WHERE ONE BOOK IDEA ORIGINATED + HINT



Writer waiting for idea!

 Where do writers get our ideas? Everywhere! Mine for THE TEXAN'S IRISH BRIDE came partly due to my fascination with Ireland, and partly due to a very sad event that occurred several years ago in the Fort Worth, Texas area. This particular idea also required extensive research.


Perhaps you already know that Irish Travelers are descended from medieval minstrels and poets who traveled Ireland telling myths and stories. At that time, they were well respected and quite learned. Travellers claim that they even predate the Celtic invasion of Ireland, and are the oldest inhabitants of that Island. Travellers claim by oral tradition to be descended from the pre-Celts. Mab is an old pagan female goddess of the pre-Celts, who were known as the "fairies," "Fir Bolgs," and "Tuatha De Danann."

20th Century Irish Travelers

Modern Travelers have their own language or cant (also known in Ireland as Gammon), Sheldroo, which is linked to medieval language. At the the various times of English occupation, many Irish families were turned out of their homes. During periods of the 18th and 19th centuries, it was illegal for Irish to learn to read and write—only the English could attend schools and universities. Teaching an Irish child to read was even a crime. Hedgerow schools met--you guessed it--under the hedgerows where those displaced who could read taught some of those who could not. Most, however, did not learn to read and write more than their name, if that.

Restored Traveler wagon has a
surprising amount of storage

Homeless Irish families drifted in with the traveling minstrels and eventually became the Irish Travelers. They camped in fields. Later they acquired tents, then the colorful wagons that resemble gypsy wagons. Hero and I were fortunate enough to see several of these colorful wagons in Irish and Scottish museums and they are amazingly compact with a surprising amount of storage. Those we saw were in primary colors of red and green with yellow wheels. 

Even though their wagons are similar, Travelers are not gypsies. Gypsies are Roms and originated in India/Asia. Travelers are of Irish origin, although they have now spread throughout the Western world.

Legislation in Ireland has set aside special camping places for the Travelers. In Ireland and the UK, controversy continues over whether or not the children should be forced to attend school. In the U.S., they are supposed to attend school.

A large base of Irish Travelers is in White Settlement near Fort Worth, Texas and another in Los Angeles, California. There are other settlements thoughout the United States, especially in the Carolinas and the Appalachian states. In White Settlement, many Travelers live in RV’s or mobile homes at a park owned by one of the Travelers. The children don’t attend school, or if they go, it’s only sporadically. Most of the families are Roman Catholic and most wives attend mass.

Travelers were/are also called Tinkers because there was usually one among them who repaired pots and pans and metal wares. I first heard the word tinker as a child, used in the nursery rhyme I sang as I jumped rope. Wherever the jumper missed, that was who she or he would marry. The rhyme, in case your childhood was more sophisticated than mine, went something like, "Doctor, lawyer, policeman, thief. Tinker, tailor, Indian chief." Later, I read the word tinker in Louis L'Amour's books, referring not only to a man who worked metal, but one who made knives.

My first introduction to modern Irish Travelers—or Tinkers—came one January day when a terrible accident happened on Interstate 20 just west of Fort Worth, Texas. I've mentioned this before, but it made an indellible impression on me and many others. Hero and I were driving by as traffic was diverted by State Troopers. Paramedics spread yellow groundsheets over the last victims as we passed. From the several groundsheets spread on the ground, we knew the accident was a bad one, but learned from the newspaper the following day just how sad. A group of boys had been driving the new, red, double-cab pickup one received as a Christmas gift and going to visit their uncle west of Weatherford. The five boys—all cousins or brothers—were going so fast when the driver lost control that the pickup actually became airborne, sailed across a median, and landed on top of another pickup. All six people died. Three were brothers, cousins to the other two brothers, plus the man driving east toward Fort Worth.

Texas State Troopers, sheriff’s deputies, police officers, firemen, and paramedics were so moved by the deaths of these five young men from one extended family that many of them attended the funeral in White Settlement. At the funeral, they learned these young men were all much younger than they'd believed. Their drivers licenses were fakes! The ages were from 13 to 16, not 16 to 21 as the ID’s had indicated. Sadly, fake ID's are not uncommon for modern Irish Travelers. This accident sparked several in-depth columns about Irish Travelers and their culture in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.

About three or four times a year, an Irish Traveler stops by our rural home and offers to pave our drive or repair our roof. The men are usually medium height and have startlingly clear blue eyes. If we were gullible enough—as one of our friends was—to let him resurface our driveway, in all likelihood he would use a mixture of fluid which might resemble asphalt, but actually would be oil which washed away in a hard rain. Another common ploy of dishonest Traveller (and other) roofers is to get a 50% deposit for roofing, then disappear.

I am not bashing Irish people. After all, I’m partly of Scot-Irish descent and love anything to do with Ireland!

I’m identifying a stereotype. I’m sure there are good people from this sub-ethnic group of Irish Travelers. As with many other groups, we only hear about the bad ones. (When's the last time you heard a feature news story about a happy Hollywood couple?) For a couple hundred years, Irish Travelers have been thought of as con men and their wives as beggars. In fact, some make a good living honestly while others live hand to mouth or steal.

They’re accused of “selling” their daughters at a young age to marry much older men. Is that true? I don’t know. I admit I've watched the tasteless TV show "My Big Fat Irish Wedding." What can I say? It's like a train wreck and I simply can't look away. 

Travelers have made national news because of their shoplifting rings. Are there honest Travelers? Of course there are, just as there are honest and dishonest people from any ethnic group.

In THE TEXAN’S IRISH BRIDE, the heroine and her family were among those turned off their land by an English landlord. Rather than starve, they joined a band of Irish Travelers. How did they end up trekking across the U.S. and in Texas?

