It's Still Summer and the Romances are HOT

Speaking of hot romances and summertime, let me welcome sister TWRP romance novelist, Nancy Jardine. Are you having a hot summer, Nancy?

Summer time?  We Scots are likely to say – please explain that term; I don’t know what you mean.

It’s the 10th of August, and it’s supposed to be our summer time here in Scotland. Have you heard of that phenomenon when there’s lots of lovely sunshine? Warmer temperatures when we can remove the heavy fleeces, and don the shorts and T-shirts? The occasional squirt of sun screen needed-maybe factor 10 will do because it isn’t very hot? Oh, I know, you’ll think that has to be a joke. Wait till you visit my country, because lovely as it undoubtedly is, sun screen isn’t bought in bulk hereabouts. And we can easily experience all four seasons in one day.

We do get a lot of rain, but the opposite side of that particular coin is I’m thankful not to have a problem with water supplies. Apologies, here, because some of you might live in Tornado country, or are close to horrendous out-of-control fires, or your landscape is parched dry. During 2012, we’ve already seen weather patterns-across the globe-which have been variations to the norm. In places where extreme conditions are not expected something devastating has occurred-drought parched land becomes a flooded quagmire bringing havoc and despair to the people who inhabit the areas. Controlling worldwide weather isn’t within man’s capabilities, yet.

Talking about weather may seem too mundane, but it can furnish a good scenario for action scenes in a novel. In my recent release, TAKE ME NOW, Aela and Nairn find themselves at the mercy of the weather a few times. Why is that a problem for them, and how do they overcome it? Since the story is largely based in a castle, on an island off the west coast of Scotland, weather conditions are pretty important for them. They have to get to the mainland, and there are only two ways to do that. Number one is to sail, and number two is to fly.

Either method presents problems when the weather is rough. You might well question why they set off in rough weather? It’s a very good question, but if you hung around in Scotland for a very good day you might have a long wait…though, the weather forecasters can give much better predictions nowadays, which sometimes gives you a ‘weather window’ to work in. But then, again, you might set off when the going is favourable and find that something unexpected delays your progress. This happens to Nairn and Aela as they fly above Loch Long.

I’ve gone through a couple of pretty bad storms over the European Alps in a British Airways Boeing Airbus (something like the 321-200 type) which can seat around 180 people. The high turbulence was, at first exciting, even thrilling in a roller coaster sort of way, but when the cabin lights started to flash off and on, and the jouncing around opened overhead lockers, setting debris to fly around inside the cabin…that’s when it got a little bit scarier. Not to mention the smell of fear that seemed to permeate the plane, though the passengers were eerily quite. No-one was in any way loudly vocal about the buffeting conditions, but the indrawn breaths were not as quiet as people intended them to be. The fierce lightening storm-jagged forks of bluish white in a lowering purplish darkened sky-outside the tiny window wasn’t so welcome either, as we flew over mountain tops, the pilot having dropped altitude to prepare for landing. Yet, in that larger plane, there was a much greater element of cocooning in the cabin. I’m very glad, though, that I wasn’t sitting next to the pilot in the cockpit while the controls were being adjusted constantly, viewing what was ahead, and all around the plane in a more panoramic view.

I’m not sure I’d want to be flying around in similar really rough weather in a tiny floatplane-as Aela and Nairn do in take me now. When I wrote the scene, in my mind, I revisited my own experience of flying in cloudy weather during my seaplane trip, though it wasn’t raining then, and was only marginally, and intermittently, windy. . Even in reasonable weather it feels as though all you need to do is reach down to touch the trees tops, or the top of the hillsides you’re flying over. Every noise, inside and out, is heard more acutely. The ground dipping up to meet you in severe turbulence would make memorable moments. To my own seaplane experience I added incidents of being in a small boat in rough conditions, in the same area they were travelling over, and merged the two in my imagination.

