tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73277113947942341682024-03-12T20:32:53.463-04:00Lucy Naylor KubashLucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-1264726720835228432023-08-02T17:17:00.001-04:002023-08-02T17:24:47.495-04:00Excerpt from "The Christmas Wish."<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">I believe I was born loving horses. I always wanted one but sadly, it never happened when I was a child. My daughter was also born loving them (is that a genetic trait maybe?) and I made up my mind that I would make it happen for her. At the time, I was writing short stories for a magazine and getting paid rather well for them (that was another time and place!). I decided to use the money from one of those stories to buy a horse for us. And I did! Staccato was a great horse, and we had him for ten years until he passed away one day very unexpectedly. We were all crushed. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Though we didn't get him at Christmas, this story, The Christmas Wish, grew out of our experience, and it will always remind me of our little Arabian, Haf Staccato.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOnlJ2Yeqn9kiuALH5UKPqjEkGq9-BpVr_OvSiM9ZGDz1KzdN8fYtwQi2QL4Nd-nRE4fkkyrmMPsihty1sP8Mt31ynnK5w1oG3uAsRLTXAM7cmDgFjKcHvArHaHERw6fNTRi69PH_4-0Z2ZLo7FIFhQEnobVTGhWVt5smETY6FvHJkGIgW4cUzr61wBQ/s500/Christmas%20Wish%20Book%20funnel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOnlJ2Yeqn9kiuALH5UKPqjEkGq9-BpVr_OvSiM9ZGDz1KzdN8fYtwQi2QL4Nd-nRE4fkkyrmMPsihty1sP8Mt31ynnK5w1oG3uAsRLTXAM7cmDgFjKcHvArHaHERw6fNTRi69PH_4-0Z2ZLo7FIFhQEnobVTGhWVt5smETY6FvHJkGIgW4cUzr61wBQ/s320/Christmas%20Wish%20Book%20funnel.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Ever since Hope could remember, Caitlin had wanted a horse. When her daughter could only toddle, she would clamber aboard the mechanical pony at the supermarket and refuse to budge until her mother dug for change in her purse. Three rides satisfied Caitlin then, that and the stuffed pony she got when she turned five. A few years later, she graduated to collecting model horses. Now Caitlin was 13, and this Christmas she wanted the real thing. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Along with two other holiday stories in the collection, The Christmas Wish is featured this month of August in the For the Love of Horses Book Fair. I hope you'll stop by and check out all the other great horse stories and maybe want to read the rest of Hope and Caitlin's story.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFwKGRzibWpyPlnVGbL3ymrwm3jgWz5HolGuspedgIEm4HiVlz11d4-tTZGCETMNjPolRbtBzJIvGZ0EkUVltQHiEP8YTI3C4tTTix3Dk99OpgDvTvJHXIvxAzSdI5v2zPMpcvdi71QFJgbdP7ahcYxJ-eRPe_bWc4VlAbufilS5PjnJ6tEMWoCsu2iE/s960/Horses%20Book%20Fair%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFwKGRzibWpyPlnVGbL3ymrwm3jgWz5HolGuspedgIEm4HiVlz11d4-tTZGCETMNjPolRbtBzJIvGZ0EkUVltQHiEP8YTI3C4tTTix3Dk99OpgDvTvJHXIvxAzSdI5v2zPMpcvdi71QFJgbdP7ahcYxJ-eRPe_bWc4VlAbufilS5PjnJ6tEMWoCsu2iE/s320/Horses%20Book%20Fair%202.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">https://books.bookfunnel.com/horse-themed_novels/o7cdst2m7d</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-42463775995101998572023-08-01T00:08:00.003-04:002023-08-01T00:34:55.047-04:00For the Love of Horses Book Fair<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> It's Live!!</b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If you love horses, be sure to check out a book fair that features books all with horses. Coming tomorrow, excerpts from my two featured books.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">https://books.bookfunnel.com/horse-themed_novels/o7cdst2m7d</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjltFH2OMhhDm5qu_5ShLiWcN7oyXmYoPWGbsiI-oFyr2m9kMNIEVO4IGrSZ2JY5JE44ol0HKMXNzAjQdzX8BSNa4oIRP60z8qLwMUlPhXJNEhqgGv58Na4ho6arXIi8a2JSXWa3_DELIZqokdcE6yfTI94-AOy-TlhZer5hMZxtvE-z6ScSEnj-xT02WA/s400/Horses%20Book%20Fair.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="209" data-original-width="400" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjltFH2OMhhDm5qu_5ShLiWcN7oyXmYoPWGbsiI-oFyr2m9kMNIEVO4IGrSZ2JY5JE44ol0HKMXNzAjQdzX8BSNa4oIRP60z8qLwMUlPhXJNEhqgGv58Na4ho6arXIi8a2JSXWa3_DELIZqokdcE6yfTI94-AOy-TlhZer5hMZxtvE-z6ScSEnj-xT02WA/s320/Horses%20Book%20Fair.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-8362739687321111832022-11-30T00:13:00.000-05:002022-11-30T00:13:23.142-05:00The Partridge Christmas Collection<p> </p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Today my guest is friend and fellow author Patricia Kiyono. Patricia and I have belonged to the same writing group for a long time, and she writes wonderful sweet historical stories. Please join me in welcoming Patricia, as she tells us about this collection of Christmas tales.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp07DTYf45btAHoXwC8JzvIEFbKpCgcKbA0Pp1nHbuqjVkbJhyGuIF9ed5HK6ei-K3GpZXEFOKohq3j-1jQEoYoQNljJseUbb9whpMBJqfAn9tQGrgKXdD8V9HX8S1R5wjG_2IFiEsmYahKTW_sK9vUISK9DOz_CnPLY6R6dOJH4Ii9IlX5ZtRZtgL/s500/Partridge%20Set.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp07DTYf45btAHoXwC8JzvIEFbKpCgcKbA0Pp1nHbuqjVkbJhyGuIF9ed5HK6ei-K3GpZXEFOKohq3j-1jQEoYoQNljJseUbb9whpMBJqfAn9tQGrgKXdD8V9HX8S1R5wjG_2IFiEsmYahKTW_sK9vUISK9DOz_CnPLY6R6dOJH4Ii9IlX5ZtRZtgL/s320/Partridge%20Set.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><b><i>The Partridge Christmas Collection</i></b> is a box
set including five titles inspired by the holiday carol “The Twelve Days of
Christmas” as well as a sixth story that includes characters from the first
book. This series began when my then-publisher (Astraea Press) put out a call
for holiday regency romance novellas. The planned multi-author series was to be
called “The Twelve Dukes of Christmas” and the two things each story needed to
include were a duke and a scene taking place at a ball hosted by Lord and Lady
Kringle on Christmas Eve, 1812. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had never written a regency romance, but I love a good
challenge and decided to try. Thanks to several writer friends, I managed to
meet the deadline with <i>The Partridge and the Peartree</i>, the story of how
Phillip Partridge, Duke of Bartlett, met and fell in love with Lady Amelia
Peartree.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A few years later, I got the rights back for the story and
submitted it to Eskape Press. In addition to giving the book a new cover, I had
the opportunity to correct a few historical errors pointed out to me by
readers. And in answer to those who asked “What happened to the Duke and
Duchess of Bartlett?” I wrote a sequel called <i>Love’s Refrain</i>. And then,
knowing that eventually the duchess would have to take a break from teaching
the children at the chapel school, I paired Robert Townley, the duke’s valet,
with Jeanne Brown, the duchess’ maid for the story I called <i>Two Tutor Doves.</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In my mind, a series should have at least three books. So,
the following Christmas I decided that the verse about the three French hens
would become <i>Three French Inns</i>, and would take place in the French
countryside. Fortunately, I’d laid the groundwork for that in <i>Two Tutor
Doves</i> because Jeanne had a French mother who’d been disowned by her upper-class
family. She also had a brother who’d fought in France with the British army. I
decided that the brother, Peter Brown, would return to France to look into the
fortune they’d inherited from that grandfather. In the process, he’s reunited
with Caroline Duvall, a young French nurse he’d met during the Napoleonic wars.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The fourth verse was fun to work with. I decided that four
calling birds would become <i>Four Calling Bards</i>, in which Amanda Collins,
a vicar’s daughter, suddenly finds herself with four suitors, all of whom write
to her in hopes of gaining her favor. The hero in this story is Andrew Sommers,
one of the children from <i>Two Tutor Doves</i>, who has become a footman in
the village of Whitecastle.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To finish the series, I took a character who appeared
briefly in <i>Four Calling Bards. Five Gold Rings</i> is the story of Amanda’s
aunt, Grace Collins Montgomery. When Grace, a social reformer, decides to join
the fight against the railroad coming through her home city of Cambridge, she’s
up against Arthur Gregory, the railroad station’s architect. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The six stories in this collection take us from 1812 through
1840. A lot of advancements in science, medicine, and social issues took place
during this time, and are reflected through the stories. I’m hoping readers
enjoy them!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Bio: </b>Patricia<span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> lives in West Michigan, USA, not far from her children,
grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Current interests, aside from writing,
include sewing, crocheting, scrapbooking, and making music. A love of travel
and an interest in faraway people inspires her to create stories about different
cultures.</span><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><o:p> </o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5fnf8c_Vs1wxVo9HDVBTiOJd-GTbVniTimBNP7RYS6UcoeSEncrLWGYcvmakScLwfPEP-VQdf89VyX0w462r8BJ4YZeVCLRQd5GTqbjsykLifvJALvD6MJPE-NYoR2IZt2Wh7rt0y9gEYexzMvggjWiZ_gB5WV_D179KuIJbIdXwnJo_bEpetpXd/s640/Patricia%20Kiyono.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="427" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5fnf8c_Vs1wxVo9HDVBTiOJd-GTbVniTimBNP7RYS6UcoeSEncrLWGYcvmakScLwfPEP-VQdf89VyX0w462r8BJ4YZeVCLRQd5GTqbjsykLifvJALvD6MJPE-NYoR2IZt2Wh7rt0y9gEYexzMvggjWiZ_gB5WV_D179KuIJbIdXwnJo_bEpetpXd/s320/Patricia%20Kiyono.jpeg" width="214" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><i>The Patridge Christmas</i></b> Collection is available
only at <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BFMRQ4T4/">Amazon</a>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Patricia Kiyono</b> can be found on her <a href="https://www.patriciakiyono.com/">website</a> and on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063554921794">Facebook</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/PatriciaKiyono">Twitter</a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/patriciakiyono/">Instagram</a>, <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/patricia-kiyono">Bookbub</a>, and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Patricia-Kiyono/e/B0067PSM5C/">Amazon</a>.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAJ7r1c1jaC1NgtrabqKPOBGLzTiazV4O8dZ5E1dws3XUDC8t_NM7ZhwFP0hGQQh97XlpWHXZh3hDyaSelTg6ItU8eD5eGEP84R-LTWoM9frajA2yvNZMpnpz6ef3DelHDBkhlMwjSEeJ4Y-Q_zVHLx4PVyTaGy27O6CZZn8XsylSw_O6hWfQWxxS/s500/Partridge%20Set.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAJ7r1c1jaC1NgtrabqKPOBGLzTiazV4O8dZ5E1dws3XUDC8t_NM7ZhwFP0hGQQh97XlpWHXZh3hDyaSelTg6ItU8eD5eGEP84R-LTWoM9frajA2yvNZMpnpz6ef3DelHDBkhlMwjSEeJ4Y-Q_zVHLx4PVyTaGy27O6CZZn8XsylSw_O6hWfQWxxS/s320/Partridge%20Set.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-49305368694588465922022-11-02T00:00:00.003-04:002022-11-02T09:03:21.299-04:00FOR THE LOVE OF HAWTHORNE<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> My guest today is author Diana Rubino. She brings us a post that is timely for this season but also informative, as she tells us about her new book, For the Love of Hawthorne, and why she wrote it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Welcome Diana!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">FOR
THE LOVE OF HAWTHORNE<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Nathaniel
and Sophia Hawthorne called themselves Adam and Eve as he suffered the shame of
his family’s connection to the Salem Witch Trials.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Meet Diana<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">My passion for history and
travel has taken me to every locale of my books and short stories, set in
Medieval and Renaissance England, Paris, Egypt, the Mediterranean, colonial
Virginia, New England, Washington D.C. and New York. My urban fantasy romance,
FAKIN’ IT, won a Top Pick award from Romantic Times. I’m a member of Romance
Writers of America, the Richard III Society and the Aaron Burr Association. My
husband Chris and I own CostPro, an engineering firm based in Boston. In my
spare time, I bicycle, golf, play my piano, devour books of any genre, and
spend as much time as possible living the dream on my beloved Cape Cod.<span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">About FOR THE LOVE OF HAWTHORNE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Salem,
Massachusetts witnessed horrific and shameful events in 1692 that haunted the
town for three centuries. Accused as witches, nineteen innocent people were
hanged and one was pressed to death. Judge John Hathorne and Reverend Nicholas
Noyes handed down the sentences. One victim, Sarah Good, cursed Noyes from the
hanging tree: “If you take away my life, God will give you blood to drink!” She
then set her eyes on Judge Hathorne. “I curse you and your acknowledged heirs
for all time on this wicked earth!” Hathorne was not only Sarah Good’s
merciless judge; he also fathered her son Peter and refused to acknowledge him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">In 1717,
Nicholas Noyes choked on his own blood and died. Every generation after the
judge continued to lose Hathorne land and money, prompting the rumor of a
family curse. By the time his great great grandson Nathaniel was born, they
faced poverty.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Ashamed of his
ancestor, Nathaniel added the ‘w’ to his last name. His novels and stories
explore his beliefs and fears of sin and evil, and he based many of his
characters on overbearing Puritan rulers such as Judge Hathorne.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">When Nathaniel
first met Sophia Peabody, they experienced instantaneous mutual attraction.