Sure, now, and it's a lovely tale. I hope you’ll read the book to learn the answer. (Hint!)

Buy link: www.thewildrosepress.com/caroline-clemmons-m-638.html OR at Amazon and other online stores. Makes a great gift! (hint, hint, hint!)

ANY CAT LOVERS OUT THERE?

I thought so! And are your cats valued members of your family? Mine definitely are. As the staff for two cats, I’m pleased to present my review for a book of interest to all cat owners...or anyone who even contemplates adopting a feline companion. I highly recommend this book!

Darlene Arden’s THE COMPLETE CAT’S MEOW really is everything you need to know about your cat. Say you’ve had cats all your life and believe you know all about adopting and caring for a cat. Wanna bet?


For instance, did you know a group of cats is called a clowder? I didn’t. I also didn’t realize that not all vaccines are good or necessary. But which are which? Can your cat catch your cold or vice versa? Can you teach your cat not to scratch furniture? Darlene’s book answers all your questions in simple language and logical order.

THE COMPLETE CAT'S MEOW: EVERYTHING
YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT CARING FOR
YOUR CAT by Darlene Arden from Wiley Publishing

Miss Delilah
Sue Kitty

Here's a genuine recommendation and example from me. If I’d had Darlene’s book several years ago, I could have spotted problems and prolonged the life (with quality) of my late pet, Miss Delilah Sue Kitty. Delilah died of renal failure, which I would have spotted when it could have been treated if I’d had a copy of THE COMPLETE CAT’S MEOW. But Delilah was sixteen, and I simply thought she was old and had kitty dementia that made her forget where the litter box was. (Unfortunately, she chose the dining room carpet instead, and we still can’t get the smell out.) The vet told us renal failure is the number one killer of elderly cats.


Darlene covers every aspect of cat ownership from before a kitten is born to caring for the elderly cat. Those of us who already have cats realize that each has its own personality and needs. By reading this book, we can meet our pets needs to provide them high quality long lives.

Darlene and friends

Whoa! Don’t think Darlene Arden is some sweet little old gray-haired cat lady crocheting anitmacassars while she coos to her 17 cats. Not at all! She is sweet, but Darlene Arden’s passion for helping animals live longer and better lives shines through in all she does. Whether she’s writing books or articles, speaking to breed clubs and other animal-related groups, attending veterinary conferences to increase her own knowledge and as a presenter, or interacting with individual pet owners, her goal is always the same -- to enhance the lives of dogs and cats.

Darlene with Crysteena of Drgon,
Pekingese owned by Nancy Ross
Photo by Mary Bloom

This amazing woman is an award-winning writer, lecturer, and author of “The Irrepressible Toy Dog,” (Howell Book House”) and “The Angell Memorial Animal Hospital Book of Wellness and Preventive Care for Dogs (Contemporary Books), is an internationally recognized authority on Toy dogs and their care, and a Certified Animal Behavior Consultant.


Darlene has written hundreds of articles and columns for all of the major dog and cat publications, as well as newspapers and general interest publications. A former member of Dog Writers’ Association of America, Inc., and former director of the Cat Writers’ Association and a member of Boston Authors, Darlene is a recipient of numerous awards, including the Maxwell Award, the Muse Medallion, and the Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals/American Humane Education Society’s Media Award for veterinary writing and animal welfare. There are more awards I won't mention because I'm starting to feel like a total slacker.

Darlene makes friends with
an Affenpinscher puppy
Photo by Mary Bloom

She also writes celebrity profiles and travel features. In fact, Leslie Nielsen said, “Darlene is a fine writer, and a witty lass who caught my personality as only a true professional could."

She is a frequent guest on radio and television, and she produces and hosts her own cable television show, “Creatively Speaking". Darlene is a popular and much acclaimed speaker. You may contact her through her website at www.darlenearden.com. Her blog "PerPETually Speaking" is at http://perpetuallyspeaking.blogspot.com

You understand now how qualified Darlene Arden is to write THE COMPLETE CAT’S MEOW! Wouldn't this book make a great gift? The buy link at Amazon is:
http://www.amazon.com/Complete-Cats-Meow-Everything-Caring/dp/0470641673/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1323815447&sr=1-1

Darlene's Barnaby and Bruiser,
Best friends

 

Caroline at work assisted
by Bailey, the shy tabby.

 
 
Thanks for stopping by!

“Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a purpose.” – Garrison Keillor.

SANTA'S MAKING A LIST AND CHECKING IT TWICE

What’s on your Christmas list? Do you have or want an E-reader, or are you a die hard paper fan? Whichever you answer, I hope you have books on your list to give and as hints to receive. Let me tell you about one of my books I hope you’ll read and enjoy.


So far, the Kincaid series consists of THE MOST UNSUITABLE WIFE and THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND. Today, I want to tell you about the latter.

When I was thinking about the plot and naming characters, I wondered what to call this hero. He was a bit of a rascal, or thought he was, but he changes throughout the book. Talk about character arc! I was sitting in church one Sunday and the minister mentioned that Bartholomew and Nathaniel were the same person, but his name changed to show his life’s change when he became a Christian. Aha! Nathaniel Batholomew would be my hero’s name. But he uses a long string of aliases, one of which is Nate Barton, and that’s how he introduces himself to the heroine, Sarah Kincaid.

