Brenda Sutton Rose's Blog, page 9

Morning Silence, a Pause

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I get up early, nearly always before anyone else in the house, and let out the dog. After starting a pot of coffee, I let my dog in again. His tail wags. He is happy in this day. My happy dog and I slip into the softness of our new morning. He’s been a part of my family for seven years, and we two know the routine well.

Sometimes we sit on the back porch. Sometimes we walk through the overgrown secretiveness of the garden. Sometimes, when the heat has no mercy on us, we sit inside the h...

One Word at a Time

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I keep reading that publishers insist on instant hooks. They want to hook the reader in the first paragraph. But I prefer a slow seduction. I want to fall in love one word at a time.

A Writer Bleeding in a Garden

In recent months I’ve spent a lot of time speaking to book clubs and at author discussions about Dogwood Blues. Through these discussions of my debut novel I’ve found that readers are curious about the writing process. I’m usually hit with many questions. Did you outline your story? What made you write about a small town struggling with change? What made you decide to tell the story in third person? Where did you get your ideas?

I can’t speak for other writers; I find it hard enough to speak...

Book Exchange/Marietta Indie Author Event

Cat Blanco at Book Exchange Marietta is planning an event to showcase the works of Indie authors. An Indie author is one whose book was published by a small press. In spite of the small talk, this event will be anything but small. No affair at Book Exchange is less than delightful.

Cat is known for her author events. She makes everything special, even for those of us who don’t have a Big Five publisher. Why? Because Cat loves books.

*Door Prizes

*Mingling time

*Light Refreshments

*Books Galo...

Dogwood Blues: Book Signing in Macon

“Dogwood Blues” and I have been hitting the road so much lately that I can’t keep my schedule straight. I do know this much about my crazy calendar though: Thursday evening, June 18, from 6PM – 8PM I’ll be signing books at the spectacular Barnes & Noble at the Shoppes at River Crossing in Macon, Georgia. This mall is one of the most beautiful outdoor malls in Georgia, and the Barnes & Noble at River Crossing is well stocked and manned with pleasant, knowledgeable employees. Cindy Daniel, Comm...

Under the Kudzu

When I was writing “Dogwood Blues” I had little time to spend tromping through the countryside, but every now and then I felt a call so strong the words no longer came to me. Bone dry and hard as a rock, I couldn’t dig through to the consonants and vowels of my story. That’s when I would hear the seductive whisper of old clothes lines, plowed fields, abandoned barns. Wild blackberries growing over a barbed wire fence. Dark river water swirling around cypress knees. Brody would jump in the SU...

“Dogwood Blues” at Garden District Book Shop

Dogwood Blues and I have plans to be at magnificent Garden District Book Shop in New Orleans in the future. We’re still working out the details, and the date hasn’t been set, but I’m too excited to keep quiet! The email arrived, and the date for my book signing will be scheduled.

Garden District Book Shop, loaded with character and overflowing with books of all kinds, was named one of the top five bookstores in New Orleans. It is located right off the streetcar in the Historic Garden Distric...

Bridge in Dogwood Blues

Dogwood Blues readers often ask me to explain how I wrote the chapter of Trampus playing bridge with the Honeysuckle Bridge Club. Chapter Five is a favorite for many.

Three members of the Honeysuckle Bridge Club, and Trampus Pitts, a substitute for one of the regular club members, gather in Henrietta Lawson’s house, a Colonial Revival home in the historic district of Dogwood, and play a tense hand of bridge.

Richard, my husband, plays bridge with two separate clubs at least twice a week; he k...

Dancing in E. Quinn Bookstore

In March, my husband and I spent some time in a rustic cabin overlooking Fightingtown Creek in the mountains of Georgia.

I have about three days marked off on my calendar to celebrate my wedding anniversary and escape the r...

Dancing In E. Quinn Bookstore

In March, my husband and I spent some time in a rustic cabin overlooking Fightingtown Creek in the mountains of Georgia.

I have about three days marked off on my calendar to celebrate my wedding anniversary and escape the rush of life. A recent diagnosis of rheumatoid arthritis has left me longing for the seclusion and silence of the hills. And after the publication of my first novel, I’m tired.

This visit, we rent a rugged fishing cabin with one small bathroom, a mini kitchen, a loft, and one downstairs bedroom. The place is small, but the view is heavenly. Our porch overlooks the creek. Water comes around a bend, swirls over huge slabs, and spits out a cold mist as it gets to our place. It’s a moody and restless creek. Our first night here, in spite of the cold, at my insistence, we leave the door open so we can hear the water traveling past our porch. During the night, an icy March breath fills our bedroom, and Richard gets up in the early hours of the morning and shuts the door. Still, I can hear the creek’s music, sometimes roaring, a natural crescendo.

The next day is cold and, as soon as we step outside, the wind whips through us. We drive down a narrow lane that snakes under overhanging trees and near ditches lined with moss, and head toward Blue Ridge to visit E. Quinn Booksellers. On the journey downhill, we see daffodils, but the mountain’s pallet is mostly green. Spring is just now beginning to paint the landscape in magnificent shades of sap green, olive green, Prussian green, and chartreuse. In a few weeks, dogwoods will bloom in the soft colors of a bridal dress, but we will be gone by then and will miss the wedding dance of spring. Near the bottom of the mountain, we pass a farm of horses and spot a llama. During these times, my husband and I say little to each other. We are silent, watchful, and admiring.

Books. A visit to E. Quinn is permanently on our list of things we must do while in northern Georgia. Most of our time is spent in the hills, but we can’t go home without plundering through the treasury of books at E. Quinn. E. Quinn Booksellers The store is located across the railroad tracks, and downtown Blue Ridge is filled with people and cars today. As I walk from the car to the store, I pull my poncho tight around my body. The wind whips my hair over my face and chills me through my jeans and boots. My hair is disheveled when I open the door to E. Quinn and inhale the glorious scent of old books, used books, rare books. E. Quinn Booksellers is a sanctuary of books. It specializes in beautiful medieval manuscripts and leaf pages. Music, bluesy with a hint of jazz, fills the store. I don’t care that my hair is a frightful mess, that my face is red from the cold, that my poncho is twisted—this place is magical.

The owner—the only person I have ever seen behind the counter— has an open, agreeable personality. A young, handsome fellow, he greets and listens and laughs and offers advice. The conversations inside the store pull me in. I long to sit for hours and listen as a visitor talks with passion about authors I’ve never read, as somebody tells the owner about a rare book find, as the owner listens to somebody who knows somebody who knows another somebody who has a signed edition of a rare book.

I touch books, pick up books, feel the faded covers of books. When I think no one is looking, I open an old novel and inhale. After returning it to its home on the shelf, my body sways to the bluesy music. For a moment, and only a moment, I dance. My husband sees me and laughs. He takes the books from my hands and hugs me. This haven of literature stirs emotions in me. I decide on a book of poetry by a regional poet, to go along with the two novels I have already chosen. It would be a sin to sit on the cabin’s porch without some poetry to read.

Richard and I load our books in the truck and head back to the hills.