Sparks flew. He rose upon my eyes and soul a king among men by divine right,
she wrote in her journal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">But to
Sophia’s frustration, Nathaniel insisted they keep their romance secret for
three years. He had his reasons, none of which made sense to Sophia. But
knowing that he believed Sarah Good’s curse inflicted so much tragedy on his
family over the centuries, she made it her mission to save him. Sarah was an
ancestor of Sophia’s, making her and Nathaniel distant cousins—but she kept
that to herself for the time being.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1027" type="#_x0000_t75"
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o:title="PeabodyHouse"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifWZzDIzoU_pNLxYJUTSWph08RgNH9FrXdtzB8ulqmwpUActR5smKyed64YYcEEreGQifd6HGjlwLZxUClY9DFyuvqKsMo2SPBeGg7Ukg2ypA-NXZzujL6LtkY3WxznCCURmImnWULfie7Fym6K0fcJV9VS_aCPe55stbyIEAlER3QEWDAngr9u-3V" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="1600" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifWZzDIzoU_pNLxYJUTSWph08RgNH9FrXdtzB8ulqmwpUActR5smKyed64YYcEEreGQifd6HGjlwLZxUClY9DFyuvqKsMo2SPBeGg7Ukg2ypA-NXZzujL6LtkY3WxznCCURmImnWULfie7Fym6K0fcJV9VS_aCPe55stbyIEAlER3QEWDAngr9u-3V" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Sophia Peabody’s home next to Charter Street Burying
Ground, resting place of Judge Hathorne, Salem, MA<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Sophia
suffered severe headaches as a result of childhood mercury treatments. She
underwent routine mesmerizing sessions, a popular cure for many ailments.
Spirits sometimes came to her when mesmerized, and as a spiritualist and
medium, she was able to contact and communicate with spirits. She knew if she
could reach Sarah and persuade her to forgive Judge Hathorne, Nathaniel would
be free of his lifelong burden.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Sarah Good’s
son Peter had kept a journal the family passed down to the Peabodys. Sophia
sensed his presence every time she turned the brittle pages and read his words.
John Hathorne’s legitimate son John also kept a journal, now in the Hawthorne
family’s possession. Living on opposite sides of Salem in 1692, Peter and John
wrote in vivid detail about how the Salem trials tormented them throughout
their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Nathaniel
finally agreed to announce their engagement, and married Sophia on July 9, 1842.
They moved into their first home, The Old Manse in Concord, Massachusetts.
Wanting nothing else but to spend the summer enjoying each other, we became
Adam and Eve, alone in our Garden of Eden, Sophia wrote in her journal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="separator" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjThcHZum8xR-qpg2hyphenhyphengtw6dymaqeuZojCvd_6L9OEKOQ-8kQ6RZr7LPdmx7gNXOEl54NyM9ahh0Q3T_4KgVf9O6MSCZK3CZF6RaJ7sZfhCpuHjwJrJAmGesBjMk5rHt8jhUpNlWhdTVw/s1600/OldManse.jpg"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape
id="_x0000_i1028" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:240pt;height:180pt'
o:button="t">
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<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">The Old Manse, the Hawthornes' first home as newlyweds<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">As success
eluded Nathaniel, they lived on the verge of poverty. After being dismissed
from his day job at the Salem Custom House, he wrote The Scarlet Letter, which
finally gained him the recognition he deserved. But the curse he believed Sarah
cast on his family still haunted him. In the book he asks for the curse to be
lifted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="separator" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpO9T-QJitJZZg3-kDmeO7ApDv9-Wk8G1RF-STlL90W1zmq8bXfQbhYUDJLd3w8atvWgghguoJ_9L0AY_7iq2io5-xa8Jynf0lfJE0XmP_J4J694-i2GPtWewrV8iYvZsvk7_HLzf981E/s1600/Houseof7Gables.jpg"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape
id="_x0000_i1029" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:240pt;height:180pt'
o:button="t">
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</v:shape><![endif]--></span></a></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn4GX9eYKEHJDO80fKNI745V9qpBIVdeNuwxPWuMs3hWtBeWlXnyZj0Y9z_1ZGwXOyL6wm0Xc-QqUnVCvgtZuJeqLQCjs2RwjVphm3VR42j8N1qczSNFGE-ObHZaihfBdumQLXhjt6VJ1tU_tIr4KcZ3v3dpu7aAoCNqs22aUjV5pV9D-U3f8Q_4go" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn4GX9eYKEHJDO80fKNI745V9qpBIVdeNuwxPWuMs3hWtBeWlXnyZj0Y9z_1ZGwXOyL6wm0Xc-QqUnVCvgtZuJeqLQCjs2RwjVphm3VR42j8N1qczSNFGE-ObHZaihfBdumQLXhjt6VJ1tU_tIr4KcZ3v3dpu7aAoCNqs22aUjV5pV9D-U3f8Q_4go" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><br /></span><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">The House of the Seven Gables, Salem, MA, built in
1668<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Sophia urged
Nathaniel to write a novel about the house, knowing it would be cathartic for
him. While they lived in Lenox, Nathaniel finished writing The House of the
Seven Gables. The Gothic novel explored all his fears and trepidations about
the curse. He told Sophia, “Writing it, and especially reading it aloud to you
lifted a tremendous burden off my shoulders. I felt it physically leave me. I
carried this inside me since my youth and couldn’t bring it out to face it. And
I have you, and only you, to thank.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">But he did not
believe the curse could be lifted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Sophia invited
renowned spiritualist John Spear to The Gables. She explained that she needed
to complete one final step to convince Nathaniel the curse was lifted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Read More About John Spear<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">http://mysteriousuniverse.org/2014/06/the-bizarre-mechanical-messiah-of-john-murray-spear/John
Spear<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">John Spear urged
Nathaniel to forgive Judge Hathorne. “You don’t have to say it out loud,” John
said. “Just forgive him in your heart.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Nathaniel
whispered his forgiveness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">John,
Nathaniel and Sophia went to Judge Hathorne’s gravesite to give the journals
proper burial.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1030" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='width:3in;height:204.75pt'>
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o:title="1ahathorne"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8cJNQxoFJ9CF2xkIYvJAripxEozu2l-4eDwwcFBzO8ysCiA7slPi7KakafYhX4USHBqRelBUKszJrItONEt04wuy8YQKkqLh49pT3yb78CKLlnbEWesM2YuibYrma1Mv0XiojY8TPanl4tyl8-kbG3z8-ynL4ignHbpIQXJYmGthlbe6k9p1xojHB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="218" data-original-width="231" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8cJNQxoFJ9CF2xkIYvJAripxEozu2l-4eDwwcFBzO8ysCiA7slPi7KakafYhX4USHBqRelBUKszJrItONEt04wuy8YQKkqLh49pT3yb78CKLlnbEWesM2YuibYrma1Mv0XiojY8TPanl4tyl8-kbG3z8-ynL4ignHbpIQXJYmGthlbe6k9p1xojHB" width="254" /></a></span></div><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Grave of Judge Hathorne, Charter Street Burial Ground,
Salem, MA<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Why I wrote FOR THE LOVE OF HAWTHORNE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14pt; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">I live near Salem and have been to all the
Hawthorne landmarks there, and in Concord. The House of the Seven Gables has
been my favorite house in the world since I'm a kid. I've always felt a strong
spiritual connection to Salem, and always wanted to write one of my books set
there, including the witch trials.</span><span style="background: white; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14pt; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">I read several of his books and stories, to get a
better background on him. Nathaniel wrote from the heart, about his true
beliefs, and his loathing of how the witch victims were treated. He did
consider it disgraceful, and it certainly was. He added the 'w' to his last
name to distance himself from the judge. That tormented him and his family all
his life. It must have been cathartic to him to have his writing as his outlet.</span><span style="background: white; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14pt; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Visit
Salem</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14pt; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="http://www.salem.org/">www.salem.org</a></span><span style="background: white; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">I was
fortunate to get a private tour of the House of the Seven Gables when I was
writing the book; two of the guides, Ryan Conary and David Moffat, showed
me around, and it was fabulous.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/House-Seven-Gables-Images-America-ebook/dp/B074Y9VVWL/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1528403433&sr=1-1&keywords=ryan+conary">Click
here to see their book about the house.</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape
id="_x0000_i1031" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:228pt;height:151.5pt'>
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o:title="Wayside"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihVSBmLwL8FGYV2WoTSEyUDbNDWtt1Y4qZhyVI3qcWA6rMgG_POACmpCSqQ0iwV_IRPCZuyJfOaXwCjPM7DbLW1k76kq-h5NCBHF_M0gcDj6p2Q7Zu7OWOEKgP6AklITsjeRrb95sSRb1wSZryDy3PcEi3Nxa_cFcxT6xFJz4S9pBUj5_x-6irj7t0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihVSBmLwL8FGYV2WoTSEyUDbNDWtt1Y4qZhyVI3qcWA6rMgG_POACmpCSqQ0iwV_IRPCZuyJfOaXwCjPM7DbLW1k76kq-h5NCBHF_M0gcDj6p2Q7Zu7OWOEKgP6AklITsjeRrb95sSRb1wSZryDy3PcEi3Nxa_cFcxT6xFJz4S9pBUj5_x-6irj7t0" width="320" /></a></span></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">The Wayside, the only home the Hawthornes ever owned, in Concord,
MA<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Nathaniel added that room at the top for his writing studio<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">An Excerpt From FOR THE LOVE OF HAWTHORNE
(Sophia and Nathaniel’s visit to his cousin Susan Ingersoll at The House of the
Seven Gables)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
went over to a curio cabinet and swept my eyes over the items on the shelves—a
china doll wearing a calico dress, a stack of gold cups and saucers, a red and
blue glass checkerboard propped up to display its surface…and a wooden hammer
on the top shelf. Upon closer inspection, I saw it was a gavel that judges use
in trials. Out of curiosity I picked it up and a shock ran through me as if
electrified. Dear God, was it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i>
gavel?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
dropped it to the rug. It landed with a thump. I bent to retrieve it. Somehow I
knew it wouldn’t shock me this time—that was only an initial warning. “Something
about it made me want to touch it, to pick it up and hold it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Nathaniel
approached me. He stared at the gavel in my hand, horror darkening his eyes.
His lips parted but no words emerged. I knew what he was thinking—the curse. He
turned to his cousin, pointing at the gavel, his arm trembling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Susan
hurried over to us, took it from me and placed it back on the shelf. “Yes, it’s
Judge Hathorne’s. What happened, Sophie? Are you all right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
looked down at my open hands, palms up. They burned as if I’d touched a hot
poker. “That gavel—it carries something evil. Has anything happened to you with
this, Susie?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Nathaniel
backed away and before Susan could answer me, he grasped her arm. “I begged you
to get rid of that accursed thing! You know it shouldn’t be here!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">She
looked from him to me, heaving a deep sigh. “I’m not inclined to dispose of it,
Natty. It’s a family heirloom, notwithstanding its past.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He
gripped the chair, his face drained of color. “It’s downright evil. You know
what he used that thing for.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">She
held her hands up in surrender. “Very well, I’ll conceal it.” She took it off
the shelf and slid it behind the checkerboard.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“That
should not be in this house!” He stood his ground, his eyes fixed on the
checkerboard as if it would melt in such close proximity to that horrid object.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“It’s
fine there, Natty. It’s concealed from sight now.” She looked at me and
gestured for me to sit again. I sat and gulped my sherry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Nathaniel’s
always overcome with distress at the witch trials.” Susan explained what I
already knew.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“And
so should you be,” he cut in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“If
I must speak for Judge Hathorne, I heard stories of him from my grandfather.”
