C.D. Hersh's Blog, page 39
May 15, 2023
Tell Again Tuesday RV and writing
5 Relationship-Saving Tips for Couples Who RVBy Morton’s on the move
It’s quite often that RVers will get the question, “How do you live together in such a small space?” It doesn’t matter if you’re a traveling family of four or a couple; living in a small space can be challenging. It can also be stressful on your relationship with your significant other or spouse, so let’s look at a few relationship-saving tips for couples who RV. You won’t want to hit the road without them!
RVing Presents Unique Challenges
The RV life just isn’t the same as the traditional sticks-and-bricks life. If traveling full-time, families have the challenges of . . .
May 11, 2023
Friday Feature Birds in the wild
Photo courtesy of Ks Kyung UnsplashNature and the Birds. Nature fascinates me, but I confess I lived in Alaska for four years and never once thought to use my binocs on a perching bird. We were all into whales, moose, goats, eagles and such like. The big stuff. I weep thinking how I missed puffins. Right away I want to recommend a book whether you are new to the hobby or an old hand, “The Crossley Guide of Eastern Birds.” (or go to the library.) You’ll need to look for a similar copy for your area, i.e. Western. The pictures are exquisite. For ordinary daily bird identification, I use an Audubon Society Guide to Field…whatever nature interest you. These books are terrific Christmas or Birthday presents for any age. I keep one in my car and another in the house.
Photo by Geran de Klerk UnsplashWe only feed backyard birds in the winter. Coons and other type creatures (rodents) are abundant in the summer months, plus the birds find plenty of food available. Occasionally the weather warms and we are visited by every gray (a few red) squirrels within a mile. Otherwise they are tucked away until spring. Last Christmas our daughter gave us a fool proof squirrel bird feeder. I swear it works. Has a small motor. When the When the squirrel climbs aboard, it triggers the motor which starts the perch twirling. We applauded one squirrel who managed to hang on by one paw for three revolutions although perhaps the poor fellow would need a bit of physical therapy afterwards.
After surgery when I was confined for a time, my hubby mounted small plastic feeders right to my window. It was fascinating to a shut-in like me. Highly recommend.
Lots of different selections of bird seed. Expensive and the best is black sunflower seed. We even had a young deer climb up on the deck to reach the spilled seed. Types of field glasses are many and varied. You’ll find the ones that you like best. Cornell Lab in Ithaca, NY has great birding information and sites. Do indulge.
SANDPIPER AFFAIR, the first of the Abby and Adam Adventures, was my love affair with nature. I only sort of wrote a story to go with it. There I have confessed. Actually, I created a nature photographer and a park ranger who allowed me to follow them around as they lived out their lives in Middle Florida. Who knew we could all have so much fun? It is a romance and a mystery as well. If I have tickled your curiosity regarding the environment, I am pleased. If you enjoy the story as well, I am ecstatic.
Abby Naycomb, wildlife photographer, found more than scintillating images of the birds of Central Florida. A handsome park ranger turns her world upside down even as a criminal stalker seeks to threaten her life.
Who knew trespassing in the restrictive area of a Florida State Park to get the perfect shot of the sand hill crane family would wind up with Abby Naycomb, wildlife photographer extraordinaire, meeting the most handsome park ranger in the world? Mating/nesting birds were the subject of her quest but finding those intense blue eyes in the lens of her camera was distracting and hormone inciting.
Adam Rawlings, millionaire park ranger, was as shocked as Abby when she accidentally discovered a murdered man buried in a shallow grave in the sand.
Face to face with an exciting relationship with Adam, the perfect man, leaves her no excuse for backing away from a growing intimacy. Vagabond Abby must consider relocating if she wants to continue an invaluable relationship with Adam, the original home town hero.
Abby struggles as she continues to work deep in the breathtaking wilds of Central Florida while trying to ignore the menace of a serious and threatening stalker. Her task was to reexamine long held premises and prejudices while admiring the southern flora and fauna through the lens of her camera. Bird and nature lovers alert.
SHORT TEASER
Busted in Bird land. Still…what a calendar he would make with that uniform, that smile, those shoulders. She stifled a sigh of pure visual pleasure.
You had better stop it, Miss Smarty. He has the authority to fine and kick you out of the park permanently if he so chooses. Holy Moly– love a uniformed hunk!
Stoppit!