It’s early July in Scotland. Nairn’s already injured, and in some degree of pain, before he sets off on what becomes a hazardous flight, but his competent assistant, Aela, transports him with superb skill. Here’s how she saves the day:

 With incredible skill Aela landed on the far side of the island in heaving waters so high at times the waves sloshed over the wings, breakers he wasn’t convinced he’d tackle himself. Although only late afternoon the summer sky was so slate-dark it was like night; the angry grey-caps surging up and around them, their height dangerously close to submerging them. The rain battered the glass windshield, a momentary blocking of the way ahead till the wipers did their job.

“Brace again, Nairn!” she yelled over the horrendous noise. “This isn’t going to be smooth.” Her words were no sooner uttered than the floatplane lurched, a dangerous list in the high winds. “No worries, Nairn! I’ve got it under control!”

How Aela managed to keep it steady he hadn’t a clue, but it would have been beyond his own experience. The craft vibrated, a violent and relentless buffeting, as she taxied around the headland to Mariskay harbor. The storm lamented, the rain bombarding them with even more force from that direction. Having radioed ahead the automatic roller doors of the boatyard opened for them as Aela made the harbor entrance where she bumpily-bounced the little plane up the slip and inside out of the weather.

“You still with me, Nairn?” Aela grinned. He knew her adrenaline was pumping wild around her-for his was no different.

His smile was weak, his pain-wracked body having given in to the relief they were home. Not dry by any means…but home. And Aela was safe. “Jeeze! That beat the hell out of a boring ride, Aela.”

Thank you for allowing me to bring you some Scottish summer weather today, Lilly. I hope you’ve enjoyed it, but haven’t been put off learning about my part of the world.

**My-TAKE ME NOW-Tour Contest** 
To celebrate the launch of Take Me Now I’ll be giving away 2 e copies of Take Me Now, 2 e copies of Monogamy Twist, and 4 goodie bags of Scottish Castle Gift Cards and Tags to some lucky winners. At each tour stop I’ll be asking a different question. To be entered into the draw find the answer to the question set, at each tour stop, and send the answers to me at nan_jar@btinternet.com before Saturday the 11th August 2012. The more questions you answer, the better your chance will be! (ie send in four answers your name’s in the draw four times) The draw will take place at noon (GMT/ UK time) on Sunday 12th August.

For the URL details of the other tour stops (and special giveaways) please check the calendar on Nancy Jardine’s blog: http://nancyjardine.blogspot.com

Quiz question for Friday 12th August: Which Scottish Loch is featured in the blog today?

Nancy can be found at:
Website: http://nancyjardineauthor.weebly.com
Blog: http://nancyjardine.blogspot.com
FaceBook:  http://facebook.com/nancy.jardine.56
Twitter:  http://twitter.com@nansjar
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/6166205-nancy


Books by Nancy Jardine:
TAKE ME NOW
The Wild Rose Press:
Print:  http://bit.ly/MrlI8x   E book formats: http://bit.ly/MQJXvw
Amazon: Print: http://amzn.to/LEUb1g
Take Me Now YouTube Trailer link - http://youtu.be/stDC4Yhm2r0


Also available:
MONOGAMY TWIST
Coming Soon:
THE BELTANE CHOICE will be available in ebook formats from Crooked{Cat}Publishing 31st August 2012. Print will follow.

The End is Near--Or is it?

Will there ever come a day when we turn on the television or open a newspaper without seeing horrific headlines?

This morning’s news brought tears to my eyes: Gunman kills 12 in Colorado movie theater: http://www.cnn.com/2012/07/20/us/colorado-theater-shooting/index.html

The story is everywhere, as well it should be. People need to hear about such tragedies. They need to know the world isn’t always a beautiful place. They need to be aware. And they need an opportunity to pray for their fellow man.

But are we getting bombarded with tragic news too often? Is it warping our minds, warping our children? Is a constant diet of death and destruction eroding our faith and creating sadistic killers?

Are they Mayan’s right? Are we headed for the inevitable destruction of mankind? Is the Mayan calendar accurate?

Inarguably, there seems to be an increase in violence throughout the world.  Murder and mayhem are everywhere. So much death and tragedy.

Is it any wonder some believe the world is coming to an end on December 12, 2012?