Sarah is the younger half-sister of the heroine in THE MOST UNSUITABLE WIFE. These are stand-alone books (authors always say that) but you will enjoy them far more if you read them in order. Sarah is a shy young woman very conscious of appearances and is going back to Texas from St. Louis and her mother's funeral. Due to her unfortunate childhood, she always acts with propriety. She needed a strong character arc too. What could possibly cause this proper young schoolteacher to interact with a man she suspects is up to no good? Nothing short of orphans who must be rescued from an evil man following them could effect the change. One snowy day in Memphis, Tennessee, Sarah finds three cold youngsters, one of whom is seriously ill. She enlists Nate to help her get the youngsters safely to her home. She also hires a lovely Irish woman, Fiona, to act as her companion for the rest of the trip.


Many readers have written to ask when the next Kincaid book will be published. In the future, book three is planned for Sarah’s brother Storm. I also plan a novella for Nate’s friend Michael “Monk” and Fiona’s daughter.  I love this family and the characters surrounding it, so you can be certain I’ll be publishing more books about the Kincaid family and friends in the near future!

Cover design by my Hero husband,
who is certain everyone knows
the Jack is also called the Knave
and that a knave is a rogue

Here’s an excerpt from THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND:

That man in black--he'd introduced himself as Nathaniel Barton--had been at the cemetery. He was always around on the boat, too, and now he was here in their hotel in Memphis. He trailed behind her as if he hadn't a care in the world. Surely it was coincidence. Lots of people traveled from St. Louis to Memphis every day.


The porter stopped in front of a room and opened the door. He stood back for her to enter, but not before she saw Mr. Barton at the next door. He even glanced her way and smiled as he nodded his head in greeting.


My stars, he's staying in the very next room to mine.


What kind of hotel would allow a single man on the same floor as a single woman? She fought down panic as she dealt with the porter, then locked the door behind him and slid the bolt. Alone in her room, her imagination ran its course as she paced. Had she strayed into a den of iniquity?


No, that couldn't be. Mrs. Welborn assured her this was a family hotel suitable for a young woman. After all, the Welborns registered here, too. How did Mr. Barton come to be in the very room next to her? It wasn't proper. What would people think? What would they say?


She caught herself. The Welborns were the only people here she knew, and she hardly cared what they thought other than their reports back to the Vermillions and Aunt Lily. Even they could hardly blame her for the hotel's room assignments.


This Mr. Barton could not mean her harm. There'd been ample opportunity on the paddle wheeler had he intended to hurt her. They'd never had a conversation on a personal level. His comments had centered on the trip and the weather, not a hint of anything improper and always with others nearby. Perhaps his constant presence was a coincidence. Just the same, he made her nervous. She felt like a rabbit waiting for the wolf to pounce whenever Mr. Barton was near.


In the midst of her concern, she admitted his presence offered reassurance to her that she was protected from others. Surely he would rush to her aid if she needed assistance. Her instincts proved right regarding Mr. Welborn. Perhaps she should rely on intuition in this instance. She wished she were more decisive, not a victim of warring emotions.


She raised her skirt and checked the little double-shot derringer given her by her brother, Storm. Best to be prepared. The little gun still rested securely in its garter holster on her thigh. Storm had insisted she practice until she was a fair shot. Would she have the courage to use the weapon against a human? She doubted it, but its weight reassured her.


Sarah spied the door connecting her room with the one in which Mr. Barton resided. Rushing to check the lock, she stopped. She must not let him know she suspected him of following her. Very slowly she turned the knob of the connecting door. Locked. She released a heavy sigh.


Curiosity nudged her. Kneeling, she peered through the keyhole. The opening framed him as he pulled a fresh shirt from an open valise on the bed. Shucking his jacket and waistcoat, he took a pistol from his waistband and placed it on the bed beside the satchel. He unbuttoned his shirt.


She knew she should move away but couldn't. Oh, my stars! He might dress like a riverboat dandy, but this gorgeous man was no weakling. Trouser fabric pulled taut against trim hip muscles when he turned and bent over the things on the bed.


Her mouth went dry as a Texas dust storm. She watched him turn back to face her. He removed his shirt and tossed it behind him on the bed. Then she saw the bandage across his shoulder and another at his waist. She wondered which side of the law he was on when he got those, but thought she knew. The wrong side, of course.


He picked up a fresh shirt and she caught the ripple of muscles across his chest as he slipped the shirt on. His movements were swift and powerful, not the sluggish ambling she had witnessed in public.


Occasionally in summer she had caught glimpses of her brother, her brother-in-law, and the hands at the ranch with their shirts off. Unlike their tanned torsos, Mr. Barton's pale skin made her fingers tingle to touch the brown chest hair that converged in a vee at his belt. She wondered how far below his waist the pelt descended. A pool of warmth gathered at the base of her stomach.


My stars, what disgraceful thoughts.


Where did they come from? They weren’t proper. No, not at all suitable. Being away from home must be having a poor effect on her.


Never before had such scandalous ideas entered her head about any man. She didn’t have these thoughts about Peter Dorfmeyer, and everyone expected her to marry Peter. Mr. Barton was the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but she must get her wayward thoughts under control.


Buttoning his shirt, Mr. Barton stepped from her view. When he returned and glared at the keyhole, she froze. Surely he couldn't know she watched him. She sank further to the floor and sat with her back against the door.


Sarah pressed her hands to heated cheeks, shocked at her own behavior. She was no better than a window peeper. What on earth had come over her?


A sudden thought assailed her. What if he planned to look through the keyhole as she had? Taking a hanky from her cuff, she draped it over the doorknob so it hung across the tiny opening. No, that wouldn’t do. It kept sliding off. She rose and opened her traveling bag and took out a shirtwaist. Hanging it on the knob, she stepped back. Perfect. It looked as if she used the handle for a hook.


She crossed to the vanity. Not taking time to change from her traveling suit into a dress, she contented herself with pushing stray hair back into her chignon and grabbing her shawl. With any luck, she could purchase her train ticket while her neighbor had his dinner.


