C.D. Hersh's Blog, page 20
June 18, 2024
Wednesday Special Spotlight A Gift From Dad
When my dad was 92, he got sick. With the exception of some childhood bouts of pneumonia—the result of growing up in a house full of chain-smoking coal miners—he’d been robustly healthy his entire life. That he survived the twin assaults of Valley Fever and pneumonia was surprising. Before dying just a week shy of 97, he still took ballroom dance lessons, required not a single medication, and read the New York Times every day.
My father was an ice dancer until he was 80. Then he took up ballroom.
However, my dad was not the same as he was before his illness. His mind was altered, leaving him fuzzy in the short-term memory department. Ironically, and like many elderly people, he has no trouble recalling in vivid detail events that occurred many decades ago. The Japanese kamikaze that flew so close to his destroyer escort he could see the young pilot’s eyes before the plane narrowly missed the ship and plunged into the sea. The sailor plucked from dark, oil-slicked water who lay in his arms and asked for a cigarette before dying. The shipmate who worked as Mickey Rooney’s stunt double who sometimes climbed the mast and performed swan dives into the ocean. And the bodies of downed pilots, in a neat row on the deck, tarp covered save for their feet which rocked rhythmically as the ship swayed beneath the night sky, waiting to be buried at sea.
My father served on a destroyer escort during World War II. The men of the USS Ulvert Moore fought in numerous battles, including Iwo Jima and Okinawa.
Bright and clear is another memory my dad carries, one of a ten-year-old growing up in the mining town of North Irwin, Pennsylvania. The small dwelling on Penn Avenue housed immigrants, Irish in my father’s case. But Italians, and Poles, and Russians, and others lived on the street, as well, all sharing something in common. They were poor.
“Dad’s taking you to a ballgame,” his mother called.
Clad in knickers with clasps below the knees, brown shoes and socks, and a white button-down, my father balked when she handed him a sack lunch bearing a chicken sandwich and a small red apple.
“I wanna get lunch when I get there,” he said. “Everyone buys their lunch at the ballgame.”
My grandfather— thin, balding, blue eyes dancing beneath the brim of a fedora—smiled, then ushered my dad to the train station. There was no money to make the trip to Pittsburg’s Forbes Field, but my grandfather worked for the railroad, one of the few members of the Butler clan to avoid laboring in the mines, so they rode the train for free.
My dad still clutched his sack lunch on the streetcar that would drop them in front of the stadium. “I wanted to hide it,” he said. “I put it under the seat because I didn’t want people to see it.”
After disembarking at Forbes Field, they were caught in an excited wave of baseball fans rushing to get into the game. When they settled into their seats, my dad tucked the brown bag out of sight.
The game got underway, but then a strange murmuring swept through the crowd. My dad turned and, up in the stands on the third-base side, he saw a couple approaching.
“The man was young, dashing. Black hair. Big smile. Well-dressed. She was a beautiful lady. Blonde. She looked like a movie star. People were waving at them.”
And there was something else.
“He was carrying a two-handled picnic basket.”
“What are you looking at?” my grandfather asked. “I think there’s gonna be a squeeze play.”
But my dad kept staring at the couple.
“Paul, you have to watch the game. Is there something wrong?” My grandfather turned.
“I don’t understand why anyone would bring a picnic basket to a ballgame unless they were real poor. He doesn’t look poor.”
“Paul, he isn’t poor!” my grandfather said. “That’s Billy Conn, the Light Heavyweight Champion of the World.”
Conn, an Irish-American boxer and local favorite called The Pittsburgh Kid, was known for being cocky and brash, his fights against Joe Louis, and his 63-11-1 record.
My dad continued to keep his brown bag hidden beneath the seat as he watched the game that day, taking a bite occasionally, hoping no one would notice. He wondered about the glamorous couple, sneaking peeks as they snacked on their picnic-basket lunch. He thought about what it meant to be poor.
A chance sighting of world champion boxer Billy Conn had my then ten-year-old father pondering what it meant to be poor.
