C.D. Hersh's Blog, page 41
March 28, 2023
Wednesday Special Spotlight The First Timekeepers
Here’s an eerie treat for my readers, straight out of the pages of Legend of the Timekeepers guaranteed to chill you to the bone: “W-Where are we?” She-Aba asked, crawling out of the plant.“I-I’m not sure,” Lilith replied. Her nose flared. It smelled fresh, almost pure to her.“Well, we’re not in the desert anymore,” Tau said, wiggling and huffing. “Could you two get me down?”She-Aba smirked. “What’s the magic word?”Tau stopped squirming between the branches. “Huh? Magic word? How would I know, I’m not a magus!”“You’re not very bright, either,” She-Aba replied. “What word would you use if you want something?”Tau snorted. “Now!”Lilith rolled her eyes. She passed the record keeper to She-Aba, then stuck her foot into the closest, deepest crevice in the tree. She pulled herself up, found another crevice, and pulled herself up again. She looked down at She-Aba. “Go cut a vine for Tau to use to climb down.”“What’s a vine?” She-Aba asked, frowning.Lilith sighed. “Over there, hanging from that tree. It looks like a rope. Haven’t you ever seen one?”“No. I live in the desert. In fact, I find it quite warm and damp here. Not the best place for my hair.”“There is no place for your hair, fire-head,” Tau said, indignantly.She-Aba grunted. She opened her satchel, slid the record keeper in, and pulled out the metal clipper she used to cut and style hair. Lilith hid an emerging smile as she observed her friend. Walking proved to be anything but easy for She-Aba, as the forest floor appeared to want to swallow her shoes. Reaching for a long, strong vine that crept around the base of a tree, as if it were a snake,She-Aba sliced through it with ease, untangled it, and hobbled back to Lilith and Tau.A rancorous scream permeated through the forest. She-Aba froze in her tracks, the vine she cut hanging lifeless in her hand. “W-What was that?”Lilith’s whole body prickled. No, it can’t be, can it? That would be impossible.She turned to scan the area. Tau wouldn’t quit wiggling. She reached for his arm and squeezed. “Stop that, I’m trying to—” Another scream, this time closer, rolled out through the leaves. “Oh, Poseidon, it is,” Lilith said, feeling her heart start to race. “Quick, She-Aba, throw up the vine and go hide! Now!”“What’s going on, Lilith?” Tau asked. “Why do you sound so frightened?” Lilith looked around again. “Because a wyvern is hunting us.”“A…what?” She-Aba asked.“A wyvern. It looks like a huge snake with wings, feet like a hawk’s, and a tail like a white crawler.”She-Aba huffed. “Excuse, me, Miss Bossy, but I think I proved that I can handle a snake just fine.”“For once would you just do as you’re told, fire-head,” Tau said. “Throw up the vine!”“You mean this vine, Tau?” She-Aba swung it in her hand.“She-Aba, you don’t understand, wyverns aren’t like cobras,” Lilith explained. “You’ve never seen one before, so you have no idea what they’re capable of.”“So enlighten me, then. How do you know so much about these snake-like creatures?”Lilith scanned the area one more time, before she said, “They’re native to only one place on earth.”“And where’s that?” Tau asked, grunting, as he gripped the tree branch.Lilith licked her dry lips, and said, “Atlantis.”Ready for a trip to Atlantis?
There is no moving forward without first going back.
Lilith was a young girl with dreams and a family before the final destruction of Atlantis shattered those dreams and tore her family apart. Now refugees, Lilith and her father make their home in the Black Land. This strange, new country has no place in Lilith’s heart until a beloved high priestess introduces Lilith to her life purpose—to be a Timekeeper and keep time safe.
Summoned through the seventh arch of Atlantis by the Children of the Law of One, Lilith and her newfound friends are sent into Atlantis’s past, and given a task that will ultimately test their courage and try their faith in each other. Can the Timekeepers stop the dark magus Belial before he changes the seers’ prophecy? If they fail, then their future and the earth’s fate will be altered forever.
Legend of the Timekeepers, prequel Buy Links:
MIRROR WORLD PUBLISHING ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀
If you haven’t already read Sharon Ledwith’s novel, The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis, here’s the blurb…
When 13-year-old Amanda Sault and her annoying classmates are caught in a food fight at school, they’re given a choice: suspension or yard duty. The decision is a no-brainer. Their two-week crash course in landscaping leads to the discovery of a weathered stone arch in the overgrown back yard. The arch isn’t a forgotten lawn ornament but an ancient time portal from the lost continent of Atlantis.
Chosen by an Atlantean Magus to be Timekeepers–legendary time travelers sworn to keep history safe from the evil Belial–Amanda and her classmates are sent on an adventure of a lifetime. Can they find the young Robin Hood and his merry band of teens? If they don’t, then history itself may be turned upside down.