Or is it just the numbers that make it seem as if the world is a more violent place?

In 1350, the world population was only 370 million. By the early 1900’s it had exploded to 2 billion people. Today, there are over 7 billion people living on our planet from 196 different countries.

With more people, comes a greater need for news. Countries are divided and subdivided into smaller cities, towns, and provinces.  Each of those smaller divisions has news outlets in the form of television, newspapers,  radio and the internet.  And each of those outlets is competing for its share of the public audience.

So, is there more violence in the world? Inarguably.  But is that violence disproportionately greater than in the past when compared to the current population?

News-grabbing headlines are nothing new. More people will pick up a paper to read about a tragic event than about a man saving a child from drowning. It’s like a train wreck. We don’t want to know, but we can’t look away. It’s been that way since cavemen painted the news.

Crimes against humanity have been occurring since those caveman days. Per capita, there may not be more crimes, but there are faster and better outlets for spreading tragic news.

In 1807, a London headline read: Murder and Indecent Mutilation of Young Harlot.

Ann Webb had moved to London from the country and found “the streets of Convent Garden are paved with bawds waiting to entice woud-be servants into a life of shame.”

It enticed Ann. She changed her name to Elizabeth Winterflood and accepted “protection” from a carpenter named Thomas Greenway. a cruel, abusive man. When Miss Winterflood attempted to leave him, he tracked her down to her favorite street corner where the two got into a heated argument.  Around 2:00 a.m. Miss Winterflood was found raped and beaten on the sidewalk. Her breasts had been cut off and tossed under a cart.

Mr. Greenway was charged but later acquitted of the crime because the jury was more appalled by Miss Winterflood’s occupation than by the untimely death she’d met.

On December 7, 1811 around midnight, Timothy Marr sent his maid to buy oysters. When she returned home, she found the door bolted. No one answered her knock.  When a watchman helped her break in, they found Mr. Marr beatened to death by a seaman’s maul left on the counter. His throat had also been cut.  His wife, apprentice, and infant child were killed in a similar manner as they slept.  A week later, a landlord and his wife were also viciously attacked and killed.

In 1812, a British Prime Minister was assassinated in the lobby of the House of Commons. And an 1820’s headline read: Conspirators Kill Constable after Bombing Plot. 


A headline story from an 1828 Edinburgh paper read: “The hanging of William Burke in Edinburgh’s Grassmarket two days ago made Christmas merry for the citizenry. When his body was taken to Surgeons’ Square for dissection, there was almost a riot as it seemed the multitudes who wished to see him served like his victims would be unable to gain access.”

For more than a year, William Burke and William Hare had killed 16 people and sold the bodies to the local surgeon’s porter. Hare ran a boarding house and when one of his tenants died of natural causes, he sold her body to the local surgeon for dissection practice. He made so much money that he and Mr. Burke devised a plan where they enticed the poor into Hare's Inn for food and libations. When the victim was too drunk to stand, Burke suffocated the unsuspecting victim with a pillow. Hare then sold the body to the surgeon’s porter who in turn, delivered the body to the surgeon who believed the victims died after an evening of imbibing too freely of intoxicating spirits.

Despite such a gruesome crime, I doubt anyone in this day and age would recommend hanging and subsequently dissecting the body as appropriate punishment. Then again, we're more civilized now. That's one less strike against humanity.

In 1879, a London maid murdered her mistress and put the body in boiling water. After stuffing the boiled corpse into a trunk, she tossed it in the river. She sold the fat as drippings.

The crazed housekeeper was caught after she moved into her mistress’s home and attempted to take over her life.

The past is filled with gruesome tales and horrific crimes. Besides Jack the Ripper and Lizzy Borden, there were the notorious Gangs of New York and Wild West Crimes committed by Billy the Kid and The James and Younger Gangs. Not to mention the atrocities committed in Kansas in the years leading up to the Civil War.

War is hell and there have been wars since there has been man. But now people are committing crimes against strangers and their own children without remorse. Is this the end?

Matthew 24:6- “And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.”