“I should have been proud to be able to go to the ballgame,” my dad said, blinking blue eyes that look just like mine. “I learned that I shouldn’t worry about what other people might think of me.”
I thought about his wise words, a lesson he learned at the tender age of ten, a time he still recalls so vividly.
Thanks to the G.I. Bill, my father would earn a bachelor’s degree from Penn State University. When I was eight, I watched from the balcony as he received a master’s degree from Seton Hall. Because of his stint in the Navy and his education, we were never poor, something that, as a ten-year-old, he might have been comforted to know.
Here is a brief peek at Anne’s latest release.
Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to the Graves Registration Service where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?
Praise for Your Forgotten Sons
“Although a defty crafted work of original fiction, “Your Forgotten Sons” by Anne Montgomery is inspired by a true story. An original and inherently interesting read from start to finish, “Your Forgotten Sons” will prove to be an immediate and enduringly appreciated pick.” Midwest Book Review
“This was a quick, riveting read that really challenged me to think differently about our servicemen and women, especially those who take on the jobs that don’t get heroically depicted in the media or news…I really highly recommend this book to anyone that is looking for a different take on American history. I left it with a newfound appreciation for the unsung heroes.” Bekah C NetGalley
“This is the truth. It’s gritty and painful and bittersweet – and true. When you think you’ve read every perspective of WWII, along comes Bud to break your heart.” Bridgett Siter Former Military Reporter
“Anne Montgomery writes a strong story and I was hooked from the first page. It had a great concept and I enjoyed that this was inspired by a true story…It was written perfectly and I was invested in the story. Anne Montgomery has a great writing style and left me wanting to read more.” – Kathryn McLeer NetGalley
Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo
Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.
When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.
Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.
June 17, 2024
Tell Again Tuesday Rat Race
Okay to unwindBy Lori Deschene
You don’t always need to be getting stuff done.
Sometimes it’s perfectly okay, and absolutely necessary, to shut down, kick back, and do nothing.
June 13, 2024
Friday Feature Perfect Marriage
Since we celebrated our 54th anniversary this week we could not resist sharing this tongue in cheek recipe from Red Skelton.
To Have the Perfect Marriage:
1. Two times a week we go to a nice restaurant, have a little beverage, good food and companionship. She goes on Tuesdays, I go on Fridays.
2. We also sleep in separate beds. Hers is in California and mine is in Texas.
3. I take my wife everywhere, but she keeps finding her way back.
4. I asked my wife where she wanted to go for our anniversary. “Somewhere I haven’t been in a long time!” she said. So I suggested the kitchen.
5. We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.
6. She has an electric blender, electric toaster and electric bread maker. She said “There are too many gadgets, and no place to sit down!” So I bought her an electric chair.
7. My wife told me the car wasn’t running well because there was water in the carburetor. I asked where the car was. She told me, “In the lake.”
8. She got a mud pack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off.
9. She ran after the garbage truck, yelling, “Am I too late for the garbage?” The driver said, “No, jump in!”.
10. Remember: Marriage is the number one cause of divorce.
11. I married Miss Right. I just didn’t know her first name was ‘Always’.
12. I haven’t spoken to my wife in 18 months. I don’t like to interrupt her.
13. The last fight was my fault though. My wife asked, “What’s on the TV?”
I said, “Dust!”.
Can’t you just hear him say all of these?
We adore this list. These were the golden days when humor didn’t need to begin with a four-letter word or become political. It was just clean and simple fun. And he always ended his programs with the words, “And May God Bless”with a big smile on his face.
We do try to put a little levity in the romance in our books. Currently we are writing book two in this series and hope you’ll enjoy this excerpt from the first book, Ghosts and Gardenias, available to download from Amazon.
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Susan longed to feel the antique silk touching her body. She flipped her long hair behind her shoulders, then held the dress to her chest measuring the tiny waist to her own. The dress might fit, at least for as long as she could hold her breath.
The gardenia scent grew stronger. Susan twirled around to face the cheval mirror, the dress still held to her. The last rays of the evening sun, coming through a rip in the attic window curtain, glinted off the mirror, blinding her for a moment. She touched the glass, gasping when her hands met the ice-cold edge. Rubbing the goose bumps on her arms she took two steps backward.
Her reflection, misty and spotted by the mirror’s worn silver backing, stared at her. When she stepped closer to the mirror the image blurred even more. She blinked, trying to clear her vision.
As she reached for the mirror, the gardenia scent changed from pungent to rotting. Another flash of light glinted off the mirror. Susan’s breath caught in her chest as she tried to sort out what she saw. Two overlaid images, both her yet different, stared from the silvered glass.
The more prominent image wore a pristine version of the dress Susan held to her body. No yellowed streaks marred the silk. The lace caplet billowed around her shoulders as though caught in a breeze stirred by a midsummer storm. Mahogany curls adorned her head like a crown—a sharp contrast to Susan’s long, flowing hair. A pair of green eyes, a near match to her emerald ones, stared out of the mirror.
Heart racing, Susan clutched the fabric in her fist. She moved to the right. The two images parted briefly then merged. She moved to the left. The same thing happened. Squeezing her eyes shut, Susan willed her pounding heart to slow and ignored her instinct to drop the dress and run.
A trick of the light. Nothing weird is happening. There’s a rational, logical explanation.
Gathering her courage, Susan fluttered her eyes open and peeked at the mirror. Her reflection had been replaced by the Victorian woman. A low moan rolled from the glass. Dropping the gown on the floor Susan skittered backward.
If this interests you in our newest book Ghosts and Gardenias is available now on Amazon, the first book in our Haunting of Garnoa Road Series.
Here are the links for our other books:
You can find our books on our book page, under the menu at the top of the page or on our Amazon Author Page
June 11, 2024
Wednesday Special Spotlight Cover Reveal for Stella May
Love can heal the rift between them. But can it survive an act of supreme cruelty?
For five years, Natasha Sokolova has loved and cared for jewelry tycoon Dmitry Rostoff’s two children, Peter and Katia, on her own. Her nights haunted with achingly cruel dreams of unrequited love, and promises never made.
Peter’s eighteenth birthday arrives. Dmitry is returning home to celebrate. Nathasha is five years stronger, five years smarter—and she’d rather die than give Dmitry the satisfaction of knowing he broke her heart.
Dmitry put thousands of miles between him and the act of betrayal that nearly destroyed him. Only for Peter does he break his vow never to return, endure the ugly memories of an evil mother, and swallow his bitterness just long enough to make his son happy—then make his escape.
One look at the beautiful woman who stole his heart—and the angelic daughter he once couldn’t bear to lay eyes on—loosens the knot of hatred coiled inside him. The desire to free himself from his past, and his family from the prison of the Rostoff estate, sparks a plan that Dmitry is certain will succeed.
But the Rostoff matriarch has no intention of allowing her grandchildren to slip from her control. To further strengthen her dominance, she plots to create a rift between Dmitry and Natasha that is impassable—and permanent.
PREORDER HERE
Stella May is the penname for Marina Sardarova who has a fascinating history you should read on her website.
Stella writes fantasy romance as well as time travel romance. She is the author of ‘Till Time Do Us Part, Book 1 in her Upon a Time series, and the stand-alone book Rhapsody in Dreams. Love and family are two cornerstones of her stories and life. Stella’s books are available in e-book and paperback through all major vendors.
When not writing, Stella enjoys classical music, reading, and long walks along the ocean with her husband. She lives in Jacksonville, Florida with her husband Leo of 30 years and their son George. They are her two best friends and are all partners in their family business.Follow Stella on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.
June 10, 2024
Tell Again Tuesday Comedy Against Expectation
All About ParaprosdokiansBy Joanne Guidoccio
This five-syllable word looks intimidating, and it may take some practice to pronounce it properly. You can start by practicing here: . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:June 6, 2024
Word Witches & Magic Snacks
Writing can be a deliciously creative endeavor. We all know that food fuels the mind, so why not indulge in a few tasty treats to keep your energy levels high and your inspiration flowing? Whether you’re tackling a daunting deadline or embarking on a brainstorming session, here are a few fun snacks that are sure to satisfy your cravings and fuel your writing process.
Let’s start with the magical combo of chocolate and coffee. The velvety goodness of dark chocolate pairs perfectly with a steaming cup of coffee, creating a harmonious blend of flavors that can give you that extra boost of creativity. The caffeine provides a jolt of energy, while the sweetness of chocolate adds a touch of decadence to your writing ritual. Take a break from your keyboard, savor a moment of bliss with this duo, and let your imagination run wild.
If you’re looking for something a little more spellbinding, tap into your inner child with a plate of colorful, bite-sized snacks. Think mini sandwiches, fruit skewers, or a bowl of mixed nuts and popcorn (see fun recipe below!). Not only are these treats fun to eat, but they also offer a variety of flavors and textures to keep your taste buds entertained.
By incorporating fun snacks into your writing routine, you can indulge your taste buds and invigorate your mind. Whether you opt for the enchanting chocolate and coffee combo or explore a whimsical array of bite-sized treats, these snacks will add an extra sprinkle of enjoyment to your writing sessions. So, grab a snack, sit back, and let the magic happen as you embark on your next writing adventure.
Sweet & Salty Marshmallow Popcorn
8 cups popped popcorn, we use air popped popcorn1½ cups pretzels½ cup unsalted butter1 cup packed light brown sugar2 tbsp. light corn syrup12 big marshmallows½ tsp. vanilla1 tsp. sea salt1 cup M&M’sLay popcorn and pretzels on a large baking sheet that has been lined with a Silpat baking mat. Parchment paper will work, too. Set aside.
In a medium saucepan, melt butter over medium heat. Add brown sugar and corn syrup. Cook until melted and combined. Add marshmallows and stir until completely melted. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla and salt.
Evenly pour the marshmallow caramel mixture over the popcorn and pretzels. Gently stir until the popcorn and pretzels are well coated. It will be sticky! Stir in the M&M’s. Taste and season with additional salt, if desired. Store in an airtight container for up to one week. The popcorn will stay sticky and soft!
Note – if you need the recipe to be gluten-free, make sure you use gluten-free pretzels. You can also use peanut M&M’s or stir in peanuts!
Leigh Goff writes young adult fiction. She is a graduate from the University of Maryland and a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators (SCBWI).
Born and raised on the East Coast, she now lives in Maryland where she and her husband enjoy the area’s great history and culture.
Learn more about Leigh Goff on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads.
Photo and recipe from Two Pease & Their Pod Marshmallow Popcorn Recipe
June 4, 2024
June 3, 2024
Tell Again Tuesday Cemetery Coins
Why are Coins on Military Headstones?By Pam Crooks
Have you ever strolled through a cemetery and noticed a few (or a lot!) coins left on a monument?
Of course, it’s not unusual for loved ones and friends to leave sentimental items like a can of Dr. Pepper, a travel-size bottle of spirits, stones, a cross, and of course, flowers.
But money?
When we noticed several coins last year that . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:May 28, 2024
Wednesday Special Spotlight True Love
This came in the C.D. Hersh stream on Facebook. We could not resist sharing since we are romantics.
My parents were married for 55 years. One morning, my mom was going downstairs to make dad breakfast, she had a heart attack and fell. My father picked her up as best he could and almost dragged her into the truck. At full speed, without respecting traffic lights, he drove her to the hospital.
When he arrived, unfortunately, she was no longer with us.
During the funeral, my father did not speak; his gaze was lost. He hardly cried.
That night, his children joined him. In an atmosphere of pain and nostalgia, we remembered beautiful anecdotes and he asked my brother, a theologian, to tell him where Mom would be at that moment. My brother began to talk about life after death, and guesses as to how and where she would be.
My father listened carefully. Suddenly he asked us to take him to the cemetery.
Dad!” we replied, “it’s 11 at night, we can’t go to the cemetery right now!”
He raised his voice, and with a glazed look he said:
“Don’t argue with me, please don’t argue with the man who just lost his wife of 55 years.”