Susan looked from Nathaniel to me. “The whole hysteria that caught up the judge
was started by unscrupulous men to further their own riches. But spectral
evidence was still admissible. No sane person could believe that blithery.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Purchase FOR THE LOVE OF HAWTHORNE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://t.co/6m77TFazIC" target="_blank" title="http://getbook.at/LoveOfHawthorne"><span class="invisible"><span style="background: rgb(245, 248, 250); color: #a200ff; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">http://</span></span><span class="js-display-url"><span style="background: rgb(245, 248, 250); color: #a200ff;">getbook.at/LoveOfHawthorne</span></span><span class="invisible"><span style="background: rgb(245, 248, 250); color: #a200ff; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> </span></span></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">Connect with Diana<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.dianarubino.com/">My Website</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://twitter.com/DianaLRubino">Twitter</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-8590667099067475292022-10-26T00:00:00.028-04:002022-10-26T00:25:31.842-04:00THE OTHER KIND OF GHOSTING<p> My guest today is author Kimberly Baer. Her YA paranormal <i>The Haunted Purse</i> is great reading for this time of year, and I will let her tell you about that story and some experiences with the other-worldly.</p><p>Welcome, Kimberly!</p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Other Kind of
Ghosting<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">By Kimberly Baer<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How likely is it that a purse could be haunted? My guess: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not very</i>. What self-respecting ghost
would choose to be squished <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>amongst a scratchy
hairbrush, a lumpy wallet, that leaky bottle of hand sanitizer, and the dozens
of other items crammed into the typical modern-day handbag? Assuming that ghosts
get to choose their locale, most would probably opt for the roomy
accommodations of a house or the wide open spaces of a graveyard. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Still, you never know. Tiny houses are increasing in
popularity among the living. Maybe ghosts like tight spaces, too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My YA paranormal novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Haunted Purse</i> is pure fiction, but that doesn’t mean ghosts don’t exist. Ghostly
encounters have been reported all over the world, probably for as long as
humans have been living and dying. Haunted sites include castles, cabins, houses,
apartments, hotels, battlefields, graveyards, caves, mines, ships, schools, tunnels,
and probably a bunch of other places.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Many of us know somebody who’s had an encounter with a ghost,
and some of us have even had our own encounters. I can’t say for certain
whether I’ve ever met up with a ghost, but if I did, it happened like this:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">- In 2014 I visited my son in Long Beach, California, and we
toured the <i>Queen Mary</i>, which has been named one of the Top 10 Haunted
Places by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Time</i> magazine. At one point,
the tour guide announced that we were standing in one of the most haunted rooms
on the ship. Just as I snapped a picture, a strange white blob streaked across
the screen of my camera. It didn’t show up on the photo, and nobody noticed
anything unusual in the room at the time. I like to think it was a ghost caught
in the glare of my camera, like a deer in the headlights.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Okay, okay; that might not be the most enthralling ghost
story you’ve ever heard. I have some better ones from people near and dear to
me, people whose integrity I can vouch for:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">- A few years ago when my sister was out driving, she
suddenly felt the presence of a child in her car. The feeling persisted when
she returned home, and odd things started happening. For instance, she’d get up
in the morning and find the kitchen trash can in the middle of the floor. She
did some research and learned that the spot where she’d first sensed that strange
presence was the site of a recent car accident in which a three-year-old boy
had died. She started talking to the child’s spirit, urging him to move on, and
eventually he did.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">- A dear and trusted colleague of mine lived in a centuries-old
townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia. She often talked about her resident ghost, a
benign and playful spirit who liked to move things around. The spirit’s coolest
trick: lighting candles.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Have YOU ever had a ghostly encounter? Would you like to? If
so, you could try buying an old purse at a thrift store, as my protagonist Libby
does in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Haunted Purse</i>. If that
doesn’t work, consider visiting some well-known haunted places, such as El Campo
Santo Cemetery in San Diego, California; King’s Tavern in Natchez, Mississippi;
or various sites in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Visitors to those locations have
reported everything from seeing apparitions and hearing strange noises to being
pushed, scratched, or pinched by an unknown force. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now wouldn’t that make for a memorable trip!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Back-cover blurb for
The Haunted Purse:<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">That old denim purse Libby Dawson bought
at the thrift store isn’t your run-of-the-mill teenage tote. It’s a bag of
secrets, imbued with supernatural powers. Strange items keep turning up inside,
clues to a decades-old mystery only Libby can solve.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Filled with apprehension and yet
intrigued by the mounting pile of evidence, Libby digs for the truth. And
eventually finds it. But the story of the purse is darker than she imagined—and
its next horrific chapter is going to be all about her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Excerpt from The
Haunted Purse<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Toni asked,
“Do you think we should tell my mom about the purse?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">“No,” I
said. I wasn’t ready to trust an adult. Not even Toni’s mom, nice as she was.
“Your mom is like you,” I added. “Practical. It would take a long time to
convince her there’s something supernatural going on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">We went
back to watching the purse. There was a moment when I thought I saw it twitch,
but that might have been my imagination. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">“You could
always get rid of it,” Toni said. “You know, donate it back to the thrift
store.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I considered
that. “I could. But I don’t want to. Not yet, anyway. This purse is the coolest
thing I’ve ever owned. I want to find out more about it. I want to see what it
does next.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">She took
her eyes from the purse long enough to glance at me. “Aren’t you afraid it’ll
crawl into your bed some night and strangle you with its straps?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">“No. I
think it’s trying to get my attention. It’s trying to tell me something.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">“Like
what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t
have a clue.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">About the Author<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; font-size: 11pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; padding: 0in;">Kimberly Baer is an author and
professional editor who was born and raised in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, a town
marginally famous for having endured three major floods—and she lived there
during one of them. She currently lives in Virginia. Kim has had her nose in a
book practically since birth, and she decided early on that she wanted to be on
the giving end of the reading experience as well as the receiving end. Her
first story, written at age six, was about a baby chick that hatched out of a
little girl’s Easter egg after somehow surviving the hard-boiling process. Her
recent focus has been on writing middle-grade and young adult fiction. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Author Links<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.kimberlybaer.com/">Website</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">|</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://twitter.com/KimberlyBaer14">Twitter</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">|</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/Author-Kimberly-Baer-101815851562388/?modal=admin_todo_tour">Facebook</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErHlFEtoXNM&feature=youtu.be">Book
trailer for The Haunted Purse</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Buy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Haunted Purse</i><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08D39H9SZ"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amazon</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">|<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></b><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-haunted-purse-kimberly-baer/1137386703?ean=9781509232383">Barnes
and Noble</a> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">| </b><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-haunted-purse/id1525102097">Apple</a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> |<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b><a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details?_bbid=16509913&_bbreg=us&_bbtype=blog&id=AW32DwAAQBAJ">Google</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">|</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-haunted-purse?utm_source=walmarthybrid&utm_medium=Affiliate&utm_campaign=BookBub&utm_term=bookbubblogd&ranMID=37217&ranEAID=tWxX%2FRg9ax8&ranSiteID=tWxX_Rg9ax8-FEiXRIL68_ukbXH52Lf07w&siteID=tWxX_Rg9ax8-FEiXRIL68_ukbXH52Lf07w">Kobo</a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">|<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b><a name="_Hlk117005587"></a><a href="https://www.walmart.com/ip/The-Haunted-Purse-Paperback-9781509232383/533037181"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk117005587;">Walmart.com</span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk117005587;"></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk117005587;"></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-81190577643526199712022-10-18T15:34:00.016-04:002022-10-18T22:17:43.833-04:00The Haunting of Laurel Cove<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfTnXzs1F-bSoBVVrgwma5fBVcmirmiV5Mp3BXYB-oNNNwyyO4kF9AMbrnShdeI_P4SXzMvNGG7CYBthzbxZGxwAjnVUg6gL08TNqXuTVrPcKUVNbeleM4YmgVXjGWJSMkUC6sivrd7wZkSq5kOIIRBVJkUor23SQZEbWEsz7vbZFns1ap-A3PdSg/s300/TheHauntingofLaurelCove_w16347_300%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfTnXzs1F-bSoBVVrgwma5fBVcmirmiV5Mp3BXYB-oNNNwyyO4kF9AMbrnShdeI_P4SXzMvNGG7CYBthzbxZGxwAjnVUg6gL08TNqXuTVrPcKUVNbeleM4YmgVXjGWJSMkUC6sivrd7wZkSq5kOIIRBVJkUor23SQZEbWEsz7vbZFns1ap-A3PdSg/s1600/TheHauntingofLaurelCove_w16347_300%20(2).jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><div><br /></div></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I love the Smoky Mountains! With their hazy mists and secret coves, the Smokies are mysterious and full of secrets, and they can easily pull you into their spell. From the moment I saw them, I thought they presented a perfect setting for a mystery/romance/ghost story.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I wrote The Haunting of Laurel Cove after my first visit to the Smokies more than a few years ago. The story went through many rewrites and garnered an honorable mention in a contest along the way. When Covid reared its ugly head, I dragged the original manuscript out from its hiding place, resurrected the flash drive where the last version was saved, and set about rewriting the entire book...one more time. It became what I called my Pandemic Project, and it kept me busy and productive for the many months we spent sitting at home that year. Then off it went to the Wild Rose Press. I'm happy to say it will release on December 6, 2022. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Shattered dreams, family secrets, rekindled love. Which is the biggest threat to life and sanity to a broken woman trying to heal? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When Jane Stuart returns to the Smoky Mountains and the house she inherited from her grandmother with the hope to heal from a brutal mugging, she find herself obsessed with a local legend involving a witch and a mysterious cabin.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Upon reconnecting with an old boyfriend now turned handsome environmentalist, she finds herself rekindling her attraction to Brendan McGarren and is drawn into his battle to keep Laurel Cove from becoming a rich man's playground. As she begins to uncover family secrets pertaining to the witch and the cabin, Jane questions her own sanity. Then the threats begin. Can she trust Brendan?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Will the search for the truth cost Jane her life?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Here is an excerpt from The Haunting of Laurel Cove:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I glanced up into the woods, staring once more into vacant windows. The eyes and soul of a house no longer inhabited, at least not by anyone of this world. Voices whirled about in my mind.<i> Lights have been seen in the cabin, after dark. Some say she doesn't rest at all, but walks at night. </i>Then, from somewhere, the echo of a dog's plaintive howl sent icy fingers sliding down my backbone.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"I was here the other day," I said, my voice hushed . "I didn't know it was Cissy's cabin, but now I remember being here a long time ago, when the other kids were taunting her. It was awful, and I knew Gran would be upset with me. I think maybe she felt sorry for Cissy, or maybe she even knew her, before it happened."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Before what happened?" Brendan drew next to me and leaned over to put his hand on mine where I gripped the reins. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I tore my gaze from the cabin and looked into his turquoise eyes. "The murder."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He considered this a moment before he said, "I think we should leave now."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Did he feel it too? The presence of someone other than us? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">We did not talk at all as we rode away, but I couldn't resist a single backward glance at the lonely cabin. Strange how the breeze sifting through the trees now sounded more like someone's gentle sighing. <i>Cecilia Jane. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm so excited for this book's release. I hope you'll enjoy it!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">You may preorder it now at these fine retailers:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Amazon:<a href="https://tinyurl.com/3v2fhfeu"> https://tinyurl.com/3v2fhfeu</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Barnes and Noble:<a href="https://tinyurl.com/y6kktzpp"> https://tinyurl.com/y6kktzpp</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If are a library patron, please ask your local library to order The Haunting of Laurel Cove.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">ISBN: 978-1-2092-4551-2</span></p><p><br /></p><p>Also from Lucy Naylor Kubash and The Wild Rose Press</p><p>Will o' the Wisp </p><p>ISBN: 978-1-5092-2694-8</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWC-DF3Zj2S_4WymXpGdIsmVAR6wDuM4eutzzELlYFRPSLwMfaZVV2MrlR_iBjq9fvV3IPJbbbnu1si3zyQ6PyGa2kEARiuKFoZ8RGUOGMiDCD3eakGUb-axGOxc6kxkKPXGeZxKag7jSL2_Sn9mcEiZIe2rbXVUYsgkU8FHPp5dNZeFrzzUK6mBYA/s150/WillotheWisp_w12375_100.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="100" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWC-DF3Zj2S_4WymXpGdIsmVAR6wDuM4eutzzELlYFRPSLwMfaZVV2MrlR_iBjq9fvV3IPJbbbnu1si3zyQ6PyGa2kEARiuKFoZ8RGUOGMiDCD3eakGUb-axGOxc6kxkKPXGeZxKag7jSL2_Sn9mcEiZIe2rbXVUYsgkU8FHPp5dNZeFrzzUK6mBYA/s1600/WillotheWisp_w12375_100.jpg" width="100" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Please visit my Amazon Author Page: </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/author/lucynaylorkubash">www.amazon.com/author/lucynaylorkubash</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Look for me here;</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://www.lucynaylorkubash.com">www.lucynaylorkubash.com</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/LucyNaylorKubash/">https://www.facebook.com/LucyNaylorKubash/</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://twitter.com/LucyKubash">https://twitter.com/LucyKubash</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://instagram.com/lucykubash_author/">https://instagram.com/lucykubash_author/</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i><br /></i></p>Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-15108890793935796442020-04-24T17:11:00.001-04:002020-04-24T17:52:43.760-04:00Will o' the Wisp--Epilogue<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
A year later...</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<br />
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Grandma Ellie’s roses were in full
bloom, and June burst in a riot of colors across the fields of Allison’s Farm.