The end is not yet. Maybe there’s still hope for humanity. I like to think so. I'd like to think there's still beauty and goodness in the world. I firmly believe there is. I take joy in a baby's cry and a breath-taking sunset. I wish the media felt the way I do.

I’d love to see more positive, heartwarming stories in the news. I think humanity needs affirmation that all is not lost—that there is still goodness in the world.

If violence begets violence, then why can’t goodness beget goodness? Why must the media concentrate on news of the worst tragedies man can inflict?

Wouldn't it be nice if Good news was on the front page and every news cast ended with something uplifting or positive?

Would that make a difference? Would it give us hope?

My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims, families, police, and hospital workers dealing with the tragedy that occurred in Colorado last night. May they find peace, comfort, and the faith to hold on.

American Holidays and Alana Lorens

July 4th is just around the corner, that famous holiday where Americans celebrate the birth of our young nation. And on this weekend before my favorite summer holiday, I have romance author
Alana Lorens who's in the midst of a dual blog tour.


A DUAL BOOK/BLOG TOUR!!

CONVICTION OF THE HEART (release date June 8, 2012)

And SECOND CHANCES (release date June 19, 2012)

The first and Second books of the Pittsburgh Lady Lawyer Series!

Come by the following blogs or live booksignings and leave a comment to be entered in a drawing—at the end of the tour, Alana will give away one ebook copy of each book and one paperback copy of each book—Four lucky winners! Check out all the websites at http://alanalorens.com


And now, Alana's going to share some thoughts on another American holiday.

So, take it away, Alana...

Holidays. The thought of a holiday dinner just conjures up pictures of steaming, aromatic dishes of food, happy music, the sounds of voices of all ages, and family. You know, all those family games and shared memories and chestnuts roasting on the open fire? Or maybe it’s more a gathering of nuts, period.

A whole group of family. Yes. What a perfect time to introduce your new “friend’ to a whole bunch of strangers at once! Who would put someone through such torture?

Nick Sansone, a Pittsburgh police lieutenant, is a friendly guy, but when the woman he’s after, attorney Suzanne Taylor, invites him to “meet the parents” at Thanksgiving dinner (at her persistent parent’s insistence), his heart has to stumble a little. But his own mother passed away several years before, and his retired cop father is just as happy with a turkey TV dinner. He’s about out of excuses.

Even worse, Suzanne’s father and two teenaged daughters are avid Steelers fans—and he roots for the Dolphins.

            Nobody’s perfect.

            What holidays have you spent trapped with a loved ones’ family—did it bring you closer or pull you apart?

Alana Lorens' Conviction of the Heart  is available from:
http://www.amazon.com/Conviction-of-the-Heart-ebook/dp/B0089PTPAO/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&qid=1340851365&sr=8-1

BLURB:

Family law attorney Suzanne Taylor understands her clients’ problems—her own husband left her with two babies to raise alone. Now that they’re teenagers, her life is full. The last thing she wants is the romantic attentions of a police lieutenant, no matter how good-looking. 

Lt. Nick Sansone is juggling the demands of a new promotion, and doesn’t need complications either. But when he sends a councilman’s battered wife to Suzanne for help, he realizes he wants to connect with the lovely, prickly lawyer on more than a professional level. 

They are soon confronted with a different battle, when the abused woman's husband threatens retribution. The powerful, well-connected councilman can damage both their careers—not to mention hurt those they love. Can they bend enough to admit they need each other in a time of crisis? Or will a husband’s revenge take them down before they ever get a chance?


