Ginger Simpson's Blog, page 41
February 4, 2016
Murder Most Shocking - A Novel Murder
The superintendent, a frown winkling his jowls, unlocked the apartment and then moved aside as Michelle batted away the yellow crime scene tape. Before she had a chance to step inside, fingers bit into her shoulder. She jerked around and turned an icy stare on the small-statured man “What…?” “Yeah….” Tony stepped forward and peered down his nose. “Keep your hands to yourself, Bernie.” Deeper ruts furrowed the super’s already craggy brow. His flushed cheeks puffed out with a mock smile. “Sorry, but I need to know how much longer you cops plan to be poking around here? Every day this apartment goes without a tenant, I lose money.” “Really?” Michelle’s mouth gaped. “That’s your biggest worry? A young woman in the prime of her life was murdered in your building, and all you can think about is money?” She shook her head and pointed down the corridor. “Get out of my sight before I order the whole place locked down until we find out exactly what happened.” The plump, ugly little man scurried away without another word. “Can you really do that?” Tony’s brow arched. “Do what?” She stepped inside, Tony following close behind. “Shut down the entire building?” She smiled over her shoulder. “Probably not, but he doesn’t know that.” Tony laughed. “Well, you sure scared the crap out of him. Did you see how fast he moved?” “Yeah.” She sighed. “I wish it was that easy to take care of all pests.” She paused for a moment and then cocked her head toward her partner. “Bernie?” “Yeah, his name is Bernard Goldman.” Michelle moved to the bed, noting the indention in the pillow upon which the victim had breathed her last breath. Haunting visions of the woman’s face while struggling with her attacker crept into Shell’s head. How the poor woman’s neck veins bulged as her very last gasp of air was denied her—the twisted agony shadowed the sky blue eyes that once sparkled. A shudder crept along Michelle’s spine. Why was the message delivered to her so incomplete? Why show her what was happening as the crime unfolded and never give details of how the information was supposed to help her save anyone if she couldn’t get there beforehand? All her visions did were taunt her and point out how helpless she really was. “What are you staring at?” Tony nudged her, while pulling on his gloves. “Just thinking. If the guys didn’t find any prints or clues to the murderer, we’re going to have to rely on asking lots of questions and delving into the victim’s background. Who had a grudge against her? Who hated her enough to kill her? Who did she trust enough to let inside?” Michelle bent and examined the linens but still glove free, allowed only her gaze to wander the crumpled sheets and blanket. Visually, nary a stray hair or stain gave any promise of gathering the perp’s DNA. Of course, if there had been anything worth checking, the CSI guys would have found it. She straightened, tamping back the longing to make the bed—wanting to hide the obvious and make the world right again—to deny what really happened. She may have failed to prevent Cara’s murder, but standing there, looking at the very spot where the dead woman heaved her last breath, Michelle vowed to find the person responsible and make them pay. “Hey, Meesh.” Tony appeared from the bathroom, tugging off his blue plastic gloves. “I can’t find anything. There’s only the usual stuff in the medicine chest. Evidently, she took pride in her appearance. I found tons of hair care products, skin creams and make-up, but nothing out of the ordinary not even a prescription drug.” Shell wandered the room not bothering the gaping bureau drawers the police already rifled through or daring venture into the closets they’d searched. The small desk beneath the window displayed a dusty outline of where a laptop had been, and the drawer handles and edges around the oaken surface still bore the powder left from fingerprinting. Atop a stack of papers lay a recently dated paycheck. Drawn on a corporate name she didn’t recognize, the only thing she made out from the scribbled signature was someone’s first name and last initial: “C”.
http://www.amazon.com/author/gingersimpson
February 3, 2016
Dear Diary by Connie Vines
It wasn’t I until experienced a seven-hour power-outage during a rainstorm on Sunday that I really pondered the world before electricity.
With the rain and cloud-cover, it was very, very dark and icy cold. I could actually see the alignment of the five planets quite clearly. For those familiar with the southern California skyline, you know that we cannot see the constellations or planets unless we drive to Palm Springs, the mountains, or the high desert. So, combined with the exceptionally cold temperatures and wind chill factor, and an inability to prepare a meal inside my kitchen, I felt as if I plopped into the center of one of my historical novels.
This is what had me ponder the act of writing in a diary.
I hadn’t read a diary (except for research purposes in years).
As a teen or pre-teen, you probably received a diary as a birthday gift or a Christmas present. I know I did. The diary with a lock (which anyone, on a whim, could pick) and a key. At first, my entries were made daily, then weekly, then, seldom at all. Later, the diary evolved into journaling for a writing class, or jot down events, or milestone in my toddler’s life. Now I have a journal app on my iPad that I often use for notes and thoughts about my novels points.
None of scribbles in my journals were as emotionally purging or filled with day-to-day angst of a teenager’s life.
Why? I believe because my of my journaling was via the keyboard.
Scientific studies prove the act of pen to paper stirs creative thoughts.
While I have no real interest in keeping a detailed diary for myself
What about fictional characters? Do you ever have your fictional characters write a diary?
That is when I recalled my salad days are a writer.