She stifled a giggle which was riotously rolling around deep inside her, threatening to break out. He continued to loom, gazing thoughtfully while she fidgeted in her warm nest sheltered by the dune. Surrounding them, the sporadic wind blew the smell of something baking in the sun. With her face turned upward and her eyes half-closed against the glare, she awaited her fate. She offered a weak smile while trying to bring into focus his face which was back lit by the bright sunlight. It couldn’t hurt, she thought, and tried for puppy dog eyes pleading for mercy.
“Leave this area, and I’ll forget your lapse of good manners–this time. Don’t let me catch you trespassing on restricted lands again. This is a nature preserve. Visitors may not wander about– especially during nesting season,” he added giving her a stern look. “And that goes for well-meaning, good-looking, lady photographers as well.”
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Janis Lane is the pen-name for gifted author Emma Lane who writes cozy mysteries as Janis, Regency as Emma, and spice as Sunny Lane.
She lives in Western New York where winter is snowy, spring arrives with rave reviews, summer days are long and velvet, and fall leaves are riotous in color. At long last she enjoys the perfect bow window for her desk where she is treated to a year-round panoramic view of nature. Her computer opens up a fourth fascinating window to the world. Her patient husband is always available to help with a plot twist and encourage Emma to never quit. Her day job is working with flowers at Herbtique and Plant Nursery, the nursery she and her son own.
Look for information about writing and plants on Emma’s new website. Leave a comment or a gardening question and put a smile on Emma’s face.
Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to check out the things that make Emma smile on Pinterest.
May 9, 2023
Wednesday Special Spotlight The Boy Who Became A Robin
Arrowmaker, a Chippewa, also known as Ojibwe, brave 1903
I am always in search of ways to connect with my Cherokee roots, and in that effort, I belong to several Facebook groups centered on Native American history and lifeways, both past and present. The following, delightful “coming of age” Chippewa legend “The Boy Who Became a Robin” was posted on Facebook initially by my Facebook friend, Katherine Collins (Lady Night Hawk).
“Once upon a time there was an old Indian who had an only son whose name was Opeechee. The boy had come to the age when every Indian lad makes a fast in order to secure a Spirit to be his guardian for life.
“The old man was very proud, and he wished his son to fast longer than other boys, and to become a greater warrior than all others. So, he directed him to prepare with solemn ceremonies for the fast.
“After the boy had been in the sweating lodge and bath several times, his father commanded him to lie down upon a clean mat, in a little lodge apart from the rest. ‘My Son, endure your hunger like a man, and at the end of twelve days, you will receive food and a blessing from my hands.’
“The boy was careful to do all his father commanded, and lay quietly with his face covered, awaiting the arrival of his guardian Spirit who was to bring him good or bad dreams.
“His father visited him every day, encouraging him to endure with patience the pangs of hunger and thirst. He told him of the honor and renown that would be his if he continued his fast to the end of the twelve days.
“To all of this the boy replied not, but lay on his mat without a murmur of discontent, until the ninth day, when he said, ‘My Father, the dreams tell me of evil. May I break my fast now, and at a better time make a new one?’
“‘My Son, you know not what you ask. If you get up now, all your glory will depart. Wait patiently a little longer. You have but three days more to fast, then glory and honor will be yours.’
“The boy said nothing more, but covering himself closer, he lay until the eleventh day, when he spoke again. ‘My Father, the dreams forebode evil. May I break my fast now, and at a better time make a new one?’
“’My Son, you know not what you ask. Wait patiently a little longer. You have but one more day to fast. Tomorrow I will myself prepare a meal and bring it to you.’ The boy remained silent and motionless beneath his covering except for the gentle heaving of his breast.
“Early the next morning his father, overjoyed at having gained his end, prepared some food. The food in hand, he took it and hastened to the lodge intending to set it before his son. Upon approaching the door of the lodge, to his surprise he heard the boy talking to someone. He lifted the curtain hanging before the doorway, and looking in saw his son painting his breast with vermilion. And as the lad laid on the bright color as far back on his shoulders as he could reach, he was saying to himself, ‘My father has destroyed my fortune as a man. He would not listen to my requests. I shall be happy forever because I was obedient to my parent, but he will suffer. My guardian Spirit has given me a new form, and now I must go!’
“At this his father rushed into the lodge, crying, ‘My Son! My Son! I pray you leave me not!’
‘But the boy, with the quickness of a bird, flew to the top of the lodge and perching upon the highest pole, was instantly changed in a most beautiful Robin Redbreast. Looking down with pity in his eyes, he said, ‘Do not sorrow, O my Father. I am no longer your boy but Opeechee the Robin. I shall always be a friend to men and live near their dwellings. I shall ever be happy and content. Every day I will sing you songs of joy. The mountains and fields yield my food. My pathway is in the bright air.’
“Then Opeechee the Robing stretched himself as if delighting in his new wings and caroling his sweetest song, flew away to the nearby trees.”
Here is a brief intro to one of Linda’s bestselling novels.
Guardians and Other Angels, multi-award-winning author Linda Lee Greene’s novel, chronicles the story of two heroic families played out against the bad and the good of the early to mid-twentieth century, years of worldwide economic depression and war, as well as the spawning of the “Greatest Generation.” Firsthand accounts of the times in authentic letters written by members of the families are peppered throughout the book.
Multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene describes her life as a telescope that when trained on her past reveals how each piece of it, whether good or bad or in-between, was necessary in the unfoldment of her fine art and literary paths.
Greene moved from farm-girl to city-girl; dance instructor to wife, mother, and homemaker; divorcee to single-working-mom and adult-college-student; and interior designer to multi-award-winning artist and author, essayist, and blogger. It was decades of challenging life experiences and debilitating, chronic illness that gave birth to her dormant flair for art and writing. Greene was three days shy of her fifty-seventh birthday when her creative spirit took a hold of her.
She found her way to her lonely easel soon thereafter. Since then Greene has accepted commissions and displayed her artwork in shows and galleries in and around the USA. She is also a member of artist and writer associations.
May 8, 2023
Tell Again Tuesday What Series type do you want to write?
For The Love Of…Writing A Series by Artemis CrowBy Leslie Bird Nuccio
So you want to write a series? There are questions to ask yourself before starting that might help you make that final decision. Claire Bradshaw has a great article on the Writer’s Edit website, titled “Ultimate Guide: How To Write A Series.” I’m going to give you the gist of what she said. I highly recommend you check it out!
What story do you want to tell over multiple books, and will it lend itself to that? . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:May 4, 2023
Friday Feature Can’t Hit the High Notes
I like to sing. I’m an Alto 2, which means women at my end of the vocal spectrum don’t get those high-soaring, glass-shattering solos. If singing were a house, we’d be the foundation, deep in the ground, supporting all the fancy rooms upstairs. As an Alto 2, I am also sometimes called “sir” on the phone.
I don’t have a great voice. I learned this when I auditioned for New Jersey’s All-State Chorus when I was in high school and didn’t make the cut. I also got a hint when my singing teacher one day said, “You have a nice little voice.” At that moment, a bell went off in my head, signaling that my dream of becoming a Broadway musical actress was probably unrealistic.
Still, I did perform in about ten school and community theater musical productions, and I sang in two groups in college. One was an A-cappella ensemble that, in retrospect, was rather awkwardly named the “Swingers.” I also played the guitar with rather rudimentary skill, which made me popular at Girl Scout camp, where singing around the campfire was an evening norm.
Then, following college, I stopped singing. I stopped playing the guitar. Though I lugged that old Yamaha 12-string through eight states and 24 moves and would ceremoniously place it in a corner of whatever new dwelling I inhabited. I ignored it, save for a cursory dusting now and then.
Fast forward about 35 years. Now a teacher, I joined ranks with three of my brethren: three women with high levels of performing expertise. One used to sing with big bands and played the piano. One was a member of the aforementioned high-soaring, glass-shattering soprano circle, and the other was a professional actress. Which, of course, made me the occupier of the lowest rung on our musical totem pole. We would perform around the holidays at nursing homes, singing songs from the 1940s, 50s, 60s, and 70s, everything from the Andrew Sisters to the Mamas and the Papas to Simon and Garfunkel with the usual Christmas fare thrown in.
I enjoyed our practices and performances. I hadn’t realized how much I missed music. In an effort to make myself more valuable to the group, I picked up that old guitar. I struggled, but learned a few songs we could perform. I also served as our MC.
Then, one day, the piano player abruptly stopped during practice. “You’re off key!” she said during one of the rare times I sang solo. I tried again. “No! Here’s the note.” She repeatedly plunked the piano key. The other singers looked away, embarrassed for me.
Shortly thereafter, I got sick with what I thought was a miserable lingering cold. My doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong and sent me to a specialist. The nose and throat man checked me out, then explained that surgery was required to remove a strange colony of anaerobic creatures that had taken up residence in my sinus. (Yep, it was as gross as it sounds. Hope you’re not eating.)
I remember, prior to the operation, I was asked to sign a batch of forms. One informed me that I might lose my eye. I signed it. Another let me know that I could suffer brain damage. I signed it. The third explained that I might come to with my voice irrevocably altered. I stared at the form, then handed it back to the nurse. “I’m not signing this,” I said, as I envisioned waking up with a voice like Fran Drescher.
The thought of never being able to sing again made me sadder than I thought possible. I know what you’re thinking. Sadder than losing en eye? Sadder than brain damage? Really? All I can say is…yes.
The good news is I neither lost an eye, was deprived of any important bits of brain matter, nor had my voiced changed. Even better, I could once again hear notes properly. And now, though our little group has disbanded, I sing and play my guitar most days with a wild abandon I didn’t have before the surgery. And, though I can hit even fewer high notes than in my youth, I don’t care as much. I’m just happy to sing.
I performed in about ten musical productions, mostly in my youth. Here, I play Golda in my high school production of Fiddler on the Roof. Even then, I knew I wasn’t the best singer in the group. It took me 40 years and the prospect of losing my voice to come to the conclusion that being the best wasn’t the point. Today, I take joy in just singing.
Please allow me to offer you a glimpse at my latest women’s fiction novel for your reading pleasure.
The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.
In 1939, archaeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate beadwork, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine-hundred years earlier, was a magician.
Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archaeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.
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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.
May 2, 2023
Wednesday Spotlight A Quick Supper for Busy Days
Need a quick meal during the week? I’m talking insanely quick and economical to make. Got to get your child to a practice or activity? Perhaps there’s a Zoom meeting scheduled just after dinner. No problem. I’ve got your back with this tasty Roasted Red Pepper Pasta meal fit for a family of four. Add sausage or chicken into the mix, and you’ve got yourself a hearty Italian meal that fills you up for the night. This whole meal takes about 20-30 minutes to prepare, which gives you plenty of wiggle room to make that meeting or taxi the kids to their activity. Serve with a side salad and glass of your favorite wine (if that meeting was cancelled), to celebrate the end of the day in style.
Roasted Red Pepper Pasta4 cups uncooked rigatoni or penne pasta1 tbsp. olive oil1 medium onion,finely diced2 cloves of garlic, minced1 can (284 mL/9.6 ounces) can of Campbell’s® Condensed Roasted Red Pepper and Tomato Soup½ cup milk¼ cup 35% whipping cream, or heavy cream¼ tsp. fresh ground pepper¼ cup Parmesan cheese2 tbsp. oregano, optional2 tbsp. chopped fresh parsley, optional¼ cup chopped fresh basil leaves, optionalOther Optional Ingredients1lb. Italian sausage or cubed boneless, skinless chicken breastsFresh red bell peppersRed pepper flakesPrepare rigatoni or penne according to package directions. Drain and keep warm.
Spray skillet with oil and sauté sausage (or chicken) over medium-high heat, about 5 minutes or until cooked through; remove from pan.
While pasta is cooking, prepare the pepper pasta sauce. In a nonstick skillet, heat olive oil over medium-high. Cook the onion and garlic for 3-5 minutes, stirring often, or until lightly browned.
Add soup, milk, cream, sausage (or chicken) and pepper (optional); gently whisk until smooth and simmering. Reduce heat, simmer 2-3 minutes or until sauce has thickened slightly.
Stir Parmesan and fresh basil, parsley, and oregano into pasta sauce. Toss sauce with hot pasta and serve with more Parmesan, if desired. Then, enjoy the fruits of your labors!
After your meeting is done and you’ve picked up the kids, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack open one of my books. May I suggest a visit to Fairy Falls, or if you’re feeling really adventurous, a trip back in time with The Last Timekeepers? Whichever you choose, I guarantee either series will take you on a journey far away from Zoom meetings or shuffling the kids around.
Here’s a glimpse of the premises of both my young adult series.
The Last Timekeepers Time Travel Adventures
Chosen by an Atlantean Magus to be Timekeepers—legendary time travelers sworn to keep history safe from the evil Belial—five classmates are sent into the past to restore balance, and bring order back into the world, one mission at a time.
Children are the keys to our future. And now, children are the only hope for our past.