EXCERPT FROM THE FATEFUL THANKSGIVING DINNER:

      “He’s nice looking, your lieutenant,” Maureen said, a twinkle in her eye as she poured them both a cup of coffee and set out the cream. “So tall.”
            “Yes, he certainly is.” Suzanne read her mother’s face, seeing only approval. “Just what the fortune teller ordered.” Tall, dark and handsome, wasn’t that the usual lingo?
            “You went to a fortune teller?” Maureen gasped.
            “No, Mom. I didn’t go to a fortune teller.” Suzanne laughed. “I’m teasing you. I told you Nick was a nice guy. He’s very thoughtful. Believe me, he wants to look out for us in every sense of the words. It’s his job, you know.”
            “That’s good.  You know I worry about you, Suzie. I know you’re one of these new liberated women who can take care of yourself and handle everything.” Her dark eyes searched Suzanne’s face, emotion intensifying as she continued. “Last year, when I almost lost your father, I learned that we all need to love and be loved. Facing the prospect of being alone scares me to death. You’re human, too. Your children love you, but not in the way each adult person needs, love, support, understanding. No man is an island—and no woman, either.”
            Silence hung for a few seconds in the kitchen, then Suzanne’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out to look at it. A text message from her client Maddie. “Excuse me a minute, Mom.”
            She selected the message. He’s taken Katie!
            Irritation prickling through her skin, Suzanne apologized with her eyes and stepped into the pantry for some privacy, dialing Maddie’s number. When she answered, Suzanne said, “When did he take her?”
            “She must have slipped out this morning. I thought she was studying in her room, but she’s gone.”         Maddie’s voice cracked with the effort of holding back tears.
            “Did you call the police?”
            “Not yet. I called you first. I don’t believe he’s doing this! He knows the children are the only thing I care about.” The sobs tore loose, and Suzanne heard a loud clunk, as if the phone had been dropped, then anxious voices.
            “Maddie?” A growl of frustration escaped her. If Greg had broken into the house, someone should call the police. Do something.  “Maddie?”
            A moment later a scrabbling noise on the other end of the phone and then a relieved Maddie. “She’s here. She’s back. Joshua took her for a walk, but she told him she wasn’t going to Greg’s.” The hint of a smile in her voice. “I’m so sorry for disturbing your holiday. I promise I won’t call again.”
            “Don’t be silly. If you call, I’ll be there for you, Maddie.  That’s what I’m here for.”
            Maddie said goodbye and Suzanne held the blank phone in her hand a moment, glad the pantry door was closed. Maybe she could stall off her mother’s persistent nagging a little longer. Or at least formulate a coherent response.
            She only wants to see you happy. By her definition, that is. A happily married woman, at home, caring for her man.
            Suzanne shuddered. No, thank you. She enjoyed her independence and intended to keep it.
            The door opened suddenly, startling her. She nearly dropped the phone as she took a step back, ramming her shoulder into a thick shelf of canned goods. “Ouch!”
            Nick studied her curiously. His broad shoulders blocked the kitchen from her view. “What are you doing in here? Did your mom put you in time-out or something?”

Do Animals Have a Place in Romance Novels?

I love animals. I even like cats. But do they have a place in romance novels?

I used to like cats better than dogs until we got a small breed dog and let him stay in the house. Then I decided I liked dogs just as much as cats. Then my daughter got Cha Cha.

Cha Cha was a sweet kitten. But I should have known things would change when I caught him trying to nurse my dog--who'd never given birth and had been spayed years before.

As Cha Cha grew--and grew and grew, he became a beast of a cat, bigger than my little Malti-poo, Teetee. And once my nephew showed the cat how to use the doggie door, all signs of sweetness in Cha Cha disappeared. He became a hunter, a wanna be jungle cat who stalks the night. And unfortunately, brings me gifts.

He's brought in all sorts of critters, both alive and dead. Everything from squirrels and rabbits to rats, mice, birds, and moles. He brings birds inside and turns them loose in the house. Sometimes he takes them back out again, and sometimes I come home to find them hanging from a curtain rod or crapping on my walls.

Cha Cha once turned a huge field rat loose at my feet while I was sitting on the toilet! I had to beat the critter to death with the toilet plunger.

Teetee usually rescues me from the rats and mice by killing them and taking them outside for me, but this rat was freaking huge. Teetee was terrified. Cha Cha was amused. He plopped his fat tail down on the bathroom rug and licked his paws while enjoying the show.

He brought a full grown tree squirrel in once and turned it loose in the bedroom. The squirrel was so grateful for my intervention, he let me pick him up and rescue him. Despite my husband screaming at me to drop the critter before it bit me, I was able to take the furry little baby outside and put him back in the tree.

