Becky Lower's Blog, page 12
September 21, 2019
Peace, Love and Rock n' Roll
My new Peace symbol t-shirt arrived in the mail today. I had to retire the old one, since a shirt can only have so many stains on it before it becomes embarrassing, regardless of the message.
While I was in college, a friend of mine carved a huge peace symbol out of a block of iron since he knew how much I liked the sign. I wish I still had it, but it got too costly to lug it around the country with me. So now, I'm on to the new shirt and hope it lasts as long as my previous one did.
And I couldn't call myself a hippie if I didn't include love in the equation. Since I write romances, I think I've got that one covered. I'm currently shopping my 20th manuscript around and hope it finds a home soon.
As for rock and roll, I grew up outside of Cleveland, home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. My sister and I attended the Who concerts when they still played in small venues, and saw the Rolling Stones on their first American tour. I have to admit to a bit of a hearing loss as a result of these early encounters, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Nowadays I like to work in absolute quiet, but when I need to boogie, I turn to Bruno Mars and his Uptown Funk.
I just finished rereading my latest manuscript, which is set during the Revolutionary War. It's made me focus on how our country got its start, how much these early founding fathers and mothers sacrificed to form this country, and I've become intensely patriotic as a result. Here's a snippet of a scene from the as yet unpublished story, entitled A British Heiress In America: Daniel let out a slow breath as Pip departed the deck. His natural curiosity about America, and what he was headed into, had forced their conversation to skate very close to the edges of his secret life. He’d taken a lot of guff from his friends when he accepted the job of ferrying supplies to the British forces. His in-laws, who took care of his daughter, Emma, while he was at sea, frowned on his activity even though they understood why he accepted the post. He’d do what he had to in order to make certain his daughter had the best life possible. And her best life possible didn’t include the British taking over the country he’d grown up in and loved. But it also didn’t include having her grow up as an orphan. She’d already lost one parent to the Brits. He’d be damned if they’d get a chance with him. He would guard his secret with his life. He had to, for Emma’s sake.So, he’d continue his duplicity. He’d carry the missives meant for the British generals from their superiors still in England, as well as those directions going back to America from the British commanding officers. But not before reading what he could, listening to the talk as he picked up the parcel of letters, and passing along the information to his best friend Sam. Samuel Adams.
While I was in college, a friend of mine carved a huge peace symbol out of a block of iron since he knew how much I liked the sign. I wish I still had it, but it got too costly to lug it around the country with me. So now, I'm on to the new shirt and hope it lasts as long as my previous one did.
And I couldn't call myself a hippie if I didn't include love in the equation. Since I write romances, I think I've got that one covered. I'm currently shopping my 20th manuscript around and hope it finds a home soon.
As for rock and roll, I grew up outside of Cleveland, home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. My sister and I attended the Who concerts when they still played in small venues, and saw the Rolling Stones on their first American tour. I have to admit to a bit of a hearing loss as a result of these early encounters, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Nowadays I like to work in absolute quiet, but when I need to boogie, I turn to Bruno Mars and his Uptown Funk.
I just finished rereading my latest manuscript, which is set during the Revolutionary War. It's made me focus on how our country got its start, how much these early founding fathers and mothers sacrificed to form this country, and I've become intensely patriotic as a result. Here's a snippet of a scene from the as yet unpublished story, entitled A British Heiress In America: Daniel let out a slow breath as Pip departed the deck. His natural curiosity about America, and what he was headed into, had forced their conversation to skate very close to the edges of his secret life. He’d taken a lot of guff from his friends when he accepted the job of ferrying supplies to the British forces. His in-laws, who took care of his daughter, Emma, while he was at sea, frowned on his activity even though they understood why he accepted the post. He’d do what he had to in order to make certain his daughter had the best life possible. And her best life possible didn’t include the British taking over the country he’d grown up in and loved. But it also didn’t include having her grow up as an orphan. She’d already lost one parent to the Brits. He’d be damned if they’d get a chance with him. He would guard his secret with his life. He had to, for Emma’s sake.So, he’d continue his duplicity. He’d carry the missives meant for the British generals from their superiors still in England, as well as those directions going back to America from the British commanding officers. But not before reading what he could, listening to the talk as he picked up the parcel of letters, and passing along the information to his best friend Sam. Samuel Adams.