There was a moment of respectful silence, we didn’t argue anymore. We went to the cemetery, we asked the night watchman for permission. With a flashlight, we reached the tomb. My father caressed her, prayed, and told his children, who watched the scene moved:
“It was 55 years… you know? No one can talk about true love if they have no idea what it’s like to share life with a woman.”
He paused and wiped his face. “She and I, we were together in that crisis. I changed jobs …” he continued. “We packed up when we sold the house and moved out of town. We shared the joy of seeing our children finish their careers, we mourned the departure of loved ones side by side, we prayed together in the waiting room of some hospitals, we support each other in pain, we hug each Christmas, and we forgive our mistakes…
Children, now it’s gone, and I’m happy, do you know why?
Because she left before me. She didn’t have to go through the agony and pain of burying me, of being left alone after my departure. I will be the one to go through that, and I thank God. I love her so much that I wouldn’t have liked her to suffer…”
When my father finished speaking, my brothers and I had tears streaming down our faces. We hugged him, and he comforted us, “It’s okay, we can go home, it’s been a good day.”
That night I understood what true love is; It is far from romanticism, it does not have much to do with eroticism, or with sex, rather it is linked to work, to complement, to care and, above all, to the true love that two really committed people profess “.
Amazing things
This story brought a lump to our throats and made us think about the romance in our books. As we continue to write this series we hope you’ll enjoy this excerpt from the first book, Ghosts and Gardenias, available to download from Amazon.
[image error]
Susan longed to feel the antique silk touching her body. She flipped her long hair behind her shoulders, then held the dress to her chest measuring the tiny waist to her own. The dress might fit, at least for as long as she could hold her breath.
The gardenia scent grew stronger. Susan twirled around to face the cheval mirror, the dress still held to her. The last rays of the evening sun, coming through a rip in the attic window curtain, glinted off the mirror, blinding her for a moment. She touched the glass, gasping when her hands met the ice-cold edge. Rubbing the goose bumps on her arms she took two steps backward.
Her reflection, misty and spotted by the mirror’s worn silver backing, stared at her. When she stepped closer to the mirror the image blurred even more. She blinked, trying to clear her vision.
As she reached for the mirror, the gardenia scent changed from pungent to rotting. Another flash of light glinted off the mirror. Susan’s breath caught in her chest as she tried to sort out what she saw. Two overlaid images, both her yet different, stared from the silvered glass.
The more prominent image wore a pristine version of the dress Susan held to her body. No yellowed streaks marred the silk. The lace caplet billowed around her shoulders as though caught in a breeze stirred by a midsummer storm. Mahogany curls adorned her head like a crown—a sharp contrast to Susan’s long, flowing hair. A pair of green eyes, a near match to her emerald ones, stared out of the mirror.
Heart racing, Susan clutched the fabric in her fist. She moved to the right. The two images parted briefly then merged. She moved to the left. The same thing happened. Squeezing her eyes shut, Susan willed her pounding heart to slow and ignored her instinct to drop the dress and run.
A trick of the light. Nothing weird is happening. There’s a rational, logical explanation.
Gathering her courage, Susan fluttered her eyes open and peeked at the mirror. Her reflection had been replaced by the Victorian woman. A low moan rolled from the glass. Dropping the gown on the floor Susan skittered backward.
If this interests you in our newest book Ghosts and Gardenias is available now on Amazon, the first book in our Haunting of Garnoa Road Series.
Here are the links for our other books:
You can find our books on our book page, under the menu at the top of the page or on our Amazon Author Page
May 27, 2024
Tell Again Tuesday Fiction Food
Fictional EatingBy Cindy Tomamichel
Should food be part of a novel? Does it add or detract from your reading experience? I prefer it in myself, having grown up reading a lot of Enid Blyton scrummy feasts or supping with centaurs in Narnia. It feels weird to read days passing in a novel with nary a drop to drink or a morsel of food.
Many fantasy novels do have a bit of a focus on food, with hungry Bilbo drooling over the elven feasts and all the hobbit parties and dwarven drinking. There is a funny scene in Tarzan, where he is at . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:
