams the door.

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. You want to put your backpack in the rear?”

“No, I’ll just keep it here in the front with me. You can never tell.”

“Tell what?”

“When I’ll have to bail. Everything I own is in this pack, and I sure wouldn’t want to leave it behind.”

“I get it. No use trusting someone just cause they say you can.”

“Right. I think I like you, James.”

“Wainwright. My last name’s Wainwright. How about you?”

“Not sure I have a last name. I go by Sarah.”

“No last name? How can that be?”

“You going to start this car or is my fear well founded.”

James flushes as he turns the ignition. “Yeah, here we go.” He looks in the side mirror and signals as he pulls back on the highway.

“You are a cautious one. There’s no one for miles.”

“I guess it’s a habit from city driving.” He keeps checking in the mirror until he is up to highway speed

“Where you from, James?”

“New York. You?”

“I think I was originally from down south somewhere.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, it’s been a long time.” She pauses.

James glances at her and sees that she is lost in thought somewhere. Her skin is fair, and she has the high cheekbones and lips of a runway model. She looks vaguely familiar, and he compares her looks to Joni Mitchell. There is that innocent, fragile look that makes you want to take care of her.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” She is back.

“I didn’t say anything. I’m amazed you don’t know where you are from.”

“Well do you remember where you’re from or is it someone told you?”

She has a point. James only knew he was born in Chicago because his parents told him so. He lived in New York for twenty years so unless clued in he would have thought he lived there his whole life. “I guess I should rephrase the question. Where did you last live?”

“Yes, James. That makes a little more sense. I last lived in Dubuque, Iowa.”

“What a coincidence. I am driving from Dubuque. Do you believe that?”

“I can believe that. Someone once said there are only six degrees of separation of everyone on Earth. You and I traveling from Dubuque at the same time certainly falls into that realm.”

“Aw come on, Sarah. We are both going from Dubuque to Kansas City. That has to be more than a coincidence.”

“I never said I was going to Kansas City, James.”

“Wait. You have that sign that says Kansas City.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m going there.”

“What does it mean?”

“You think I know?”

“I’m getting a weird feeling here, Sarah. Like you aren’t telling me something.”

“Do you remember swerving after you ran off the highway?”

“What? Back there. Yeah, I remember almost falling asleep. Hey, wait a minute. How would you know about that?”

“Think a minute, James. How do you think I would know about that moment?”

“Sarah I’m too tired for guessing games. What is this all about?”

“Do you feel okay, James?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Look around. Do you see any other cars?”

“No, but I haven’t for a while. What are you trying to tell me, Sarah?”

“You fell asleep James.”

“When did I fall asleep? I know I nodded off, but when did I fall asleep?”

“Just before your car went off the road and you hit a cement culvert.”

“Now, you are joking. Right? Right, Sarah?”

“No joke, James. Look ahead. What do you see?”

“Uh up the road, you mean?”

“Yes, up the road.”

“Nothing but what looks like a sandstorm.”

“It’s no storm, James. It is nothing.”

“Who are you anyway?”

“Do you remember that little girl who went missing in the second grade?”

“Yeah, what does that have to do with you?”

“Does the nickname Jimmy Jeans mean anything?”

“That’s what Sarah called me in the second grade.”

“How did I know that?”

“You wouldn’t unless.”

“Unless I’m Sarah.”

“Oh My God. Sarah. It is you. Where have you been?”

“That’s not important. What is important is you were broken hearted when I vanished. You prayed for my return and made promises to God if only I would come back.”

“I never got over that either. I think of that little gir¾. I mean, I thought of you almost every day. Why didn’t I recognize you?”

“Cause I’m all grown up. There would be no way.”

“Where have you been Sarah. I have missed you so much.”

“Don’t cry, James. I’m here with you now.”

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

“No, James, it’s not worth the time.”

“So why now? Why are you here now?”

“To help you, James.”

“To help me. How?”

“To understand what your life is like now.”

“Now? What do you mean?”

“You were in an accident, James. You ran off the road, and I am sorry to say your body didn’t survive. You are now going with me on an eternal trip.”

“You are saying I’m dead. I can’t believe that.  Look at me. I’m just as alive as you.”

“That’s right. You are.”

“Um, Sarah?”

“Yes, James.”

“You are dead too?”

“Yes, James. A man took me from school and killed me. They never found my body.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t think about that now. Think about the future. Because you prayed so hard and missed me so much, I was given the honor of escorting you to the other side.”

“Other side? There’s a Future?”

“A wonderful one.  You and I for all time.”

“I would like that.”

“Take my hand then. Let’s be off.”

“I have more questions.”

“All in good time, James. All in good time.”

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

John W. Howell’s RWISA Author Page

“The Call” #MFRWauthor

I haven’t had the pleasure of getting “The Call”—meaning from an agent or big time publisher. But I know people who have and to me, the only

Publishing contract

changes I’ve noticed is that they’re busier than ever, and, as with anytime someone gets a new job or position, their attention and time is necessarily taken up with new people. And they travel more, going to more conventions and such because it’s also part of the job that is writing. However, the authors I know who have been published with big-name companies are still friendly and inordinately helpful. Authors in general are a wonderful group of people!

I have been published for quite a while, and I hope those I know can say the same about me—that I’m friendly and helpful when I can be.

I will say, those working with larger companies than I have mostly earned decent money, allowing them freedom from worry and the chance to do things they weren’t able to do before finding their success. Writing has Successful authorgiven one the opportunity to live where she wants and to help her child attend the college of her choice. I know another who is able to spend more time with her family than when she worked a 9-5 job.

But for all of us, I think success in writing—whether in a large publisher or small, with or without an agent—has known a sense of accomplishment and well-being that can’t be found doing any other thing. I’m so grateful that I found writing and whatever success I have. It’s a blessing!

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!

Besotted–FREE!–by Madison Michael

Here’s your chance to read Besotted for free!

Besotted
The Beguiling Bachelors, Book 4
By Madison Michael
♥♥♥ ~ Free June 19th – June 21st Only ~ ♥♥♥

About Besotted:

He Promised Forever, then Walked Away. Now he wants her back.

Tyler’s Winthrop, rich, handsome, elusive sees his moment to win Regan Howe slipping through his fingers. He has remained on the outskirts of Regan’s life since high school, reluctant to reveal his true past and expose her to danger. Despite their obvious attraction, Tyler has remained her friend and protector, keeping Regan at arm’s length for her own safety,

Regan Howe, won her coveted CEO position through hard work and a willingness to buck family tradition. Now, Brandon Hockney, a handsome US Senator with his eye on the White House, wants her to give it up, along with her home, friends and family for a move to DC and marriage to him.

Regan wants a family but is she prepared to leave all she loves, including the alluring Tyler Winthrop. Regan has waited twenty years for Tyler to commit. He once promised her forever, then he destroyed her trust and her hopes for a future together. Still, she cannot break the ties between them.

When Regan tests the waters with Brandon, Tyler is tapped as acting CEO, throwing the pair together, and forcing both to make a choice. Is this the end or their one last chance at love? Battling overwhelming odds and a racing clock, will Tyler be forced to release his one true love to find happiness with another man? How can he when he’s besotted?

As the danger mounts for Tyler,, can he wrestle free of his past and lure Regan away from her Senator? Join our handsome hero as he attempts to win back his love in this exciting and steamy page turner, the fourth of the sexy, contemporary Beguiling Bachelor romance series.


Excerpt from Besotted:

Regan was just too damn alluring in that dress for him to accept that he couldn’t have her if he wanted her.

He was an idiot. He should have told her years ago. He should have told everyone. Despite the tongue-lashing he was silently giving himself, Tyler was certainly no fool. “The professor” to his friends, he was generally serious and professional. He had the smarts necessary to obtain both an MBA and a law degree, and he was now CEO of LHRE and on hiatus from one of the fastest growing tech companies in the country. He kept his cool in general, but again and again he behaved like an idiot around Regan.

Since that damn frog almost thirty years ago, he had loved no one but Regan. Sometimes they made it work together, like in high school, but most times not. His feelings were unchanged, but something always stopped him from declaring his love and asking her to do the same. This time it was something insurmountable.

And yet Tyler couldn’t stay away. He was the proverbial moth to the flame, flirting with disaster every time he flirted with her. He had promised to stay away, to keep her safe,but the attraction was undeniable. Yep, prize idiot.

Returning to the ballroom after the latest threats, Tyler briefly considered sharing the conversation, coming clean with Regan and perhaps moving their relationship forward. He was at a fork in the road but remained silent, Tyler knew he was on the wrong path but couldn’t summon the will to fix it. Not only were his problems unsolvable, but she was involved with Brandon. Tyler felt hopeless.

He was preoccupied just as Regan accused, but Tyler tried to give Regan the attention she deserved. He failed miserably until Regan suggested they just leave. That got his attention. Who knew when he would hold her in his arms again.

“Come dance with me again. It would be a crime to waste that dress.”

Encircling Regan in his arms, his body responded to her nearness, even as his mind worried over the earlier texts. He was unaware of his hand stroking her back, fingers lightly skimming over her bare skin. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he pulled her close or when he dropped kisses on her hair. He wasn’t paying attention, just acting on instinct, Regan was responding, her breath growing uneven, her hands clinging to his shoulders.


About the Author:

Madison Michael is an indie publisher, blogger and the author of the Beguiling Bachelor Series as well as the novella Desire & Dessert, from her sizzling B&B Billionaire Bachelor series.

A Chicago native and hopeless romantic, Maddy was raised on Chicago culture, fairy tales, great literature and swashbuckling movies. Maddy employs that history, writing steamy contemporary romance novels set against the sumptuous backdrop of Chicago’s elite society.

After receiving a BA in Journalism from the University of Illinois and an MBA from Loyola University of Chicago, Madison abandoned her writing to find her way in the corporate business world. Daughter of a librarian, it was inevitable that she would return to the world of books.

Maddy writes from high above Chicago where she can stare at its gorgeous skyline or the shores of Lake Michigan surrounded by feline assistants. When she is not writing, Maddy can be found lost in a book, fighting for the rights of the mentally ill, or dining on Chicago’s famous cuisine. Hot dogs and pizza, anyone?

Social Links:

My dream wedding #MFRWauthor

I am perhaps that unusual woman who did not spend her childhood dreaming of her wedding. When I was little, I thought I’d like a gown as Cinderella ball gownwide as the church aisle, all satin and with beads and sparkly doodads. And I’d have ten bridesmaids and a groom in a tux, and the church would be full of friends and family. Wow! Cinderella would have been envious.

Then I grew…and then I stopped growing. A five-foot-two bride doesn’t suit a heavy satin ball gown as wide as church aisles. And while I had a lot of friends, did I really have ten that I wanted to be bridesmaids? Probably not. Plus, we didn’t have a lot of money and weddings, whatever else you can say about them, can cost a lot of money. A friend once said, put the word “wedding” in front of anything and the cost jacks up 200%.

Maybe the thing that changed my mind about weddings most was Jack, the man (boy, at the time) of my dreams. He was practical. And not one for fancy ceremony or big crowds. I cameSimple wedding around to his way of thinking and each year we dated my wedding dreams became more conservative.

Add to that, we decided to get married and set the date for nine days from that decision. Nine days is not enough time for a big shindig. No one was very happy with that timing, but we put aside everyone else’s vision and had the wedding of our dreams, with close friends and family. I already had a dress, bought on sale for $75. We held the service in the chapel where Jack went to school, just after sunset. About 70 people attended. Chunky candles filled the chapel with the scent of magnolia. A neighbor played the organ and later, cake baked by local Mennonites was served along with apple cider Camping honeymoonat Jack’s parents’ house. We went camping for our honeymoon. The whole wedding, pictures and all, cost less than $500. And it couldn’t have been more perfect. For us.

I understand why other people want something totally different—I did myself for years. What I ended up with is a far cry from my little girl imaginings. But we grow and change, right? If we had do-over we’d go to Las Vegas and get married by Elvis. What fun those pictures would be to look back on!

It wasn’t formal or fancy, but I ended up with the wedding of my dreams. More importantly, I got the man and the marriage of my dreams. And he did wear a tux! What could be more perfect than that?

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!

An interview with award-winning author, Jessica James

We’re happy to welcome award-winning Jessica James and her new newest book, Lacewood!

Lacewood by Jessica James

NA: How did you come up with the idea for your book?
JJ: Lacewood came about because I started noticing sycamore trees (once called Lacewood trees). Strange, but true. (You have to read the book to understand the connection).

NA: What is the main thing you want readers to take away from your book?
JJ: Two things: Trust that there is plan for your life—even if you have no idea what it is. And…history should never be forgotten.

NA: A fun fact about writing your book.
JJ: I planted a 10-foot sycamore tree in my yard to celebrate its completion and to remind me of the effort it took write it.

NA: Do you have a day job? What was your job before you started writing full time?
JJ: I work part-time as a stagehand at a local performing arts center as a means of getting exercise. Before becoming an author, I was a newspaper editor and freelance writer.

NA: What do your friends and family think about your being a writer?
JJ: I don’t think they believe it’s a real job.

NA: The biggest surprise you had after becoming a writer.
JJ: That after one book another would follow…and another and another.

NA: Do you outline books ahead of time or are you more of a by-the-seat-of-your-pants writer?
JJ: I absolutely write by the seat of my pants. I never know what is going to happen next.

NA: What has been one of your most rewarding experiences as an author?
JJ: Getting to travel to do research, and winning the John Esten Cooke Award three times. [NA: WOW!]

NA: What are your top three favorite books of all time?
JJ: Scarlet Pimpernel, Northwest Passage, Count of Monte Cristo

NA: A pet peeve.
JJ: That’s easy. People who are late. I believe in the old adage, “better to be an hour early than a minute late.”

NA: Why did you choose the shirt you have on?
JJ: Baggy. Comfortable. Perfect for writing.

NA: First thought when the alarm goes off in the in the morning?
JJ: What day is it?

NA: What are you working on now?
JJ: I’m still mulling over my options. My readers have been begging for another book in my Phantom Force Tactical series, so that’s where I’m leaning.

LACEWOOOD Blurb:

A love story that spans centuries…
Two people trying to escape their pasts find a connection through an old house—and fulfill a destiny through the secrets it shares. Part love story, part ghost story, Lacewood is a timeless novel about trusting in fate, letting go of the past, and believing in things that can’t be seen.

MOVING TO A SMALL TOWN in Virginia is a big change for New York socialite Katie McCain. But when she stumbles across an abandoned 200-year-old mansion, she’s enthralled by the enduring beauty of the neglected estate—and captivated by the haunting portrait of a woman in mourning.

Purchasing the property on a whim, Katie attempts to fit in with the colorful characters in the town of New Hope, while trying to unravel the mystery of the “widow of Lacewood.” As she pieces together the previous owner’s heartrending story, Katie uncovers secrets the house has held for centuries, and discovers the key to coming to terms with her own sense of loss.

The past and present converge when hometown hero Will Durham returns and begins his own healing process by helping the “city girl” restore the place that holds so many memories. As the mystic web of destiny is woven, a love story that might have been lost forever is exposed, and a destiny that has been waiting in the shadows for centuries is fulfilled.

EXCERPT:
Turning in a circle, Katie studied the room again. Faded wallpaper curled and peeled above the dusty wainscoting, but the walls themselves appeared sturdy. On the far side of the entryway, and dominating the wall, stood a mammoth fireplace with an ornately carved hearth. Her attention was immediately drawn to a painting of a woman in nineteenth century dress that hung prominently over the mantel.

“Who is she?”

The sheriff turned to the dusty, sun-bleached portrait in the heavy carved guilt frame. “One of the previous owners, they say.” He shrugged. “The family history kind of got lost with the house. Everyone around here calls her the Widow of Lacewood.”

Katie’s heart suddenly struggled to beat. The anguish in the woman’s eyes kept her riveted. She could see the pain. Feel a heart ripped apart. Something was missing that could never be replaced. Katie had felt such loss before. In a way that’s why she was here.

See the Lacewood trailer.

Lacewood Purchase Links:
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Apple Itunes
Other

Lacewood by Jessica James

Author Bio:
Jessica James believes in honor, duty, and true love—and that’s what she writes about in her award-winning novels that span the ages from the Revolutionary War to modern day.

She is a three-time winner of the John Esten Cooke Award for Southern Fiction, and has won more than a dozen other literary awards, including a Readers’ Favorite International Book Award and a Gold Medal from the Military Writers Society of America. Her novels have been used in schools and are available in hundreds of libraries including Harvard and the U.S. Naval Academy.

Contact Links:
Website: https://www.jessicajamesbooks.com
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001IYTXOG
BookBub : https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jessica-james
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/586216.Jessica_James
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RomanticHistoricalFiction
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/southernromance/

Congratulations to IPPY winner, Carol Schoenig!

The Caretaker--Carol SchoenigBlack Velvet Seductions author Carol Schoenig has just won the Independent Press Award for romance! Her book, The Caretaker, was chosen from hundreds of submissions to be announced as the winner of the prestigious award.

Ted Olczak of Publishers Weekly said, “I understand how difficult it can be to promote the great books that independent presses work so hard to develop and share with the rest of the world. Here is just another way for ‘indies’ to get the recognition they deserve.” So true! Which makes it all the more exciting that a colleague is taking home the prize this year.

Congratulations, Carol!

Find Carol:

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A Family Tree–convicts and all! Jan Selbourne

Anyone who has delved into their family history will know how fascinating and addictive it can be. Finding old letters, diaries, birth, marriage and death certificates can expose well-hidden secrets. Intrigued, we dig deeper to find more surprises waiting for us. Was our prim and proper great grandmother really a beer hall dancer on the goldfields? Why is great uncle Bert’s death certificate at odds with his marriage certificate – how many wives did the old boy have? My family research began with my daughter’s family tree school project.

My first surprise came when I applied for my dad’s birth certificate. I was informed there wasn’t one in that name. Convinced the register office had made a mistake, I was about to contact them when an old, vague reference to his father’s dying early came to mind. I probed a bit more and discovered dad had been registered under his mother’s maiden name (Ferguson) because he was illegitimate. In those days unmarried mothers were shamed and bullied into giving up their babies which was so cruel, considering the unmarried fathers were never shamed or rejected. Dad’s birth certificate is sheer fabrication because my grandmother, Elizabeth Ferguson, stated she was married. I don’t know how she got away with the falsehood, but she did. I am so proud of her courage and determination to keep her baby.

My curiosity aroused, I began researching my family history and I’d like to share a story of my Irish convict ancestor.

In the mid 1800’s, Eleanor Stanford, widow of Galway Ireland, was convicted of “receiving” ten sovereigns from a small child. (The closest I can find to receiving is “…property taken by theft or robbery…” Wikipedia.org Tasmania and AustraliaCreative Commons) For this act, the equivalent today of taking 10£, she was sentenced to fourteen years imprisonment in Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania Australia, the sort of triangular-shaped island off the southern coast of Australia). The 13,000 miles journey on the convict ship Hope took approximately three months.

Port Arthur Tasmania Historic Convict Site Tasmania, now seen as a beautiful island and a vacation destination, was not viewed with much hope when it was one of the harshest penal colonies in a land of penal colonies. There are stories of convicts choosing almost certain death by escaping into the bush because death was better than lifeTiger snake in the colony. If they weren’t recaptured, they died due to lack of skills and the deadly snakes or other wild animals in the bush. Still, taking a chance against the huge tiger snakes was seen as better than the horrible floggings they suffered otherwise. Eleanor fared better than some.

Once in Van Diemen’s Land, Eleanor was put to work in the home of a government official. According to one of my descendants living in Tasmania, after five years Eleanor was given her ticket of leave, a type of good behaviour bond. She immediately begged her master to apply for her children to join her. As the colony was actively seeking new settlers, her request was granted. A year later, three of her four children arrived in Van Diemen’s Land on the ship Jardine. (There is no record of what happened to her fourth child.) Embarking on that long voyage to the other side of the world must have been overwhelming and frightening.

Her children now with her, Eleanor didn’t let the grass grow under her feet. She married a ticket of leave convict, stating her age as 30 when in fact she was 39, and settled into colonial life. Here my searching hit a brick wall until I discovered her daughter Bridget’s marriage certificate. I don’t Bullock drivers, lifeblood of the Bushknow when Bridget left Van Diemen’s Land for the mainland or why she moved on to western New South Wales but there, aged 25, she married Richard, a bullock driver.

In those days, bullock teams were the lifeline of the bush. They carried the precious cargos of wool, wheat and sugar cane, and timber to shipping ports, and returned with essential supplies to the isolated country areas. Travelling at 6 to 8 miles a day, these bullock teams would be away for weeks on end, leaving the women to manage everything. Bridget’s five children, who called her Biddy or Blue Bonnet, were born at the mining town, Lake Cargelligo.

Life in the Australian bush wasn’t easy. No running water and push button mod cons. It was a two or maybe three-room slab hut with a dirt floor and water from the pump or creek, and watch out for the snakes. Wash day was lighting the fire under the copper tub, filling it with water and shreddingSlab house as seen on the Bush slivers of hand-made soap on top. After the clothes boiled for a few minutes they were pulled out with a copper stick and heaved into the rinse trough. Many a naughty child’s backside felt the whack of the copper stick.

Bridget was also a bush midwife, one of the wonderful women of the outback who helped deliver babies day and night, in good and bad weather. Like many colonial bush midwives Bridget had little training and a lot of practical hands on experience.

The Bush of today is not like when Bridget lived there, but it’s still very rural, with neighbours living miles apart. Today people in our vast interior still rely on the Royal Flying Doctor Service for medical services and the School of the Air for children’s education. For example, Anna Creek, the largest cattle station in the word, has an area of 23,677 square kilometres (9,142 sq. miles). Wilgena Sheep Station currently occupies an area of 4,742 square kilometres (1,831 sq. miles).

Bridget passed away at Narrandera on the Murrumbidgee River, aged 70 years. From a little girl joining her mother in a penal colony, to a young woman moving to mainland Australia, marrying a bullock driver and rearing five children in the Outback, to steam trains and motor cars and a new century, Bridget earned her place beside Richard on the New South Wales Pioneer Register.

Up to the middle of the last century one didn’t admit to having convicts in the family. We looked to our British roots for status. Our beginning as a penal colony was embarrassing and good fodder for snide comments and jokes. The English and our Kiwi cousins rubbed it in with relish. Then we got out of the cringe shadow and began to take pride in our heritage. Now, having a First Fleeter – a convict on the first fleet which landed in Sydney cove January 26th, 1788, – is a status symbol. An ancestor on the Second Fleet is a slightly less status symbol, but still, nothing to be ashamed of. My convict was just one of the thousands that followed.

I’m happy and proud to be the descendant of such strong women, and I’m teaching my own granddaughter about them! To Eleanor, Bridget and Elizabeth, three strong women, I salute you.

The Author:
Jan Selbourne

Jan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live-in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

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For more information on:
Van Diemen’s Land, try this Wikipedia article.
Penal transportation
Australian history
Island of the Dead

Gardening and other tortures #MFRWauthor

My husband once told someone that I kill silk flowers. And sadly, he’s right.

GardeningI truly admire people who garden. They make the world a brighter place, a happier place. I could sit for hours surrounded by green plants and brilliant blooms…and talk to the person digging in the ground. But ask me to dig and pull weeds and plop a tiny seedling into rich loam? I’d destroy the whole setting in a matter of hours. I can’t tell a weed from a begonia. I don’t know which roots go shallow and which go deep. I can’t differentiate between a creeper and a tall plant that needs support. In short, I’m hopeless in a garden. Please don’t ask me to help in any way.

When my mom, aunt, and I went to England and Scotland several years ago, I was astounded by the yards, first in Edinburgh and then throughout the rest of our trip. Front yard might measure 10×12—not much compared to a lot of American yards. But every inch, save the walkway, was chock full of plants. The roses were spectacular, and every yard had some variety. I English gardenmade the comment to my mom and aunt that I wondered how one particular yard had such beautiful, big blooms, and a woman I hadn’t seen standing there said, “It takes a lot of work.” I imagine so!

But it would take me no time to wipe it all out—and I wouldn’t even try. Without touching anything, I went on my way.

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!