September 14, 2019
Having a Becky Day
Lately, I've had my nose to the grindstone to pay for a new stove, to pay attention to a sick family member, and to read some books that I've been putting off reading. Oh, yeah, and then there's the work-in-progress (WIP).
The sick family member is approaching stability, the stove is in and by the end of this week I will have it paid for with my side-hustle job. So, in the middle of this week, I was surprised to find I had a full day with no appropriate articles to write, and nothing on the calendar. So I plopped my butt in my chair and had a Becky kind of day. I got to do exactly what I have been dying to do--get back into my WIP and then read one of my good friend's books.
It was a day to recharge, one which I sorely needed but wasn't even aware I was being dragged down.
So, I got a couple more chapters edited in my WIP, and got deep into my friend's book. I finished reading the book today, but can't say the same about the WIP. That will take a little bit longer. But I think I'll schedule a Becky Day once a week. It puts a different shine on the rest of the week.
The sick family member is approaching stability, the stove is in and by the end of this week I will have it paid for with my side-hustle job. So, in the middle of this week, I was surprised to find I had a full day with no appropriate articles to write, and nothing on the calendar. So I plopped my butt in my chair and had a Becky kind of day. I got to do exactly what I have been dying to do--get back into my WIP and then read one of my good friend's books.
It was a day to recharge, one which I sorely needed but wasn't even aware I was being dragged down.
So, I got a couple more chapters edited in my WIP, and got deep into my friend's book. I finished reading the book today, but can't say the same about the WIP. That will take a little bit longer. But I think I'll schedule a Becky Day once a week. It puts a different shine on the rest of the week.
September 7, 2019
Prioritizing or Procrastinating?
My work schedule has shifted over the past few weeks, for a variety of reasons. And just as with anything that you develop a routine for–exercising, dieting, writing, etc.–when your routine gets interrupted, it's hard to get back on track. As most of you know, I have a side-hustle job, which at times pays more than my royalties from all my books. When the stove in my house hid the skids, I needed to find money to buy a new one, or stop cooking. Trust me when I say the "stop cooking" option held some appeal. But since that wasn't feasible, I went shopping over Labor Day for a new stove.
I got a good Labor Day sale price, but I still had to find the money to pay for it. Which meant doubling up on my efforts with my side-hustle for at least a month. So I switched the order in which I put together my day. Instead of working on the WIP first thing, I've been writing my articles first, and then, if I have any creative energy left, I work on my WIP. But a couple things are hanging me up. First, when I had to put down the WIP, I was at a sticky part where I needed to spend time doing some research and then write a fight scene. Second, I started using the book Save The Cat Writes a Novel, so I'm rereading the chapters I've already written to make them better, and make them adhere more closely to the suggestions in this book. And third, I find my brain is only capable of coming up with 1,200 words a day, regardless of whether they are used in the formation of articles or as part of my novel.
So am I prioritizing or procrastinating? Once I accumulate the funds needed to pay for the stove, I'll let you know.
I got a good Labor Day sale price, but I still had to find the money to pay for it. Which meant doubling up on my efforts with my side-hustle for at least a month. So I switched the order in which I put together my day. Instead of working on the WIP first thing, I've been writing my articles first, and then, if I have any creative energy left, I work on my WIP. But a couple things are hanging me up. First, when I had to put down the WIP, I was at a sticky part where I needed to spend time doing some research and then write a fight scene. Second, I started using the book Save The Cat Writes a Novel, so I'm rereading the chapters I've already written to make them better, and make them adhere more closely to the suggestions in this book. And third, I find my brain is only capable of coming up with 1,200 words a day, regardless of whether they are used in the formation of articles or as part of my novel.