Sarah walked briskly to the train station. A line greeted her at the ticket window. Oh, well, she loved watching people, so she wouldn't mind the wait. Taking her place in the row, she surveyed the other prospective passengers wandering to and fro. She studied the clothes of other women, compared them to her own black clothing. In her head she made up stories of who they were and where they might be headed.


A young boy bumped with a wham into the man in front of her. The child's hand darted into the man's pocket and out with a flash and secured the lifted wallet under his shirt. Probably no more than seven or eight, the lad wore the dirtiest clothes Sarah had ever seen. His hair might have been blond at one time, but it and his skin had gone a long time without touching soap and water.


"Oh, excuse me, sir." The boy's large blue eyes were the picture of innocence when he gazed up at the man.


Sarah gasped. What should she do? She couldn't bring herself to cause a scene by screaming, but neither could she stand by and let the child rob this man.


"Steady, you little ragamuffin.” The victim placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Slow down and see you're more careful next time.”


"Yes, sir, sorry. I will, sir.” The boy moved swiftly away into the crowd.


Sarah took off after the little thief. He looked over his shoulder and she motioned to him. His eyes widened in alarm and he ran. She gathered her skirts and rushed after him, weaving around groups of people.


When she had almost caught up with the light-fingered boy, she thudded against a solid wall of chest.


Mr. Barton grunted and clutched Sarah's shoulders, then dropped his hands and made a slight bow. "Why, I believe it's Miss Kincaid, is it not? Are you in some sort of distress?"


"No, it was nothing.” She peered over his shoulder but the thief was nowhere in sight. "I thought I saw someone I knew, but I was mistaken.” She felt her cheeks flush again with guilt. Their collision must have jarred his injured chest, but she couldn't ask him about it. How could she explain that knowledge?


"Your traveling companions--Welwoods or Welworths--are they with you?"


"No. The Welborns were tired and planned to have dinner sent to their room.” She thanked heavens for that. Eating with the odious Mr. Welborn soured her stomach. But now this man who, for all appearances, followed her everywhere had neatly trapped her. A shiver of apprehension skittered down her spine, but she stood mesmerized by his tawny eyes.


As if he sensed her fear, he offered a crooked smile and proffered his` arm. "May I escort you back to the hotel?"


"I was..." she stopped. Her nerves jangled with alarm, but she strove to appear calm. She preferred buying her ticket in private. If he hadn't yet learned where she headed, she didn't want him to know her exact destination. "That would be very kind, um, Mr. Barton.”


"Bit cool this evening, isn't it?"


My stars, didn't the man ever talk about anything but the weather? Maybe he was one of those gorgeous physical specimens with the brain of a rock.


She sighed and answered, "Yes, there's a chill in the air. I suppose we're in for more winter.”


What should she do? Panic turned her stomach in knots. She should send him on his way, but didn't know what to say or do. Hating herself for her timidity, she once more flowed with the easiest course and allowed herself to be escorted back to the hotel.


Buy links for THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND are:

Amazon


http://www.amazon.com/MOST-UNSUITABLE-HUSBAND-Kincaids-ebook/dp/B004M8T1D8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1323636066&sr=1-1

Smashwords
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/37792?ref=CarolineClemmons


Reviews for THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND include a 4 1/2 star Top Pick from Romantic Times Magazine. This book was also a finalist in the National Readers Choice competition but came in a fraction behind the winner. But it’s impossible to please everyone. Two people have left very mean-spirited reviews on Amazon. If you read this book and enjoy it, would you please leave a review on Amazon?

Thanks for stopping by!

BETH TRISSEL SHARES HER FAMILY'S HOME

Beth Trissel and friends

Please welcome my friend Beth Trissel, a lovely person as well as a wonderful author. Beth shares with us the story behind her latest release, SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING. Here's Beth:

                      THE STORY BEHIND
               MY CHRISTMAS ROMANCE
 SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING is book three in my ‘Somewhere’ series with a Christmas theme. The common thread in the series is that the story opens in one place, so far an old Virginia home, and then transports the reader ‘Somewhere else,’ either back in time in the same house as in SOMEWHERE MY LOVE, or another place entirely, such as the Scottish Highlands in SOMEWHERE MY LASS. *Fans of that story and the quirky secondary character Fergus will be glad to know I’m at work on the sequel.

 Back to my latest release, SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING. Set in the old Virginia home place where my father grew up, a beautiful plantation home from the early 19th century, the story opens in 1968 during the tumultuous age of hippies, Vietnam, and some of the best darn rock music ever written. That nostalgic era beckoned to me (clamored) as did an earlier one, 1918 and the end of World War One. Not in the way of battle scenes, but in the form of a wounded soldier recently returned from war-weary France who lives in the house.

I’ve seen the early 20th century family photos and often pondered that bygone age, gracious in many ways apart from the war(s). Having a Marine Corps Captain grandfather who distinguished himself during the thick of the fighting in France during The Great War and then tragically died when my father was only three influenced this story–dedicated to the grandfather I never knew, but grieved all the same.


But the biggest influence was the poignant dream I had years ago about a young woman visiting this house during the Christmas holidays and the mysterious gentleman she met. His profound sadness made a deep impression on me, as did the gentleman himself, and the young lady who reached out to him. That dream nagged at me every Christmas until I finally wrote their story. I can let it go now. If you enjoy an intriguing mystery with Gothic overtones and heart-tugging romance set in vintage America then SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING is for you.