When I starting writing fiction and non-fiction for the magazine market. I published in “Jr. Medical Detective” and “Humpty Dumpty”. In my article, “A Candle in the Dark” (still available as part of the Thomas Gale Education Series), my heroine, Sarah kept a diary. The story dealt with the Salem Witchcraft Trials. I found the diary to be a very effect plot device. It was also a good way to give the reader information without using a backstory to interrupt the flow of my story.
What are you feelings about diaries in a novel?
Are there diaries you’ve read you found of interest or diaries that change how you viewed the world?
Why is it a good idea to have a diary in your storyline?
Fictional characters are forced by their authors to carry the story (the process of the narrative). At the most basic level the diary gives you a first-person narrative without the protagonist knowing what is going to happen.
The use of diaries in novels of the past.
Pamela (1740) by Samuel Richardson is usually described as an epistolary novel. However, our heroine also writes a journal, and then sews it into her underwear for secrecy.
Wuthering Heights (1847) by Emily Brontë has a skeletal framework of a diary: “I have just returned from a visit to my landlord. . .Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold.” Mr. Lockwood will learn about true emotion day by day as he finds out and writes down the story of Heathcliff and the Earnshaws.
Bridget Jones’s Diary (1996) by Helen Fielding is well known to be based on the plot of Pride and Prejudice.
The more I ponder the use of a diary in my next novel, the more I warm to the idea.
I have my favorite pen and I also have turquoise Martha Stewart premium journal I received as a gift for Christmas. While there isn’t a lock and key, there is an elastic band to keep the journal closed. There is also a fabric bookmark so that I may keep my place.
I can picture myself writing today's date, time, and my first entry. . .Dear Diary.
Happy Reading,
Connie
With the rain and cloud-cover, it was very, very dark and icy cold. I could actually see the alignment of the five planets quite clearly. For those familiar with the southern California skyline, you know that we cannot see the constellations or planets unless we drive to Palm Springs, the mountains, or the high desert. So, combined with the exceptionally cold temperatures and wind chill factor, and an inability to prepare a meal inside my kitchen, I felt as if I plopped into the center of one of my historical novels.
This is what had me ponder the act of writing in a diary.
I hadn’t read a diary (except for research purposes in years).
As a teen or pre-teen, you probably received a diary as a birthday gift or a Christmas present. I know I did. The diary with a lock (which anyone, on a whim, could pick) and a key. At first, my entries were made daily, then weekly, then, seldom at all. Later, the diary evolved into journaling for a writing class, or jot down events, or milestone in my toddler’s life. Now I have a journal app on my iPad that I often use for notes and thoughts about my novels points.
None of scribbles in my journals were as emotionally purging or filled with day-to-day angst of a teenager’s life.
Why? I believe because my of my journaling was via the keyboard.
Scientific studies prove the act of pen to paper stirs creative thoughts.
While I have no real interest in keeping a detailed diary for myself
What about fictional characters? Do you ever have your fictional characters write a diary?
That is when I recalled my salad days are a writer.
When I starting writing fiction and non-fiction for the magazine market. I published in “Jr. Medical Detective” and “Humpty Dumpty”. In my article, “A Candle in the Dark” (still available as part of the Thomas Gale Education Series), my heroine, Sarah kept a diary. The story dealt with the Salem Witchcraft Trials. I found the diary to be a very effect plot device. It was also a good way to give the reader information without using a backstory to interrupt the flow of my story.
What are you feelings about diaries in a novel?
Are there diaries you’ve read you found of interest or diaries that change how you viewed the world?
Why is it a good idea to have a diary in your storyline?
Fictional characters are forced by their authors to carry the story (the process of the narrative). At the most basic level the diary gives you a first-person narrative without the protagonist knowing what is going to happen.
The use of diaries in novels of the past.
Pamela (1740) by Samuel Richardson is usually described as an epistolary novel. However, our heroine also writes a journal, and then sews it into her underwear for secrecy.
Wuthering Heights (1847) by Emily Brontë has a skeletal framework of a diary: “I have just returned from a visit to my landlord. . .Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold.” Mr. Lockwood will learn about true emotion day by day as he finds out and writes down the story of Heathcliff and the Earnshaws.
Bridget Jones’s Diary (1996) by Helen Fielding is well known to be based on the plot of Pride and Prejudice.
The more I ponder the use of a diary in my next novel, the more I warm to the idea.
I have my favorite pen and I also have turquoise Martha Stewart premium journal I received as a gift for Christmas. While there isn’t a lock and key, there is an elastic band to keep the journal closed. There is also a fabric bookmark so that I may keep my place.
I can picture myself writing today's date, time, and my first entry. . .Dear Diary.
Happy Reading,
Connie
February 2, 2016
HER Body, HIS Nightmare...Culture Shock by Ginger Simpson
Cynthia massaged her temples. "God, there's too much to remember. You can't expect me to store all that information in my brain. You went to an academy for months to learn all this stuff..." Suddenly her eyes widened. "I'm not going to have to shoot a gun am I?"
"No! I've never even taken mine out of the holster. Don't worry. You'll do fine. Just remember the basics. You'll be surprised how things sink in even if you don't think they did. You'll remember what you need to know when you need it."
"That's easy for you to say. I'm the one that has it the toughest."
He scrunched up his face. "You? How can you say that? I haven't the first idea about how to be a woman, and we all know how complex they are."
"We are not! Being feminine is very simple. Let me show you."
