Ginger Simpson's Blog, page 49

Welcome Sonnett O'Dell to Dishin' It Out #guestblogger

“So, why do you write these strong female characters? Because you’re still asking me that question." ~ Joss Whedon



There are a lot more women writing books that ever before and I’d like to think that the age old bias about women in publishing is long since dead, but what about female characters? Are we still endearing them towards gender stereotypes? Do people still want to read about Damsels in distress? Personally, the answer is no. I like strong female characters, Buffy, Anita Blake, Bo in Lost Girl. Women who although like men, don’t need one to tell them what to do and get along very well without one if they need to. In my own writing I endeavor to write women of a similar quality but it’s hard. There is still a large stigmatism when it comes to strong female characters who display the morals of a man when it comes to life and especially to sex. I think this is still because the taboo surrounding sex is still holding on to its place in the world by its finger tips. Female characters have just as much right to express their sexuality and desire as their male counterparts. Heroines who knows what they want and go out to get it are definitely the way forward.



My latest release: A Chance of Rain Agent Nicholas Grafton has a plan. To use a convicted criminal to catch other criminals and he thinkAs he’s chosen the perfect candidate. Cera Raine went to prison for the murder of her father. Intelligent, beautiful and resourceful, Cera could have done it but claims she didn’t. Intrigued by Grafton’s proposal she takes it, even with its condition – that she wear a bomb around her neck. Once out, she will do whatever she has to, to get him to trust her, even take down a drug operation plaguing the streets of Central City.

Buy links:
Amazon UK:  http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B015ENC7E4 
Amazon US:  http://amzn.com/Bo15ENC7E4
Currently on Sale until the 31st of October - £1.99/$2.99

Where to find me:
Website: www.sonnetodell.com
Blog: http://sonnetodelldustypages.blogspot.co.uk
Twitter: @sonnetodell

Books We Love BOGO!

by Jamie Hill
Books We Love is offering a BOGO sale! Purchase any title from our BWL store using Paypal or a credit card, and you can request a second book of your choice free. Formats available in the store are PDF, mobi (Kindle) and epub (for Nook and most other eReaders).


Find my titles here and click on the covers for purchase info.http://bookswelove.net/authors/hill-jamie/
Ginger's titles are available herehttp://bookswelove.net/authors/simpson-ginger/ 
Once you purchase a book, you'll receive an email confirmation asking which title you'd like for free. It's as easy as that! 
Happy shopping, happy reading, and Happy Thanksgiving to our Canadian friends!

Sunday Snippets with Ginger #sundaysnips

Today, I'm sharing snippets from my current WIP, Sarah's Soul , coming from Books We Love early 2016.  Make sure to check out and bookmark the page now...especially my page.  *lol* While you're there, don't forget to enter our ongoing contest.

Hope you enjoy this foray into a mystery/suspense that haunts Sarah from the beginning of this new novel.  Remember this has yet to be edited, and is the first draft.  While you wait for me to finish this story, you may want to invest your time in reading Sarah's Heart & Passion, the map that will guide you to Manhattan and prepare you for what's happening next.  Hold on...it's a bumpy ride:



Sarah followed Marie down the bus stairs to the sidewalk.  Exhaust from the heavy traffic on the Manhattan street hung heavy in the air. Every nerve in Sarah’s body tingled, anticipating the worst. The constant turning of her head caused a cramp in her neck, but as her caller advised, she kept looking over her shoulder. Once inside her apartment building, she took a cleansing breath and shrugged several times to ease the tension in her shoulders.
Marie peered up the stairs. “Coast is clear.”
On the third landing, Marie peeked down the long hallway. “Coast is still clear.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Marie, you’re starting to sound like a TV program.”
Marie pulled her lips into a thin white ine. “Are you saying you want me to stop looking out for a problem? Just say the word. This isn’t all that fun, you know?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not being very nice. I really do appreciate everything you’re doing. Please, forgive my whiney tone. I’ve just reached my limit, that’s all.” She rubbed her forehead.
“Well, just a few more feet and we’ll be home.” Marie offered encouragement.
Sarah unlocked the door to a ringing phone. Her head lolled back and she heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh please. Not again.”
“I’ll get it,” Marie offered and grabbed the receiver.
Sarah laced the safety chain across the door and dead bolted it, wondering why her friend was so brave.
“Hello,” Marie answered.
“Is this Mrs. Elder?” A female voice asked.
“No, she isn’t available at the moment. May I tell her who called?”
“Adele from her bank. We received a notice to close her account and I wanted to make sure she authorized the note we received in the mail before we act. The signature doesn’t match what we have on file. Would you please have her return my call as soon as possible?”
Marie’s mouth gaped. “Wait…she’s right here.
“What is it?” Sarah asked, feeling her eyes widen.
Marie placed her hand over the receiver and thrust the phone at Sarah. “It’s the bank….”

********************************************


Now....please hop on over to the other gals who post on Sundays, and check out their offerings:
http://authorjamiehill.blogspot.com/  (Jamie Hill)
http://triciamg.blogspot.com (Tricia McGill)
http://romancingscifi.blogspot.com (Vijaya Schartz)
http://connievines.blogspot.com (Connie Vines)
http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/ (Juliet Waldron)
If you get a page that has an old post...just realize that life sometimes happens, and then check back next week.  I've missed a few myself...summer time is camping time and we don't always have Internet access.  Thanks for checking in and we hope you keep coming back.

Living with the Whooshes and Floaters - by Ginger Simpson (borrowed from Poopster #39)

I know most of you are aware I live in a basement.  Aside from having no windows, the thing that bothers me most is having a "Poop Pump" in the corner of the kitchen.  I didn't fully understand that concept, until I read this hilarious accounting I found on the Internet.  I can only give attribution to Poopster39, as that is the only infomation I have.  When I read this aloud to my sister, she was convincedI wrote it...until I got to the part where the person was repairing the pump.  I hope you
laugh as long and hard as we did, and pray that I always hear the "whoosh."