Family home which inspired
SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING

 Blurb: Caught with pot in her dorm room, Bailey Randolph is exiled to a relative's ancestral home in Virginia to straighten herself out. Banishment to Maple Hill is dismal, until a ghost appears requesting her help. Bailey is frightened but intrigued. Then her girlhood crush, Eric Burke, arrives and suddenly Maple Hill isn't so bad.

Eric Burke

To Eric, wounded in Vietnam, his military career shattered, this homecoming feels no less like exile. But when he finds Bailey at Maple Hill, her fairy-like beauty gives him reason to hope--until she tells him about the ghost haunting the house. Then he wonders if her one experiment with pot has made her crazy.

As Bailey and Eric draw closer, he agrees to help her find a long-forgotten Christmas gift the ghost wants. But will the magic of Christmas be enough to make Eric believe--in Bailey and the ghost--before the Christmas bells ring?~


***Available in various eBook formats from The Wild Rose Press, Amazon Kindle, All Romance Ebooks, Barnes & Noble’s Nookbook and other online booksellers.

Beth, thank you for sharing with us. You know I'm one of those fans waiting for Fergus' book - but then, I love all your books. I definitely enjoyed SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING!

Readers, thanks for stopping by!

TRACEY CRAMER-KELLY AND A GIVEAWAY

Please welcome Tracey Cramer-Kelly, author of TRUE SURRENDER. Tracey will be giving away a Fallen Soldier tee-shirt in red (size TBD) to oe lucky commenter on her blog tour.

Caroline: Where did you grow up? Siblings? Locale?


Tracey: I grew up in White Bear Lake, MN, a sterotypical suburban middle-class neighborhood, with tons of other kids I ran around with (mostly outdoors) all day long. I have three younger siblings that I got to babysit after my parents divorced when I was 12. I eventually ended up with two MORE half-siblings.

Caroline: My half-siblings were older than me. Were you considered a “bookworm” or a jock?

Tracey: I was pretty nerdy in high school. Luckily I was also into singing, and that got me on stage (and my first serious boyfriend). The summer after high school I went to Army Basic Training, and started college that fall on crutches. Once I hit college I shed the shyness and had my share of dates. Even though I swore then that I’d never marry and DEFINITELY not have kids… I have now been married for 17 years and have two children! My son is 8 and my daughter is 4.

Caroline: We have the right to change our minds. Who are your favorite authors and favorite genres?


Tracey: Nicolas Sparks, Kristin Hannah … I like books with complex, more adult characters. And, of course, I’m drawn to characters in the medical and emergency services fields, or with jobs like search-and-rescue.


Caroline: How many books do you read a month? What are you reading now?


Tracey: I probably average only two books a month right now. It seems I can’t write heavily while I’m engrossed in a good book (and I don’t even finish the bad ones). On my stand now: A SOFT PLACE TO FALL (military characters!) and SALVATION RUN (biker novel).


Caroline: What’s your favorite way to relax and recharge? Hobbies?


Tracey: The best stress reliever for me is getting on my motorcycle. Unfortunately, that’s only an option about half the year here in Minnesota. I also play taiko drums, which is very physical and a great team activity.


Caroline: I don’t think I’ve ever “met” anyone else who plays taiko drums. How interesting. Do you have a favorite quote that sums up how you feel about life?


Tracey: I have one about writing: “Great imaginations are apt to work from hints and suggestions, and a single moment of emotion is sometimes sufficient to create a masterpiece.” – Margaret Sackville


Caroline: Great quote. How long have you been writing?

Tracey: In an earlier career, I was an editor of an obscure little magazine in the upholstery industry. The writing wasn’t very creative, but it was good practice. I would often write scenes and outlines when the muse hit, but I only seriously started writing about six years ago.


Caroline: Where do you prefer to write? Do you need quiet, music, solitude? PC or laptop?


Tracey: I do my best work when it’s quiet and I have NO interruptions. I usually write at night (9-11ish) after my children are in bed. I generally park on my couch in the sunroom (in warmer weather) or my living room, laptop in lap. But sometimes I need a change of scenery to get re- inspired. In that case, a stolen hour or two at a coffee shop (or Panera, where I’m addicted to the mango smoothie) is just the ticket (if I can swing it).

Caroline: I love Panera’s cinnamon crunch bagels with hazelnut cream cheese. Fortunately, we live almost an hour from them so I can't indulge my taste for them very often. Are you a plotter or a panzer?


Tracey: A little of both. I do better if I take time up front to flesh out the characters before I start writing, but if I’ve been inspired, I’m off and writing before I’ve got a full ‘picture’ of a particular character in my head.


And writing the story often comes down to just putting my butt in the chair. I often find it more enjoyable to just daydream and fantasize about the story and the characters … getting it onto the computer screen is much more difficult!

Caroline: Do you use real events or persons in your stories or as an inspiration for stories? Have you or family members served in the military?


Tracey: I spent five years in the National Guard as a paramedic, and that figures prominently in my writing (especially so in TRUE SURRENDER!). Because of my hobbies and my military background, I’ve had the fortune of meeting, working and playing with some very interesting people! I think everything I write is affected by what I’ve experienced. Yes, there’s a healthy dose of imagination and plenty of creative license, but a seed has to be sown somewhere, and for me it is often a ‘human’ interchange.


Caroline: How true. We are the sum of our experiences. Do you set daily writing goals? Word count? Number of chapters? Do you get a chance to write every day?

Tracey: Unfortunately, I do not get to write every day. My real job (the one that pays the bills) is running the business my husband and I own, Leader Motorcycle, and it’s very busy in spring and summer. I’ve tried setting word count goals, but find that it frustrates me more than motivates me. I prefer to focus on what I CAN and HAVE accomplished instead.


Caroline: Very healthy attitude. What do you hope your writing brings to readers?