She struck a pose that looked ridiculous and walked across the room. "The walk is the most important thing. Take small steps and lead with your hips. Let them be your guide.''
Alex's flinched at the sight of his masculine frame sashaying around the floor. Even more annoying was the way she made feminine gestures with his hands.
He rolled his eyes. "There's no way I can walk like that, and I wish you'd stop. You're making me look ridiculous. Promise me you won't walk like that as long as you have my body." He jumped to his feet. "Real men walk heavy and hard ... and pull your shoulders back." He grabbed her forearms from behind, forcing her chest forward.
She jerked out of his grasp, turned and glared at him. "Don't worry. I'll play up the macho thing, but I want to see you walk like I just did."
He blew out a loud breath then reluctantly took one step, then another. The swivel didn't come naturally, but he tried following her example. Having a woman's form and a man's thought process was tough. The two didn't work well together. He walked across the room then turned. "Well, what do you think?"
"I think you look like someone who just had casts removed from their broken legs. But, we'll keep working on it. I also need to show you how to sit properly, drink with poise, and how to be graceful."
He grabbed two handfuls of her blonde hair and yanked in frustration. "Just kill me now."
"I can't. You promised I wouldn't have to shoot anyone, and I don't want to be the first to un-holster your gun." Her giggle sounded forced.
He sagged down on the sofa. "I guess I'll be spending the night again. Looks like we have a lot of ground to cover."
http://www.amazon.com/author/gingersimpson
February 1, 2016
GODS AND GROUNDHOGS
A Groundhog Day teaching In various traditions the beginning of February contains: Candlemas, Imbolc, St. Brigid’s Day and/or The Feast of the Purification of The Virgin. Chinese New Year, which sometimes coincides, is a little late in 2016, because that observance is tied to the arrival of the new moon. Therefore, on February 8th, we will enter The Year of the Red Monkey. (Look out below.) Here, however, in my neck of the woods, this festival celebrating our sun's big Northern Hemisphere Comeback is about the groundhog and whether he/she sees (or doesn’t see) his/her shadow, either predicting the dreaded six more weeks of winter or an early spring. This year her prognostication will (we pray) be for an early spring. Weather World from the Penn State Department of Meteorology has just forecast of a "Groundhog Heat Wave,” for it’s supposed to be a sultry 46 degrees on Tuesday. If Punxsutawney is overcast and shadowless, there will be an early spring. Whatever happens, this warming trend should help melt the snow left after our recent humdinger Nor’easter, which dumped 30 inches of the fluffy white stuff.
Credit: Steven Earnshaw, Imbolc Celebration in West Yorkshire
Occurring at the mid point between the shortest day and the spring equinox, this is also one of the ancient “cross-quarter” days. In the middle ages, people hired workers, made contracts and paid debts at these seasonal markers. There were fairs, and a saint's festival in the Christian calendar to mark the occasion and to conceal a pagan past where the sun was a deity and closely observed. We seem in the heart of winter, but actually, if you check times of sunrise and sunset, you’ll see that the days are speedily lengthening.
If you are a sheep farmer, you know that the lambs are here and coming, dropped into an inhospitable world. Other species give birth as well. I’ll never forget watching a calf being born during a February snow storm and finally dropping into a lanky, steaming pile atop frozen mud.
(Happy !#@%* Birthday...)
In fact, the groundhog sticks his head out of the burrow around this time because he's looking for love. He needs locate the nearby ladies and to size up the competition. The young (called pups) will be born later, when there's plenty of yummy green stuff growing. It is sometimes jokingly asked whether “red or white” goes best with groundhog. You won’t get an answer to the question here, even if my Depression Era Joy of Cooking does explain how to clean, stuff and bake Marmota Monax--but, Lord, I hope things never again grow so dire that I have to!
Although I know they can be a menace to equipment and livestock, I can't help but like them. It's interesting to watch these chubby critters in high summer, roly-poly butts trundling between fields, or standing up, on the lookout, sounding the shrill warning which gives them the name "Whistlepig." Groundhogs are fierce fighters, to which many a bloody-faced dog of my fifties childhood could attest. They are also dedicated parents and excellent housekeepers, carpeting their dens with leaves, and keeping both a summer den—sometimes tucked under an old barn or shed—and a safer winter den for hibernation, in the woods or in a hedgerow between fields.
~~Juliet Waldron Historical NovelsSee them all at: http://www.julietwaldron.com http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS
January 31, 2016
Sunday Snippets with Ginger Simpson #sundaysnips
This week, I'm sharing a little of my best-seller, First Degree Innocence. This story was inspired by working as a Correctional Officer for a year, and I really took personal issue when a reviewer remarked that the story didn't seem real. I lived among inmates for 12 hour days, so I know what I wrote is real and believable.The following scene is Carrie's experience when she's shown to her own personal cell for the first time. Oh, and by the way...everyone in jail will tell you that they are innocent. *lol* In this case, Carrie really is, the problem: no one believes her.