So am I prioritizing or procrastinating? Once I accumulate the funds needed to pay for the stove, I'll let you know.
August 31, 2019
Save The Cat
For years, I've been using Blake Snyder's Beat Sheet from his Save The Cat book to formulate my novels. It's basically for screenwriting, but I've found it quite useful in plotting out the basics of my stories. I can quickly fill in a beat sheet and determine if I have enough of a story line for a complete 70,000 word product. If I'm successful in filling in all the boxes, I'll go forward.
I was in the middle of the second book in my Revolutionary War series when life interrupted my orderly days. I abandoned the project for weeks, and then, when I was finally ready to get back into it, I couldn't get a grasp on what came next. One of my writing buddies suggested I take a look at the next version of Save The Cat. It's designed specifically for novel writing, not screenplays. I bought the book, thinking I'd apply it to the story I had written thus far. I'm probably at 25,000 words, so I've got a lot of material to filter through.
So, the other day, I brought up the first chapter. Following along with the Novel version of Save The Cat, I got through the setup for the heroine and moved on to the next part of the first act, where the theme must be stated. According to the book, "a character (usually not the hero) will make a statement or pose a question to your hero or heroine that somehow relates to what the person needs to learn by the end of the story." I was already in trouble.
I already had a secondary character in the scene, so I used him to pose the question to the heroine. Reading through the scene again, I quickly saw how much stronger the scene had become by my additional words, which fleshed out the secondary character and put the heroine on edge with his summation. Now I have to do the same with the hero.
For all you writers who follow this blog, I highly recommend this craft book. Save The Cat Writes a Novel by Jessica Brody not only saved the cat, but may have saved my book. Thanks, MJ, for the suggestion.
August 24, 2019
Back To Work
Following my forced hiatus to take care of the family emergency, things are getting back on track. And that means back to work for me. Whoever said retirement meant slowing down obviously has never been there. I'm working harder than ever, but for the most part, it's enjoyable work rather than the teeth-gnashing kind.
After all, one of my favorite places to plot my next scene or work through a knotty situation with my characters is while I'm floating in the salt water pool at my fitness center. It's a great stress reliever and helps me clear my mind of my daily problems and focus on my writing. If I go more than a few days without getting my swimsuit wet, I miss it.
It seems I'm not the only one getting my life back to normal. The golf course behind my house is back up and running after spending the summer recuperating from a bad fertilizer job. The temperature is coming down into the comfortable category and I'm looking forward to fall. As for my WIP, I'll figure out what Hawk's big conflict is (as if fighting the Revolutionary War isn't enough) and decide when to do the big reveal for Anjanette/Liberty (since admitting she made her money as a courtesan is not something you can just drop into a casual conversation). It may mean more visits to the pool, but I'm up for that.
Does this mean I can write off my fitness center membership as a business expense? Hmmm...
After all, one of my favorite places to plot my next scene or work through a knotty situation with my characters is while I'm floating in the salt water pool at my fitness center. It's a great stress reliever and helps me clear my mind of my daily problems and focus on my writing. If I go more than a few days without getting my swimsuit wet, I miss it.
It seems I'm not the only one getting my life back to normal. The golf course behind my house is back up and running after spending the summer recuperating from a bad fertilizer job. The temperature is coming down into the comfortable category and I'm looking forward to fall. As for my WIP, I'll figure out what Hawk's big conflict is (as if fighting the Revolutionary War isn't enough) and decide when to do the big reveal for Anjanette/Liberty (since admitting she made her money as a courtesan is not something you can just drop into a casual conversation). It may mean more visits to the pool, but I'm up for that.
Does this mean I can write off my fitness center membership as a business expense? Hmmm...
August 17, 2019
The Dark Moment
All of us who write romance know that a good novel has to have a dark moment. The hero and heroine might think things are going along swimmingly and they are in a happy place, but then the bottom drops out of their lives. They have to work hard, and fight for each other and their happiness in order to get to the happy ending. Here's the official definition:
The darkest moment in the book is when a character loses all hope - normally the protagonist. It's often towards the end of the book, because that's right before the inevitable happy ending (or not, if you're being cruel) will emerge from the dark.
My sister and her husband are in their dark moment right now. After months of searching for a place to live, they found a great house, and are scheduled to settle on their new home in a few weeks. Everything was moving along well until, as my sister calls it, what happened wasn't a bump in the road, but a sink hole. My brother-in-law developed serious, life-threatening medical issues, and is currently being treated in the hospital.
What will happen? Right now, it's all up in the air. I have my idea of what they should do next, my sister and hubby have a different idea, and her daughter and her husband have another solution. All I can say is however it plays out, and whatever happens, they will deserve the best, most elaborate happy ever after ending.
Their story would make a great book.
The darkest moment in the book is when a character loses all hope - normally the protagonist. It's often towards the end of the book, because that's right before the inevitable happy ending (or not, if you're being cruel) will emerge from the dark.
My sister and her husband are in their dark moment right now. After months of searching for a place to live, they found a great house, and are scheduled to settle on their new home in a few weeks. Everything was moving along well until, as my sister calls it, what happened wasn't a bump in the road, but a sink hole. My brother-in-law developed serious, life-threatening medical issues, and is currently being treated in the hospital.
What will happen? Right now, it's all up in the air. I have my idea of what they should do next, my sister and hubby have a different idea, and her daughter and her husband have another solution. All I can say is however it plays out, and whatever happens, they will deserve the best, most elaborate happy ever after ending.
Their story would make a great book.
August 10, 2019
Kids Say The Darnedest Things
Mary and I are not accustomed to being around children, so having a visit from my great-niece and nephew has been an eye-opening experience. My brother-in-law had emergency surgery while staying with me and now his daughter, son-in-law and grandkids have come to spend a couple days with him and my sister. I am overrun with people of all ages. The little girl, Keira, especially, is full of questions about why I don't have any children of my own.
I won't detail all the embarrassing questions I had to answer tonight, but Art Linkletter knew what he was talking about when he said Kids Say the Darnedest Things. I've decided to enjoy this interlude in my life, immerse myself in being the grandmother I never had a chance to be and put writing on hold for a week or so.
I won't detail all the embarrassing questions I had to answer tonight, but Art Linkletter knew what he was talking about when he said Kids Say the Darnedest Things. I've decided to enjoy this interlude in my life, immerse myself in being the grandmother I never had a chance to be and put writing on hold for a week or so.
August 3, 2019
Family Time
My month of August has been chaotic so far. My sister, her husband, and their two dogs, are between houses and are camping out at Chez Lower. Fortunately, the dogs are getting along fine. The people? It's been a challenge. Buying a house is a lot different than it was just a few years ago, and I've been helping get their paperwork in order for the mortgage company. That's as close as I've come to doing any creative writing.
Fortunately, I think the paperwork is finally coming to an end, and we'll just count down the days until settlement. At least I hope that will be the case. So maybe I can get back to work this week, writing the big battle scene from the Revolutionary War. Obviously, I need to be in the proper mindset for that. You can't just throw on a tricorn hat and be there.
So, while I do battle with the underwriter, and with the Battle of Machias, not to mention a printer upgrade no one told me about, I'll try to work in a massage and some pool time to keep my sanity. September seems a long way off.
Fortunately, I think the paperwork is finally coming to an end, and we'll just count down the days until settlement. At least I hope that will be the case. So maybe I can get back to work this week, writing the big battle scene from the Revolutionary War. Obviously, I need to be in the proper mindset for that. You can't just throw on a tricorn hat and be there.
So, while I do battle with the underwriter, and with the Battle of Machias, not to mention a printer upgrade no one told me about, I'll try to work in a massage and some pool time to keep my sanity. September seems a long way off.
July 27, 2019
Kindle Countdown Deal!
This is the first time I've tried a Kindle Countdown Deal and it's for one of my favorite books, Blame It On The Brontes. From now until Tuesday, July 30, the price has been lowered to 99 cents for the ebook version. So, if you've been thinking about buying this one, now's the time.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TJ2PVT5/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=becky+lower&qid=1561506661&s=gateway&sr=8-5
Sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne are back together again to eagerly dig into their dead mother’s fortune. Only their mother has other plans for their contentious reunion. Unknown to the trio, Mom decided her fortune wouldn’t be divided until one very critical thing happened. The sisters have to reunite in their childhood home for one year in Puffin Bay, Maine. And they have to get along. But long-buried resentments, old rivalries, and would-be boyfriends are about to provoke their biggest feud yet, threatening the sisters’ financial claims and the lineage of a family that hasn’t known peace in decades. Will a year be enough for three brash sisters to figure it all out?
Excerpt:
Charlotte raised her binoculars, searching the ocean for the only boat on the water that mattered to her. Nothing yet, but soon, The Brontëand Gray would be on their way home, to her. She really didn’t need visual proof that he was coming into shore. She could feel it in her gut. Goosebumps, which had nothing to do with the breeze wafting in from the water, dotted her skin.Charlotte’s heart constricted with a twinge of loneliness. Her mother was gone forever. The keen sense of loss was something Gray would certainly understand. For the first time in her life, her mother would not inhabit the house with her, tidying the comfortable rooms, taking care of everyone and making them feel at home. She needed Gray to help take away the feeling she was all alone. She needed Gray, plain and simple.For the next several days she would fulfill the role of hostess to her two sisters, who were returning home for the somber event of laying their mother to rest. As the eldest, Charlotte accepted the mantle that fell on her shoulders, although she was not happy about it. Their mother had been the one to keep the lines of communication open between the three of them, and Charlotte now wondered what would happen. Certainly, she had no plans to talk to her sisters, beyond what was necessary this week. She climbed over the wet, sun-bleached granite boulders ringing the shoreline. “Hi there, Char.” She gazed into the faded blue eyes of Puffin Bay’s oldest resident, Autry Jones. He sat in his usual summertime spot, on the slatted wooden bench in front of the post office. His white beard rested on his chest, and his captain’s hat shielded his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. Charlotte smiled at the old codger. “Hey, Autry.” She had a lot to do before Gray’s boat arrived at the dock, but she always had time to talk to Autry. “The sea cough up anything for you today?” “No, nothing. But I wasn’t really searching for sea glass. I’m not going to have time to make any jewelry this week, what with everyone coming in for the funeral.” Charlotte lowered herself onto the bench beside him. Autry bumped his arm up against hers and tore his gaze away from the ocean. “One thing you don’t need to worry about is groceries this week. Mrs. Spradling headed to your house a bit earlier to drop off a mountain of food, as she does every time someone in this town passes. Sorry about your mom. Such a good woman.”“Thank you. She was kind-hearted, even though she stuffed our childish heads with romantic nonsense. Hell, instead of hearing Dr. Seuss books when we were kids, we got yet another chapter of her favorite romance novel. And, every night after supper, Mom took us to the widow’s walk to see if Daddy’s boat was in port.” “She did her best to raise you girls while your daddy was earning a living from the sea.”“I know, and I miss her terribly already. Are you going to be at the memorial service? Emily and Anne will be coming home for the funeral. The two of them should be pulling into town later today.”“Ay-yup. I’ll be there. It’ll be nice to see you girls together again. Should be good weather for a funeral. I hear Grayson turned his boat toward the shore, too.” Autry’s pale eyes twinkled.