It was very much like the day a boy from Detroit had stepped onto the porch,
and the one when a man from the West had walked into Allison’s barn. The memory
of both days would forever remain stored in her heart, as would many others in
the past years, but none would match the joy in her life today.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
As she walked towards the pasture,
Gypsy ran around barking and the cats sprang to the top of the fence posts. The
commotion brought the horses to the gate. Inquisitive as ever, they crowded close
to see what Allison carried in her arms. When she stood at the fence, Melody
nickered and snuffled at the pink blanket wrapped bundle.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Sarah Ellen McBride, named for her
great-grandmothers, stirred and flung out a tiny fist to bump the old
broodmare’s nose. Melody didn’t budge but breathed softly on the tiny girl’s
dark fluff of hair.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Do you think Melody knows it’s a
baby?” Lizzie climbed on the fence while Mystri and the fillies Starlight and
Stardust moved in for a look-see.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“She had many babies herself. I’m
sure she does.” Allison held her week old daughter up to meet the residents of
the pasture, much as she had done with Lizzie ten years ago.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> “Will you like horses, Sarah?”
Lizzie put out a finger for the baby to grasp. “I’ll let you have my pony. I’m
getting a little too big to ride Cayenne.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“I think she’ll love him just as
you do.” Allison tucked the baby back in the curve of her arm. “How do you feel
about having a sister?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Lizzie shrugged but managed a
close-mouthed smile that hid her new braces. “She’s okay. Except when she cries
at night.”</div>
<br />
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“You did, too. She’ll grow out of
it.”</div>
<br />
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As if she’d heard the word, Sarah
Ellen started to fuss loudly.</div>
<br />
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“Hey, is this gathering for girls
only or can a guy join the party?” Shane came up behind them and peeked over Allison’s
shoulder at the little face working up to a good cry.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“We’re introducing her,” Lizzie
said. “And it looks like the girls are more interested than the boys.” She
motioned to Tank, Pride, Major and Duncan who had moved away when the bundle
made noise.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“I think they feel outnumbered.” He
touched Sarah’s scrunched up nose. She stopped fussing and fixed deep blue eyes
on her father.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Allison glanced up at him. “Do you?
Feel outnumbered?” </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Only most of the time.” He winked
at her and followed them up to the house.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> While they went inside, Shane
paused to look out toward the old orchard and the woods beyond. It was a day
very much like this one when he’d stepped down from the bus and come looking
for a job…and met a girl named Allison Tyler. Some days it still seemed hard to
believe he’d come back to Michigan, and that he and Allison were together. It
seemed even more amazing they now had two daughters. Life had a funny way of
working out sometimes, but in this case, he liked to think Pop and Ellie Tyler
would approve.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Later that night, while lying in
bed upstairs in the old farmhouse, he told Allison what he’d heard in Jackson’s
General that day. A farmer forty miles north had reported seeing something
strange on his land. Something he said looked very much like a large cat.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“It’s possible it could return
here,” he added. “They have a wide range.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
She tucked Sarah into her bassinet
and climbed into bed to snuggle beside him. “I don’t think so. I think it’s old
and time is short. I hope he just wanders off into the woods somewhere and
fades away.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“There’s no certainty of that.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
She sighed. “Life is a long list of
uncertainties. We just have to learn to live with them. But I know the certainties
we do have.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
A deep sense of contentment filled
Shane’s heart when Allison curled up against his side and hugged him. “Yeah?
What’s that?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Our love and the family we’ve
made.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
He kissed the top of her head.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
It was all either of them had ever
really wanted.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br />
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Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-18409704253717089282019-10-11T12:06:00.001-04:002019-10-11T12:06:40.596-04:00Author Interview with Love Bytes
<br />
<div align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
The following interview first appeared in the October issue of the Love Bytes newsletter, an official publication of the RWA Online Chapter. </div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Interview with Lucy Kubash</span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Karen Jones</span></strong></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Tell us about your new book</b>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My new book is Will o’ the Wisp, a
contemporary romance with a touch of mystery and suspense. It was released by
The Wild Rose Press on August 7, 2019. Here’s the book blurb. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In spite of a broken heart, Allison
Delaney carved out a life for herself and her young daughter on her
grandparents' farm. Her child and the horses she rescues are all that matter.
Then a sudden threat to their safety puts her back in touch with Shane McBride,
the man she never thought to see again. Returning to the small town of Silver
Creek brings back a lot of memories for Shane, ones he treasures haunted by the
ones that made him leave, but this time he is determined to stay and make
things right. Trusting Shane may be her only choice, but now Allison fears not
only the threat against her farm but the risk of losing her heart again. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What inspired the story? </span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Will o’ the Wisp first began as a
short story many years ago and was inspired by events that occurred in
Michigan. I was writing for a magazine at that time, and when they didn’t
accept this one, I put it away in my file cabinet. This was pre-computer days,
if you can believe it! I always knew I’d return to the story someday. When I
finally did, I decided the characters needed a full-length book to tell their
story. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What inspired the title? </span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because of the sense of an eerie
danger that threatens my heroine Allison and the return of a love that slipped
away from her, I wanted a title that evoked a sense of something that you’re
not quite sure is really there, that might easily disappear. Or as Allison says
in the story, “Something so fragile, so elusive you’re afraid if you look away,
it will be gone.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>What travel did your research involve? </b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While the story itself is set in
Michigan, where I’ve always lived, the hero Shane McBride has returned from
living in Wyoming for years. We’ve traveled through that state quite a bit, so
I was able to use some of what I’ve learned about it in this story and compared
Shane’s feelings about leaving Wyoming to coming back to Michigan after so
long. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>What was the most difficult aspect of
writing Will o’ the Wisp? </b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The hardest part was learning to
let go and let it happen. By that I mean, letting the characters do their thing
instead of my trying to force what I thought should happen. When I fought them
on it, the story stalled. When I finally allowed them to take the story in the
direction they wanted it to go, I couldn’t write it fast enough. Might sound
weird, but it’s true. Shane and Allison really took on a life of their own. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What was the easiest aspect of
writing Will o’ the Wisp?</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Writing about the animals that are all
secondary characters in the story. I’ve always been an animal lover, and the
ones in this story all have their own personalities. I loved naming them and
learning their stories, which then became important to the plot, especially the
horses that Allison rescues. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When did you start writing and
why? </span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember making up stories in my
head when I was just a kid. In junior high, a few of my friends and I wrote
what is now called fan fiction. We wrote stories about our favorite characters on
TV. I started writing a historical romance about that time, which remains
unfinished, and always enjoyed the writing assignments in school (when everyone
else hated them, lol!). I started writing contemporary romance when my children
were small and sold my first short story to Woman’s World magazine thirty-six
years ago. Those stories are now included in five anthologies available at
Amazon. Why did I start writing? I love reading and writing just seemed to be
an extension of that, plus I always felt writing lets me live other lives, even
if just vicariously. When did you start reading romance and what did you read?
I’ve always loved stories with a romance or love interest. I like happy
endings. As a teen, because I couldn’t find much romance in my local library, I
read biographies of presidents and their wives. Then I started reading Phyllis
Whitney’s romantic suspense and Victoria Holt’s gothic romance. For
contemporary, I enjoy Kathleen Eagle, Karen White (love her ghost stories), and
Luanne Rice. My friend Rosanne Bittner writes fabulous western historical
romance, so I try to keep up with them. While I do like an HEA, I also like
mystery and crime and am reading Margaret Coel’s Wind River mysteries, Sharyn
McCrumb’s Appalachian books, and the Craig Johnson Longmire books. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What was your funniest moment as
an author? </span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My friend Rosanne and I were doing
a book signing at a local bookstore. I only had one book out at that time, so
not like I had stacks of different ones on the table. A lady came up and asked
if one of us was Jayne Ann Krentz. She thought she saw in the paper where JAK
was doing a book signing that day. We both laughed. Not in small town Michigan!
I’m still not sure how she managed to get Jayne Ann Krentz out of Lucy Naylor
Kubash, but it gave us a good chuckle that day. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How and where is your book
available and what are you working on now? </span></b></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Will o’ the Wisp is available in
both print and e-book. You can find it at Amazon, B&N, Kobo and many other
fine retailers. You can also ask your local library to order it. As an
anecdote, I have to add that when I finished revising and editing this book,
for maybe the one hundredth time, before sending it out, I decided to submit it
on the day of the Great Solar Eclipse of August 21, 2017, because I thought that
might bring good luck. It did! The Wild Rose Press accepted it shortly after
and now here we are with it releasing in the same month. Currently, I’m
finishing up revisions on a sequel to my first book, Chance’s Return. This one
is titled, Tetons by Morning and is set near one of my most favorite places,
The Grand Tetons of Wyoming. I would also like to finish that historical I once
started. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Website:</b> </span><a href="http://lucynaylorkubash.com/"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Calibri;">http://lucynaylorkubash.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Author Facebook
page:</b> </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/LucyNaylorKubash/"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Calibri;">https://www.facebook.com/LucyNaylorKubash/</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Twitter:</b> </span><a href="https://twitter.com/LucyKubash"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Calibri;">https://twitter.com/LucyKubash</span></a></div>
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Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-14784347589233406902019-07-22T23:00:00.000-04:002019-07-22T23:00:54.693-04:00It's Official!My new contemporary romance Will o' the Wisp is set to release on August 7, 2019! Can you tell I'm excited? This book is very dear to my heart and I love the characters, Allison Delaney and Shane McBride. When the story opens, ten years apart stand between them, and they've both been through a lot but have learned how to pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and make a new life. Except, what happens when they are thrown together again by circumstances beyond their control? How will they deal with emotions and feelings, not to mention secrets, that were never resolved? I hope you'll read the book to find out. It is up for pre-order now at Amazon and will soon be available at many other fine retailers. My print books are ordered, and I can't wait for the big day to arrive. <br />
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<br /><br />
Will o' the Wisp, published by The Wild Rose Press. Pre-order here:
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<b><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">https://tinyurl.com/y687pwdu</span></b></div>
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<br />Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-18760598809029096632019-04-22T12:02:00.000-04:002019-04-22T12:22:14.030-04:00I Have a Cover!It's been eons since I've posted anything here, but I haven't been taking it easy. Not by a long shot. When I last posted well over a year ago, I was waiting to hear from an editor to know if my book, Will O' the Wisp, had been accepted by her or not. A few months later, I received a contract from The Wild Rose Press, and it's been a long process of (what has seemed like) endless rounds of edits. Now that we're approaching a release date, I find my stomach is often in knots as I try to figure out the best ways to promote my story. Whatever approach an author takes, it's always a gamble as to what is most effective. Readers today are picky, and they have a right to be since there are just sooooo many books out there. What will make one book stand out among them? I great cover is a good start and fortunately, I've received one with vibrant colors that really pop and characters that match the ones in the story. One can hope this will be one good way to catch the reader's eye and make them want to know more. Who are these people? What are their secrets and what makes them tick? Here is an excerpt that I hope will also make you want to know more.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
From <strong>Will O' the Wisp</strong> by Lucy Naylor Kubash<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
The man who stepped from inside the truck was
definitely not Doc. Tall, with shoulders stretching the faded fabric of his
denim shirt and shiny black hair that glistened in the sunlight, he would have
towered over Doc’s stocky figure. As he started toward the barn, she couldn’t
see his face, but the easy swagger to his walk, the way he rolled his booted
feet from heel to toe, spoke to her of things she thought she had forgotten.
Had worked very hard to forget. Feelings she’d buried ten years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uncomfortable, she dropped her gaze to her
daughter who had come to stand next to Gypsy.</div>
<br />
<br />
“Is he Doc’s helper, you think?” Lizzie scrunched
her nose. “I don’t think I know him.”<br />
<br />
<br />
Sudden awareness clutched Allison’s heart, giving
it an extra beat, as if to prove the man walking toward her was still easy on
the eyes but hard on the heart. He’d certainly been hard on hers. <br />
<br />
<br />
It would stand to reason Doc might call on him to
give a hand. <br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> But why does
it have to be</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my barn that needs
visiting this morning?</i> <br />
<br />
<br />
Her heart thumped hard in her chest as Shane
McBride came closer, stopped short, and tilted his head back to get a better
look at her. For a second, surprise lit his eyes to the color of the sky, then,
sticking his hands into his denim pockets, he shook his head. A slow grin
touched his mouth. The mouth she remembered so well.<br />
<br />
<br />
“Allison,” he said in his slow, sexy way. “I…wasn’t
sure it was you who called.”<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My two characters, Shane and Allison, have been through a lot, both together and apart, but it's the story that begins at their reunion after a separation of ten years that I hope will make the reader want to know more. What kept them apart? Will it still stand between them? And what happens when long-held secrets are revealed?<br />
<br />
<br />
As soon as I have a release date, I'll post it here and shout it from the rooftops and anywhere else they'll let me. Stay tuned.<br />
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<br />
<strong>Will O' the Wisp</strong> coming soon from The Wild Rose Press.<br />
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<br />Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-2677628850131406832017-11-11T12:22:00.000-05:002017-11-11T12:22:46.212-05:00Waiting at the Inbox
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Lately,
I’ve been haunting my Inbox. Back in the day of typewriters, large manila
envelopes and trips to the post office, writers haunted their mailboxes, hoping
for a sale, dreading the rejections. In today’s digital world, most submissions
(not all) are made by email and thus it is at the inbox where you discover
whether an editor loves your baby and wants to publish it or has decided to
pass on it. It’s been a trend in the last few years for no rejection to arrive.
If you haven’t had a reply in say four to five months, you can figure it’s a
No, which allows you to go on to Plan B, if you haven’t already submitted
somewhere else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
submitted a proposal (detailed synopsis) to a publisher by email two and half months
ago and the request for the first three chapters came within a few weeks. That
was followed by the request (JOY!) for the completed manuscript. The editor who
is considering my story has given me a date of December 15 (on or before) for
her final word. All of this has transpired by email. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So
that any communications wouldn’t be lost in the daily inundation that fills my
regular email, I sent all of this from an account that I use for writing
business only. Conveniently, I have the app on my phone and when an email comes
in, it shows up on the app. All I need to do is look at the app and see if any
new messages have come through. It’s pretty handy, but it does tempt me to
check that app numerous times in a day. I can’t say it’s better than walking to
the mailbox, because at least that involved some exercise, but it certainly
does keep the anticipation high. While one check of the mailbox a day was all
it took to know whether you’d gotten a reply, checking the email app can, and
does, happen often in 24 hours. I have to say, it puts an entirely different
perspective on the submission process. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
writing/publishing history goes back far enough to remember when rejected manuscripts
were actually returned in the self-addressed stamped envelope that the author
provided and was a submission requirement. I remember peering into the mailbox,
wondering if I would see the tell-tale large yellow envelope, hoping to see a
regular business size one that included an acceptance. Of course there was also
The Call that every writer lived to receive. The one where a real live editor
actually spoke to you, told you how wonderful your story was and how much they
wanted to buy it. One memory that stands out is the time I was sweeping the
kitchen floor and for the moment not thinking about writing when the phone
rang. When the caller identified herself as xxxxx from xxxx publisher, I, not
paying attention, almost said, “No thank you, I’m not interested in whatever
you’re selling.” (There were telemarketers back then but no caller ID.)
Fortunately, before I made a complete fool of myself, I heard her say, “We’d
like to publish your book.” I guess I’ll always remember that call.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
not sure if the waiting ever gets any easier. I think not when I count the
times I’ve checked my phone app in the past few weeks, hoping for an early
answer. It’s just a different method of delivery. Writers throughout time have
had to wait. It’s really what we do best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-15696937528142142362017-10-06T22:48:00.000-04:002017-10-06T22:48:30.961-04:00Road Tripping
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For the last four years, we have traveled west for two
weeks at a time, logging in anywhere from 3500 to 5500 miles. While I love
traveling and look forward to making more trips when we move into retirement, there
are a few observations I’ve made and tips I’ve garnered while on those journeys.
This last time, I jotted a few of them down, as much to remind myself next time
around as to pass them on to anyone else who may be contemplating a many-mile
road trip.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Always,
always bring water and/or other non-sugary drinks with you rather than rely on
stopping and buying them, at least for the first day or two. Unsweetened ice
tea works pretty good for me when I get tired of just plain water. Staying
hydrated when you’re sitting for hours is a good thing for many reasons. I have
to admit, though, I really enjoy the Coke with lots of ice at the first
McDonalds along the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Never
pass up the opportunity to stop at a rest area, because the next one might be
60 miles away. (And after drinking all that water/tea/whatever, you’ll need to
stop frequently!) Getting out and stretching avoids muscle cramps and road
fatigue and gives your eyes a rest. In some states (like Iowa), we’ve found
rest areas are not far apart. In others (South Dakota, I’m talking about you),
not so true. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Don’t
bypass the scenic lookouts you see along the way. Who knows if you’ll pass this
way again? You will learn a lot about a particular area if you just stop and
have a look at Points of Interest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Have
a planned route in mind, but be willing to vary from it if you have the time. A
side jaunt we made while driving through Nebraska (another long state that can
rather bend your mind) was to go north to see the Scottsbluff area and Chimney
Rock. It only set us back a few hours
and turned out to be someplace very scenic that we’d never visited before. Plus,
they had lots of books at the visitor center.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Visitor
centers are a rich source for information, sites of interest, and did I mention
books? The folks who staff them are usually friendly and willing to talk about
their area and answer any questions you may have. They’ll tell you the best
places to eat, where to get pizza, and when places open and close. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Maps,
tour books, pamphlets and brochures will proliferate overnight, on their own,
and without your permission. They will soon take over your vehicle. I’ve tried
to limit myself on what I pick up, but they often just jump into my hand and
insist they go with me. Using my phone has helped reduce some of the paper, but
there truly is nothing like looking at a real honest-to-goodness map. I’ve
learned how to fold them so I only see what I need to for a few hours. By the
end of the trip, they’re often well-worn and have served their purpose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes
you just need to get off the Interstate if you want to see America. In doing so,
you may give up the nicer motels and chain restaurants, but you’ll see how
other people really live, good or not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Keep
a log or journal of what you saw, where you stayed, what you did. Even if it’s
just a few lines jotted down at the end of the day, it’s fun to look back later
and remember the trip with more than photos. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Speaking
of photos; take lots. Take more than one of the same thing. You can always go
back and delete. Post some on social media as you travel. It’s another way of
keeping track of where you’ve been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Last,
but not least in any way, make sure the companion/spouse/friend/kids/pets you
are traveling with are people you can spend hours with, in close spaces, for
days at a time, without wanting to strangle them. Okay, I confess, the strangling
part does enter your mind about day three. I’ve traveled with all of the above,
and it’s hard to remain in a good mood all of the time when you just want to
get the heck someplace where you don’t have to leave for a couple of days.
Traveling with kids and pets deserves its own list of tips, and since our kids
are grown and we’ve opted to leave the pets at home, we didn’t have to worry
about that. But I do have a long memory for how we coped with them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For myself, the destination has been very worth the
journey, but to stay sane you want to make the journey as pleasant as possible,
too. Meltdowns will occur, and the best way to overcome is to remember that we
all get tired and frustrated (especially when you realize you’ve driven 50
miles in the wrong direction), but some of the worst times become the ones we laugh about
even years later. The last place we stayed on the trip home, the motel
clerk said, laughingly, that he couldn’t count the number of couples who check
in, saying, “Just give us two beds. Doesn't matter what size. I’m not sleeping with him/her tonight.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-68145666879123546702017-08-22T10:17:00.000-04:002017-08-22T10:17:24.673-04:00
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It was a day when we felt joined by something so far
beyond us, we couldn’t help but pause to observe it in awe. After months and
weeks of listening to sad, fearful and appalling news, it was something that
brought people together in a good way and gave us a chance to dwell on an event
over which we had no control. Yet, it seemed to bring joy and a feeling of
camaraderie with the entire country. Even if you weren’t in the path of
totality or weren’t able to watch it in person, you probably saw it unfold on
TV or the Internet. Solar Eclipse Day 2017, when the shadow of the moon swept
across the heartland and many people stopped to look up (with the proper eye
protection!) and to appreciate a most magnificent display of celestial beauty.
I dare to say nothing we could produce here on earth could rival the show the
sun and moon managed to put on for most of the afternoon, and we didn’t have to
buy tickets to attend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Watching people’s reactions to the eclipse was almost as
much fun as the event itself. Many who traveled hundred, even thousands, of
miles seemed more than willing to put up with crowds and inconveniences for the
chance to see the moon blot out the sun. How good to know we have not gone
beyond the ability to appreciate such a natural event. People even applauded at
the peak and when the diamond effect beamed sunlight past the moon’s rim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Where I live, we experienced about an 80% eclipse and
that was quite amazing. Clouds threatened to blot out the sky, but at the
moment of the most coverage they added to the eerie, hazy gray light cast by
the sliver of sun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m sure the towns and communities that were in the
path of the eclipse are happy and relieved it is finally over, after a summer
of so much hype, but a takeaway lesson for everyone might be to appreciate what
is beyond us, and to let it take us out of ourselves, if even just for a few
moments. Let the summer of ’17 go down as the one when, for a few hours, we
looked up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-7378810792133304012017-07-25T11:25:00.000-04:002017-07-25T11:25:26.000-04:00New Release by Patricia Kiyono!<br />
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<o:p> Today I'm helping author Patricia Kiyono celebrate her newest release. Patricia writes sweet romance stories, and this one sounds like a winner. I love the cover, too! Please read on to find out how she did some very special research for her book. Let's give Patricia and her book a warm welcome.</o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Road to Escape</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> by Patricia Kiyono<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Book One in The
Escape Reunion Series, a multi-author project<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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After I signed on to write the opening book of the Escape
Reunion series, I started brainstorming conflicts for my main characters. The
hero was relatively easy – he was a widower who’s struggling to keep his alpaca
ranch going all by himself. His wife’s death ten years earlier caused him to
alienate his children, and his feelings of guilt prevent him from forming a
relationship with another woman. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
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The heroine was more difficult. Originally, I thought to
give her a phobia I possess – my complete abhorrence to animals. All animals. I
don’t mind looking at them, but I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cannot</i>
touch them. What greater conflict for a woman with this malady than to start a
relationship with a man who lives and works with animals? Of course, I
eventually discarded that plan, because I honestly couldn’t figure out how to
resolve that conflict. Twenty years ago, I nearly left my entire family when
hubby and the kids brought home a Bichon Frise. Try as I might, I couldn’t come
up with a believable scenario to make an animal-phobic woman agree to marry a
rancher – unless the rancher gave up the ranch, but then that wouldn’t be cool
if he had to give up his livelihood for her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Anyway, once I got my conflict in order, I started my
research. But there’s only so much one can learn from reading articles online,
watching YouTube videos, and talking to people. In order to get a true feel for
alpaca ranching, I had to spend time on an alpaca ranch. So I started
corresponding with a few local experts, and finally drove out to Blendon Pines
Alpaca Ranch in Hudsonville, MI. Fortunately the weather was relatively cool,
so I wore jeans (so stray kittens and smaller critters wouldn’t touch my legs),
long sleeves and a jacket (in case I brushed up against an alpaca), and gloves.
I got out of my car, wondering how silly I’d look if I covered my head with a
ski mask. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Fortunately, the inhabitants of her ranch were friendly, but
not overbearing. In other words, they didn’t try to touch me. And Lynn Scholten
showed me around, answering my many questions about her daily routine as well
as the current challenges alpaca farmers face. Hopefully, I depicted the
profession accurately in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Road to Escape</i>.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Author Bio:</b> <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Patricia
Kiyono was born in Japan and raised in southwest Michigan, where she lives with
her very tolerant husband, near their five children, nine grandchildren, and
two great-grandchildren. Her first career was teaching, which she still does
part-time at a local university. In addition to writing, she likes to sew and
scrapbook. She also loves to travel, always on the lookout for special
locations and historical details for her books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Blurb:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Tom Cooper left his high-pressure law practice in
Indianapolis for life on an alpaca farm in the tiny northwest Indiana town of
Escape. Though he continued to practice law, the farm provided a good life for
him, his wife, and their four children. But when his wife died, grief consumed
him and the children all left. He’s resigned to doing things alone, but a
disturbing medical diagnosis could change things.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Laurie Matthews left her nursing job in shame. The town of
Escape has welcomed her, and she now owns the local diner. She’s attracted to
the handsome widower who comes in for coffee and a hot meal, but keeps her
distance, because everyone she’s ever loved has died – her grandparents, her
parents, her husband, and one other. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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A romantic relationship isn’t on the agenda for either of
them, but when the diner falls on hard times, Tom steps in to help, paving the
way for them both to escape the loneliness in their lives.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Memories of his children filled his
thoughts for the rest of the drive to the Cooper Alpaca Ranch. He pulled into
the driveway and drove past the house toward the barn. Maybe some hard work
would take his mind off his worries.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Opening the wide barn door, he let
his eyes adjust to the light inside. The large door opened to an aisle with
stalls on each side. His grandfather had raised horses, but when Tom inherited
the farm and converted to alpaca ranching, he’d put additional doors on the
sides of the barn so that the animals could easily go outside. Like on most
alpaca farms, the females were kept separate from the males and met only for
breeding. On this crisp spring day, only a few females remained inside. He
shooed them out, locking them into the female pasture. Then he got a
wheelbarrow and cleaned out the barn floor, taking the alpaca beans outside to
the manure pile.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Working on his chores calmed his
mind, and his mood lifted.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Road to Escape</i> can be purchased at</b> <a href="http://a.co/cZRI0JS"><span style="color: blue;">Amazon</span></a>, <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-road-to-escape-patricia-kiyono/1126787210"><span style="color: blue;">Barnes
and Noble</span></a>, <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/736724"><span style="color: blue;">Smashwords</span></a>,
and <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-road-to-escape"><span style="color: blue;">Kobo</span></a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Patricia Kiyono can
be found on </b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Patricia-Kiyono/e/B0067PSM5C/"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">Amazon</span></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> and at her</b> <a href="http://patriciakiyono.com/"><span style="color: blue;">website,</span></a> <a href="http://creative-hodgepodge.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: blue;">blog</span></a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Patricia-Kiyono-149294485148710/"><span style="color: blue;">Facebook</span></a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/PatriciaKiyono"><span style="color: blue;">Twitter</span></a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/patriciakiyono/"><span style="color: blue;">Instagram</span></a>, <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/+PatriciaKiyono"><span style="color: blue;">Google+</span></a>, <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/patriciakiyono/boards/"><span style="color: blue;">Pinterest</span></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-72261014419154393242017-06-14T21:29:00.000-04:002017-06-14T21:29:45.602-04:00The Long and Winding Road<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Honeymoons
are supposed to be a romantic time, right? A chance to get away and have fun
before settling into the routine of married life. I guess we must have somehow
missed that memo when we started out on ours. Of course it might have had
something to do with being twenty years old and not really having a clue
what we were getting into.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
began 45 years ago, June 17, 1972, when the two twenty year olds headed north
for that fabled few days of R&R. The first night we spent not in a
honeymoon suite, but in a cabin in the woods, with no running hot
water. It was the family cabin, and I’d been going there since I was 12 years
old, but…..we got lost on the way, because I was sure I knew how to take
the short cut. Ha ha. By the time we got there it was late and since we were in
the middle of the Manistee National Forest, miles from the nearest restaurant,
we made our own dinner, a packaged spaghetti dinner, courtesy of Chef-Boyardee.
It was wonderful, or maybe by that time we were just starving.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
second leg of our northern journey found us in Wilderness State Park, where
summer had yet to begin. I remember struggling to set up our tent on the shores
of Lake Michigan while the wind tried mightily to take it away. But we were
seasoned, determined campers and we finally won out. The next day we set off on
the ferry for Mackinac Island. Having never been there before, I was really
excited, until the waves got the better of me. Saying the lake was rough that
day is an understatement. I recall seeing kids, who had been on the upper level
of the deck, coming inside soaking wet. Well, that took care of thinking maybe
getting some air would alleviate my increasing nausea. It really helped a lot
when my new spouse turned to me and said, “You do look a little green.” Lovely.
On top of it, someone had parked their baby stroller in front of me, so even if
I'd needed to make a mad dash to the railing, I would have had to
climb over the baby block. Thanks goodness we reached the island before that
became a necessity, but then I spent the entire day worrying about how I was
going to get back to the mainland without going through the same ordeal. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I will
admit the island was beautiful, and in those days anyone could enter the Grand
Hotel and look around the lobby and wander the long veranda without having to
pay. Considering their dresscode, I’m amazed two young hippie-looking kids didn’t get kicked out,
just based on their clothes. I don’t remember what else we did that
day, besides eat fudge and think about the trip back. Thank goodness by
the time we did board the return ferry, the wind had died down and the lake had
calmed, and we were able to ride on the upper deck. It was such a relief.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Driving
across the Mackinac Bridge was another new experience for me, and it’s hard to
imagine that bridge was only fifteen years old at the time. We camped in
Newbury, where folks said to watch out for the bears. New husband assured me
they would be no problem. I was certain I heard one sniffing outside the tent
that night. While making dinner on the campstove (spaghetti again!) one bruin
did run through the campground with an entire entourage of campers following
with their cameras. I watched the parade shaking my head at their foolishness.
Then the bear turned and stopped to sniff the air, undoubtedly he’d caught
scent of my spaghetti sauce. Figuring my safety was more important than dinner,
I made a quick leap into the car. After a few minutes, new husband stopped
whatever he was doing to look around for me and seeing me in the car asked what
the heck I was doing in there. I pointed to the bear who was still within
sight. He shrugged<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. Okayyyyy, better he
gets you than me. </i>Needless to say, neither one of us was eaten by the bear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I
did get chewed up by something much smaller when one night the weather finally
turned warmer and we left the flaps up on the tent windows. Much to the delight
of the neighborhood no-seeums. Have you ever seen a no-seeum? Well, I hadn’t
either and even when I woke up to find a rash of tiny little bugs floating in
front of my face, I wasn’t sure I was really seeing them. But I felt them, that’s
for sure, to the tune of probably a hundred tiny red bites all over my face and
arms. Boy did they itch! A trip to a local drugstore garnered me an oily lotion
that was supposed to help with the itch. It didn’t, but I dutifully smeared it
on and then for most of the rest of the trip all I could say was, “Don’t touch
me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Honeymoons are supposed to be trips
to remember, and I guess mine was, too, but no wonder these are the things that
stand out in my mind whenever I think about it. Maybe I could have titled this
post, #thehoneymoonfromhell, but in reality it was the beginning of a long and
winding road that has taken us down many different paths with many lessons
learned.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This weekend, 45 years later, we
are making another trip north, to Mackinaw City, but this time I’m opting for a
hotel room where I hope to be safe from bugs and bears, and I’m going to try
not to eat any spaghetti!</span></span><br />
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Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-92090532621409052822017-03-04T10:17:00.000-05:002017-03-04T10:17:25.415-05:00Where Have All the Young Girls Gone?<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As a
child of the fifties and sixties, I was a fan of folk music and I remember well
the verse from Where Have All the Flowers Gone? that asked where have all the
young girls gone? The answer then was they’d married soldiers, everyone. Today
the answer very well might be, to the booksellers, everyone. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I began
to notice the proliferation of the word girl in the titles of books a few years
ago. It might have started with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and then went
on to Gone Girl and the immensely popular book and movie, Girl on a Train. Now,
in a recent search on Amazon, I came up with a long list of books with the word
girl on the cover. Here are just a few:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Girl Who Lied; Girl on a Wire; Girl in Disguise; Girl in the Glass;
The House Girl; The Girl Before; The Girl in the Ice; The Girl in the Garden;
Bond Girl; Geek Girls Unite; Girl Undone; Girl Unbroken. Hardly a day goes by
that the emails I receive informing me of new releases or books on sale doesn’t
have at least one title with Girl-something in it. It makes you wonder, are authors
purposely writing books that can easily use girl in the title? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Having
also grown up in the era of the women’s liberation movement, I remember when
the moniker <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">girl</i> was frowned upon and
even considered a sexist way of referring to someone of the female gender. No
one wanted to be called a girl! It was I am woman, hear me roar, or it was
nothing. So when did girl once again become acceptable? Maybe when women
figured out it was okay to say the word girlfriend? Because who wanted to say “my
lady or my women friends” when that made us sound…hmmm… older? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
truth is most of us don’t mind another female calling us girls, but it can
still be considered a putdown when a man refers to “the girls in the office,”
or “all the girls I’ve known before.” How girl became popular in book titles is
a mystery, except that I’m sure it has something to do with another familiar
word, especially in the publishing world, Marketing. Because if one book with
girl in the title sold, why wouldn’t 25? It’s an interesting concept, writing a
book around a title, and I wonder how many bestsellers actually started out as
just a title? Did Margaret Mitchell think of Gone with the Wind and then write
the book? (Actually, I think I remember reading that she wanted to call it
Tomorrow is Another Day.) If it were published today, maybe it would be called
Girl of Atlanta or Scarlet Girl. And just how many titles can they continue to
come up with that include girl? I guess as many as will continue to sell. There is even an HBO TV series called simply Girls that has a big following.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In a
way, it’s kind of nice that girl has been elevated to book title status and is
no longer thought of as derogatory or even an outright dirty word. Nice that
more main characters in books and leading roles in movies and TV are female. Because,
seriously, the older you get you start not to mind being called a girl. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-16845222635870922392017-01-13T11:49:00.000-05:002017-01-13T11:49:23.517-05:00Confessions of a Christmas Movie Junkie
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">While I meant to post this a few weeks ago, I don’t
think it’s too much past the holiday season to put it out there now. Because I
just took my Christmas tree and decorations down this week, and I see a tree
still up in my neighbor’s window across the street. So it’s not so far out of
our radar just yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">They’re all done now. Gone back into the vault until
about the end of October when they’ll be trotted out again for our viewing
pleasure. Some people love them, some hate them (like my other half), but they
have become a regular on TV in the last waning days of the year. I’m talking
about the deluge of Christmas themed movies that emerge and monopolize certain
channels before we’ve even eaten the first bite of Thanksgiving turkey. I have
to admit, I’m a bit of junkie when it comes to watching them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">People who can’t abide watching all these Christmas
movies complain 1) there are too many; 2) they’re all alike; 3) the characters
are all too squeaky clean. While the haters may be right on all three accounts,
it’s for those very reasons that I watch as many as possible in those weeks
before the holidays. They are my go-to movies when I can’t abide reality TV or
the news anymore. This season especially they were a comfortable place to fall
when a lot of other things in life seemed determined to drive me nuts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I have to wonder if the people who hate Christmas
movies the most have even given them a chance. Because when you really get into
watching them, you will find they 1) aren’t all that much alike, and 2) they
usually involve people who are dealing with some very real problems. A few of
the movies I watched included single moms who needed a place to stay with their
kids; a family dealing with the loss of a son in the military; a corporate person
sent to deal a blow to a struggling family business; a woman left with amnesia
after an accident, who is taken in by a local widower and his family and the
town. Okay, so maybe that last one stretched the imagination a little bit, but
I was able to suspend disbelief, and it was a cute story. The best part is,
they all had happy endings. Someone once asked me, why do you write stories
that don’t reflect real life? I beg to differ that they do reflect real life,
but my reply was, there is enough real life in real life. Let us have a few
books and movies that give us what we all want—a happy ending. In today’s
world, we all can use a little of that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">So I was sad to see those feel-good movies go, but
then come to think of it we won’t have to wait till next fall to see them
again, because there is always Christmas in July! I guess there is nothing like
watching the snow fall on TV while turning up the air-conditioning in your
house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-70629645952644796212016-12-03T10:06:00.001-05:002016-12-03T10:06:42.925-05:00Fired-Up Friday<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;">My
Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;"> From
as early as I can remember, I bought into the cowboy myth. Being a child of the
50s, it wasn’t hard to do. Roy Rogers and Gene Autry TV movies filled Saturday
afternoons, and at night there was Marshall Dillon in Gunsmoke. My dad and I were
avid watchers. Westerns were a staple of television fare at that
time, and later Bonanza, the Virginian, Wagon Train, and High Chaparral became
favorites, although my personal heroes were the guys on Laramie. One the good,
stable, level-headed cowboy, the other a rough and tumble rebel. You had your
choice. I had crushes on at least one cowboy in each series.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Along
with the cowboy heroes, I also fell in love with horses. I think it may have
started when, on my first birthday, my dad gifted me with a wooden horse he had
made. Rather than being a rocking horse, it sat on casters and so was mobile. All I could do was sit on it then, but later, according to my mom, I became a holy
terror as I rode “Stormy” around the house, tearing up the linoleum and
crashing into the corners of cupboards. I’m not sure how Stormy got his name,
but he and I were attached at the wooden saddle, and I rode him hell bent for
leather while wearing my cowboy hat, boots, and black jacket with white fringe.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point I outgrew Stormy so an
extra board was placed under his body so he could grow with me. There was
actually a pattern cut out for another larger “horse” that my dad intended to
make, but he never got the opportunity. He passed away when I was five.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
Stormy and me on my first birthday.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Westerns fell out of favor in Hollywood, and cowboy heroes were few and far between for a while. Then came Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Redford as Sundance was an outlaw but damn, he sure fit the cowboy myth to a T. As a more modern day cowboy, Redford played the Electric Horseman, and though he was a little older, he was still a “be-still-my-heart” character. Tom Selleck and Sam Elliot were also great cowboys in the made for TV movies based on Louis L’Amour novels. Then along came romance novels, and they helped fill the bill, and still do, with plenty of cowboy heroes. Needless to say, they’re among my favorite romances to read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Cowboys and horses. There is a lot of myth and romance wrapped up in each. I’m really not sure what the appeal has been for me, but it’s no surprise that it often works its way into the stories I write. It certainly did when I created the hero Chance McCord. This is an excerpt from a current work in progress, the second in the McCord Family Saga, that I’m calling Tetons by Morning:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A week later a storm hit and besides blanketing the Tetons and the Buffalo Valley in another layer of white drove a pack of wolves that normally stayed to the north in Yellowstone to start hunting closer to the ranches. Bison, too, moved into the cattle pastures, and Chance was forced to go out every day and chase them away. Today, accompanied by the giant herd dog Mariah, he rode along the perimeter of the winter pastures, checking for any signs the wolves stalked nearby. The wind blew like needles against his face, and he hunched his shoulders to ward off the rawness that sank into his bones. After a day spent in the saddle his body always reacted to the cold and refused to move the way he wished it still could. Blame it on old rodeo injuries. Blame it on just plain getting older. Whatever, he simply wasn’t the man he used to be, the one who rode the meanest broncs this side of the Divide and lived to tell about it. Chance McCord, Top Bronc Rider at the Cody Night Rodeo. Chance McCord, Best All Around Cowboy at the Cheyenne Days Rodeo three years in a row. He had the belt buckles to prove it, and the memories of more nights spent sleeping in the back of his truck than he cared to count. In a way, it kind of ate at his soul, because now Chance McCord rode along the edge of the Bridger-Teton forest and looked for tracks in the snow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-28527198759900452692016-11-18T10:58:00.000-05:002016-11-18T13:11:45.980-05:00Fired-Up Friday<span style="font-size: x-small;">Maybe We All Need a Bus Ride</span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> It
has been said that Thanksgiving is the most traveled holiday in the U.S. More
people go home for Thanksgiving than at any other time of the year. While there
is often a lot of joy associated with family gatherings this time of year,
there can also be angst and uncertainty. Old hurts between siblings surface and
for those who have been away a long time, a feeling of no longer belonging
leads to estrangement. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> In
my story “Bus Ride to Love,” from the e-book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Autumn’s Gold,</i> Ellen Curtis is facing just such a dilemma. Having
left North Dakota far behind when she took a job in Chicago years ago, Ellen no
longer feels a part of her family and has stayed away much too long. But this
Thanksgiving, she is taking the long way home to try and reconnect. It turns
out to be a bus ride of unexpected surprises.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<em> Ellen Curtis didn’t mind rock music.
She’d grown up listening to some of the loudest rock bands around. It was just
that after hours of being blasted by music played at its most obnoxious level, she
was ready to scream. But screaming would hurt too much.</em>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Her
poor head was already pounding as if 16 jackhammers were at work between her
ears. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> She had expected the Thanksgiving
bus ride from Chicago to Red Butte, North Dakota, to be long, dull, and
relaxing; a time to gather her wits before facing the Curtis clan. So far it
had only been long, and it wasn’t even half over.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Things
change rapidly when a new driver boards the bus and issues an ultimatum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He stood in front of the bus,
surveying them all with a gaze of pure steel. Burly wasn’t the word to describe
him. More like massive. His chest was wide and the sleeves of his jacket
strained over bulging biceps. Musclemen didn’t usually do much for Ellen, but
she had the feeling this fellow came by his brawn quite honestly. He’d probably
never seen the inside of a workout gym or health club in his life.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> With cool gray eyes he swept over
the rows of passengers and settled at last on the three orange-haired rockers.
Ellen saw his jaw clamp down hard.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
rock band members are soon put in their place with Douglas Maddock’s warning
that the noise will stop—now—and the ride becomes more tolerable, but when the
bus becomes stranded at a tiny bus station on the prairie, because of a sudden
blizzard, Ellen learns that Douglas is a former lumber man from Oregon, a
single dad whose son lives with his parents while he’s driving the bus. She
ends up telling him about the family she is going home to see, the sister who
is marrying Ellen’s former boyfriend the day after Thanksgiving, and her
parents who were less than happy when she moved away. Ellen wonders if <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“they’ll ever accept me for the way I am. At
my age it shouldn’t matter anymore, but family disapproval is a hard thing to deal
with, no matter how old you get.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> When
she calls her parents to tell them of the delay, her sister Tammy is worried
she won’t make it home for the wedding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “But tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, and
the wedding’s Friday at four. What if you don’t make it?’<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Then marry Sonny without me,” Ellen
said snidely and clicked off, feeling like the Wicked Witch of the East. Why
did she feel so down on Tammy marrying Sonny? She certainly didn’t want him
anymore.</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Ellen
is upset when Maddock asks her if the censure she feels isn’t just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“all in your head, Ellen Curtis?” </i>But
then, maybe it is. Her parents seem genuinely worried, and when Douglas Maddock
gets the bus to Red Butte in time for the wedding, Ellen’s father is anxiously
waiting to pick her up. It strikes Ellen how much older her father looks. The weekend passes, Tammy marries Sonny, and Ellen
begins to see that, though not much has changed, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There was an order and purpose to life that was comfortable and
reassuring, and Ellen wondered that she had ever considered such a life boring
and repetitious. There was nothing more repetitious than sitting at a computer
all day.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> When
her father takes her back to the bus station on Monday, he asks her to not stay
away so long again, and this time she will keep her promise to come home more
often. When she boards the bus Ellen is suddenly saddened to see the driver isn’t
a burly man with cool gray eyes. But after they are on the road, someone sits
down beside her and asks, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Things change
much?”</i> She admits no, but that’s okay. She notices his eyes are a warm blue
color today. He asks if maybe she would come to visit Oregon? She could meet
his son. Ellen says she would like that and settles back to watch the landscape
slip by, glad it’s such a long way back to Chicago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> How
many people can relate to Ellen’s situation? Probably all of us in one way or
another, even if we’ve never personally experienced the kind of estrangement
she has, we still all have our differences. But perhaps that is why
Thanksgiving is the most traveled holiday, because sooner or later we all need
to set aside differences and celebrate what makes us more alike.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-7929606628749865042016-11-11T08:54:00.000-05:002016-11-11T08:56:08.711-05:00Fired-Up Friday<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ten
Ways to Beat the Blues<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s fair to say that many of us are feeling blue
after this week. Maybe more than blue and more like sucker-punched, kicked to
the curb, and left wondering—what’s next? With all the negativity, meanness and
nasty verbiage that has filled the airwaves, we can’t help but have absorbed
some of it, and it’s not a good feeling. Yet at some point you have to pick
yourself up and find ways to deal with the stress and anxiety, get rid of the negativity,
and take care of yourself. These are a few tried and true ways I’ve found that,
no matter the source of the stress, always seem to help put it all in
perspective and even offer comfort. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*First of all, feel the emotion. Give yourself time.
It’s okay to be sad, mad, afraid, angry. Furious even. Accept you feel this way
and own it. Once you do, it becomes easier to deal with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*Listen to music. Doesn’t really matter what kind.
Your choice. Sometimes the louder the better, and go ahead, sing along. It
releases lots of pent up emotions and energy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*Read a book. Find one you’ve been meaning to start
for a long time and lose yourself in another world. Books are great for taking
us away from it all. If you can read while relaxing in a lavender-scented bath,
all the better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*Snuggle with your pets. Your cat, your dog, your bird.
Curl up with them and show them lots of love. Petting an animal has been shown
to lower blood pressure, and even watching fish in an aquarium can help with
relaxation. Your pets will love the extra attention and will lavish you with
their unconditional love. If you don’t have a pet, visit a local shelter and
donate some much needed pet supplies. They will be most thankful, and you’ll
feel better for having helped them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*If you’re a writer, get back to writing! If you write
fiction, pour all those emotions you’re feeling into your characters. I happen
to like lots of drama, so this works into some very heartfelt scenes in my
stories. Let your hero and heroine suffer and deal with hardships and then
bring them full circle to their happily ever after. Because in your story, you
are in control and you can make this happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*Hang out or talk with like-minded friends to
commiserate and share your distress. Misery does love company, and there is strength
in numbers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*Get physical. Take a walk, play with the dog, clean
the house, rake leaves, tackle the chores you like to put off doing. Expend the
energy. At least when you’re done you’ll be tired and ready to chill out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*Get involved in a community project that will benefit
others. This time of year there are many opportunities to reach out to someone
in need. Collect grocery items for a local food bank, mittens for a mitten
tree, coats for a coat drive. Go through your closet and donate items to the
Salvation Army. As mentioned, animal shelters are always in need of pet food
and cleaning supplies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*Sign up with <a href="http://www.freekibble.com/"><span style="color: #0563c1;">www.freekibble.com</span></a>
to play a daily trivia game that donates kibble to homeless pets. It’s free and
it’s fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*When all else fails, watch a Hallmark movie. Right
now you can binge-watch on Christmas movies all day long. They’re feel-good
movies but if one makes you cry, then you’ll have let loose with some of that
pent-up emotion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As a final caveat, if none of these help and you truly
feel the need, don’t hesitate to seek out professional help to work through it.
Don’t let anyone tell you to “just get over it,” because if you’re struggling with
very deep disappointment and you fear it will affect your everyday life, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you must take care of yourself first. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Here’s to sending positive thoughts, prayers, vibes,
and energy out into the universe in the hope it will all come back to us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Of course looking at kitty and puppy pictures never hurts either. ;)</span></div>
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Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-84598514730904549292016-11-04T10:58:00.000-04:002016-11-04T10:58:41.984-04:00Fired-Up Friday
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
Could Happen<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">This has been a truly fabulous week. In spite of all
the nastiness flying around us in these last days before the elections, it was
a week that lifted me up to a place where I didn’t have to think about any of
the vitriol filling the airwaves. On Wednesday we went to see one of our
favorite bands-- no make that our very favorite band-- in concert. We first saw
the Moody Blues in the early 1970s and have tried to make it every time they’ve
been close ever since. Hard to believe the Moodys are now in their 70s, but
they still sound great and hearing all those songs we’ve so loved over the
years is always a real treat. Something that struck me this time, though, was
how many of the things they sang about way back in the day are still all too relevant
today. Not only finding love but searching for meaning and justice in an often
cruel world. How so many people are “lost in a lost world.” Yet their music was
and is always hopeful, and while you’re listening you just plain feel so much
better! While at the concert, it didn’t matter how the fans were different; for
the moment, they all just loved the Moody Blues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Wednesday was also the day for a historical event. THE
CHICAGO CUBS WON THE WORLD SERIES!! Sorry, just had to shout that one out.
While I will admit I am not by any means a baseball fan (truly, most of the
time it puts me to sleep) you can’t grow up this close to Chicago and not know
the story and history of the Cubs. When I was a kid, we had extended family
living together in the big farmhouse, and in those days there was only
(horrors!) one TV. During baseball season, and much to my chagrin, when my
Uncle Frank came home from work the TV was tuned to WGN and wherever the Cubs
were playing that day. It was the voice of Jack Brickhouse you heard announcing
back then. I remember my uncle grumbling every year about the losses and yet
every year, there he was watching them play. I’m not sure you would find any
fans more loyal than Cubs’ fans. They stuck with their team through the years,
and in spite of what was called “the billy goat curse,” and comments like “Yeah,
that’ll happen when the Cubs win the series,” they always said, “Just wait till
next year.” On November 2, 2016, in the 7<sup>th</sup> game, in the 10<sup>th</sup>
inning, next year finally became this year. What fun it was to watch the joy
and celebrating on the field, and to see their signs with the “could” crossed
off to say, “It did happen!” I had to think about all the people who waited a
lifetime for this to happen, most of us having at least one if not more family
members who waited. My Uncle Frank wasn’t big on showing emotion, as many men
of that time were not, but I bet this would have at least got a smile out of
him. Maybe even a laugh. There’s a big parade in Chicago today and the river is
running Cubs blue. Celebrations will continue, and maybe the best thing is that
it brings people together in a good way. It doesn’t matter how they differ in
other ways, just being a Cubs’ fan is enough for now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In what seems almost anticlimactic, but in the midst
of this celebratory week, I did manage to write some new pages on the book I’m
hoping to finish by the end of this month. I’m still about 43,000 words away
from writing The End, but to borrow the hopeful phrase from the Cubs fans'
signs, “It Could Happen.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-17484052352254210972016-10-28T09:54:00.001-04:002016-10-28T09:54:50.915-04:00Fired-Up Friday<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Ghost
Writers<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Maybe it’s the season, but I’ve been thinking about
ghost writers lately. Not the kind Wikipedia describes as “a person who is
hired to author books, manuscripts, screenplays, speeches, articles, blog
posts, stories, reports, whitepapers, or other texts that are officially
credited to another person.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ghost
writers I’m thinking about are those writers who, although they have passed
from this world, continue to write stories from the grave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m certain you’ve seen them in book departments; newly
released books by authors you know are no longer with us. Of course sometimes
they are simply reissues of older titles, and a check of the copyright date
will confirm this, but many times they truly are new stories supposedly
written by long-gone authors. I know V.C. Andrews continued to write best-sellers
long after her demise, as did western author Louis L’Amour. More recently, one
of my all-time favorite authors Janet Dailey, who passed a few years ago, has
had new releases on the shelf. At first I thought it might be these were stories
written before the author died and just hadn’t been published yet, but as the
years have gone by and new titles have continued to appear, I have to figure
the publisher knew a good thing and wasn’t ready to let it go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In the case of Mr. L’Amour, he not only published but
did leave behind a vast body of work that was never published, or had been published
in his early author days. From what I gleaned in reading articles about him,
they were stories he did not feel were worthy of publication or reissue. Yet
the money to be had from bringing them out after he was gone was apparently too
much to resist. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I was a huge fan of Janet Dailey and back in the day
read her Harlequin Presents Romances that were set in all 50 states, as well as
many of her single titles and the Calder Family books. I recognize those books
when they are re-released, but others do have new copyright dates. I’ve bought
one or two titles, just to see how closely they adhere to Janet’s writing
style, but something tells me they won’t be the same. Anymore than those old
stories written by a young struggling author in the days of pulp fiction are
the same as the sagas and classic westerns Louis L’Amour wrote in his heyday. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">While fans are happy to see these new titles (how many
people even realize the author is gone?), I have to wonder, how would the
authors themselves feel about others writing under their names? Would Louis L’Amour
be upset that the stories he never wanted to see the light of day are now
published? How would Janet Dailey like it that someone else is writing about
the characters she created and trying to emulate the stories she crafted? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should we have respect for authors so that
when they do pass their work is protected from imitators? Should we honor the
wishes of authors who do not want their earlier efforts subjected to the public
eye? I do remember that the great mystery author Agatha Christie killed off her
main character, Hercule Poirot, when she no longer would write about him, to
prevent another author or publisher from discovering his marketability.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Not that I will ever put myself in the same category
as these writers, but I would like to think any stories I banished to the
bottom drawer of the file cabinet would remain there after I’m gone (and perhaps even go to the shredder). Neither
would I want my characters, the ones I labored to create, to become the
property of another writer. In the end, it should be about respect and not how
much profit can be made from putting books out there after an author has gone
to that great bookstore in the sky. <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-64438632060637922912016-10-21T13:19:00.001-04:002016-10-21T15:27:56.219-04:00Fired-Up Friday<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Songs
to Write By.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Nineteen years ago this month the world lost a man
who through his music had sought to lift us to
better places. On October 12, 1997, singer, songwriter, actor and activist John
Denver died when his experimental aircraft crashed off the coast of California. He
was 53. To say I was devastated that day </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">is an understatement beyond measure.
John’s music had filled my house and my car throughout much of the 1970’s.
Once, I was lucky enough to see him in concert. It seemed he had a song for
whatever ailed you, and whether or not you loved the American West as he did,
you couldn’t help but sing along with Rocky Mountain High. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As it is with many creative and driven people, John
was not without his problems. He struggled with sobriety, drug use, and his
personal life included two divorces. But there was no sweeter song than the one
he sang to his little boy at Christmas. It never failed to make me cry. While
he struggled to find his place in the music world, he was a most beloved
entertainer and in 1975 was named Entertainer of the Year by the Country Music
Association. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">John was an activist for the environment, a conservationist
for the mountains he so loved, and a humanitarian for the many causes he
supported. He had an interest in finding solutions to solving world hunger and developing
sustainability projects. One can only wonder, if he’d lived, how he might have
made an even more important difference in the world today. Sadly, it was his
very drive to always try something new that led to his untimely death.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I still have my many John Denver albums and looking
back at the songs I listened to by the hour back then, some of my favorites
were these:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">If I needed uplifting, Welcome to My Morning, Calypso,
and Take Me to Tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">If I was feeling bittersweet: Poems, Prayers, and
Promises and Leaving on a Jet Plane. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Flat out sad: Darcy Farrow and I’m Sorry.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thinking about home and family: Take Me Home, Country
Roads and Back Home Again.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">His most unabashedly romantic song was Annie’s Song,
written for his first wife after they had argued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Today I find myself listening to his Windsong album
with its songs like Cowboy’s Delight and the even more appropriate (for the
book I’m writing) Song of Wyoming. They’re sweet songs, they’re sad songs, and
they take me back to sagebrush in the wind and the shadows of mountains in the
distance. Take a listen and then maybe go search out the box of Puffs.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vb7aEapBoA"><span style="color: #0563c1;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vb7aEapBoA</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJaA8BOxAL4"><span style="color: #0563c1;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJaA8BOxAL4</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZM_7twcY8s"><span style="color: #0563c1;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZM_7twcY8s</span></a>
(from Farewell Andromeda)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thank you John Denver for giving us songs that
continue to inspire and for giving me songs to write by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-71619221840836862062016-10-14T11:18:00.001-04:002016-10-14T11:18:37.968-04:00Fired-Up Friday
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">First
Frost<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
had our first frost warning last night. While the field behind my house was
misty and very autumn-like this morning, I think those of us near Lake Michigan
may have escaped Jack Frost’s icy touch. Hearing the forecast yesterday, I made
my yearly trudge into the backyard to gather in the hanging flower baskets and
potted plants that I watered and repotted and tended to all summer. I grouped
them together on the patio, up close to the house, and gently covered them with
old pillowcases and towels. Then I rescued the flower box from the front yard
and gave it the same attention. I know, I know. I’m only putting off the
inevitable. They’ll have to go eventually. There’s no way to keep them alive
through the winter. But they’re still blooming, as if oblivious of what’s to
come, and I’m not quite ready to let them go yet. Rather like letting go of our
children, we’re never quite ready. Rather like the finished book that needs to
go out into the world, I’m not quite ready to set it free. So in spite of
knowing the time is coming soon for the flowers, today wasn’t the day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Bringing
the flowers together last night made me think of a poem that’s always been a
favorite. It’s one that’s a little bittersweet, a little melancholy, but it
fits this time of year so well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Nature’s
first green is gold,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Her
hardest hue to hold.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Her
early leaf’s a flower;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But
only so an hour.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Then
leaf subsides to leaf.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">So
Eden sank to grief,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">So
dawn goes down to day,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Nothing
gold can stay.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nothing Gold Can Stay</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Robert Frost<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7327711394794234168.post-36490340498274552552016-10-07T10:29:00.000-04:002016-10-07T10:29:45.640-04:00Fired-Up FridayEvents of Autumn<br />
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Last weekend I took part in a fall writing retreat that was a first for me. Held at Lily Hill Farm, in a pretty much wifi free zone in the middle of southwest Michigan wine country, ten writers convened to do what writers do best: write, talk about writing, talk about lots of other things, eat and then write some more. I have to say it was great not to be bothered with the phone ringing or have to fight the lure of new TV shows and Facebook. I worked on self-edits on the finished book for a while and then added about 4,000 new words to the work-in-progress. I know that doesn't sound like a lot, and it isn't, but for a very sloooowwwww writer like me, well, I was happy. <br />
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The book I'm working on is a sequel, so I'm having to get back into the minds and hearts of characters that I haven't written about for a long time (I wrote the synopsis for this story a while ago, but like I said, I'm slow.) I also have to remember what I wrote in the first book and may actually have to go back and read it, just to make sure I get some things right. But really, the characters have never left me. I know them like I know my own family, maybe better, because they live in my mind and talk to me about things they probably wouldn't say to anyone else. I know their secrets, their hopes, their dreams, and who they love. I know what makes them mad and what stirs them to great heights. The hero especially is a complicated character who sometimes surprises even me. This is from a scene I wrote last weekend:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;"><strong><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
week later a storm did hit and besides blanketing the Tetons and the Buffalo
Valley in another layer of white drove a pack of wolves that normally stayed to
the north in Yellowstone to start hunting closer to the ranches. Bison, too,
moved into the cattle pastures, and Chance was forced to go out every day and
chase them away. Today, accompanied by the giant herd dog Mariah, he rode along
the perimeter of the winter pastures, checking for any signs the wolves stalked
nearby. The wind blew like needles against his face, and he hunched his
shoulders to ward off the rawness that sank into his bones. After a day spent
in the saddle his body always reacted to the cold and refused to move the way
he wished it still could. Blame it on old rodeo injuries. Blame it on just
plain getting older. Whatever, he simply wasn’t the man he used to be, the one
who rode the meanest broncs this side of the Divide and lived to tell about it,
who made riding bucking broncs look like a tea party. Chance McCord, Best All
Around Cowboy at the Cheyenne Days rodeo for three years in a row. Chance
McCord, Top Bronc Rider at the Cody Night Rodeo. He had the belt buckles to
prove it and the memories of more nights spent sleeping in the back of his
truck than he cared to count. In a way, it kind of ate at his soul and awakened
him sometimes at night, because now Chance McCord rode along the edge of the
Bridger-Teton forest and looked for tracks in the snow, and tried to ward off
the wind that seemed determined to sweep away the hat he’d jammed down tight on
his head. In other years, he would have been hunkered down somewhere warmer,
maybe on a ranch in Texas or Arizona, while he waited out the winter. On this
December day, he just wanted to return to the house and drink coffee and stand
in front of the fire.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;"><strong><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
should have worn the scarf Casey had tried to tie around his hat to keep it
from blowing off his head. Should have listened to the woman who loved him in
spite of who he was or had been. She and the boy were the only people who
really made his life worth anything right now and kept him from just going back
on down the road. Dealing with his father and brother was still a work in
progress, and he wondered if he ever would feel a part of their plan. Would ever
fit in. He doubted it because in all his thirty-four years, he never had.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;"><o:p>Yep, that's Chance, sometimes a pretty hard guy to figure out, but one who has been with me for a very long time. I only hope Casey and I can keep him on the straight and narrow in this book I'm calling Tetons by Morning.</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;"><o:p>On another topic altogether, and one that has nothing to do with the book or even writing (except the songs continue to inspire and the hero is another complicated man), I am looking forward to seeing my hero and most favorite singer Gordon Lightfoot in concert this weekend. In my own hometown! I don't even have to drive far. It's the second time he's performed at this venue, and I'm excited he's chosen to come back to little old Lake Michigan College in southwest Michigan. So that's where I'll be Sunday night, listening to the Legend as he continues to make his music on the Carefree Highway. </o:p></span></div>
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Lucy Naylor Kubashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06595948650454049233noreply@blogger.com5