Cheryl Reavis's Blog, page 6

Writing (About) Life...

Hot summer day
Bride-to-be carrying her wedding dress
in a big black bag
Our glances cross
We both smile...

ON SALE--Kindle Version of THE CAPTIVE HEART

ON SALE: $1.99


From Library Journal
When her British officer husband's murderous deeds and his affronted dignity result in Hannah Elway's capture by the Cherokee as retribution, her only hope of staying alive is Five Killer (Robert McLarn), a half-Scot Cherokee brave, a man who was once rejected as a suitor by Hannah's father and who has, in turn, rejected his white heritage. But now, with an agenda of his own, Five Killer is forced to walk a dangerous line between love and betrayal as he works both to honor his word and save the people he loves. A study in cultural contrasts, this well-written, vividly descriptive tale skillfully juxtaposes the "savage" with the "civilized" and allows the reader to draw some occasionally unexpected conclusions. Realistic historical and cultural detail, a sensitively handled romantic relationship, a heroine who strengthens with the story, and a hero who comes to terms with his two cultures combine in a sensual, emotionally involving romance that is both brutal and tenderDand satisfying. Reavis (The Long Way Home) is a multi-RITA Award-winning author and lives in North Carolina.
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc.
CLICK HERE to go to the Amazon page:
              

Definitely On Sale--$1.99

ON SALE$1.99
The First Boy I Loved by Cheryl Reavis, www.amazon.com/... ZTEWH9  THE FIRST BOY I LOVED. The Vietnam War is over, but old sins and old loves cast long shadows for Gillian Warner and for A.J. Donegan, the cynical Vietnam War vet who makes his living taking naive Americans on what he calls "Guilt Trips, Inc." Haunted by her fiancé's death in combat and by a tangled web of guilty secrets, Gillian books a guided trip to the battle site.                     

Here's The Situation From This Writer's POV...

I do not buy Followers.I do not buy Friends.I do not buy 5-star reviews.







( Image by xXRunawayRobinXx)

On Sale...A RITA Finalist Love Story...

The Kindle version ofPROMISE ME A RAINBOW is ON SALE at the moment.$1.99

The Real Memorial Day

Memorial Day isn't a "holiday." It was intended to be a day of solemn remembrance, one dedicated to those who made the ultimate sacrifice for this country, a sentiment which has gotten completely lost in the blatant commercialization that now surrounds it. This day is not about picnics and barbecues and the beach. It's about unlived lives. It's about the young men and women who did their duty and who never came home. The price of Freedom is always buried in the ground, and our duty on this day is not to let them be forgotten.

The photograph above is of a cousin's grave in the Henri Chapelle Cemetery in Belgium.

(The) Writing Life--THE CAPTIVE HEART

THE CAPTIVE HEART has been resurrected and tweaked, given a new cover, and Kindle-ized. It is now available on amazon. 
This is the Library Journal review when it was first published:
"...A study in cultural contrasts, this well-written, vividly descriptive tale skillfully juxtaposes the "savage" with the "civilized" and allows the reader to draw some occasionally unexpected conclusions. Realistic historical and cultural detail, a sensitively handled romantic relationship, a heroine who strengthens with the story, and a hero who comes to terms with his two cultures combine in an...emotionally involving romance that is both brutal and tender, and satisfying..."

For more info, the amazon link is HERE.

The Early Christmas Stranger

I always think of her this time of year--December 23, to be exact--hence the word "Early." It was on a night very much like this one. There was a cold, gloomy drizzle and low-lying fog--it didn't feel "Christmas-y" at all despite the Rudolph song.
And this is how the story goes:




She was my family's slightly early Christmas Stranger. She arrived on our doorstep on Christmas Eve eve many years ago, and we, my mother and I, can no longer remember her name. It was so dark out that night--no street lights where we lived. My mother was sewing my angel robe for the Christmas Eve pageant at church, and my little sister was just a baby. The pounding on our front door was so abrupt and urgent that I was afraid for my father to open it, and even more afraid of the young girl who tried to duck under his arm when he did. She was barefoot and crying, begging to be let in.
She lived in Charlotte, she was eventually able to say, and she'd been on her way to a party her father had forbidden her to attend, something she regretted even before they had gotten lost and the boy behind the wheel had become too drunk to drive. He had lost control of the car she and a number of party-goers were in and they ended up in a ditch. They managed to get the car out, but they drove off and left her in the dark, not knowing, not caring whether she was hurt or not. "Leave her!" one of them said, and so they did. She had no money. No way home. No shoes.

My mother searched her closet to find some shoes for her -- gray suede penny loafers that were a couple of sizes too big. Getting her home was a little more difficult. We all piled into the car--a 1950 green Ford coupe--and took her to the bus station in Salisbury nine miles away. I remember how strange I felt, wearing my winter coat over my flannel, nursery-rhyme print nightgown.

I didn't get to go to town very often at night, and at that time of year it was dazzling with Christmas lights, the kind you don't see anymore. Everything was so beautiful -- a real treat despite the strange young girl in the car who was trying not to cry.
My father bought her a bus ticket to Charlotte -- which literally took all the money he had -- and he insisted that we would wait with her and make sure she got on the bus. I don't think he trusted her decision-making at that point. It seemed to take forever for the bus to arrive, but eventually it came. She got on it, and that was that. She rode out of our lives and we never saw her again, never heard from her. But I always think of her and wonder what happened to her and whether she ever thought of us in return.
So I'm wishing her -- and all of you -- a very Merry Christmas and a Happy Holiday Season.

SPECIAL AMAZON PROMOTION

Beginning today, the Kindle version of PROMISE ME A RAINBOW will be available for $1.99 throughout the month of December.

The book was a RITA finalist for Best Single-Title Contemporary Romance the year it was published, and there is a smidgen of Christmas in it. It's also one of my personal favorites.

From the Publishers Weekly review: "...delicately crafted, eminently satisfying romantic fiction. Reavis works magic..."

HERE IS THE LINK.

(The) Writing Life--Or The Blog That Never Was

Or I could title this "Better Late Than Never."

So here's the thing. I was asked a number of months ago to do a blog about my new release, THE FIRST BOY I LOVED--which I did. And well before the deadline, too. It never appeared, at least in the place where I thought it would be, and my follow-up inquiry as to whether or not there was a problem with it--which I would be only too happy to remedy if I could--or whether it had been received, was never answered. No Reply. Zip. Zero. Nothing.

I've never had this happen before, but a family crisis became such that I forgot all about it--until I happened to see the file when I was clearing out some of the emails in the "Sent" box today. ("Sent." Which means, I'm almost positive, that it left my computer and went on its merry way to theirs.)  But be that as it may. As far as I can tell, it never appeared where it might have helped when the book was initially released, so I thought I'd just post it on MY blog now.

And here it is:


THIS TIME IT STARTED WITH A SONG…
Sooner or later, all writers are asked where they get their ideas, and whenever that happens to me, I’m likely to say that the world is full of interesting, book-worthy events, but that actually I don’t “get ideas.” It’s more that a very particular idea will somehow get me.
This was very much the case with THE FIRST BOY I LOVED. Six years ago I was listening to NPR radio, to an interview with singer/songwriter Patty Griffin, and at one point they played her beautiful and haunting song, “You'll Remember”:
Maybe one day along the way you’ll remember me…and it won’t be sad to think of all we had…Maybe one day…you’ll think of me…and you’ll be smiling….
And in that wonderful way it happens sometimes if a writer is very lucky, the character who would become “Gillian Warner” was there. “Gilly,” who firmly believed that she was safe from the past, that it had been dealt with and buried, that it was a done thing that could no longer disturb her life and break her heart. But she was wrong, because the death of her husband brought back the pain and sorrow of her first love, the young man who had gone off to an unwinnable war and never returned. Suddenly it wasn’t her husband she was grieving for. It was Ben Tucker, and he seemed to be everywhere—in the music of the time, in the rainy nights when she wandered the house alone—had he always been there, she wondered? She didn’t know. She only knew that these resurrected memories of Ben were strong, despite the fact that she could no longer see his face.
As Gilly began to take shape in my mind, I could sense her overwhelming guilt, even though I didn’t yet know precisely what had caused it. I could feel her regret and her unresolved grief, but more importantly, I knew how desperately, even at this late date, she wanted—needed—to do something about it.
But like most of us, Gilly didn’t live in a vacuum. She had family—a troubled granddaughter named Mae who would complicate her pilgrimage to the place where Ben had died in ways Gilly couldn’t imagine, as would the cynical Vietnam War vet expatriate in Ho Chi Minh City, who made his living taking grieving Americans on what he called “Guilt Trips, Inc.”
I would like to say that the book “wrote itself,” but truthfully I’ve never had one of those. I can say that writing this book was easier than some, that I loved these characters dearly and that Patty Griffin’s song was my touchstone.  The idea got me. I wrote the book. The book was published. End of story, right?
Well, no. At the very last moment, THE FIRST BOY I LOVED was “orphaned.” Now this is not the worst thing that can happen to an author and a book, but it’s high on the list, especially when this particular book was already up on the amazon and Barnes & Noble websites for pre-ordering when the cord was pulled. The editor who had worked with me on the book fought hard to find a place for it elsewhere in the publishing house, but there was none. No place. And so the book languished. And languished. And languished some more—until one day Bell Bridge Books came along and rescued it—and may I say, made a friend for life.
So here we are again, “Gilly” and I, orphans no more. At last she is finally, finally going to make her publication debut, and should you do us the honor of reading THE FIRST BOY I LOVED, we both sincerely hope that you will enjoy it.


If you'd like to hear Patty's song, CLICK HERE.
Amazon Link, CLICK HERE . It's also on Barnes & Noble, Kobo, BelleBooks, etc. Links are over there----->