“I figured he’d come in from the sea, but Mom’s viewing isn’t until tomorrow, so I don’t expect to see him until then.” She shifted on the seat under Autry’s keen gaze.“You can’t think of any reason he might want to come in early? Charlotte Bronson, you and Gray may think you’ve been fooling the town for eighteen years, pretending the two of you don’t care for each other, but you can’t hoodwink an old coot. I was young once, too, and I know what love is.”“But we haven’t been in love for years. We try to avoid each other.”Autry continued to stare at her without saying a word. She shook off the rush of schoolgirl giddiness that came with the idea Gray was turning toward port early in order to see her. She ran a hand down her braid of dark hair, now liberally laced with silver. Maybe she could do something about the streaks before he arrived. If only I could erase the past as easily as I can get rid of the outward signs of aging. Then maybe Gray and I could fall in love again. Remembering she had a million things to do, she leaned over and kissed the old man on the cheek before jumping up. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TJ2PVT5/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=becky+lower&qid=1561506661&s=gateway&sr=8-5
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TJ2PVT5/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=becky+lower&qid=1561506661&s=gateway&sr=8-5
Sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne are back together again to eagerly dig into their dead mother’s fortune. Only their mother has other plans for their contentious reunion. Unknown to the trio, Mom decided her fortune wouldn’t be divided until one very critical thing happened. The sisters have to reunite in their childhood home for one year in Puffin Bay, Maine. And they have to get along. But long-buried resentments, old rivalries, and would-be boyfriends are about to provoke their biggest feud yet, threatening the sisters’ financial claims and the lineage of a family that hasn’t known peace in decades. Will a year be enough for three brash sisters to figure it all out? Excerpt:
Charlotte raised her binoculars, searching the ocean for the only boat on the water that mattered to her. Nothing yet, but soon, The Brontëand Gray would be on their way home, to her. She really didn’t need visual proof that he was coming into shore. She could feel it in her gut. Goosebumps, which had nothing to do with the breeze wafting in from the water, dotted her skin.Charlotte’s heart constricted with a twinge of loneliness. Her mother was gone forever. The keen sense of loss was something Gray would certainly understand. For the first time in her life, her mother would not inhabit the house with her, tidying the comfortable rooms, taking care of everyone and making them feel at home. She needed Gray to help take away the feeling she was all alone. She needed Gray, plain and simple.For the next several days she would fulfill the role of hostess to her two sisters, who were returning home for the somber event of laying their mother to rest. As the eldest, Charlotte accepted the mantle that fell on her shoulders, although she was not happy about it. Their mother had been the one to keep the lines of communication open between the three of them, and Charlotte now wondered what would happen. Certainly, she had no plans to talk to her sisters, beyond what was necessary this week. She climbed over the wet, sun-bleached granite boulders ringing the shoreline. “Hi there, Char.” She gazed into the faded blue eyes of Puffin Bay’s oldest resident, Autry Jones. He sat in his usual summertime spot, on the slatted wooden bench in front of the post office. His white beard rested on his chest, and his captain’s hat shielded his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. Charlotte smiled at the old codger. “Hey, Autry.” She had a lot to do before Gray’s boat arrived at the dock, but she always had time to talk to Autry. “The sea cough up anything for you today?” “No, nothing. But I wasn’t really searching for sea glass. I’m not going to have time to make any jewelry this week, what with everyone coming in for the funeral.” Charlotte lowered herself onto the bench beside him. Autry bumped his arm up against hers and tore his gaze away from the ocean. “One thing you don’t need to worry about is groceries this week. Mrs. Spradling headed to your house a bit earlier to drop off a mountain of food, as she does every time someone in this town passes. Sorry about your mom. Such a good woman.”“Thank you. She was kind-hearted, even though she stuffed our childish heads with romantic nonsense. Hell, instead of hearing Dr. Seuss books when we were kids, we got yet another chapter of her favorite romance novel. And, every night after supper, Mom took us to the widow’s walk to see if Daddy’s boat was in port.” “She did her best to raise you girls while your daddy was earning a living from the sea.”“I know, and I miss her terribly already. Are you going to be at the memorial service? Emily and Anne will be coming home for the funeral. The two of them should be pulling into town later today.”“Ay-yup. I’ll be there. It’ll be nice to see you girls together again. Should be good weather for a funeral. I hear Grayson turned his boat toward the shore, too.” Autry’s pale eyes twinkled.“I figured he’d come in from the sea, but Mom’s viewing isn’t until tomorrow, so I don’t expect to see him until then.” She shifted on the seat under Autry’s keen gaze.“You can’t think of any reason he might want to come in early? Charlotte Bronson, you and Gray may think you’ve been fooling the town for eighteen years, pretending the two of you don’t care for each other, but you can’t hoodwink an old coot. I was young once, too, and I know what love is.”“But we haven’t been in love for years. We try to avoid each other.”Autry continued to stare at her without saying a word. She shook off the rush of schoolgirl giddiness that came with the idea Gray was turning toward port early in order to see her. She ran a hand down her braid of dark hair, now liberally laced with silver. Maybe she could do something about the streaks before he arrived. If only I could erase the past as easily as I can get rid of the outward signs of aging. Then maybe Gray and I could fall in love again. Remembering she had a million things to do, she leaned over and kissed the old man on the cheek before jumping up. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TJ2PVT5/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=becky+lower&qid=1561506661&s=gateway&sr=8-5
July 20, 2019
Pass the Pepper, Please!
I'm so pleased that this week saw the re-release of A Widow's Salvation. As the Akron Beacon Journal said in their review, "It's high time Pepper has her turn at romance."
After serving as a secondary character in the previous seven Cotillion Ball books, Pepper gets her own story, a year after her husband, Michael, died at the first battle of the Civil War. This war affected everyone living in America during the time, so it would have been unusual for the large Fitzpatrick family to not have one fatality. Since I was so entrenched in the series, as I hoped my readers were, I didn't want to do away with any of the Fitzpatrick men, so Michael seemed the logical choice, since he was related only by marriage. Here's the way the story opens:
New York City, July 1862Pepper Brown yanked open her bedroom armoire and stared at the sea of black. Her widow’s weeds, as people called them. They were showing up in increasing numbers on the streets of New York, on women of all ages. The Civil War, which both sides had thought would be over in a matter of weeks, marked its one-year anniversary today. Which meant today was also Pepper’s one-year anniversary as a widow. She drummed her foot on the floor while she perused the black dresses. Was she ready to move on? Michael had thought she would be. In fact, he extracted a promise from her before he left for the war. One year and not one day more, he had said. Her mother thought so, too, or she wouldn’t have planned their outing for today. All Pepper now needed was the courage to convince herself they were right. The churning in her stomach told her she had a ways to go yet.She straightened and turned her back on the black.“Molly, please come help me dress,” Pepper called down the hall to her lady’s maid. “I’m going out today.”“Aye, ma’am.” Molly, a young Irish girl with light brown hair and matching freckles across her pert nose, came quickly into the room. “Which gown would you be liking?” She began fondling the various dresses in the armoire.“None of these. I’m done with these dresses. Besides, most of them are maternity gowns. I want to wear something fresh, something different.”Molly nodded vigorously, and the little white cap on her head bounced askew. She righted it before she spoke. “Perfectly understood, ma’am, and you should be stepping down to half mourning. Perhaps I can find a nice gray or deep purple gown among your other things.”Pepper shook her head. “No, no half mourning for me. What kind of silly term is that, anyway? I’m going out with Mother, and I want our day to be special. I want to wear something bright. I think the periwinkle dress Jasmine created for me right before Michael’s death will do. Yes, the periwinkle.”Pepper smiled at Molly’s horrified intake of breath. She obviously disapproved, which meant it was the right decision.“Periwinkle? Forgive me saying so, ma’am, but isn’t it a wee bit too much of a difference?”“Why yes, it is, Molly.”I am constantly surprised, and amused, at the way history works with my stories. Pepper was now a single mother raising three young boys, so she possessed the inner strength of every mother who's ever raised a child. What I didn't see coming when I began the story was how the Civil War led to the advancement of the use of prosthetic devices. Who better to take on the task of getting grown men to use a prosthetic leg than a mother? There are several scenes where Pepper whipped these men into shape and got them to walk again. I hope you enjoy Pepper's story as much as I enjoyed writing it. https://www.amazon.com/Widows-Salvation-Cotillion-Ball-Saga-ebook/dp/B07TVPD6SJ/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=a+widow%27s+salvation&qid=1563029753&s=gateway&sr=8-2
After serving as a secondary character in the previous seven Cotillion Ball books, Pepper gets her own story, a year after her husband, Michael, died at the first battle of the Civil War. This war affected everyone living in America during the time, so it would have been unusual for the large Fitzpatrick family to not have one fatality. Since I was so entrenched in the series, as I hoped my readers were, I didn't want to do away with any of the Fitzpatrick men, so Michael seemed the logical choice, since he was related only by marriage. Here's the way the story opens:
New York City, July 1862Pepper Brown yanked open her bedroom armoire and stared at the sea of black. Her widow’s weeds, as people called them. They were showing up in increasing numbers on the streets of New York, on women of all ages. The Civil War, which both sides had thought would be over in a matter of weeks, marked its one-year anniversary today. Which meant today was also Pepper’s one-year anniversary as a widow. She drummed her foot on the floor while she perused the black dresses. Was she ready to move on? Michael had thought she would be. In fact, he extracted a promise from her before he left for the war. One year and not one day more, he had said. Her mother thought so, too, or she wouldn’t have planned their outing for today. All Pepper now needed was the courage to convince herself they were right. The churning in her stomach told her she had a ways to go yet.She straightened and turned her back on the black.“Molly, please come help me dress,” Pepper called down the hall to her lady’s maid. “I’m going out today.”“Aye, ma’am.” Molly, a young Irish girl with light brown hair and matching freckles across her pert nose, came quickly into the room. “Which gown would you be liking?” She began fondling the various dresses in the armoire.“None of these. I’m done with these dresses. Besides, most of them are maternity gowns. I want to wear something fresh, something different.”Molly nodded vigorously, and the little white cap on her head bounced askew. She righted it before she spoke. “Perfectly understood, ma’am, and you should be stepping down to half mourning. Perhaps I can find a nice gray or deep purple gown among your other things.”Pepper shook her head. “No, no half mourning for me. What kind of silly term is that, anyway? I’m going out with Mother, and I want our day to be special. I want to wear something bright. I think the periwinkle dress Jasmine created for me right before Michael’s death will do. Yes, the periwinkle.”Pepper smiled at Molly’s horrified intake of breath. She obviously disapproved, which meant it was the right decision.“Periwinkle? Forgive me saying so, ma’am, but isn’t it a wee bit too much of a difference?”“Why yes, it is, Molly.”I am constantly surprised, and amused, at the way history works with my stories. Pepper was now a single mother raising three young boys, so she possessed the inner strength of every mother who's ever raised a child. What I didn't see coming when I began the story was how the Civil War led to the advancement of the use of prosthetic devices. Who better to take on the task of getting grown men to use a prosthetic leg than a mother? There are several scenes where Pepper whipped these men into shape and got them to walk again. I hope you enjoy Pepper's story as much as I enjoyed writing it. https://www.amazon.com/Widows-Salvation-Cotillion-Ball-Saga-ebook/dp/B07TVPD6SJ/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=a+widow%27s+salvation&qid=1563029753&s=gateway&sr=8-2