I bought my first home in 1984 when I was twenty-four-years-old. It was a pretty bold move on my part, considering I really had no money to work with. But through some creative financing I somehow managed to close the deal on a really nice sixty-year-old English Tudor. The place was in excellent condition, but needed some updating. This turned out to be one of the smartest investments I ever made, since the profits from this home enabled me to upgrade over the years.The first thing I did after moving in was to renovate the basement into an apartment for myself. Once completed, I planned to rent out the main house to cover my expenses. This allowed me to save a nice sum of money over the next few years.My biggest challenge in fixing up the basement was the plumbing. The main sewage lines were four feet above the basement floor, which meant I had to figure a way to pump water and sewage upward. At the time I had very little knowledge of plumbing, so one of my friends recommended a handyman he was using. This guy was supposedly a jack-of- all-trades, and -- best of all -- he was cheap.I forget the handyman's name. I remember he was tall and thin, wore a ponytail, and was into the Grateful Dead. He was also very friendly and seemed to know what he was doing. He recommended using a submersible sewage ejector pump. This involved sinking a large poylethylene basin -- about the size and shape of a wine barrel -- into the basement floor to collect water and sewage from the kitchen and bathroom waste lines. The ejector pump is submerged inside the basin and is controlled by a mercury float switch. Once the water in the basin rises to about two-thirds full, the pump would activate, ejecting the water and sewage upward into the main septic line.As the handyman did his work, he explained to me how everything operated and what I needed to do in case of a problem. Once he finished up, my apartment was basically complete, and I moved my stuff downstairs. A few weeks later a young couple moved into the main house with their young son.Since I was single, basement living wasn't so bad. I had fixed the place up nicely and kept it neat and clean. Although I have to admit: I was a bit skeeved over the idea that my own feces would literally be "stored" inside my living quarters for an indeterminate period of time. You see, normally it would take four or five flushes before I would hear the sewage pump engage and "whoosh" all the water and little floaters out into the septic system. That was way too infrequent for me. It really irked me that these unpleasant guests would only leave when they were good and ready to do so. As a result, I came up with creative ways of making sure they left the premises when *I* decided.And so whenever I flushed, if I didn't hear the calming "whoosh" noise, then I simply turned on the shower until the water level in the basin reached the "whoosh" level. Not exactly the most conservative approach -- but well, tough crap on those loony water conservationists anyway. What do they know? I needed peace of mind. There was simply no way I was going to sleep ten feet away from a flotilla of dookie logs bobbing around in a subterranean shit-vat.And so, for the next two-and-a-half years, I wasted more water than a typical family of five. Eventually I decided that basement living was no longer for me. At that time I was making enough money to afford living in my own home. Besides, my tenants upstairs were planning on moving soon anyway, so I decided it was time to move up in the world. Since the basement apartment had potential to earn some nice side income, I decided to rent it out.The new tenant in the basement apartment was a guy named Fred. He didn't have too much in the brains department. In fact, after a few conversations with him, I came to realize he was downright stupid. But at least he was quiet and kept mostly to himself. He had a job that required him to leave the house early, and I barely heard him come and go. Plus, he never had any guests downstairs, and that was fine by me.For about six months we had a very pleasant tenant-landlord relationship. Until..."Excuse me, Poopster39? Could you take a look at that pump you told me about? You know, the one that pumps up the... you know.""Okay," I said to myself as I started to hyperventilate. "Just calm yourself. It's probably nothing. Just an overloaded circuit or something." I walked downstairs and went straight for the breaker panel. Crap. None of the circuits had blown."Fred," I asked. "When did you realize the pump wasn't working?""Okay, well, usually it turns on after four or five flushes.""And how many times did you flush?""Nine.""Mmm hmmm," I said casually, nodding my head, the neurotransmitters in my brain starting to short circuit. The lights in the room began flashing in different hues of crimson. I followed Fred to the laundry closet in the living room. Two double-louvered doors enclosed the space. The tank was buried in a corner in the closet. As I approached, I immediately noticed a familiar odor wafting through the louvers. My heart started beating faster. Fred pulled open the doors for me. The shower scene music from Psycho started blaring in my brain.By now, anyone who's read any of my stories knows I suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Things like hand washing, turning off lights, and locking doors are a ritual for me. Like many OCD sufferers, I also have a dread fear of filth and germs. Especially when they belong to someone else. So you can imagine the thoughts that went through my head as I looked down and saw a half-inch puddle of brown fluid on the closet floor. Fred's brown fluid.In addition to having OCD, I'm an extreme introvert. As such, I tend to internalize my fears and emotions. In most instances, nobody will know when I'm going through a neurotic episode. I have the perfect poker face, and can usually keep my thoughts and feelings buried."Okay," I said. "This doesn't look promising.""Maybe I shouldn't have flushed so much."As I stared at Fred, I imagined plunging an ice pick into his eye socket repeatedly. It was a calming thought."Probably not," I agreed.Before I did anything prematurely, I decided to try a little troubleshooting. The only thing I could think of was to check the electric outlet into which the pump was plugged. First I tested a small appliance to make sure the outlet was live. So far, so good. Then I plugged in the sewage pump. Then unplugged it. Then plugged it in again. Nothing.I once read that a clear indication of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again with no variation, yet each time expecting a different result. I would have to say I was legally insane after the sixtieth attempt to unplug and re-plug the pump into the wall outlet. The water still would not go down. No happy little "whoosh" sound.At some point during my futile plug-in, plug-out ritual, Fred decided he had something more important to do, like buying floor mats for his car or something. He'd been planning it all week. So he left me to deal with the barrel of shitmonkeys on my own.Imbecile.My normal instinct at this point would have been to get in my car and drive to a nice safe-haven -- the beach, or some place equally soothing. In fact, if this wasn't my own house, I would have disappeared as soon as Fred admitted to flushing the stinkin' toilet nine freakin' times. But it was my house, and so I found myself torn between instinct and rational thought. Plus, I was beginning to envision the poo-puddle slowly seeping through the closet's wood framing and into the sheetrock. I looked down at the new carpet I had installed in the living room and knew I had to act fast.At this point an override mechanism went off in my brain and I went into survival mode. In this mode I'm able to function in an otherwise hostile environment without immediate danger of having a full-blown panic attack. At least, that's the theory.I ran up to my kitchen and grabbed a bucket and sponge mop. I held my breath and gagged as I sopped up nearly two buckets of slop, which I carried up the basement steps and dumped outside into the woods. Next, wearing rubber gloves, I got out my tools and removed the bolts from the basin cover. Then I disconnected the vent pipe and the check valve.In my haste, I forgot the purpose of the check valve was to prevent sewage from flowing back down into the basin after a pumping cycle. It was a one-way valve, which meant that a column of sewage water would always be sitting directly above the valve inside the waste pipe. I pulled apart the two sections of the check valve and immediately a half-gallon of brown sewage splashed down, soaking my jeans and shirt. A few stray drops also landed on my face.Let's put things into perspective here. I admit I'm a sick neurotic. Little things that don't bother others eat away at me. For example: if I were ever to get anything sticky on my hands, like pancake syrup, I couldn't function again until I got to a sink. If I was driving and dropped some bagel crumbs in my lap, I'd have to pull over to the side of the road immediately. This is the nature of my illness. And so imagine what went off in my brain as I sat there, drenched in something that originally slid out of someone else's buttcrack.The psychotic episode that followed should probably have been caught on tape. America's Funniest Home Videos would have paid a fortune for it. With lights and sirens blaring in my head, I became completely disoriented and lost all sense of bearing. I ran around in circles in a frenzy for a while, and then groped about for the stairwell. I must have bounced off a dozen walls and furniture pieces in my crazed rampage up two flights of stairs toward my bathroom. From an overhead view, I probably resembled Pac-Man. I believe I actually did scream three or four times, which is completely unlike me.Forty-five minutes later, after I had showered, scrubbed, brushed my teeth, and swallowed half a bottle of Listerine, I was back downstairs. I simply had to get this nightmare behind me. This time, in addition to the rubber gloves, I wore goggles and a facemask. I knelt down on the floor, steeled my nerves, and hoped for a miracle. Then I lifted the metal lid off the basin and found myself staring at a full bushel of crap-apples bobbing around in a putrid foaming stinkwater frappe.There are simply some things in this life you never need to know about. Fred's shit certainly made that list.I dry heaved for a minute or two before calming down. I knew I had very few options at this point. There was no way to get this vile, contemptible mess out of my house except to bail it out by hand. I gagged and retched as I carried fifteen buckets full of the foulest effluent on the planet up the stairs and out into the woods. To this day, the occasional memory of this experience makes me shake uncontrollably with the creeps.Once most of the poo-water was out of the way, I was able to troubleshoot the problem with the pump. This was no fun task, since it was completely coated with poo-slime. I discovered the mercury float switch had gone dead, which was a relief because this was an easy replacement. It also saved me over three hundred dollars on the cost of a new pump. I went to the hardware store and spent less than thirty dollars on a new mercury switch. After putting everything back together again, I flushed the toilet five times and heard a "whoosh." It was like music to my ears.Afterwards, I discarded anything remotely associated with this disgusting incident. I went back upstairs to my tidy little world and showered and scrubbed myself raw. I called my girlfriend and told her I needed to be alone that night. Then I proceeded to drink a six-pack of St. Pauli Girl's. Maybe two sixes, I don't remember. That night I vowed never to rent to anyone again. Happily, Fred moved out a few months later, and I've kept my vow to this day.The following Monday morning I took the seven o'clock train into Manhattan. When I got to the office, my co-workers asked me how my weekend was."I was dipped in shit," I told them.- See more at: http://www.poopreport.com/Stories/Con...

Note from Ginger:  I have no idea what kind of idiot would have permitted having a shit pump in the corner of your kitchen.  Anyhow...I guess I'm stuck with it.  No wonder I have a shitty outlook on life.

Kathryn Meyer Griffith is visiting again #author #selfpublishing

WHY I BECAME A WRITER and other Stuff By Kathryn Meyer Griffith
Author of 22 published novels, 2 novellas and 12 short stories since 1984 This post was originally written in 2011…right before I discovered self-publishing and then everything changed. And a 2015 update is at the very end of the post.

Truthfully, what started me off as an author was simply this: As a child, about eight or nine years old (the same time I began to draw pictures in pencil and years before I began to dream about being a singer with my younger brother Jim), I began reading books, science fiction, historical romances and scary books from the library. I had six brothers and sisters and though I had a loving mother and father, a loving family, there was very little money. I can’t say we were poverty poor, but we were poor at times. Sometimes our meals were scarce and we never had extra money for many toys or outside entertainment. I think in my whole young childhood my father only took us out to eat once. Try paying for seven kids and two adults. So we learned to entertain ourselves. We played outside, climbed trees and hid in deep dirt gullies. We sang, howled really, outside at night on the swing set. I loved to read. The library books were free and plentiful. I’d sit on my bed, especially during the long summer days and evenings (after chores were done, of course) and read one amazing book after another and if I was lucky, with a chocolate snack or cherry Kool-Aid nearby. Those books, those words on the page, took me away to other places, times and worlds. It was magical. I got lost in people-on-a-spaceship-going–to-some-faraway-planet science fiction books. There was this one horse book when I was a kid that knocked me out, made me cry, and laugh with joy at the end it was so real to me and so full of pathos because I loved horses so much. It was called Smoky. I loved that book. Sigh. I never forgot how those wonderful books made me feel…so free. So adventurous. So rich. Like I could be or do anything someday. And when I grew up I wanted to create that magic myself for others.  So…that’s why I began writing.  And when I get depressed over my writing at times, I remember that.I remember vividly one day at school, when I was about 10 or so, when a big box of Weekly Reader books were delivered and we each got to pick one to read. The smell of those new books in that box as I looked at them, the excitement and awe of the other kids over the books and the reverence for those authors, and I thought: Wouldn’t it be something if someday a box of these books were mine…written by me? Oh, to be an author. People respect an author. It was the beginning. Then there’s also a second part to the question: Why do I keep writing after 44 years of it? Because I can’t not write. I can’t stop. The stories take over my heart and mind and demand to come out. It’s sort of like birthing a baby (I have one real son and two grandchildren myself). You carry them for a while, a short or long time span, and then once they’re born (published) they go on to be their own individual entities that sometimes continue to amuse and amaze you. Or disappoint you. Whatever.
This is what it’s like to be a published author. It’s not like anything you would imagine. There’s excitement, the passion and feeling of being right with the world, as the story is being created and the words are tumbling out into the computer; there’s the exhaustion of writing hours and hours, the doubt that your words  will mean anything to anyone and why am I doing this? that creeps in but that you have to chase away; there’s the pride in seeing the finished book, either e-book or print, and finally there’s the feeling of unexplainable happiness when someone says they read it and liked/loved it. The best response I love to hear is: I couldn’t put it down. The characters were all so real. I got carried away with it. Didn’t want to leave the world you’d created. Wow. That makes the sometimes low pay and grueling hard work all worthwhile because writing is hard work, or, at least, the creating and promoting of it anyway. Hour and hour, day after day, year after year. It’s your life you’re using up, your precious time and you have to truly love it to give all that up…to strangers.


Sometimes people ask me: is it still fun?Fun? That’s a strange way to put it. Sometimes, rarely, it’s fun. Mostly it’s hard work and lots of solitary time alone. Writers live so much of their life in their make believe worlds they get lonely for the real world, real breathing people and adventures. I know I do. But the writing won’t leave me alone until I write down the words and tell the tale. The easiest way I can put it is when I’m writing or dealing with my writing I feel like I’m doing what I was born to do. Yes, I believe a writer is born to write–like an artist is born to paint and draw; a musician to write or play music. As an artist myself I know I’m not truly happy, or fulfilled feeling, unless I’m writing, drawing or singing. Creating. Though the singing and the artwork have gone more by the wayside as I’ve become older and writing mostly takes all my free time now.  Yes, writing does make me happy. Grin. Except the rare times someone hates one of my books and that happens, too. I’ve finally learned that reading and loving a book or short story is subjective. Some people love my stories, get them, and others…don’t. And that’s okay. We’re all different people.  That’s a lesson a writer must learn. One person’s criticism is not a blanket criticism of all your work or even that one work, it’s just one person’s opinion.
Is it lucrative? This first part I originally wrote in 2o11… before I started self-publishing in August 2012. Now, in 2015, with 9 books self-published of my 22 I am making a good living at my writing for the first time ever. And when I finally own and self-publish the rest of my 22 books (14 are still with a publisher that I make very little money on) I will be making really good money. But here’s my answer from 2011: That’s a loaded question and most writers will not talk about how much they make or a book makes. Maybe, this is just my theory, it’s because most of us make so little it embarrasses us. There’s no way we could ever live on it. It’s icing on the cake, trim on the woodwork, for the mid-level writers anyway. The top (very rare) writers like Stephen King, Dean Koontz and many other writers make a very good living, but most writers don’t. Ever. Oh, in my heyday in the 1980’s and early 1990’s I made fairly good money with Leisure and Zebra paperbacks, because back then the distribution and print runs were so large. I got a smaller percent in royalties but there were more books out there on the shelves and in the stores selling for me. So far the e-books and PODs (Print on Demand) aren’t selling that well, but I get a much larger percentage.  I’m hoping in the next year by having all my old 10 novels out again (rereleased between June 2010 and June 2012) and 2 new books I’ll see a gradual increase in income. It’s an experiment, sort of.  Selling a small quantity each 3 months of 12 or more books might add up to a nice sum. Or so I’m hoping. I’m marketing (a whole new thing in the Internet world these days) a lot, seeking and getting great 4 and 5 star reviews, joining reader and writer loops, guest blogging, etc.  It’s never ending. Thing is I don’t know how much it all helps. Eventually, I figure, I’ll find out. I’m an optimist always. 2015 Update: I made the worst money between 2010 and 2015 with this publisher than I’d ever made. Thank goodness I discovered self-publishing in late 2012 and began switching my books into it. Well, I lived and learned. 
Do I still enjoy writing? This was my answer in 2011 and in 2015 I still feel the same way: Sure. I love it. It’s like breathing, eating, dreaming. It’s become part of me. It’s second nature. It took me over 40years to say: I’m a writer. And really feel like I wasn’t being a pretentious so-and-so or outright lying. It took me all that time and 22 published books, 2 novellas and 12 short stories, and more to come hopefully, for me to feel deserving of the title.  Even without the money, telling stories is what makes me feel…complete. Happy. Hey, look at me I’m a storyteller! Ha, ha, now I just have to figure out a way to make it more profitable, as well.  Thank you.
* Written by the author Kathryn Meyer Griffith on a sultry August day not so long ago (2011)…
2015 update: And I did find a way to make it more profitable because I started self-publishing. As one successful Indie writer recently said to me: Just get the books out there…nothing else matters, except presumably good books, I’d add. The rest will come. And now I have NINE self-published books out everywhere and I’m discovering it does come.   Stay tuned for my next blog…the backstory story Why I Wrote A Time of Demons and Angels here: https://kathrynmeyergriffith.wordpress.com/
My Books are here:
http://tinyurl.com/oqctw7k
My Audible audio books are here:
http://tinyurl.com/oz7c4or
Novels:
Evil Stalks the Night, The Heart of the Rose, Blood Forge, Vampire Blood, The Last Vampire, Witches, The Nameless One short story, The Calling, Scraps of Paper, Ghosts Beneath Us, Egyptian Heart, Winter’s Journey, The Ice Bridge, Don’t Look Back, Agnes, Before the End: A Time of Demons, The Woman in Crimson, Human No Longer, Four Spooky Short Stories Collection, Forever and Always Romantic Short, Night carnival Short Story, Dinosaur Lake, Dinosaur Lake II: Dinosaurs Arising and Dinosaur Lake III: Infestation
Websites:
https://kathrynmeyergriffith.wordpress.com/
https://www.amazon.com/author/kgriffith http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001KHIXNSrdgriff@htc.net




  

Meet Beatrice Lulu Eberardt created by Roseanne Dowell

I’m Beatrice Lulu Eberhardt. Some of you know me from my niece Callie Johnson. Callie’s the new Chief of Police of our little town. I first appeared in her book, All in the Family. Callie doesn’t know it, but she’s my favorite. She got annoyed with me sometimes because I tried to fix her up with a nice young man, well several nice young men. I didn’t want her ending up an old maid like I almost was. If Ed hadn’t come along – well I shudder to think what my life would have been like. Callie didn’t much care for any of the men I introduced her to. Praise God, she finally met a nice young man on her own.But that’s neither here nor there. This story isn’t about Callie. It’s about me. That’s
right, me and pretty much no one else. I’m a bit of a sleuth. Some call me nosy or a busy body, but honestly, I’m only trying to help. I don’t mean to interfere. It all started when Ed and I bought a cabin. It’s a beautiful place with its own lake. Ed loves to fish. We thought it would be fun to have a place just for us, away from everyone. You may not remember I’m from a large, crazy family. Crazy in a fun-loving way, of course. So Ed and I wanted a place to relax. Not that it’s turned out that way. We’re seldom alone. Guess it’s because we genuinely like people. So now days when we go up there, someone always comes along. Usually Ethel and her husband, Greg. Ethel’s my sister, by the way. I have two other sisters, also – Charlotte – we call her Lottie – and Lillian. Lillian is Callie’s mother, and I have a brother, Clyde, but we don’t see him as often. Anyway, we bought the cabin and Ed and I went up there to clean it up. No one had been in it for years. Cobwebs filled more than the corners I’ll tell you that. It was going to take days, if not weeks, to clean it. But Ed promised we could fix it up and Ed never breaks a promise. That’s one of the things I love about him. So there we were looking around, deciding what to do and Ed decided to build a fire to take the chill and damp out of the air. The place smelled musty, the way empty houses smell after being locked up for a long time. Well there I was, thinking about where to start when I heard a strange clattering noise. I thought Ed fell or something. I turned around and lying on the fireplace hearth was an arm – well what was left of the arm, bones and tattered flannel from a shirt I assume. Although I’ve been told never to assume anything. If you want to know what happens next you’ll have to read about it in All’s Well That Ends Well soon to be released from Books We Love. If you haven’t read All in the Family – Book 1 of the Family Affair series, you can find it and all my books at Books We Love. Just click on the book and it’ll take you to the buy page.

Cowboy Speak: Slang and Jargon

This post received the all-time record hits at Cowboy Kisses and was created by Sharla Rae.  I didn't think she would mind if I shared it with you.

I’m a huge collector of all types of slang and jargon but as a historical writer I’m partial to cowboy slang and jargon. There’s a difference between the two. And since the list at the end of this blog is mainly slang, I’d like to explain that difference.
Slang is an informal term not found in an ordinary dictionary, coinages and words changed often times for factious figures of speech.
Jargon is a group of terms exclusive to certain kind of technical terminology. An example might be the technical terms that computer geeks use. Those terms may not be in an ordinary dictionary but every computer geek knows what they mean. Jargon might also be terms or the names that are applied to equipment used in a particular profession.  
It is not always wrong to use slang and jargon interchangeably.Sometimes slang is used so much that it earns a definition/place within a set of technical terminology.   
When writing about the Old West, cowboy speak adds atmosphere and realism to the story.  
As writers we use descriptions to set a scene and build an atmosphere that will pull the reader into our characters’ reality. Dialogue or the way our characters speak serves as another form of description. The way someone talks says a lot about where he’s from, his profession, his education and social hierarchy.  
So it’s important to incorporate appropriate dialogue in our Old West stories. The hero’s twang, his slang and jargon should shout, COWBOY!
One note of caution here: Never overdue dialect and slang or your characters come off too slapstick matinee.  Also be careful dialects; too much is distracting. Use just enough to flavor the story. Also, never trust old west movies as a reference for slang and jargon of the 1800s. Sometimes movies use phrases and terms that either didn’t exist at the time or were not yet in common usage. Generally speaking, once a word came into use, it took ten years before it was accepted as “common” usage.
Cowboy Curses: Yes, cowboys did use the F word but in my research I’ve learned that most of their curses took the form of religious blasphemy (hell, dam etc) rather than that of a sexual nature like the F word. Cowboys often competed in cursing contests around campfires but their curses were more outrageous and funny than they were dirty.Examples: My own Aunt Mary! My dead Sister’s doll! Little Willy’s goat! Well, I’ll be a . . . (something funny)
I’ve compiled a long slang/jargon list with terms from many sources who borrowed from many other sources so there’s no real way for me to give credit where it’s due. However, I have listed some reference links below and I’m certain most of the phrases and terms can be found in them.  
To save my sanity and yours, I’ve corralled mostly slang terms for this list. A (J) after the word means it crosses over into jargon. Most terms and phrases are defined; the rest are obvious. Forgive the curse words, I’m just relating the info.
A hog-killin’ time – a real good timeAce-high – first class, respectedAn invite to a dance – could mean shooting at a man’s feet to make him danceAs different as whiskey and teaBad plum – bulletBellerin’ like a . . . – yelling, howling, complain loudlyBellyaching- complaining (still used today)Belly-up – dead, died; also belly up to the bar (stand up at the bar and drink)Biddy – hen but often used to refer to a nagging or irritating femaleBig bug – the boss, an important personBlue whistler – a bulletBobtail her and fill her with meat – Cut the small talk and get to the pointBold face – whiskey or alcoholBook learnin’Boot-licker- brown noserBy jingo, you’re rightCached up – hidingCain’t shoot center – can’t shoot straightCalico – a female, a type of print material used in the west for women’s everyday dressesCaterwauling – usually terrible singing, or complainingChawed – chewedClean his/your plow – to get or give a thorough wippin’Clipped his horns – took him down a notch or two; referring to a fight or a braggertCon sarn it – soft replacement for g ** damn it, might be considered dialectCookie – camp cook (J)Coons age – long timeCorncracker – derogatory for farmerCotton to- take a liking toCrowbait –derogatory term for a poor-quality horseCultus – despicable, worthless, stupidDad-blame it – G** damn itDang! – DamnDicker – barter, tradeDipping – chewing snuffDug for his cannon – reached for his gunFandango – from Spanish, used for a big party with lots of dancingFit to be tied – angryFixen – intendingFly at it – cook says this when his food is ready (have seen it used to mean fight!)Full as a tick – drunk or over eatingGet a wiggle on – hurryGo to blazes – go to hellGol-Darn – softer version of obvious blasphemyGoner – lost, deadGray backs – lice (J)Hang fire – delay, lets hang fire before we make up our mindsHang it all – who caresHanker or hankering – strong wish or wantHaulloa stranger – yelled when approaching a strange camp to avoid getting shotHazing a tenderfoot – giving a city man a hard timeHeeled – armed with a gun (used more by city slickers)Hellbenders – drunken spreesHell fire – exclamation of irritation, a curseHesh up – hush upHighflautin’ – fancy, stuck up, snootyHill of beans – of trifling value, ain’t worth a hill of beansHis look would pucker  a hog’s buttHoppin’ madHorse feathers – exclamation meaning ridiculous or lack of beliefHowdy pard!I can set with that – I can agree with that, I can handle thatI reckon – I suppose, I believeIfin’ – ifInfernal – awful (meaning from hell) Infernal weather, infernal manJamboree – any kind of party or celebrationJawin’ me ta death – talking too muchLambasted – to hit or slugLead plum – bulletLeaky mouths – talks too much, gossipLickspittle – insult, a very low person, dishonest, no goodLight a shuck – to get the heck out of here, lets light a shuckLight and set a while – climb off horse and stay a whileLoco son-of-a-bitch - crazyLowdown, dirty sneaking polecatsMean as catmeatMeat and tataMontana feathers – hay used to stuff mattresses on early ranchesMontgomery Ward Woman – a very ugly womanMoppin’ his plate – licking it clean, eating everythingNary – neverOne horse townOrnery as a mama bear with a sore teatPacking – armedPlanted him ‘neath the daisiesPlumb – meaning completely or totally. ( plumb tuckered out, plumb loco)Prairie coal – dried cow manure, used to build fires (J)Pretty as a little red heiferPshaw, ‘taint no trouble ‘tall – heck it wasn’t any troublePurely purdy – purely prettyRaise hob – raise hell as in going to town to raise hellRandy - wantonRed skins got his har – Indians scalped him; dialectRode slick – said of a top rider who eschews all devices to help keep him in saddleSad as a tick-fevered pupSam hill – what the Sam hill? or what the devil?Scalawags – thieves, con men, bad menShe stock – generic for female cattle regardless of age (J)She’s aimin’ to hogtie and brand him – she aims to marry himShooting iron, six shooter – gun, pistolShuck – remove guns but could mean to remove clothesSkeerd – scared; dilectSkin yourselves – remove your gunsSlick heels – without spurs (J)Sorta nice, ain’t it?Soured my milk – made me irritatedSowbelly – bacon (J)Stretched hemp – someone who has been hung with a ropeThat don’t/won’t wash – sounds wrong, makes no senseThat shines! – swell, really greatThunderation – non-profane curseTime to cut and run – cut your losses and get the hell outTromp his britches – beat him upUnreliable as woman’s watch – because women are always lateUseless as a bull with titsVamose or Vamoose – go, leave, disappearVarmint or Varment – wild animal or a bad manViands – food, mealsVittles – foodWanna snort? – What a drinkWhoo-up whoo-up – same as Haulloa stranger but from a greater distanceWhup – whipWill die standin’ up – braveWobblin’ jaw – talks to muchYaller – yellow, coward; dialectYarn the hours away – tell storiesYellow belly – cowardYonder – over thereYounder, a pieceYou can slide, mister – you can go to hellYourn – yoursYup – yes
Cowboy Slang and Jargon Books
Cowboy Slang by Edgar R. “Frosty” Potter: Potter’s books also have info on horses, brands, cattle etc. [one of my all time favorites]Cowboys Talk Right Purty by Edgar “Frosty” Potter: Similar to Cowboy Slang, it has less slang but lots of invaluable info on rustling, horses, cattle, equipmentA Dictionary of The Old West by Peter Watts: You name it, this books defines it. Contains lots of terms/jargon and definitions of equipment etc.Dictionary of the American West by Winfred Blevins: Similar to A Dictionary of The Old West yet different and valuable on it’s own.Wonderous Times On The Frontier by Dee Brown: If you write Old West, this book is a must. This is more of a history of adventures of real people but Brown uses the language of the times. He demonstrates just how much the cowboy loved a good joke but also tells the serious stuff. Mine is highlighted all over the place! Worth every penny.
Cowboy Slang and Jargon On Line
Western Slang and Phrases – You’ll see a few of these on my list. Be careful to check the origin date of some of the terms. Some look like they originated at the turn of the century rather than the 1800s and some are general slang terms used by everyone, not just men of the west. Still, this a good resource.Gone To TexasCool Western Slang : Some of these sights borrowed from each other but I noticed each has a few of their own too.   Cowboy Quotes and SayingsCowboy Way
As Roy Rodgers always said -- Happy Trails.

I'm All Right, Nobody Worry 'bout Me....

by Jamie Hill
I've moaned and groaned off and on all summer long about everything I was going through, and the stress that came with it. My husband took a fall and had to have surgery, both my boys moved away, and job changes at work kept me super busy and rather stressed. 
During all this, I was sidetracked from my spring routine which had included nice weight loss and plenty of writing time. I was frustrated this summer because neither of those things were happening. I was busy as ever, but not seeing results in the two areas that I most wanted.
I've since figured out that I don't adapt well to sudden and unexpected changes in my schedule, so that's something I need to work on. I also need to remember that self-imposed deadlines are just that, and sometimes I just have to lighten up.
Autumn is here. My husband is healing and feeling better. My sons are happy in their new jobs and homes. My job is better than ever, still busy but going along smoothly and I really like what I'm doing. 
Happily, I'm back on track with my weight loss efforts and I'm finally writing again. I've figured out that I'm happiest when I find balance in all areas. Family, health, work and writing are all important to my mental health, which was on shaky ground there for a while. I'm pleased to announce, in my best Kenny Loggin's Caddyshack impersonation, "I'm all right. Nobody worry 'bout me." It's great to finally feel that way again!

Sunday Snippets from Lost in His Eyes by Ginger Simpson #sundaysnips

Hi, I’m Harlee Williams, the heroine in Ginger Simpson’s, Lost in His Eyes, just released by Books We Love.  I’m about to marry Logan Carruthers, the man who rescued me from the darned ol’ well I fell into at the beginning of the story.

I’d like to invite you to share a tidbit to see if this story is something that tickles your fancy:
  She positioned herself firmly against the wall, bending her knees and planting her feet against the opposite wall. Drowning wasn’t a preference and there was enough water if she passed out or fell over while sleeping. With any luck, she’d just nod off and wake up in the beautiful garden Ma read about in the Bible one Sunday.  The pictures the hallowed words painted colored Harlee’s mind, and her muscles relaxed. Her head lulled to her shoulder. If her time had come, she was ready. Anything had to be better than the wet, damp hell that claimed her. Her eyes closed, then squinted tighter against a light much brighter than she’d ever seen. Was it the door to heaven? The bucket banged her atop her head. “Ouch!” The pain brought back her voice.“Holy Shit ” A deep voice sounded above. Surely, God didn’t curse. Then who?Harlee tried to adjust to the daylight filtering down the well by holding a shielding hand to her forehead. She looked up, but the dank and dark prison had stolen her vision as well as her voice. Weakness robbed her of the ability to stand. Despite being able to focus on the owner of the voice, she continued to peer up and pray. Finally, she managed to see her rescuer’s outline.He learned farther over the opening. “Are you alive?”  Seemed like a silly question since dead people didn’t speak, but she stifled her sarcasm, not wishing to risk her rescue. “I-I think so.” Harlee barely had the strength to respond, but at the idea of being set free, she found the ability to speak…or croak.“Hold on, Let me see if I can find something to help get you out.”Out? The word sounded more beautiful than any other she’d ever heard, but when he disappeared from her site, panic seized her heart. Was she hallucinating? The blue sky loomed overhead and the smell of freshness drifted down to replace the wet, musty smell she’d endured for so long. She released a pent-up breath when a fuzzy silhouette reappeared.“This place is deserted, but I did manage to find a good, hearty rope. The one attached to this old bucket is so rotten, it wouldn’t hold up a feather. Do you think you could manage to tie this one around your waist and climb out while I pull?”Tying something around her waist wasn’t the problem. Her legs had grown weak and she doubted she could stand. Still, the idea of living appealed more than dying. “I-I can try.” She braced herself with the sides of the well and forced herself to her feet. Her head spun and she feared she might faint. The rope unfurled as he released it. His comment about the place being deserted didn’t make sense, but then nothing did at the moment.With shriveled and weak hands, Harlee secured the braided horsehair around her waist, and gripped the lifeline with all the strength she mustered. “Okay, I’m ready, I think,” she called up to her rescuer.“I’ll pull and you use your feet to walk up the wall.”“I’m not sure I can. I have no feeling in my feet.“Well, if I have to come down there and get you, there’ll be no one here to pull us both out. You’ve got to try.”“I’ll try my hardest.”She made a first step and a second. Water dripped from her body and splattered into what remained in the well. Her limbs trembled and the coarseness of the rope nipped through the thin material of her dress and chafed her skin. On her third step, her left leg gave out and she slammed against the wall, knocking the air from her lungs and scraping her cheek against the rough stones. The stranger slackened the rope, allowing her to collapse back into the water. Harlee massaged her burning face and even in the dim light saw blood on her fingers. She used the wet hem of her dress to soothe the burning and dab the wound.“Are you all right?” His deep voice resonated and brought her to her senses.Wouldn’t anyone who’d been trapped in a well for days be just fine? She took a deep breath and resisted asking him if he was serious.“Did you hurt yourself?” He yelled louder.“Yes. My cheek is bleeding and my hands are raw, but I’m ready to try again.” Determination drove her.“Okay, I’m going to start pulling again, so stand up and hold on tight.”Her mind whirred with questions she hoped to ask. Harlee struggled to her feet and took a firm grip on her lifeline. “I’m ready; pull. ”Despite the pain, she concentrated on each step, unwilling to waiver until she reached freedom. Her palms burned and the top of the well appeared miles away. Still, she made sure she kept one foot anchoring her in place before she moved the other. Many times she wanted to surrender, but looking up into the blurred face of her hero gave her the strength she needed to continue.After what seemed forever, sunlight warmed Harlee’s face and a breeze caressed her soggy skin. The stranger grasped her beneath her arms and hauled her over the well’s edge. Her feet touched the ground, but overcome by weakness, she sagged against her hero. He swept her into his arms as if she was nothing more than a feather and cradled her like a mother would her babe. “There, there, you’re going to be fine now.” Somehow, she believed his soothing words...especially because of the sincerity shining in his sky blue eyes.

If you like what you read, you can find all my books availabe on my Amazon page.  Check them out.

Now....please hop on over to the other gals who post on Sundays, and check out their offerings:
http://authorjamiehill.blogspot.com/  (Jamie Hill)
http://triciamg.blogspot.com (Tricia McGill)
http://romancingscifi.blogspot.com (Vijaya Schartz)
http://connievines.blogspot.com (Connie Vines)
http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/ (Juliet Waldron)

If you get a page that has an old post...just realize that life sometimes happens, and then check back next week.  I've missed a few myself...summer time is camping time and we don't always have Internet access.  Thanks for checking in and we hope you keep coming back.

It's a Shame When You Can't Identify the Players in a Game. #termlimits

I absolutely love this meme I discovered posted in the comment section of my son's blog. The words ring so true that I'm daring to put a political post here. This ad represents both sides.

We will soon have an opportunity for true change, and it's time to take down the "bird" and replace those wings with politicians who truly want to work for the good of the people who elect them...not the lobbyists who pay them to add pork barrel spending to our bills or simply to pad their own pockets.

Listen closely to those who run and maybe something will sway you to think beyond the scope of your party legacy. I was a registered democrat for years just because it was a family tradition, but then I got older, smarter, and decided to think for myself. There is no reason to vote out of loyalty to a party...ever!

Doesn't it make sense to vote the most qualified person? Let's rid our government of career politicians while we're at it. Time to say goodbye to those who have made a well-paying job out of what should have been a short stay in power that has gone to their heads and secured their retirements.

It's admirable to not see the color of a person's skin, or even realize gender when voting, but that should never be the reason we elect someone to lead this nation. I'm listening carefully to those tossing their hat into the ring, and I hope you are too.

We are a world of personalities and differing opinions. We need someone who really knows what "transparency" is...that it isn't just a word you can say over and over again to impress and entice voters to the polls. We need a leader who commands respect yet earns it with actions and one who doesn't sacrifice the safety of our nation to meet his own needs. Someone who tells us what is happening in the world and tells us the truth.

Yesterday's shooting in Oregon was a tragedy. The assassin was hell-bent on killing, and even in a gun-free zone, where the security guard was not allowed to carry a weapon, a bomb would have been just as effective. As a matter of fact...gun-free zones have become a popular target for loonies with a gun. Why not venture into a place where there is no chance to meet someone carrying? Stop blaming deaths on guns and put it on the person who pulls the trigger. Stop trying to take away the rights of those who have followed the law to obtain a gun and work on how to stop illegal trafficking. Look how well we've done with the war on drugs. And gee....how did Syria get all those guns?

Obama said that violence has dropped as a result of gun control. Really...statistics I've looked at do not support that claim in any way. In fact...below is a list from the FBI...and note that at least three of places here are listed among the top ten states with the toughest gun control laws: http://www.deseretnews.com/top/1428/0/10-states-with-the-strictest-gun-laws.html




20142015PERCENT CHANGEMilwaukeeSt. LouisBaltimoreWashingtonNew OrleansChicagoKansas City, Mo.DallasNew YorkPhiladelphia5985138739824445711901651041362151051202945483208171766056442220201794%
Year-to-date time periods range from Aug. 11 to Aug. 31.Source: City police departmentsBy The New York Times
One fact is greatly overlooked. I copied http://www.hsph.harvard.edu/magazine-features/guns-and-suicide-the-hidden-toll/ to provide you with this information: 

In the national debate over gun violence—a debate stoked by mass murders such as last December’s tragedy in a Newtown, Connecticut, elementary school—a glaring fact gets obscured: Far more people kill themselves with a firearm each year than are murdered with one. In 2010 in the U.S., 19,392 people committed suicide with guns, compared with 11,078 who were killed by others. According to Matthew Miller, associate director of the Harvard Injury Control Research Center (HICRC) at Harvard School of Public Health, “If every life is important, and if you’re trying to save people from dying by gunfire, then you can’t ignore nearly two-thirds of the people who are dying.” Suicide is the 10th-leading cause of death in the U.S.; in 2010, 38,364 people killed themselves. In more than half of these cases, they used firearms.

The article goes on to state the reason  guns are the most popular method...others give a person time to change their minds while pulling the trigger makes a decision irreversible.  

I think we can all agree, if a person is intent on taking their lives, the availability of a gun will not change their minds, just the method.  In case you can't tell, I'm anti-gun control and pro truth.

Oh...and as an afterthought....I googled the amount of Vets who commit suide daily:
With a veteran suicide rate averaging 22 every day, the work to support our nation’s veterans has just begun once they return home. With over 10 times the amount of veterans lost to suicide than to combat operations in the same time period, there has never been a more important time to TAKE A STAND and DO something to support our veterans!! Just because they come home, doesn’t mean we stop supporting them!

Do you suppose these vets are taking their own lives because of the failing economy, the inability to find a job, or the lack of medical care they can receive within a timely manner?  I'm pretty sure, that factors into their grim decisions.