I found his corpse on the sidewalk the next day.

Cha Cha also brought me a flying squirrel once. I learned the hard way NOT to pick up flying squirrels. They tend to bite and they don't release.

My doctor assured me there isn't a large rabid squirrel population in north central NC. Rabies shots were not required and my tetanus shot was up to date.

Cha Cha takes over my house. He thinks he is king. He sits where he wants and sprawls were he wants. He can open doors and sneak into bedrooms and he demands kitty snacks every morning. I can't open the pantry without him trying to get inside. 

The other night, just before supper, I heard a terrified chirp. Cha Cha had snuck in with a bird. I found the cat in the guest room, terrorizing the poor little thing.

I bent down to rescue the bird. Cha Cha growled and dashed under the bed. So, I got down on all fours and grabbed Cha Cha by the tail. I dragged him out, but he left his prey under the bed.

I yelled for my husband to bring me a broom. I couldn't see under the bed, but I could hear the bird and saw a shadow in the darkness next to the wall. I raked the broom under the bed, hoping to drag the bird out and set it free. I hit something with the broom. Eureka!

I dragged it toward me, reached for it with my hand. And....

Pulled out a dead squirrel in full rigor.

I screamed and dropped the squirrel. Cha Cha, taking advantage of my shock and disgust, dashed back under the bed. He grabbed the bird and ran. I yelled at my husband to get rid of the squirrel's body while I took off after that damn cat.

Cha Cha ran for the doggie door. I ran out the kitchen door and tried to head him off a the pass. I caught up with him on the sidewalk and grabbed his tail. He dropped the bird. I picked it up and released it.

The bird flew two feet and crashed landed. Cha Cha grabbed it again. I chased the cat into the front yard in my bare feet yelling like a crazy woman--Lord only knows what my neighbors thought! Then I caught the cat and got the bird away from him again. This time, I put the bird in a tall tree in the front yard.

My husband warned me I'd most likely find the little feathered corpse in my bed the next day. Lucky for me I didn't find it in my bed. Unlucky for the bird. I found his poor mangled body on the sidewalk.


Cha Cha was determined to deliver his "gift" whether I wanted it or not.


I'm just glad he bought the bird inside or I wouldn't have found the dead squirrel until today when I vacuum--or worse, when it started to decompose and stink up my house!

But my daughter shouldn't feel slighted because her cat keeps bringing me gifts. He brought one to her today too, gift wrapped in the bathrobe she'd left on the floor. 


I refused to get rid of it for her. She tried manipulating her daddy. She flashed those baby blues and asked ever so sweetly. Her daddy said, "Your cat. Your corpse." 


She wasn't happy, but she took the carcass outside. And she's still defending that beast of a cat!


"He was just trying to apologize for knocking stuff off my dresser this morning. I had to yell at him and the mouse is a make up present," she said. 


Make up present my ass. It was another murder victim brought inside my house to stink it up. Honestly, I think that cat hates me!


But my friends say I should write a book about him. They think my cat tales are hilarious. They don't have to live with the little bastard. Then again, he can be so sweet when he wants. Trouble is, everything is on Cha Cha's terms.

I don't know if there's a book about Cha Cha in my future, but I think he might just become a secondary character in a future novel. Most likely, he'll be the antagonist. lol!

Goals – Helpful or Hurtful?

Have you ever picked up a book by an unfamiliar author and knew from the first chapter that you were going to love his or her work? That's what happened when I read Katherine Grey's Regency romance, Impetuous. It's the type of Regency romance I love but with a unique twist. The hero is Spanish. And oh so sexy.

Now, Ms. Grey has another book out and she's agreed to guest blog with me today. So, please welcome romance author Katherine Grey as she weighs the pros and cons of setting goals.

Goals – Helpful or Hurtful?

When I first starting writing, I set the most unbelievable goals for myself though I thought they would be achieved with ease.  One of them was that I would write 10 pages of new material a day, 7 days a week all while holding down a full time job, long standing commitments 2 nights a week, and another long standing commitment from 8:30am to 3:00pm on Saturdays, and keeping the majority of my Sundays for family time.  I don’t think I ever wrote 10 pages in one day during that time, or wrote 7 days a week.  As each week passed that I didn’t meet that goal, I became more and more depressed.  I questioned my desire to be a published author.  If I wanted it so badly, then I should be able to meet that goal right?  Wrong. 

A very wise friend and fellow writer pointed out that it wasn’t that I wasn’t committed to getting published, I just had too much on my plate to enable me to devote that much time to my writing.  She suggested that I not set goals or to focus on smaller goals that would fit around my scheduled commitments.  

I sat down and looked at my schedule.  I decided I needed the time to devote to my writing so I gave 3 months notice to the proper people on those long term commitments that at the end of the 3 months, I would no longer be able to do them.  During that time I tried to write whenever I could but I missed the structure goal setting gave me.

I’ve come a long way since then.  I still like to set goals because they keep me on track and help me stay focused.  I set yearly goals, quarterly goals, and weekly goals.  But one thing that has changed is now-a-days my goals are very fluid.  For example, one goal is to write 20 to 25 pages a week.  By not nailing down a set page count per day, I give myself room in my schedule if something pops up and I can’t write on a certain day.

I also set goals in my non-writing life for things I want to accomplish by a set time or date though for some reason it doesn’t work when it comes to dieting.  I wonder what that says about me…probably that my weakness for ice cream on a hot summer night is greater than my desire to lose those unwanted pounds.  LOL.

Do you set any type of goals?  Do you find them helpful?  If you don’t set goals, why not?

Katherine,
This is such a timely topic as I'm having trouble with this very issue. I set goals I can't possibly reach and then feel like such a failure that I stop writing for weeks at a time. Then last weekend, I attended an awesome meeting of my local chapter. The topic was Brainstorming but one of the things the speaker said that resonated with me is this: "You can only eat an elephant one bite at a time." Writing is like eating an elephant. There's more there than you realize and the only way to achieve success is to set goals you can live with.

Check out Katherine's newest release:

The Muse

by

Katherine Grey

Blurb:

Noted poet Blaine Hobson counts the Prince Regent among his patrons. But ever since the socialite he wished to marry took her life, he has been unable to compose a single line of poetry. With a sonnet commissioned by the Regent due in a few weeks, Blaine spends his time alternating between trying to write...and wishing he had the courage to join his beloved in the grave.

Raised in an orphanage with her sister, seamstress Emma Tompkins lives with the guilt of her sibling’s death. Accidentally finding a suicide note penned by Blaine, she resolves to keep him alive at all costs. Vigilant, she returns each day, pushing her way into his home--and losing her heart.

Can Blaine forget his beloved and return the affections of the seamstress? Or once finished with his work, will he cast Emma out of his life forever?

Excerpt:

He had to know if she felt as uncomfortable

in his presence as he did in hers. He strode down the

hall, telling himself his eagerness had nothing to do

with seeing Emma herself. His steps slowed. Odd.

The door to the parlour was closed.

He gave a quick rap on the door, although he

didn’t know why since it was his house, turned the

knob, and opened the door. And came to a complete

halt. Bolts of cloth lay in haphazard piles on the

settee and chairs, a stack of paper and the stub of a

pencil lay nearby. In the midst of it all was Emma.

She sat on the floor, her blue gown tucked around

her, a swath of light green fabric in her lap as she

worked pins into the material.

 “Did you find more pins?” she asked without

looking up.

Blaine cleared his throat, struck once again by

her unconscious beauty.

Emma rushed to her feet, one hand still

clutching the cloth. “Yes, I know. A lady does not

crawl about on the floor.” She blew at a loose curl

that had fallen over one eye. “But I never claimed to

be a lady.”

Blaine heard the tired frustration in her voice.

He moved closer and tucked the wayward curl

behind her ear. “You may do anything you wish in

the privacy of this room.”

He tried not to let it bother him when she took a

step back. She laid the fabric aside and began

straightening her hair. He didn’t want her to redo it.

He liked the way she looked, with the wayward

strands curling about her face and neck. His fingers

itched to linger in it, now knowing it was as soft and

silky as it looked. Realizing he was staring at her, he

clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back

on his heels.

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You can contact Katherine at her blog – http://katherinegrey.blogspot.com or on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Katherine-Grey/265375626827267?sk=wall

Decoration Day to Memorial Day

Decoration Day was a Federal holiday created in 1868 by former Civil War Commander and Chief John A Logan. Logan issued General Order Number 11, designating May 30 as a day of Memorial to honor those who died in defense of their country.

The first celebration was held at Arlington National Cemetery. There's some controversy as to when Decoration Day became Memorial Day. In 1882, the name was changed to Memorial Day to honor all soldiers who died in service to the United States, but most people still called it Decoration Day until sometime after World War II.

Lyndon B. Johnson declared the official holiday to be Nationally observed annually the last Monday of May in 1966. The nation was divided then too. North wasn't fighting South, but there was much controversy and protest surrounding the Vietnam War. 

Today, the national observance of Memorial Day still takes place at Arlington National Cemetary. A wreath is placed on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and every grave in the cemetery is decorated with a small American flag.

Memorial Day is not just a day to honor those who fell in battle but all soldiers of all wars who are no longer with us. Some came home heroes. Some were never recognized as such. But they all fought for their country and made sacrifices. 

The brave men & women who served in Iraq & Afghanistan 

Memorial Day is a day to remember former service personnel from all branches of the military who served in any war and are no longer with us. Whether they died in battle or peacefully in their sleep, they each made sacrifices for their country.

Members of the Coast Guard who served
at the US Lifesaving Station on
Portsmouth Island at the turn of the 20th Century

Not all who served were Americans.

My father-in-law in Athens, Greece during the Korean War.

So this Memorial Day,don't forget to remember a deceased soldier,sailor, airman (or woman) or marine.

The USS Coral Reef 1952-1954: The Korean War

My Granduncle Vincent who served in WWII

Thank you to those who served and are no longer with us. You will never be forgotten.

Happy Mother's Day!

What a fabulous Mother's Day weekend. My husband and I spent the weekend at the beach and found this really cool restaurant in Jacksonville, NC that reminded me of Jacksonville, Florida. There was even a parrot. It was an awesome, all about me weekend. But I wasn't completely selfish. I spent Friday with my folks and had a great time.

I took my parents lunch on Friday, complete with a dozen Subway cookies and a collapsible garden rake for my mom. She loves working in her flowers but Dad frequently misplaces her rake. The one I got her folds down so she can hide it from him. Then mom and I spent the afternoon going through some old family photos.

Going through those pictures with my mom meant so much. I brought most of them home with me so I can scan them and burn them to discs. Some are so frayed and faded, it's hard to see the faces clearly. In that old box of photographs that once belonged to my grandmother, there was even pictures of my great, great, grandparents.  I haven't scanned those yet, but when I do, I'll post a blog dedicated to ancestors.

In the ones I've gone through so far, the most heart wrenching is a picture of my grandfather sitting on the front porch holding his three month old daughter. My dad and his brother are standing on either side of him, looking somewhat confused. My grandfather looks sad and weary. With good reason. His baby girl was dead and had been for several hours.

The child died in her crib while my grandmother was visiting her parents in Virginia. It was sometime around 1940. There were no laws  regulating the transport of bodies and so my great uncle drove my grandmother home with her dead child. The baby had never been photographed. And so, my grandfather posed with his daughter's cold, blue body so his wife would have pictures of her only daughter.

It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about the courage that must have taken. On her part for bringing her child home to her daddy and on his part for holding his dead daughter so his wife could have that all precious photograph.

My grandparents are both gone now,. They're once again united with that little girl they knew such a brief time. But I'm sure my dad thinks of his mom on this day and remembers all the things she did for him and the sacrifices she made.

I'm blessed to still have my parents with me and would like to take this moment to wish my mother a very happy Mother's Day. Love you, Mom.