Mysterious Tales from Fairy Falls Teen Psychic Mysteries
Imagine a teenager possessing a psychic ability and struggling to cope with its freakish power. There’s no hope for a normal life, and no one who understands. Now, imagine being uprooted and forced to live in a small tourist town where nothing much ever happens. It’s bores-ville from the get-go. Until mysterious things start to happen.
Welcome to Fairy Falls. Expect the unexpected.
The Last Timekeepers Time Travel Adventure Series:
The Last Timekeepers and the Noble Slave, Book #3
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The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret, Book #2 Buy Links:
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The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis, Book #1 Buy Links:
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Legend of the Timekeepers, prequel Buy Links:
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Mysterious Tales from Fairy Falls Teen Psychic Mystery Series:
Lost and Found, Book One Buy Links:
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Blackflies and Blueberries, Book Two Buy Links:
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Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/young adult time travel adventure series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, and the award-winning teen psychic mystery series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, reading, researching, or revising, she enjoys anything arcane, ancient mysteries, and single malt scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her spoiled hubby, and a moody calico cat.
Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her WEBSITE and BLOG. Look up her AMAZON AUTHOR page for a list of current books. Stay connected on FACEBOOK, TWITTER, PINTEREST, LINKEDIN, INSTAGRAM, and GOODREADS.
BONUS: Download the free PDF short story The Terrible, Mighty Crystal HERE
May 1, 2023
Tell Again Tuesday Marriage and Writing
Writing Lessons From House-Building & From MarriageBy Vaughn Roycroft
My wife and I recently found ourselves in a bit of a predicament. Our seemingly simple mission was to sync the buttons in a new car to our garage door opener. She sat in the car just outside, reading and calling out the instructions, while I got on a mini-stepladder to access the opener’s motor unit, hanging over the car bay. The operation had to be performed . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:April 27, 2023
Friday Feature Letters from Home
When was the last time you received a letter in the mail? I mean a real letter, not an advertisement or a request for a donation. It is an old practice most people now ignore. But since April is National Letter Writing Month, perhaps there’s someone in your life who might like to know you’re thinking of them.
I ran across an old letter from my mother the other day. There was no envelope to tell me who’d written the letter, but the moment I saw the wiggly script and rough grammar, I knew instantly who’d penned the words—or rather who’d penciled them. Mom’s words of congratulations on the birth of my daughter and the regret she felt at her inability to traverse the distance between us to be there to help me at the birth sent me hurtling back 42 years to a time when our main mode of communication was letters. I didn’t realize at the time I’d be writing a post about letters, or I’d have kept the missive from Mom. Instead, I slipped it between the pages of my daughter’s baby book and gave it to her to keep. After all, the letter was about her.
Back in the 70s, when the letter was written, cell phones didn’t exist, at least not for common folk. Long distance land-line phone calls cost by the minute and could get pricey really quick when you wanted to chat up the family and tell them what was happening in your life across the continent. So, we wrote letters. Lots of letters.
I lived for those weekly letters from home, because even though I’d made friends in a faraway state, I still missed my family. Seeing the familiar scrawl of my mother’s handwriting and the precise, loopy script of my mother-in-law’s hand took me back every week to my hometown, to a place that was comforting.
My mother-in-law, who was a talker in person, was no less gabby in her letters to me. Her letters tended to run at least two pages and sometimes four. Every week I knew what she’d had for their Sunday eat-out dinner after church service, and whether it was better or worse that last week’s meal. I knew what her daily activities had been for the week (sometimes she even included the chores she’d finished), whom she’d seen at church (even if it was someone I didn’t personally know), the songs the vocal groups she directed had practiced or sung at a performance. I knew what new or interesting things my sister-in-law, who was still in high school, had done and where she and her boyfriend had gone on their dates. If something was a part of my mother-in-law’s daily life, she wrote about it. When she began to run out of space, being the frugal person she was, she’d write in the margins going around the page so I had to rotate the letter to read the rest of the note.
My mother, who was less of a talker in person, tended to write about her garden, what was going on with the people I knew at church, and my two sisters’ activities. Mom’s letters were shorter but enjoyed just as much as my gabby mother-in-law’s dissertations.
These two women kept me connected to home for the four years my husband and I were away and unable to come home regularly.
Recently I ran across an old family letter that I hadn’t read before. In it my husband’s grandma talks about her daily routine. Here are a couple of clips from the letter, which I believe was one of the last she wrote before her death.
In other parts of the letter, she talks about how many tomatoes her garden yielded compared to my father-in-law’s garden, the weather that morning (it snowed and froze the last of the garden), who was sick in the town, and upcoming Christmas visit to her home.
Although technology like telephones, cell phones, texting, and zoom calls and emails are a nice way to connect with our loved ones in the here and now, they disappear when the call is over or we get a new cell phone, or our email server crashes or says we have no more storage room on the server. All those words and conversations can never be reread or shared in their entirety. We can’t see the hand of the person in the email, only typed letters, or, in the case of text messages, a I 
U in the signature line. Handwriting is unique to each person and often displays some of a personality, something a typed page will never reveal to the reader.
I feel sorry for those who have no written letters from home. Discovering the letter my mother sent me at the birth of my daughter brought back a flood of memories about that time frame as well as a mental picture of my mother. Rereading Grandma’s words took me back to the time when she was alive and reconnected me to her. And rereading the letters from my husband while we were dating and when he was on business in another city floods my heart with emotions.
April is National Letter Writing Month. Let’s all take some time in the coming months and create new memories with the old-fashioned activity of letter writing. Choose a family member or friend who doesn’t live near you and surprise them with a letter from home, filled with newsy bits of information they might like to tuck away for a future re-read.
Tell them you love them. Tell them you miss them. Tell them about the work-a-day stuff of your life and anything you think might entertain them. You might be surprised at the pleasure putting words to paper gives you. And, you might inspire them to answer with their own letter of reply.
Happy Writing!
After you’ve enjoyed writing your letter, settle into a comfy chair and check out our books on our book page, under the menu at the top of the page or on our Amazon Author Page
April 25, 2023
Wednesday Special Spotlight Grass Skirt Optional
When you prepare this easy and delicious crock-pot supper you and your family are sure to enjoy this island dish.
SWEET HAWAIIAN CROCK-POT CHICKEN
2 lbs chicken tenderloin chunks
1 cup pineapple juice
½ cup of brown sugar
⅓ cup of soy sauce
Combine all ingredients together and cook on low in your crock-pot (slow cooker) for 6 hours. That’s it!
Because this does not contain vegetables you need to serve this either with a crisp green salad that contains red bell peppers for color, or with a couple of vegetables such as kale and shallots tossed for a minute in garlic infused olive oil so that the crispness contrasts with the chicken.
Here is a peek at Vonnie’s latest romantic suspense.
Who can you trust if you can’t trust your own mother? Through the clammy fog, Celie Francis hears the chilling message. “I know who you are, Celie. I know where you live.” And in the terrifying aftermath she reconnects with her dysfunctional family in ways she had never imagined.
BLURB:
Abused and abandoned as a child, Célie Francis knows better than to trust anyone. But after she witnesses a murder, she’s placed in the Unit “New Zealand’s witness protection program” where she’s expected to trust strangers with her life.
It’s psychologist Brand Turner’s job to ease witnesses into their new identities, not to protect them, but Célie stirs feelings in him that are far from professional. When it appears someone is leaking critical information that could endanger Célie, Brand will do anything to protect her. But first he has to convince her to trust him.
Adrift in a frightening world, Célie would like to believe the handsome psychologist is everything he seems, but as witnesses are murdered and danger swirls around them, Célie must decide “can she trust Brand with her life?
Please click a vendor’s name to read more from Lethal Refuge The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.
Vonnie Hughes is a multi-published author in both Regency books and contemporary suspense. She loves the intricacies of the social rules of the Regency period and the far-ranging consequences of the Napoleonic Code. And with suspense she has free rein to explore forensic matters and the strong convolutions of the human mind. Like many writers, some days she hates the whole process, but somehow she just cannot let it go.
Vonnie was born in New Zealand, but she and her husband now live happily in Australia. If you visit Hamilton Gardens in New Zealand be sure to stroll through the Japanese Garden. These is a bronze plaque engraved with a haiku describing the peacefulness of that environment. The poem was written by Vonnie.
All of Vonnie’s books are available on The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.
Learn more about Vonnie Hughes on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Goodreads.
April 24, 2023
Tell Again Tuesday Writing Mechanics
ItalicsBy Dave King
I try to not write much here about the mechanics of writing, such as how and when to use italics. I’m most interested in opening writers’ eyes to subtleties of the storytelling craft that they might not have noticed. There aren’t a lot of subtleties involved in how you use italics. It’s all pretty straightforward.
But after last month’s Onconference talk on dialogue, I could see there was still a lot of confusion about how and when to use italics. I think I need to step up.
First – and I can’t stress how important this is . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:
