Lady Lyonet needed help in a desperate way.  Her sister, Lady Lyoness, was the prisoner of the vile Red Knight, who coveted Lyoness’ lands and fortune.  Lyonet tore across the land and arrived in Caerleon  before King Arthur on Whitsunday.

Lyonet told the king about the evil things the Red Knight had done but didn’t mention Lyoness’ name.  Lyoness had made Lyonet promise to withhold her name because so many knights had already tried to rescue her and failed.  Without knowing the damsel’s name, Arthur would not grant his knights to go.  However, a young man who worked in the kitchen stepped forward and promised to go and rescue Lyonet’s sister.

Having no choice, Lyonet agreed.  And after Sir Lancelot knighted the young man, they set out to rescue Lyoness.  They had to go through the dreaded Black Lands and the Black Knight who ruled there.  To Lyonet’s great surprise, the young kitchen knight won!

After defeating several other opponents, Lyonet began to consider there was more to this young kitchen worker than she first thought.  He finally revealed he was actually Gareth, the King of Orkney’s son.  Also, Sir Gawain and Sir Gaheris were his older brothers.  Gareth wanted to keep his identity hidden from Arthur until he could prove himself a knight worthy of the Round Table.

Lyonet then had to admit forty knights had already tried to rescue Lyoness and been killed.  But upon seeing Lyoness from the top tower window, Sir Gareth’s courage was bolstered and called out the evil knight.  They fought many hours, until finally the Red Knight yielded.

Sir Gareth and Lady Lyoness were married soon after.  But Lady Lyonet didn’t mind.  One look at Gareth’s older brother, Sir Gaheris, was all it took to forget about Gareth.  Lady Lyonet and Sir Gaheris fell deeply in love and were married as well.

‘

What do you think about the story?  If Gareth knew the truth before leaving with Lyonet, would he still have gone?

‘

Watch for Ragnell’s story next month.

`

~Tiffany

www.tiffanygreen.net

Hey, all! Moonlight Kitty here to announce the winner of the April $25 Gift Card Giveaway sponsored by Beth Caudill. Congratulations to Cate Parke! Cate, please contact Beth at beth@bethcaudill.net to claim your prize. And happy shopping!

The May contest, sponsored by Niecey Roy, is underway now. Don’t forget, every time you leave a comment on a post during the month, that comment enters you in the monthly giveaway.

And, it’s almost time for the Authors By Moonlight annual Summer Solstice Bash coming in June! This year we’re gearing up for a month full of “Summer Lovin’” and the prize basket is going to be overflowing with love, too! You’ll have mega chances to win a Kindle Paperwhite, e-books, and other great prizes. Keep an eye out for full details coming soon!

Recently, I began the research for a set of books I plan to write and came across some interesting details about the women of Camelot.  Elaine of Corbenic is one of those women who may not be as well known as Guinevere or Morgan le Fay, but has a fascinating and terribly sad tale.

King Pelles, Elaine’s father, held the most wondrous treasure, the Holy Grail, and kept it hidden away in Corbenic.  The Holy Grail had miraculous powers to heal if one but sipped from the cup.

Elaine’s story began when the evil Morgan le Fay cast a spell, and Elaine was kept in a boiling cauldron.  Sir Lancelot heard about this wicked deed and charged to Corbenic to rescue the lady.  As was the fate of many of the fair sex, Elaine of Corbenic fell deeply in love with Lancelot du Lac. But the love was one-sided, as Sir Lancelot loved only Queen Guinevere.  (Although there was another Elaine who fell in love with Sir Lancelot, Elaine of Astolat, this was not the same lady.)

Seeing her lady in such despair, the maid, Brusen, had a plan to get Sir Lancelot and Elaine together.  Too much in love to protest, Elaine went along with the deception, and the maid informed Sir Lancelot his Guinevere had secretly arrived and would spend the night in the castle.

Upon waking the next morning, Sir Lancelot found himself in bed with Elaine, not Guinevere, and left for Camelot immediately.  Nine months later, Galahad was born, and Elaine kept her days busy with her son.

When the opportunity came to go to Camelot, Elaine went.  She continued to love Sir Lancelot with all her heart and hoped there was a chance for them.  Elaine was settled in the room next to Guinevere, and the crafty maid Brusen managed to fool Lancelot into going into Elaine’s room once again.

`

When Guinevere overheard Lancelot’s voice in the room next door, she stormed in and threw the knight out of the castle.  Grieved to the point of madness, Sir Lancelot left and roamed the land.

Two years later, Elaine came across Sir Lancelot after he had stumbled near starved to death under a fountain on her father’s land.  She quickly revived him with the Holy Grail, and he decided to stay.

`

Elaine’s happiness knew no bounds, until the fateful day Sir Ector and Sir Percival rode up.  Queen Guinevere had been searching all along for Sir Lancelot and requested him to return to Camelot at once.  Galahad, fifteen years old by then, departed after his father to become a knight.  And poor Elaine never saw either her love or her son ever again.

`

Tell me what you think of Elaine of Corbenic.  What do you think she should have done?  Fought harder for Lancelot?  Forgotten him and found another?  Taken a sword to the scoundrel?  I’d love to know your thoughts.

`

Next month, I will present the brave Lyonet’s tale.

~Tiffany

www.tiffanygreen.net

I was having lunch with my significant other, Herbie, at our favorite old-time diner on Main Street of our little town today. We’re not exactly of the twenty-, thirty-, or even forty-something set. There’s a good reason I write about the 50′s. I don’t have to do much research, just open a diary or high school annual, and ‘remember when’. We were waiting for our lunch–old fashioned meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes–and chuckling over the displays of Coca-Cola memorabilia that decorate the place. I pointed out a sign that advertised fountain Cokes at five cents and remembered the shock waves that went through my family when our favorite soft drink DOUBLED in price. My gosh, how could our family afford to pay ten cents for a six ounce bottle? Somehow that comment led us back along the old ‘Did You Ever” road. Remember playing out in the evening with about fourteen cousins, running under brush and behind fences for hide-and-seek? When no one worried if you were safe? You were okay and they knew it. Remember Saturday afternoons, having a quarter for the movie? A movie that included a cartoon, a newsreel, a thrill-packed serial, and a double feature–one of which would be a hard-riding Western starring Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, or Hopalong Cassidy. And if you had saved your allowance, you might have a spare quarter for a hamburger and a drink at the Hi-De-Ho afterward. I remember when Grandmother got a new refrigerator and I was given the box it came in. That box became Sky King’s airplane, Sargent Preston’s Yukon sled, an Indian canoe, and the Green Hornet’s speedy car Black Beauty. It was the greatest toy ever and cost my parents nothing.

Mentioning the Green Hornet of course led us to a quick review of all our favorite radio shows. We both listened avidly to The Shadow, Inner Sanctum (with the eery creaking door), Fibber McGee and Mollie, and The Great Gildersleeve. Sunday afternoon always meant a sack of apples and peanuts and a session with Bulldog Drummond, Gang Busters and the Lone Ranger. It took a moment to recall the radio actor who was the voice of Matt Dillon in Gunsmoke. I’d almost forgotten it wasn’t always James Arness who played that role. The original sheriff was William Conrad. I still think he was more impressive.

Life, at least in retrospect, was simple. You ate your vegetables, said ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘No, sir’, came home when you said you would, and remembered to do your homework before you went out to play. And no one had to tell you to go outside and play. Unless it was raining cats and kittens, or the snow was too thick to see the house across the street, or (in our case) the wind and sand would flatten you if you stepped off the porch, you were already outside. Your friends’ parents knew yours; your sisters, brothers, and cousins were your first friends; and heaven help you if you sassed the teacher. Mom would hear about it before you got home and there would be consequences.

So Herbie and I were thinking back, how blessed our young years were. How lucky to have extended family that lived within walking distance. To have had granddaddies who were our refuge, friend, and mentor. To have grandmothers who introduced us to the pleasure of tomatoes filched from the garden, the mysteries of homemade biscuits, and the wealth of stories handed down generation to generation. I know my grandchildren are blessed with great parents–after all I raised those parents, how could they be less than perfect? The kids have good health, sensible diets, cultural exposure, and diverse friends. They’re smart, beautiful, well mannered, and greatly loved. But did they ever play hide and seek in the moonlight or float down an imaginary river in an Indian canoe made of a refrigerator box and paddled by a discarded broom handle? No? Well, maybe it’s not too late.

Fleeta Cunningham

DON’T CALL ME DARLIN’

BLACK RAIN RISING

ELOPEMENT FOR ONE

HALF PAST MOURNING

CRY AGAINST THE WIND (available for Kindle, hard copy in June)

www.fleetacunningham.com

fgcunningham@yahoo.com

Hello, my name is Sarah Grimm, and I’m an addict. I read my first romance when I was twelve years old. I don’t recall the title, you think I would with something that changed my life so dramatically, but I don’t. The title doesn’t really matter does it because it was just the beginning for me? That one book led to another, then another. Pretty soon I was devouring romances like my life depended on them. Somehow, I didn’t see anything strange about that.

One day my mother walked into my room without knocking and she caught me reading.   I dropped that book so fast, tucking it under my thigh so she couldn’t see the cover! But I wasn’t fast enough. My mother knew what I was doing – reading romance in a ‘mystery’ house.

She kept an eye on me after that, locating all the paperback and hardcovers in my closet and under my bed. She told me I had a problem. I told her I couldn’t stop – even to make her happy. Instead, I lured her into my world. I gave her her first romance, then her second; her third. She is stronger than me – romance never took control of her the way it did me.

I began reading romance everywhere: curled in the corner of the couch while the family watched television, in the back of the classroom while the teacher talked biology. I didn’t need to learn biology, I had romance novels. I couldn’t get enough – the promise of happily-ever-after, of love being enough to heal all wounds. *sigh*

In no time at all my addiction grew stronger. Just reading romances wasn’t enough. Suddenly I had this urge, this new and frightening, uncontrollable urge…to write. I wasn’t strong enough to resist. Who is? I began carrying a notebook with me everywhere I went. A notebook I filled with dialogue and partial chapters, story ideas and possible titles. Some days it got so bad that the world around me faded away. While others enjoyed the sun or the lake, I wrote.

It’s hard for some people to understand, this addiction to romance. I’ve endured the odd looks, the smirks, and even those that say “You’re poisoning your brain with that stuff.”

Well guess what, if stories that celebrate falling in love, emotion and commitment are poison, I don’t want the antidote. I love the stuttered heartbeats when the hero and heroine first meet, the gut punch of sexual awareness. My heart races with the sweetness of that first kiss, and the momentary panic over the realization they’ve fallen in love. I thrive on the idea how even at the worst of times, at those moments when you least expect it, two people can find love.

Yes my friends, I’m an addict, and happily-ever-after is my drug of choice.

~Sarah Grimm
where dangerously sexy & happily-ever-after collide
www.sarahgrimm.com

My husband and I always wanted to tour Route 66. In 2007, we started our tour by driving from Central Texas to Amarillo and traveling West. We chose this direction as I’d written a novel set in Chaco Canyon and I wanted to make sure I’d captured it properly. I was also playing around with another story in my mind, and I love to take pictures I think my be good for a cover or story idea at one time or other.

If you’ve ever driven the old Mother Road, you know it ends in places and you’re rerouted to I-40 and watch closely for signs indicating where you can recapture Route 66. At the small town of Glenrio, Texas, near the border of New Mexico on Route 66, we came up this old motel and restaurant. On the Texas side the dilapidated sign read First and Last Motel in Texas. On the New Mexico sign, just substitute Texas with New Mexico.

We stopped and took pictures and my imagination went wild. I thought, this will be the perfect place for my heroine to hide out while running from her evil ex-husband. See picture below. Of course, it would require a lot of cleaning out but a person could do it.

Behind the restaurant is a long row of cottages, each separated by a carport. If you’ve seen pictures of old travel courts this was the common style in the 1930s through the 1950s. Think of the movie Bonnie and Clyde. I thought this would be perfect. My heroine could pull her car into the carport and it wouldn’t be noticeable. Though I-40 isn’t far, it’s on the back side of the cottages.

So, from this setting my story A Stolen Chance was born. Of course, the motel has changed considerably and I moved it farther West into New Mexico, closer to the Zuni Indian Reservation.

Blurb:

Mystery and danger lead two people on a path of discovery.

Running from a violent ex husband bent on revenge, website designer Susan Lawton flees the Midwest, leaving no clues behind. She finds refuge at a small motel along old Route 66 in Siesta, New Mexico. But how long before her past catches up with her?

Albuquerque police detective Carson Rhodes accidentally shot a child during a drug raid. The recurring nightmares, even after counseling, push him to resign from the force and go home to run his family’s Siesta Motel and Café. Susan brings out all his protective instincts, and he persuades her to stay. It’s as safe a place as anywhere, they hope.

Mysterious Zuni Indian fetishes, the ghost of Carson’s great-grandfather, a lost treasure, and preparation for battle against the relentless evil stalking Susan keep the pair busy even as they realize their attraction to each other.

Can a lasting love be their reward for success against the odds?

Excerpt:

Purchase Links
Amazon and The Wild Rose Press

Thank you for stopping by today. Happy Reading and Writing!

Linda

I am so excited to introduce to ABM a new author with a great debut novel. Lael Neill now lives in Central Texas but her roots are in the Northwest. Her book, STONE DREAMING WOMAN,  from Wild Rose Press, has already received high praise on the Amazon.com reader review. It is available as an ebook now and will be out in hard copy in March. I asked Lael to tell ABM readers about her book and how a Texas gal wound up writing about Mounties and medicine women of the early Twentieth Century. This is how our visit went.

FC:  Your story STONE DREAMING WOMAN is set in the period just before WWI in Canada. What inspired you to use that time and setting? Do you have a strong personal interest that suggested the story?

LN: The very first romance that ever caught hold of my imagination and my heart was MRS. MIKE, by Benedict and Nancy Mars Freedman.  I fell in love with the hero, so I wove a story of my own about a Royal Northwest Mounted Police officer and a woman whose background was about as far removed from his as I could imagine.

I grew up in Tacoma, Washington, only about an hour and a half from the British Columbia border.  I am very familiar with western Canada, and I originally imagined setting the story there.  However, the Mounted Police did not have jurisdiction over British Columbia until much later, so I was faced with a choice.  I either had to move the timeline up or I had to reset the story in a different area.  Moving the timeline would have reduced the impact of the basic theme of the story (gender bias), so changing the setting seemed the more logical course to take.

The period before WWI was a real watershed concerning the role of women in society.  They had fought for and won the right to vote, and were crusading for reproductive rights and gender equality.  The resistance at that time was much greater than during or after the war.  In Jenny’s case, the lack of physicians stateside and the demands of the Spanish Flu epidemic created a vacuum that would have sucked her into a medical practice somewhere out of people’s sheer need and desperation, hence the necessity of setting the story before the war heated up.

FC:  Your heroine Jennifer is a medical doctor in a time when few women, certainly not women with social stature, dared enter the medical profession. And your story shows a lot of medical knowledge. Do you have a medical background? Or did you build the character based on research? The details in your story are impressive.

LN: I do not have a medical background, but my education included detailed a five semester hour honors course in human anatomy.  It both fascinated me and provided enough basic grounding that I could expand my knowledge and understanding on my own.  I also have a trick memory for trivia.  If it’s something I’ll absolutely never have any possible use for, I’ll remember it.  For instance, the little bony bumps we sit on are called ischial tuberosities.

I did have to conduct a boatload of research for the story, though.  Most of it had to do with the state of medical practices and knowledge of the time and if, how, and when things like surgical gloves and stethoscopes changed over the years.  I also had to research firearms of the period and, of course, fashions, though I had some expert help in that regard.

FC:  What led you to set the story in Canada? Surely that made heavy demands on you as an author. The setting is a major feature of the book and contributes to the conflicts the characters face. You weave it seamlessly into prose. Did you know when you started the story that the place would influence the story so much?

LN: The story had to be set in Canada because you don’t find Mounties anywhere else.  And yes, I did know that the setting would influence the story.  Local color is one of the best ways to achieve realism.  Until I moved to Texas I was an outdoors girl, which included fishing, camping, hiking, scuba diving, target shooting, and skiing, so describing the woods, the mountains, the rivers, the salt water, and the seasons comes very naturally.

FC:  I’ve heard it said that one good story opens the door to many more. Will there be more stories with this location and time? Maybe centering on characters we meet in STONE DREAMING WOMAN?

LN: I ’m working on a sequel right now involving Jenny’s younger cousin Elizabeth.  Without giving away too much, the hero is Sergeant Paul Weller, the best friend and sidekick of Jenny’s love interest in STONE DREAMING WOMAN.  Elizabeth and Paul are coming through as a well defined characters in their own right and their story is clamoring to be told.  At this point the working title is SAND ISLAND DIARIES.

FC:  Your first book is a vintage romance. Do you write about other times and places? Can you give us a hint where we might find you next? What audience will you be writing for?

LN: I have a story all but finished, but since I did it as a point of view exercise, it needs a complete rewrite before it goes anywhere.  It takes place in and around New Orleans during the period between the Louisiana Purchase and the War of 1812, the sunset of the age of Caribbean piracy.  The heroine is the daughter of a British naval officer and an aristocratic lady from New Orleans.  Marianne has the temerity to fall in love with her father’s worst enemy, a privateer sailing under Letters of Marque from France.  The target audience for MAGNIFICENT PIRATE is, of course, the same audience who will enjoy STONE DREAMING WOMAN and SAND ISLAND DIARIES.

Even though I am exploring the world of romance writing now, I have always had an abiding love of fantasy.  A huge and very different “swords and sorcery” trilogy lurks in my computer, hopefully to find a publisher someday.  In it, two powerful and very different men on opposite sides of a rebellion forge an unlikely friendship to bring peace to their war-torn country.

FC:  What book/books first inspired you to tell stories?  What story elements did they have in common? All romances? Adventure? Strong and unconventional heroines? Do you remember the first story you created?

LN: The book that first inspired me to tell stories came my way when I was eight years old.  Those of us “of a certain age” remember the WEEKLY READER and JUNIOR SCHOLASTIC magazines we purchased through our schools.  I had never found it easy to go to sleep, so when I read one of the letters to the editor from a little girl who said when she could not sleep she told herself a fairy tale, I decided to try her tactic.  After going through CINDERELLA and SNOW WHITE ad nauseam, I thought, “Well, how boring is this?  Why don’t I tell myself MY OWN stories?”  Thus a writer was born.

I played with writing until I started high school, and when I had a little maturity under my belt the bug bit seriously.  Then at Central Washington University I had the rare privilege of studying creative writing under Dr. Harold L. Anschutz, a totally brilliant professor who loved his subject and loved his students.  He was also my faculty advisor, so after worshiping at his feet for four years, writing was so deeply ingrained in me I knew, like Lady MacBeth, I would never be able to wash it from my hands or out of my soul.

I became deeply involved in skiing and alpine racing then, so naturally my main characters were skiers.  The stories were both romances and adventures, with brave heroes and strong heroines who knew their own minds and were not afraid to go for broke.  Some of those characters from way back when have survived and cropped up in a Vietnam-era romance I have tentatively called GOING PRO.  It concerns a sheltered young man who retires from the Austrian Olympic team, comes to the United States to manage a ski school, and encounters American culture.  It is a very long and very complex story that may or may not see the light of day.  Writing is like that.

FC:  Will you give us a short scene from STONE DREAMING WOMAN? Something to whet our appetites.

They finished their food, and he helped her clear the table.  She discovered they made as good a team doing something as mundane as picking up dishes as they did saving a life.  She rinsed the bean pot and the bowls, then put all the dishes in the pot and covered them with water.  Then she dried her hands on the flour sack towel and anointed them with her favorite Honey Almond Cream.

“There.  That’s good enough.  We’ll do them with the breakfast dishes in the morning,” she said.  He had moved behind her to return the butter to the cooler, and when she turned she bumped into him.

“Sergeant!  Excuse me!”  A toucher, she laid her palms above the breast pockets of his tunic by way of apology.  Impulsively he covered her hands with his.

“Miss Weston, I can’t thank you enough for what you did today, for being kind enough to come to North Village with me, and for saving Jimmy’s life.  He’d have been in dire trouble without you, Miss Weston…”  He paused awkwardly, stumbling over her name.  “No, I… Doctor Weston?  I’m not certain how I should address you now.  After today, ‘Miss Weston’ sounds so frivolous…”

“ ‘Jenny’ will do quite nicely, Sergeant.”

His gaze leveled on her, and he gave her a deeply searching look that was all grey eyes and hugely long lashes.  “I have a first name too, you know,” he said softly.

“Touché.  Shane.”  She smiled and felt her cheeks flush.  “Then have a good night.”

“You too.”  Her hands lay trapped against his Red Serge.  She turned them beneath his and held them palm to palm for a moment.

“Until tomorrow, then…Shane,” she said awkwardly.

“I look forward to it.”  Then he reluctantly let her hands go, drawing a deep, nervous breath.

“Jenny?  May I call on you, then?  With Richard’s permission, of course.”

“It would be my honor entirely.”  His hands went slowly to the points of her shoulders, and he drew her to him.  She closed her eyes and tipped her head back.  All her senses were full of him, from his warmth to the masculine scent of soap, sunshine, and the wool of his Red Serge.  She let her hands travel to his muscular shoulders, and as he gathered her into his arms, her left hand slipped over the standing collar of his tunic to the slightly long hair at the nape of his neck.  It felt soft, satiny, and much finer than her own.  Then his lips met hers, gently and tenderly, the stimulating touch of warm velvet.  As she flowed up against him, the night turned to fireworks.

The kiss was exactly what she would have expected from Shane: undemanding, powerful, and thoroughly exciting.  Then he held her close and pressed his cheek against her hair and she let her arms encircle his back.  He was a big armful for her.  His lips traveled across her cheek and he nuzzled into her hair.

“Oh, Jenny,” he whispered, sending a shiver from her heels to the top of her head.  Then they kissed again.  This time his red-clad arms engulfed her and she was lost in the incredible power that was Shane Adair.  She went weak all over and plastered herself against his chest.  She wanted to blurt out that she loved him madly, but that was a frightening idea.  She laid her hand against his cheek and backed up a few inches.  His face held high color and he was breathing hard through flushed, slightly parted lips.

“Do I owe you an apology now?” he whispered.  Her arms tightened about him.  Then she raised her head just enough to look up into his eyes.

“No.  That was just as much my idea as yours.  Don’t apologize to me unless it was just a one-time impulse and you intend never to repeat yourself.

He proved to her that he was up to her one-line stingers.  “Chèrie, I’ll kiss you goodnight every night for the next eighty years if you’ll have it,” he said softly.

“In eighty years I’ll be a hundred and five!  Who in their right mind would want to kiss a hundred-and-five-year-old woman?”  The grey eyes tilted again.

“A totally smitten one-hundred-eight-year-old man,” he whispered, holding her hands against his chest.  She laughed softly.

“I swear, one of your ancestors had to have kissed the Blarney Stone!”

“Just wait eighty years and you’ll know that I’ve never meant anything more.”

“I’ll check again tomorrow, thank you.”

“Tomorrow, gladly.”  He raised her hands to his lips.

“Then good night, Shane.”

“Good night, Jenny.”  He leaned down and bestowed a chaste peck on her forehead.

“Sleep well.”

“I don’t think I’ll sleep at all, after this,” he sighed.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”  She backed away from him, letting her hands run softly through his.  Then she was gone, leaving behind an aura of Honey Almond Cream.

I had the fun of reading STONE DREAMING WOMAN while it was still in draft form and know first hand what a great tale it is. I’m really looking forward to the sequel and keep urging Lael to write fast so I can see how it all comes out. Thanks for sharing your time and your ideas with us, Lael. Come back soon and keep us informed about your projects.

Fleeta Cunningham

DON’T CALL ME DARLIN

BLACK RAIN RISING

ELOPEMENT FOR ONE’

HALF PAST MOURNING

CRY AGAINST THE WIND (forthcoming)

The cold tail of December is upon us. That’s what I call that last week of the year between Christmas and the New Year. Christmas 2012 is a memory, 2013 is a future fraught with fiscal cliffs and the aftermath of two major snowstorms and some of the most horrendous news stories of the year. A lot of us feel like we’re digging out or hunkering down, physically and mentally.

Although shutting down emotionally may be a successful short-term coping mechanism, in the long run it doesn’t do us or our loved ones any good. One of the reasons I write romance is because I believe in the power of love. It may not pay the bills, but love gives us hope and strength, comforts us and keeps our hearts warm in an often cold and scary world.

Honest love doesn’t blind us to another person’s faults. We do ourselves a disservice when we lie to ourselves in the name of romance. Love enables us to see another person’s faults clearly, but helps us cherish them anyway — just as we hope to be cared for despite our own flaws.

Each of us has our own set of strengths and weaknesses. The things we love are a key to why we are here. Our passions can direct us to do a lot of collective good in the world. For me, writing is a gift, but it requires me to honor it by committing to improve it and work with it for hours each day. Writing is a way for me to help myself, my family and readers. It’s my way of throwing a little warmth into the world.

In 2013, I’d like to make my little part of the world a bit better, and I’d like to challenge ABM readers to do the same. It can be anything. If you love the environment, can you plan to run your errands on one route to use less gas? If you’re an animal lover, can you donate old clean towels or blankets to a shelter? Even something as simple as offering to pick up groceries for a relative or neighbor, when you go for yourself, will make their lives a little easier. I love to get good deals with newspaper coupons, so in 2013, I want to do that for the benefit of my local food pantry.

In the spirit of keeping our hears warm (and looking great while doing so), I’d like to give away a black, beige and silver shawl to one commenter on this post. Leave your comment  below, up to midnight Saturday, December 29th. I’ll announce the winner Sunday night between 11 p.m. & midnight, using Random.org.

Till next time,

Ann

It’s official, the summer is over. And I never thought I’d say it…but thank goodness. I don’t know about you, but that heat was enough to keep you indoors where the air conditioners had trouble keeping up and causing record-breaking electric bills. Our camping season seemed slim this year, because even by the river, there wasn’t a pleasant spot to be found. But now that the air has cooled, and the leaves have begun to change color…we can finally get outside.

‘Tis the season for football, corn mazes, haunts, pumpkin pies, hot apple cider, hot cocoa, and hay rides. We have a local Corn Maize where we live with a combination Haunted Maze. Nothing is more fun than getting the adrenaline rush of being scared!  You can check out both places by clicking the above links.  This year my granddaughter is over a year–and she’ll be able to enjoy the corn maze and hay ride. Should be good fun!

I’m not much of a football watcher myself. But living in a household with mostly men, our television is usually tuned to a game, which is fine by me. I am thrilled when they become preoccupied as it gives me a chance to steal away and kick my writing back into gear!

My book LOVE YOU TO PIECES will soon be out in paperback, which I am thrilled about. And my book DEADLY OBSESSION has made Amazon’s top #100 list. A big thank you to my readers! Now to get the next book out, my current work in progress! So bring on the football, hot cocoa and pumpkin pies and let the writing commence. What autumn traditions do you share? What are some of your favorite things to do when the air cools and it comes time to huddle in blankets? Whatever it is, take time to enjoy it with family! I can’t wait to take my little pumpkin (granddaughter Quinn) to the maze for a hay ride! I’ll save the haunts for my hubby and I…I LOVE getting scared!

Patricia

http://www.PatriciaRasey.com

When I went to England a couple of years ago, I learned some very interesting facts.  To the average person, they may seem small and insignificant, but to a writer and lover of everything English, I gobbled them up, eager to use them in my books.

Here are a few things I learned:

• Colonel Thomas De Veil started the Bow Street Magistrates Court in 1740 from his home, opposite the Royal Opera House.  It was Henry Fielding, the novelist who sat on the bench at the court, who actually came up with the Bow Street Runners idea, formed in 1754 by his brother John, which became the first paid police force.
• Sir Robert Peel formed the Metropolitan Police in 1829, who were called “Bobbies” in his honor, and Bow Street became the first police station in Britain.  This station is the only police station in London to have a white light instead of a blue light outside because when Queen Victoria would attend the Royal Opera House across the street, the blue light would remind her of the blue room in which Prince Albert died.
• The oldest printing and publishing house in the world is the Cambridge University Press; the oldest bookstore in the world is also located there, established in 1581.
• The first botanical gardens began in Oxford in 1621.
• The Savoy Theater was London’s first public building to be lit by electricity.
• Champagne was actually invented by an English doctor, Christopher Merrett of Gloucestershire, in 1662.  In 1695, a French monk, who also happened to be a winemaker in the Champagne region, Dom Perignon, adopted the process.
• George III purchased Buckingham Palace in 1762 from John Sheffield, the first Duke of Buckingham, who built it in 1703.

Have you any interesting English facts you’d like to share?

~Tiffany

www.tiffanygreen.net