Tracey: It may sound hokey, but I hope that my characters move the reader or touch them in some way. Perhaps they will see parts of someone they know in my characters.

Caroline: Not hokey to me--that’s what I hope too. What long-term plans do you have for your career?


Tracey: I am interested in the fusion of writing, music (I am a vocalist) and visual imagery. In fact, with the launch of TRUE SURRENDER, I also introduced my first full-length video, titled "The Rose (Surrender Version)." It's my own arrangement of Bette Midler's classic, but with a more upbeat rhythm and a bluesy feel. It contains scenes from TRUE SURRENDER enacted by actors (who did a phenomenal job). I loved this entire process and I’d like to do more of this type of project.

For more details about The Making of a Music Video, check out my blog posts http://www.traceycramerkelly.com/blog/.

To watch the video: http://youtu.be/7Urqfs6Oqms
The song is available for download on CDBaby.com and iTunes, and with some luck the video will soon be as well.

I’d also love to see one of my novels as a movie. Heck, if you’re going to dream, you might as well dream big, right?!


Caroline: Right! But it sounds as if you are translating your dreams into reality. Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?


Tracey: I think there is another novel working its way through my subconscious. I also have a couple of erotica short stories I may actually finish. I'm even exploring how taiko drumming might be fused with writing and visual imagery.


Caroline: What advice would you give to unpublished authors?


Tracey: Forget about writing what you know (that would be so boring for most of us!), but do your homework to make it as real as possible. Don’t write for a particular goal or market; write what makes your heart sing.


Caroline: Tell us about your latest release.


Tracey: Here’s the Blurb:


When Major Aaron Bricewick is rescued from Afghanistan terrorists, he thinks the worst is over. But his personal journey is just beginning...


The first surprise is the amputation of one of his legs. The second is the woman he left behind, now a widow with a 4-year-old son - and his new prosthetist (artificial limb maker).


He vows that losing his leg won't derail his career. But maintaining his outward appearance as a got-it-together officer becomes increasingly difficult as he faces one personal demon after another - and sees his career aspirations slipping away. And though he has no intention of expanding his life to include a woman, his heart has other ideas - and he finds himself questioning the very foundation of his personal beliefs.


When violence - and unexpected redemption - touch his life again, Aaron must make a stand. Which will he choose: duty or love?

Tracey: And here’s the Excerpt:

His bed was empty.


Impossible, she thought.


And then she saw him: motionless on the floor, a dark stain spreading underneath his body. A stain that she recognized instantly.


Blood.


Oh my God, the terrorists found him!

This first irrational thought was immediately followed by a more trained response. She assessed the situation in the few moments it took her to cross the room. She hit the button on the intercom system, identified herself and requested help.



She dropped to her knees next to Aaron. She spoke as she ran her hands across the back of his neck. “Aaron! Can you hear me?” As soon as she was certain he had no neck or spinal injury, she shook him gently. “Aaron, it’s Holly. Talk to me, Aaron.”


His arms snapped up, flailing for a moment before his good hand clamped onto her wrist—hard. His eyes were wide open, and in them she saw terror…confusion… pain…


They engaged in a macabre tug-of war as Holly stated repeatedly, “Aaron, it’s me—Holly. You’re okay. Take it easy.”


After what seemed like a long time, she saw recognition seep into his eyes. But then he shut them tight, and his body went limp. He released her wrists and dropped his hands over his face. “Go away,” he whispered, his chest heaving.


“I can’t do that, Aaron.”


“You shouldn’t see me,” he said. “Not like this.”


Unexpected tears stung her eyes.


“This isn’t who I am,” he rasped.


“You asked me to leave once already,” she said. “And I honored that request. Maybe I shouldn’t have. So please…”


She locked her eyes onto his, which were open again. Surely he could see that she was close to tears, but she didn’t care. “Don’t ask me to walk away again.”


Caroline: What a touching excerpt. Where can readers find your books?


Tracey:
http://www.traceycramerkelly.com/store
or amazon (print and Kindle)
or smashwords (or mobile apps)


Caroline: How can readers learn more about you? 


Tracey:
Web site: http://www.TraceyCramerKelly.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/TraceyCramerKelly
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/TraceyCramerKel

Caroline: Thank you for sharing with us today, Tracey. And, readers, remember to leave your comment to be entered for Tracey's giveaway Fallen Soldier tee shirt.

Please return on Friday, December 9th, to visit with my friend, Beth Trissel.
 
Thanks for stopping by.

TERRY SPEAR TAKES A GHOST OF A CHANCE

Woohoo, folks! Terry has just added a giveaway to her post--a free book. She'll send a U.S. resident a print book, or will send a non-U.S. resident a download of A GHOST OF A CHANCE AT LOVE. Now, here's Terry:

                           By Terry Spear

An excerpt from A GHOST OF A CHANCE AT LOVE…


A glimmer of early morning light shimmered through the separation in the burgundy velvet curtains hanging loosely over the window. Shadows flitted across the papered wall in a choreographed dance. Not wanting to rise without turning on some heat, Lisa finally gave up and grabbed her blouse at the end of the bed then hurriedly put it on. She buttoned the pearls of her lace-trimmed sleeves and slid off the goose-down mattress. After groping around for her skirt, she finally felt the denim and pulled it on. Feeling slightly warmer, she reached over to turn on the lamp but couldn’t find it. She slid off the bed and made her way to the door, trying not to stumble over anything in the dark.


Her vision blurred, and her head swam as if a heavy dose of vertigo suddenly infected her. Stumbling back to the bed, she collapsed.


“Why am I so dizzy?” Trying to still the pounding sensation, she massaged her temple.


The last time she’d felt this lightheaded, she’d had heat exhaustion, hiking with Tom in Palo Duro Canyon out west without enough water to chase away dehydration on a hot summer day.


A sickening thought occurred to her—what if she was pregnant? She’d made the horrible mistake of having sex with Tom right before the separation. Before she knew he was having an affair and planned to leave her. As irregular as her blasted periods were, she could never be sure.


Not wanting to deal with that scenario, she quickly dismissed the notion.


She lay back down to settle the turmoil in her head and stomach when a hazy light appeared, wavering in the corner of the room. For a second, the dimly lit figure lingered then vanished.


Groaning, Lisa closed her eyes and rubbed them. “Now, I’m seeing things.”


Turning on her side, she saw pale sunlight peeking through the edges of the curtains. She slipped off the bed, went to the window, and pulled the heavy drapes aside. The leaded, opaque glass distorted the view. Admiring the beveling she ran her finger over the old-time panels. They reminded her of the ones in her mother’s sunroom when she was little. A hint of rose wafted to her as if she was in her mother’s garden again. A pang of regret washed over her. She’d wished her parents had lived to see her marry. Now she was almost glad they didn’t have to see her marriage dissolve in disgrace.


Lisa shoved the window open and took a deep breath of the cool fresh breeze.


Turning her attention to the bedside tables, she noted the lamp sat on the one farthest from where she’d been sleeping, until she’d snuggled with the stranger. She walked around the bed and studied the shiny lantern mirroring her disheveled reflection. When she touched the amber glass, the heat burned the tips of her fingers, and she jerked her hand back.


An oil lamp? She could have sworn she turned on an electric lamp last night. She didn’t have any matches to light an oil lamp. Unless the cowboy had lit it while she was dead to the world. But it had to have been hours since then. So why was it still hot?


Another question came to mind. Did the guy come in after she was asleep? She couldn’t even remember having gone to bed, let alone much of anything else.


She fingered the necklace hanging about her neck, the deep purple stone shimmering in the sunlight.


Her stomach grumbled. She sighed. It was definitely time to indulge herself in a day spent shopping at the quaint little gift shops, but first things first.


Glancing around the room, she looked for her tapestry bag. Where in the world was it? She was sure she had set it on the floor next to the bed.


Her gaze shifted. No bathroom? She’d never stayed overnight here before. After this, she’d never stay here again. She wasn’t into roughing it. When she didn’t see her bag anywhere, she peered under the bed’s Battenburg lace dust ruffle. No bag, but a copper pot sat near the edge of the bed and, fluttering beyond her reach, a piece of paper beckoned to her.


Curiosity got the best of her. Standing, she looked for something long enough to pull the paper toward her. She spied a cane leaning in the corner of the room, partially obscured by a high-backed, winged chair where the strange light had appeared.


If the previous guest had left it behind, wouldn’t he or she have missed it before this?


She crossed the room to the cane and examined the hand-carved ivory handle shaped in the form of a swan’s head. Maybe it was part of the nineteenth century look of the room. She returned to the bed, stretched the cane out to the paper, and snagged the floral note.


Dated October 26, 1870, a woman’s delicate lacy letters were written on what looked like brand new parchment.


Dearest Bill,


Aunt Polly has brought me here away from the prying eyes of the rest of the family since I have been very ill of late. She has seen to my needs for several days, but she has not come in the last twenty-four hours, and I fear will not return. Although I felt I was recovering, I have been too weak to leave my bed. None of the hotel staff have come near the room. If I do not make it, my darling, know I loved you with all my heart. If not in this lifetime, we will surely be together in the next. Our love for one another can never die.


Yours eternally, Josephine.

And that was the beginning of all the trouble. Well, except she had nightmares about men trying to kill her and found a sexy…naked…cowboy in her hotel bed. And the messy divorce before that. And…well, as you can see, poor Lisa is really having a time of it. When all she wanted was to get away from it all.


Which she did…a long, long ways away from it all.

One of the things I queried about when I was researching the story—did this Stagecoach Inn [Salado, Texas] have an indoor community restroom during this period of time? No, it would have been an outhouse outside. So that’s another thing Lisa learns right away.


One of the places that Lisa goes to in the story is Table Rock, which was a lover’s tryst and had multiple names etched into the rock of lovers past. It’s fun finding true instances for a setting to add to a story. Like the fact that cattle did muddy the water source for the town of Salado as they were herded across Salado Creek until they built a bridge. And outlaws and others hid in caves in the local area. And that other caves were used for cold food storage before refrigeration was available. Even the photographer in the story in Waco was a real photographer back during this period of time. I love research and adding what I learn to a story.


Sometimes while doing research, I learn that I can’t use a scene I intended, like in DREAMING OF THE WOLF, I set it in Breckenridge, Colorado, and wanted a drive-in movie scene, but it would have been too far away to travel to. So sometimes setting a story in a real place, can limit our fictional scenes and the way we want to write them. But oftentimes, I find that when I’m thwarted, I can find something else that will work just as well.


Why werewolves then a time travel western ghostly romance? In HEART OF THE WOLF, it actually began back in the old west where the heroine, a red wolf was rescued by a gray wolf and raised by their pack. And in DESTINY OF THE WOLF, the town is an old silver mining town started by werewolves in the old days. They live long lives, so it’s fun for me to explore some of the historical past with the contemporary characters. In that story, they actually have a Victorian Day where they wear clothes of that era, even though some own the real old world fashions. It was fun viewing this from a werewolf’s point of view. All those clothes to get out of when they had to shift in a hurry!


And in HEART OF THE HIGHLAND WOLF, I actually included a ghost, because what self-respecting Scottish castle can’t lay claim to one?


So it only seemed reasonable that these manifested from my love of the old west and ghostly tales. I wrote this one way before I wrote my werewolf stories, you see! :)

Back to the past…and a tale of ghostly proportions—where the only wolves were the fully wolf kind—if you woke up in the Salado Inn with a naked cowboy in the past, what would you do?

Buy Links:
Vinspire Publishing: http://www.vrpublishing.com/vinspirepublishing.com/author_pages/terry_spear.html
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Chance-Love-ebook/dp/B005LHO9U4/ref=sr_1_27?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1322706323&sr=1-27Terry Spear


“Giving new meaning to the term alpha male where fantasy IS reality.”

www.facebook.com/terry.spear
www.terryspear.com
www.myspace.com/terryspear
http://terry-spear.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/#!/TerrySpear

ABOUT TERRY SPEAR

Terry Spear, author

Award-winning author Terry Spear is the author of urban fantasy romances and medieval Highland romances. She received Publishers Weekly's Best Book of the Year in 2008 for HEART OF THE WOLF. A retired officer of the U.S. Army Reserves, Terry is a librarian by day. She lives in Crawford, Texas.

Don't you long to read Terry's A GHOST OF A CHANCE AT LOVE? I've ordered it, but I'm behind on my reading. I'll treat myself to it this week, because I just can't wait much longer to dive into the story. I love visiting Salado, so it will be fun to see some of the historic sites used in her book.

Join me Wednesday for a look at Tracy Cramer-Kelly's TRUE SURRENDER. Thanks for stopping by!

TANYA HANSON FINDS HER PERSONAL GPS

My guest today is award-winning author Tanya Hanson. Tanya has offered a free pdf download of  RIGHT TO BRAGG, her latest release, to one lucky person who comments this weekend. Don't you love free books?

                        FINDING MY WAY
                          by Tanya Hanson

Sometimes I get lost. If I can’t gauge my direction by a set of mountains, I’m really in trouble. Where I live in central California, there’s a mountain range within view, so I’m pretty safe here around home. Fortunately, in this day of GPS and smartphones, I’m a little less leery of venturing out into a strange place. I can always find my way around due to cyberspace.

But I’m also lost plenty of other times. I won’t deny it. In recent days, I’ve been in a place both personally and professionally where God seems far away. I’m floundering like a newborn puppy in a mud pond. What will help me find my way?

Nativity Scene photo from Freephoto.com

My personal GPS --His truth, His way, His Book. His birth. I know it for a fact. This is the season where faith becomes fact. Jesus came to earth as a man so as to know what it’s like to be a struggling human. I can’t thank Him enough for the sacrifice.

When I started my latest release RIGHT TO BRAGG, the fourth in my Hearts Crossing Ranch series, I knew from the synopsis I’d sold that the heroine Tiffany was a woman alone, abandoned, trying to find her way. Cowboy Bragg Martin uses his own faith to help guide her…even as he struggles with guilt of his own. Somehow, as the story took off, the setting ended up being Christmastime. The time of hope and healing, reunion and peace.

BLURB:
Disowned by her family, Tiffany Vickers faces a lonely Christmas and takes great comfort in the baby boy in her care. Her faith in tatters, she guards her heart against the baby's uncle, handsome cowboy Bragg Martin, a man with baggage of his own. While Bragg longs to open his heart and family to the lovely nanny, he doesn't understand her interest in his arch enemy. Saving a man's life and saving Tiffany's faith bring the couple together…and home to Hearts Crossing Ranch.

These Colorado mountains are Tanya's vision
for her Hearts Crossing Ranch series

EXCERPT:
Tiffany got up for another cup of coffee, Matty’s eyes watching her every move.


“He sure notices you,” Bragg remarked as the baby drained the bottle.


“Yeah. We bonded right off. I’m so glad about it.” As she’d made a snap decision just then, she rushed on. “I left behind my precious nephew. I guess in my psyche somewhere I figured maybe nanny to Matty might help ease that hole in my heart.” Gently she rubbed her hand over Matty’s head, the edge of her hand tugging at Bragg’s shirt and causing a funny havoc. Mostly though he listened to her pain.


She sank back down into a kitchen chair, resting her cheek in her hand. “I was with Connor from the moment he was born. Paul and Diana wanted me there. Then things went haywire. It was my fault. You talk about forgiveness, but there isn’t any in this case. And I miss that little boy. Oh, I miss him so. I need him. His love was unconditional, you know. He’s three now. I can’t let him forget me.”


Bragg’s heart tugged at the agony on her face, and Matty’s little hand flailed. Tiffany took it at once. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”


“I’ve been disowned, so, yeah, Bragg. It’s that bad.”

Video

Buy link: http://www.pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/right-to-bragg

Tanya Hanson

Award-winning author Tanya Hanson is a California beach girl who loves her cowboys. A former high school English teacher, she loves traveling with her firefighter hubby when she’s not writing. In fact, her eight-book Hearts Crossing Ranch series was inspired by a city slicker wagon train trip the two took around the Tetons a year ago. Last month, the two returned from a fantastic tour of the East Coast just in time to welcome their daughter’s first child, their second grandson. Their son’s little boy stole Tanya’s heart upon his arrival four years ago. God is good.


www.tanyahanson.com
www.petticoatsandpistols.com
http://sweetheartsofthewest.blogspot.com

Thanks to Tanya for sharing her sense of direction and her latest release with us! Go to Tanya's website to learn more about her and her other books in the Hearts Crossing series and other series she's written, including historical western.

Please return Monday for a visit from author Terry Spear. Thanks for stopping by!

I hope you enjoy Tiffany’s falling both in faith and love during a picture-perfect Christmas on that fictional little ranch, Hearts Crossing, where everybody love to come home.