Cover by Michelle Lee at BWL“Welcome to Hell.” A voice came from behind her.Carrie’s heart jumped into her throat. She jerked around to see a prone form on the bottom bunk and struggled to find her voice. “I… I thought I was alone.”“No such luck. They prefer to keep the cells full. Sharing space makes serving meals and head counts a lot easier for the coven of witches who work here. My name’s Susanna Crane.” A tall blonde with bright brown eyes and full lips stood and offered her hand, then chuckled. “Oh, sorry, I see you have your arms full. The good news is, it’s nice to have company, and the bad news is you get the top bunk. The bottom one is the only perk around here, and it’s first-come-first-served.” Her pleasant giggle was a welcome sound.Carrie stood on tiptoes and dumped her issued items on the bare mattress. Marks of age crinkled the cold plastic. In a few ripped places, the cotton filling poked through—like her, it sought escape from a hellish confinement. A quiet chuckle bubbled to her lips until she tried picturing what type of people had slept on the bedding before her. She cringed.At home, her downy mattress was practically new, still bearing the tags that threatened penalties if they were removed. How ironic. You couldn’t be more law-abiding than that. She turned back to her cellmate. “Don’t we even get pillows?”Susanna shook her head. “Not anymore. I hear they used to issue them, but some idiot tried flushing one and backed up the whole sewer system, so now…”“I don’t think I can sleep without one.”“You’ll learn.”“So… we all get punished for what one person did?” Carrie hoped she misunderstood.“That’s the way it works. It’s an incentive program.”“Incentive for what?”“I haven’t figured that out yet. I think they expect us to police one another, yet fighting isn’t tolerated. That seems pretty stupid, considering the best way to stop someone from doing something that’s gonna screw us all, is to beat the livin’ shit out of ’em. Go figure.” Susanna’s lips practically disappeared into a thin line.Carrie was taken aback by Susanna’s language. At first sight, with her shoulder-length hair and big eyes, she looked like the all-American girl. The one you’d find in church or at the Red Cross. Carrie figured her for twenty-five at the most. She glanced around the cell, pondering Susanna’s last statement.“I’m not sure I understand. How can they expect us to prevent things from happening if we’re all separately caged… like animals?”“Oh, we get recreation time… a whopping two hours a day. You’ll love it. You get to socialize with the cream of the crop.” Susanna’s voice held a teasing tonehttp://amzn.com/B004A90CXM
Now...hope on over to my friends' sites and see what they are offering this week.
http://connievines.blogspot.com (Connie Vines)
http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/ (Juliet Waldron)
http://triciamg.blogspot.com (Tricia McGill)
January 28, 2016
Joke Day - Share One
thirdmonk.netI remember my mother-in-law sharing this joke with me...and she did the accent so well, then Anita Davison, who lives in England, shared it via email....I could still hear my MIL's voice. Of all the jokes I've heard, this ranks as one of the best. Feel free to share you own joke. I hear that laughing prolongs our lives.
beyondthebox.orgHistorical Joke: (read with an exaggerated southern accent)Two elegant southern belles stood in the corner of the ballroom, fanning themselves and chatting.
The first one patted her bosom. "My Gerald has been most generous. He bought me a new plantation."
Her friend continued fanning. "That's verra nice, dear, verra verra nice."
Bothered that she wasn't able to really impress her friend, the first woman fluttered her left hand. "And look, my darling, Gerald brought me this diamond ring from New Orleans."
Her friend continued fanning. "That's verra nice, dear, verra verra nice."
"And did I mention that Gerald purchased a contingent of slaves to do my bidding?"
"That's verra nice, dear, verra verra nice."
Now the woman is getting really frustrated and wanting to see a glint of jealousy on the other's face. Her rapid fanning shows her ire. "Well, dear, do tell. I've told and shown you what my Gerald has done is prove his love for me. What exactly has your husband done for you?"
Without missing a beat, the unimpressed woman grabs the side of her skirt and curtsies. "My husband sent me to charm school."
"Oh, and what exactly did you learn there?"
With a slight smile and continued fanning, the answer comes. "They taught me to say, "verra nice, dear, verra verra nice," instead of "who gives a flying f**k."
January 27, 2016
Pets and Other Animals in a Story by Connie Vines
Today's Topic: Have you used pets or other animals in your stories? What function do they perform in the story? Do they need to have a function? Can they be a character?
Since I am an animal lover and owner of a multitude of pets (exotic, barnyard, and typical suburban) at various times during my life, it only goes to reason that I will have them peppering my short stories, novellas, and novels. My Rodeo Romance Series (understandably) incorporates a cast of horses, sheep, cattle, dogs, cats, etc. Some of these animals only have Cameo roles, while others are characters in their own right.
My Fun & Sassy Fantasy Series also features a pet as a main character in each story line. Gertie, a pet Teddy-Bear Hamster, is Zombie Meredith’s BF is “Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow”. “Brede” Rodeo Romance, Book 2 features a horse and cattle dog. “Lynx” Rodeo Romance, Book 1, features the hero’s horse named Texas. The next book in my series, “Rand” Rodeo Romance, Book 3 features a poodle who belongs to the heroine. Rand’s interaction with this very unrodeo-like dog is priceless!
For realistic purposes I select animals/breeds that I either have owned, or have working personal knowledge (chickens, turkeys, quail, pheasant, pigs, sheep— bred for. . .well, dinner during my rural days). My dogs: Greyhound (my favorite & a rescue) Poodle (AKC champion pedigree), Shepherds, Collie, Weimaraner and– my husband’s dog, a Chi-wienie (Chihuahua Dachshund mix). I also like to add my horses (Quarter horse, Arabian, and a Paint –a retired rodeo barrel racer) into the mix. Due to my allergies to cats, my info comes mostly via friends and the Animal Channel. Now the unconventional pet experiences, were learned firsthand (I did raise sons and have 3 younger brothers). Pet mice, geckos, iguanas, horned toads & lizards, hamsters, parakeets, an Amazon parrot, finches, a runaway cockatiel, and canary have a way of finding a place in my life and my stories.
Future adventure with pets? Probably.
I simply adore baby pygmy goats. Mind you, I reside in the quirky suburbs of Southern California. Therefore, my husband reminds me, often. “You cannot raise a goat in our backyard, there are zoning laws.”
Of course I know there are zoning laws. I also know goats are herd animals. “We will need to have two goats,” I say him.
“We?” He grunts and goes to his ‘man-cave’.
I watched a YouTube video and read an online article titled: Pigmy Goats. With the opening hook: You should reconsider your choice in pets if you want an animal to stay indoors with you.
One fact was of particular interest, and brought back memories of living in an all-male household: ‘Goats are messy eaters too, pulling feed out of buckets and leaving it on the floor. Once it’s trampled, they really don’t want to touch it.’
Ummm. Obviously, I am not alone in my secret desire to own one of those adorable little goats. However, since have zero desire to relocate or have two goats head-butting or chewing my maple dinning room set or my wood flooring, I guess I’ll settle for a petting zoo outing with my three-year old grandson.
While my characters do not always have pet, my characters have often had a pet during childhood, interact with an animal, or (YA stories) would like a pet.
Why, do I believe animals are important to a story line?
It is a way to show character, good and bad.
How people treat animals will give a reader insight into my main character, or my villain. Treatment of animal hints at how he/she will treat a vulnerable person (child/spouse). If the hero seems uncaring and selfish to outsiders, give the heroine a view into an unguarded moment he shares with an injured puppy, or his care of his horse. His truck may be battered and dirty, but his horse is well groomed, fed, and sheltered each night.
However, my animals need to have a purpose. Sometimes it may only be comic relief, or a confidant in a YA novel, but unless it is a Cameo role (or red herring), my animals have a personality and a place in the storyline.
Who doesn’t remember, “Call of the Wild”, “Old Yeller”, “Misty of Chincoteague”?
I believe pets, can enrich a story—my novels, as are (in my opinion) most genre novels, are about life and the human need for love and companionship.
Not every novel calls for an animal to part of the story.
Not every person wishes to be responsible for a pet.
I did a bit of research and discovered these stats (the info about fish surprised me).
*Stats: 2014, 83.2 million dogs live in U.S. households, 95.5 million freshwater fish live in U.S. household, and 85.8 million cats live in U.S. households.
* Statista.com
So, what do you think? How do you feel?
As a reader, do you enjoy pets in a storyline? Do you look for authors who have a series you know will feature a heroine with a pet(s)?
Please add a comment with your opinion beneath this blog article.
Happy Reading,
Connie
Since I am an animal lover and owner of a multitude of pets (exotic, barnyard, and typical suburban) at various times during my life, it only goes to reason that I will have them peppering my short stories, novellas, and novels. My Rodeo Romance Series (understandably) incorporates a cast of horses, sheep, cattle, dogs, cats, etc. Some of these animals only have Cameo roles, while others are characters in their own right.
My Fun & Sassy Fantasy Series also features a pet as a main character in each story line. Gertie, a pet Teddy-Bear Hamster, is Zombie Meredith’s BF is “Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow”. “Brede” Rodeo Romance, Book 2 features a horse and cattle dog. “Lynx” Rodeo Romance, Book 1, features the hero’s horse named Texas. The next book in my series, “Rand” Rodeo Romance, Book 3 features a poodle who belongs to the heroine. Rand’s interaction with this very unrodeo-like dog is priceless!
For realistic purposes I select animals/breeds that I either have owned, or have working personal knowledge (chickens, turkeys, quail, pheasant, pigs, sheep— bred for. . .well, dinner during my rural days). My dogs: Greyhound (my favorite & a rescue) Poodle (AKC champion pedigree), Shepherds, Collie, Weimaraner and– my husband’s dog, a Chi-wienie (Chihuahua Dachshund mix). I also like to add my horses (Quarter horse, Arabian, and a Paint –a retired rodeo barrel racer) into the mix. Due to my allergies to cats, my info comes mostly via friends and the Animal Channel. Now the unconventional pet experiences, were learned firsthand (I did raise sons and have 3 younger brothers). Pet mice, geckos, iguanas, horned toads & lizards, hamsters, parakeets, an Amazon parrot, finches, a runaway cockatiel, and canary have a way of finding a place in my life and my stories.
Future adventure with pets? Probably.
I simply adore baby pygmy goats. Mind you, I reside in the quirky suburbs of Southern California. Therefore, my husband reminds me, often. “You cannot raise a goat in our backyard, there are zoning laws.”
Of course I know there are zoning laws. I also know goats are herd animals. “We will need to have two goats,” I say him.
“We?” He grunts and goes to his ‘man-cave’.
I watched a YouTube video and read an online article titled: Pigmy Goats. With the opening hook: You should reconsider your choice in pets if you want an animal to stay indoors with you.
One fact was of particular interest, and brought back memories of living in an all-male household: ‘Goats are messy eaters too, pulling feed out of buckets and leaving it on the floor. Once it’s trampled, they really don’t want to touch it.’
Ummm. Obviously, I am not alone in my secret desire to own one of those adorable little goats. However, since have zero desire to relocate or have two goats head-butting or chewing my maple dinning room set or my wood flooring, I guess I’ll settle for a petting zoo outing with my three-year old grandson.
While my characters do not always have pet, my characters have often had a pet during childhood, interact with an animal, or (YA stories) would like a pet.
Why, do I believe animals are important to a story line?
It is a way to show character, good and bad.
How people treat animals will give a reader insight into my main character, or my villain. Treatment of animal hints at how he/she will treat a vulnerable person (child/spouse). If the hero seems uncaring and selfish to outsiders, give the heroine a view into an unguarded moment he shares with an injured puppy, or his care of his horse. His truck may be battered and dirty, but his horse is well groomed, fed, and sheltered each night.
However, my animals need to have a purpose. Sometimes it may only be comic relief, or a confidant in a YA novel, but unless it is a Cameo role (or red herring), my animals have a personality and a place in the storyline.
Who doesn’t remember, “Call of the Wild”, “Old Yeller”, “Misty of Chincoteague”?
I believe pets, can enrich a story—my novels, as are (in my opinion) most genre novels, are about life and the human need for love and companionship.
Not every novel calls for an animal to part of the story.
Not every person wishes to be responsible for a pet.
I did a bit of research and discovered these stats (the info about fish surprised me).
*Stats: 2014, 83.2 million dogs live in U.S. households, 95.5 million freshwater fish live in U.S. household, and 85.8 million cats live in U.S. households.
* Statista.com
So, what do you think? How do you feel?
As a reader, do you enjoy pets in a storyline? Do you look for authors who have a series you know will feature a heroine with a pet(s)?
Please add a comment with your opinion beneath this blog article.
Happy Reading,
Connie
January 26, 2016
First Breakup
A few years ago, I entered a Valentine's contest which required I write five various articles on firsts. As February approaches again, I've decided to trip back down memory lane and share my first silly breakup with you. Funny how we learn what's good in life as we grow older. :)
Borrowed from Googleimages.comIt was over. I couldn't believe I'd cheated on my boyfriend...and with his buddy, to boot. What was wrong with me? I had the most handsome boyfriend in the Air Force, stationed only a few miles from my house and I blew it. Sure, my dad didn't approve of me dating GIs, but I'd gotten my neighbor to sign my permission slip to be a Jr. Hostess at the base dances. All those nights my parents thought I was at my friends...well, I sort of was. :)
But those memories were gone. I'd thrown away a blue-eyed, blond hunk for a chance to go out with someone who looked exactly like Fabian Forte, and now I hated that I'd been so stupid. I couldn't stop crying, and Woody's phone calls, while drinking, of course (yes he was older than me), kept reminding me that I'd broken his heart. Still I questioned how much he cared for me when he refused to call me by name because he thought I looked more like a, "Sue." Maybe that was an omen. Still, the thought of not being with him hurt my very soul.
I went to school the following Monday, depressed, upset, and wanting to be anywhere but in a classroom trying to concentrate. All I could think about was getting Woody back. But how? It didn't matter...my dreams were dashed during lunch, when I overheard a friend, Diana, talking about how she was now dating Woody since he'd tossed me in the trash. Broken heart my buttcheek! He hadn't wasted a minute of time getting over me.
Although I can't say I didn't smile when I heard her tell her friend that they couldn't actually "date" for a while since he'd broken both his legs jumping off the barracks balcony after he discovered I'd cheated. Alcohol seems to make people think they're invincible or something. My immediate thought was, I wonder if Bill, Fabian's twin, is still available. To shorten my story, he wasn't, but I ended up with another cutie as my next possible conquest. It's amazing how quickly your heart heals when you're young, and there are so many possibilities. :)
Postscript: I still wonder what happened to Woody, and wish he hadn't had such a common name (Johnny Woods). I'd love to know if life was kinder to him after he left the military. I know Diana and he lasted only a short time, and she married another of our classmates and they're still wed to date. I went on to find happiness with my first husband, and we lasted thirty-two years, so that's not a bad track record. :) I'm on marriage number two now and we'll celebrate our 20th this year, although we jokingly tell people it's been fifty. God, I'm old. I've been married longer than most people have been alive. Don't know how that works when I'm actually 35 in my mind.
If you have time...I invite you to listen to my new favorite song that I would sing to my hubby if I could carry a tune. :)
Borrowed from Googleimages.comIt was over. I couldn't believe I'd cheated on my boyfriend...and with his buddy, to boot. What was wrong with me? I had the most handsome boyfriend in the Air Force, stationed only a few miles from my house and I blew it. Sure, my dad didn't approve of me dating GIs, but I'd gotten my neighbor to sign my permission slip to be a Jr. Hostess at the base dances. All those nights my parents thought I was at my friends...well, I sort of was. :)But those memories were gone. I'd thrown away a blue-eyed, blond hunk for a chance to go out with someone who looked exactly like Fabian Forte, and now I hated that I'd been so stupid. I couldn't stop crying, and Woody's phone calls, while drinking, of course (yes he was older than me), kept reminding me that I'd broken his heart. Still I questioned how much he cared for me when he refused to call me by name because he thought I looked more like a, "Sue." Maybe that was an omen. Still, the thought of not being with him hurt my very soul.
I went to school the following Monday, depressed, upset, and wanting to be anywhere but in a classroom trying to concentrate. All I could think about was getting Woody back. But how? It didn't matter...my dreams were dashed during lunch, when I overheard a friend, Diana, talking about how she was now dating Woody since he'd tossed me in the trash. Broken heart my buttcheek! He hadn't wasted a minute of time getting over me.
Although I can't say I didn't smile when I heard her tell her friend that they couldn't actually "date" for a while since he'd broken both his legs jumping off the barracks balcony after he discovered I'd cheated. Alcohol seems to make people think they're invincible or something. My immediate thought was, I wonder if Bill, Fabian's twin, is still available. To shorten my story, he wasn't, but I ended up with another cutie as my next possible conquest. It's amazing how quickly your heart heals when you're young, and there are so many possibilities. :)
Postscript: I still wonder what happened to Woody, and wish he hadn't had such a common name (Johnny Woods). I'd love to know if life was kinder to him after he left the military. I know Diana and he lasted only a short time, and she married another of our classmates and they're still wed to date. I went on to find happiness with my first husband, and we lasted thirty-two years, so that's not a bad track record. :) I'm on marriage number two now and we'll celebrate our 20th this year, although we jokingly tell people it's been fifty. God, I'm old. I've been married longer than most people have been alive. Don't know how that works when I'm actually 35 in my mind.
If you have time...I invite you to listen to my new favorite song that I would sing to my hubby if I could carry a tune. :)
January 25, 2016
MOZART AND THE WRITERS
Written a very long time ago, but something to say on the occasion of another notable January Birthday, that of Wolfgang A. Mozart, a fellow I liked so well he appears in three of my books.
Mozart sends telepathic messages! I saw this headline in the '90's, in one of those papers where Bill Clinton could be seen shaking hands with a friendly alien.
As a Mozart fan, however, I understood it to be true. After Amadeus, there were legions of us, out of the classical closet. We saw the play, then the movie. We began to collect Mozart music. CD and videotape were still new, and so we had to buy those and the new, and, in those early days, expensive, equipment. My poor vinyl collection took a back seat to digital perfection. I searched in for small businesses that would carry opera tapes. I volunteered constantly at my public radio station because they were kind enough to feed my Mozart frenzy on a daily basis.
I was not alone, however, in this mad Mozart revival. Every opera singer with a recording contract put out a Mozart album. Neighbors in posh NYC apartments sued neighbors after hours and hours and days and weeks and months of The Requiem played continuously and at full volume. Like so many phenoms, Mozart had surged over the top, infecting the planetary consciousness.
Love me! Love me! Listen to me! Do what those 18thCentury fools did not!
The single party I gave every year was to honor his birthday. My writer and poet friends, all of us struggling with manuscripts, attempting to find agents and publishers, to hold onto day jobs, were loyal attendees. We could share our woes with that mostly impractical, humiliating, and perilous passion for writing. I will always be grateful to those brave souls who drove through snowstorms from other states because they wanted to be in my kitchen, share their woes and then find a way to laugh about them. It was a fun fellowship in the gray cold January world. There was champagne and 18th Century food of all kinds, steak and kidney pies, syllabub, etc., prepared, over the course of days and after trips to the butcher and the import shop, by the hands of Juliet the Certifiable. The Cake came from a now OOB bakery called Dingledein's, who certainly knew how to make a Mozart's Birthday Party Cake.
A warm winter pick-me-up among friends! So, Happy Birthday, creator of musical joy, Wolfgang A!
~~Juliet Waldron
See All my historical novels at:
http://www.julietwaldron.com
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS
Mozart sends telepathic messages! I saw this headline in the '90's, in one of those papers where Bill Clinton could be seen shaking hands with a friendly alien.
As a Mozart fan, however, I understood it to be true. After Amadeus, there were legions of us, out of the classical closet. We saw the play, then the movie. We began to collect Mozart music. CD and videotape were still new, and so we had to buy those and the new, and, in those early days, expensive, equipment. My poor vinyl collection took a back seat to digital perfection. I searched in for small businesses that would carry opera tapes. I volunteered constantly at my public radio station because they were kind enough to feed my Mozart frenzy on a daily basis.
I was not alone, however, in this mad Mozart revival. Every opera singer with a recording contract put out a Mozart album. Neighbors in posh NYC apartments sued neighbors after hours and hours and days and weeks and months of The Requiem played continuously and at full volume. Like so many phenoms, Mozart had surged over the top, infecting the planetary consciousness.
Love me! Love me! Listen to me! Do what those 18thCentury fools did not!
The single party I gave every year was to honor his birthday. My writer and poet friends, all of us struggling with manuscripts, attempting to find agents and publishers, to hold onto day jobs, were loyal attendees. We could share our woes with that mostly impractical, humiliating, and perilous passion for writing. I will always be grateful to those brave souls who drove through snowstorms from other states because they wanted to be in my kitchen, share their woes and then find a way to laugh about them. It was a fun fellowship in the gray cold January world. There was champagne and 18th Century food of all kinds, steak and kidney pies, syllabub, etc., prepared, over the course of days and after trips to the butcher and the import shop, by the hands of Juliet the Certifiable. The Cake came from a now OOB bakery called Dingledein's, who certainly knew how to make a Mozart's Birthday Party Cake.
A warm winter pick-me-up among friends! So, Happy Birthday, creator of musical joy, Wolfgang A!
~~Juliet Waldron
See All my historical novels at:
http://www.julietwaldron.com
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS
January 23, 2016
Sunday Snippets by Ginger Simpson - #sundaysnips
Today, I'm sharing a little from my relationship book, Betrayed. This story is based on a real-life happenstance, featuring my sister. The nightmare is over, but the bad taste lingers. We just discovered a month or so ago that the "antagonist" is now deceased, but there are thousands like him out there, waiting to prey on the innocent. My book delivers a message you won't want to miss.
The constant buzz of the alarm invaded Cassie’s sleep. She reached to the nightstand and slapped the button atop the clock to silence the annoying noise. Although early, the light from the rising sun filtering into the room forced her to squint until her eyes adjusted to the brightness. If changing the position of her home became humanly possibly, she’d turn the whole dwelling around. The lacy white curtains that matched her down comforter made her bedroom stylishly feminine, but did little to darken the room. With reluctance, she dropped her legs over the edge of the bed and curled her toes into the plush ecru carpet. It would be so nice to sleep in just one morning, but work beckoned. She grimaced at the thought of another day at the office. What would it be like to be married to a rich man and not have to work?She covered her mouth to mask a gaping yawn, stood and stretched. Her fingers splayed through a gnarled mass, and she groaned. Going to bed with damp hair had been a bad idea. Immediately, her thoughts returned to Evan—the reason she stayed up late. There was no use checking for a response this early, besides there was no time and she didn’t dare be late. Her new boss was a real jerk not at all like the wonderful man for whom she had worked for years. What were the odds that when her ideal supervisor retired, she would end up being supervised by a Japanese man? Somehow people of that particular ethnicity kept turning Cassie’s life upside down.She had never been racially biased, but perceptions from her new boss’ actions indicated anyone of the female gender threatened him. He treated her differently than the male executives, not letting her make decisions as she had in the past, and never soliciting her opinion. In some ways, working for him felt like being married to Greg all over again.Her new supervisor’s treatment of her set the tone for the other men in the office and made going to work a chore. If there was any possibility of finding a job that paid the same great wages, she’d quit in a flash, but unfortunately, due to unemployment statistics, her chances hovered somewhere between slim and none.Cassie shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She shed her nightgown and stood waiting for the water to warm. A mental image of Evan drifted through her mind; he probably looked nothing like it. She shuddered and peered into the mirror. “Internet dating, are you insane?”After testing the water, she slipped inside the stall and ducked her head beneath the stream of refreshing liquid to clear her thoughts and hopefully untangle the Frankenstein’s bride look that sleep had created. Starting over with blown-dry hair would make her morning’s toilette a lot easier.***
Cassie shifted positions, crossing and uncrossing her legs under the boardroom table. Her chair made an embarrassing sound as air escaped the bottom leather cushion; a few eyes turned in her direction. Despite her innocence, a flush crept up her neck. She hoped they didn’t think the rude noise came from her personally.The business meeting seemed never ending. Mr. Takeda, her boss, had turned what used to be information-sharing workshops into dictatorial seminars. He stood at the head of the table and droned on and on. No longer comfortable with offering opinions, Cassie fidgeted with boredom, wishing the day would end.How could one man make her feel so insecure? The abundance of confidence she once had at work had slipped away. No longer boosted by career achievement, her personal life was now an issue. She glanced around the male-dominated room. Did other suffer Takeda’s wrath or was she the only one because she held the sole female position in management? Between a bum marriage to someone who treated her as though she didn’t exist and a supervisor who operated in the same style, no wonder her self-esteem waned. Even those in the secretarial pool offered no compassion or empathy. They disliked her for being successful, too.Finally, Mr. Takeda barked his last command and dismissed the staff. Cassie released a long breath. The meeting and the workday ended at the same time. She walked back to her desk, switched off her computer and grabbed her purse.All the way home on the train, she pondered having to keep working under the present conditions. Her vacant stare glimpsed and stayed on the headlines of the newspaper held by a passenger across the aisle: Man Found Slain.Cassie arched her brow at the thought, but quickly shook her head.Nope, killing him wasn’t the answer. He wasn’t worth going to prison, but an impish chuckle escaped her lips when she pictured herself standing over Takeda’s body with a bloody knife.The train’s jolting halt train yanked her back to reality. She gathered her belongings and, feeling slightly claustrophobic, blended in with the throng of people exiting the car. The man behind her slammed into her, pushing her into the woman in front. Cassie devised a new idea for offing Mr. T: let the crowd stampede and trample him. With no shame involved, she took a deep breath and adjusted her carry-on strap so it didn’t bite so hard into her shoulder. Caught in the throng of bodies, she could only move as fast as the crowd.
Betrayed is available with all my other books on my Amazon author's page. Hope you'll check them out.
Now hop on over and check out my friend's offerings:
http://connievines.blogspot.com (Connie Vines)
http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/ (Juliet Waldron)
http://triciamg.blogspot.com (Tricia McGill)