The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis, Book #1 Buy Links:
MIRROR WORLD PUBLISHING ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀
Check out The Last Timekeepers series Facebook Page.
Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/YA time travel series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, available through Musa Publishing, and is represented by Walden House (Books & Stuff) for her teen psychic series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, yoga, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.
Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.
March 27, 2023
Tell Again Tuesday Publishing Trouble
Hi, WU, it’s me again. Sick of me yet? Hope not. Because… [Cue the programing interruption screen, and old-timey announcer voice] The following is a writerly public service announcement.
Or maybe it’s more like a report from the publishing trenches. No need to panic; there’s nothing here that amounts to an emergency, in the greater scheme. But my recent experience with my debut has taught me that Murphy’s Law holds sway over publishing. In case it’s slipped your mind, Murphy’s Law states that anything that can go wrong will go wrong. And in the complex process of publishing a book, there are . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:March 23, 2023
Friday Feature Share about yourself
When I was a high school teacher, I learned many young ladies were uncomfortable talking about their accomplishments. Part of my job was to encourage my students to think about the future. When it came to resume writing, I’d say, “What are you good at? What have you accomplished that you’re proud of?”
Often, I’d be met with blank stares, which was understandable because they were just kids. Still, I’d press on. “When you choose a career, it’s important to think about what you like to do, what you’re good at, and what someone will pay you to do.”
When the conversation stalled, I pointed out some of my own accomplishments. “When I was your age, I discovered I had a good speaking and singing voice, so I performed in a lot of plays. And I really enjoyed sports. I was an ice dancer and I loved swimming and skiing and watching ice hockey. Eventually, these things put me on a path to becoming a TV sportscaster.”
“Your bragging, Ms. Montgomery,” some child would blurt out. Others around the room—mostly girls—would nod their heads.
“So, you don’t think it’s right to talk about your accomplishments?”
“No!” a chorus of them would answer.
In the business world, the inability to discuss our successes is holding women back.
Then, I’d point at a boy who played sports. “How’d your game go? Which would lead the young man on a tangent about how well he’d preformed on the gridiron. Strangely, when I’d ask female athletes the same question, the response was rarely positive. “I could have done better,” one would say. “I missed an important free throw,” another might add.
Bragging, it turns out, is a habitat peopled mostly by males. A young man can walk into a job interview and wax on about his accomplishments, while women of all age groups seem to feel they must be demure, that identifying their skills and successes is unladylike and casts them in a bad light.
A perfect example is the way many women handle compliments. When someone says something nice about our appearance or a job well done, lots of us stare at the floor, or point out something we did wrong, or give credit to someone else in order to counter the accolade. And this is a problem.
Just smile and say “Thank you!” when you receive a compliment.
I think denying our successes holds us back, especially in the business world where self-confidence and life experience say a lot about who we are and what we might be capable of in the future. Take participating in sports, for example. Business owners are delighted to hire those who’ve been on teams. They know athletes understand punctuality, working with others toward a common goal, following rules, and getting back up when you’ve been knocked down. (Note here that championships and won-loss records are not relevant. Just participating is all that’s important.) And let’s not forget those other “team players”: young people who’ve participated in choir, marching band, theater, debate, and other activities that are equally favored by many human resources departments. But those doing the hiring will not know about a person’s past if the applicant is unwilling to share the information, so it’s important that people speak up. That’s not bragging. It’s smart!
Today, I don’t hesitate to share stories about my past and the things I’ve experienced and exceeded at. And I’ve learned to accept compliments with a smile and hearty, “Thank you!” It was a bit uncomfortable at first, but now it feels great.
Don’t believe me, ladies? Just give it a try.
Please allow me to offer you a glimpse at my latest women’s fiction novel for you 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.
AMAZON BUY LINK
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.
March 21, 2023
Wednesday Special Spotlight Muffins & books
It’s my pleasure to share a muffin recipe that will become a breakfast favorite with your family. Use room temperature ingredients for best results as they blend into the batter easily and produce amazing muffins and makes your life easier!
If you prefer not to use butter, then an equal amount of vegetable oil or applesauce works. You can also swap out sour cream for plain unsweetened Greek yogurt. Fresh strawberries are perfect in this recipe, but frozen berries can also be used. Thaw and drain the strawberries before adding them to the muffin mix. If your frozen strawberries are whole, dice them first.
Strawberry Sour Cream Muffins
2 cups flour
2 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
2 ¼ cups fresh strawberries
1 cup sugar
1 stick unsalted butter
2 lg. eggs
1 tbsp. vanilla extract¾ cup sour cream
Preheat oven to 375° F.
Wash berries and remove stems. Dice the strawberries into bitesize pieces.
Insert paper liners into a muffin pan or mist the pan with baking spray.
Combine flour through salt in a medium size bowl. Fold in strawberries and set it aside.
In a different bowl, cream butter and sugar together using a hand or stand mixer. Once the mixture is light and fluffy, beat in eggs, vanilla, and sour cream.
Thoroughly fold in the flour mixture to create a batter.
Spoon the batter into the muffin cups to the top.
Bake muffins 20 – 25 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a muffin comes out clean.
Cool for 5 minutes in the baking pan. Then remove them to a wire rack to finish cooling completely.
Store your strawberry muffins in an airtight container. They will stay fresh at room temperature for 3 days and can also be stored in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.
Here is a little from my romantic suspense set in New Zealand where a young woman who witnesses the aftermath of a crime is sent to a supposedly safe house.
Inching along the wall, Célie reached the window. She held on to the door jamb, a little island of security in a sea of fear. Then she stretched across and peered out. A featureless face stared back at her.
She screamed and jumped back, bashing her elbow on the laundry tub.
Peaches lumbered to his feet, shaky and confused.
The face was still there. No eyes. No mouth. No nose.
Peaches staggered over to the door and snuffled.
Mesmerized, Célie kept staring at that distorted face as she backed into a corner.
Then the face moved, and a hand spread across the glass. The forefinger and thumb rubbed together.
Flashes of memory seared her mind.
She gasped, remembering that fearful morning when she’d discovered poor Occy’s disembowelled body. Stunned, struggling not to vomit, she’d been hovering over what was left of Occy when she sensed she was being watched. For a few precious seconds she had stared back at the creepy figure silhouetted in the early morning gloom watching her—just watching her.
Then he’d rubbed his thumb and forefinger together covetously, as if he were contemplating the best way to eat her alive.
And she’d bolted.
And done her best to bury those memories.
Whoever that monster had been, he was outside the window right now.
AMAZON BUY LINK
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 at The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.
Learn more about Vonnie Hughes on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Goodreads.
March 20, 2023
Tell Again Tuesday Character Background
Grace Hitchcock & First DatesBy Karen Witemeyer
Karen here. I’m excited to introduce you to Grace Hitchcock. Graces writes super fun historical romances, and her latest features a Phantom of the Opera twist!
Take it away, Grace!
Crafting a Great First Date for Your Hero and HeroineEarly in my writing career, before my first story was published, I read a blog post about how . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:March 16, 2023
Friday Feature St. Patrick’s Day History and Meal
If you have been looking at the calendar this week you already know that March 17 is St. Patrick’s Day. Sometimes called St. Paddy’s Day, a day when everyone adopts some form of Irish spirit.
If you actually have, some Irish background in your heritage, lucky you! For those who don’t, we plan on sharing a few things we’ve learned about the day which started out as a religious feast day and has become a day celebrated around the world. Often with large amounts of green beer and whisky shooters.
St. Patrick’s Day observes of the death of St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland and its national apostle. The holiday has evolved into a celebration of Irish culture with parades, special foods, music, dancing, drinking and a whole lot of green.
Saint Patrick lived during the fifth century. Born in Roman Britain he was captured by slave traders at the age of 16 and brought to Ireland to be a shepherd. Six years later he escaped. While imprisoned, though, he had become a devout Christian. Claiming to have had visions from God, telling him to go back to Ireland and spread the gospel, he spent the next twenty years preaching and teaching in Ireland. By establishing schools, churches and monasteries throughout the country he is credited with bringing Christianity to the Irish people.
Following Patrick’s death (believed to have been on March 17, 461), the mythology surrounding his life became entrenched in Irish culture. For example, he drove the snakes out of Ireland and used the shamrock to explain the Trinity.
His explanation of the Holy Trinity (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) using the three leaves of a native Irish clover, the shamrock 
is probably the most well known within Christianity. The literal translation of shamrock is “seamrog” and means “summer plant.” The plant grows lush in Irish fields during the spring and summer.
To many nothing says St. Patrick’s Day like a delicious feast of corned beef and cabbage. The following is a traditional St. Patrick’s Day meal, from a dear friend and cookbook author Sloane Taylor, that most North Americans will enjoy.
Corned Beef
1 5lb. corned beef brisket*
2 med. onions, peeled and quartered
4 peppercorns
1 bay leaf
3 bottles of beer, not Lite
water to cover
Preheat oven to 300 F°.
Place beef in a Dutch oven. Add remaining ingredients, including spice packet that comes with the beef.
Bring to a boil on stovetop. Place in oven and roast for 3 hours or until meat is fork tender.
*Don’t stint on the beef. It cooks down to approximately half. I learned this lesson the hard way.
Here’s a tip from my butcher Raoul. Always buy corned beef flat cut. It has less fat than the point. Therefore you get more meat for your money.
Vegetables6 med. red potatoes, peeled and quartered
6 carrots, scraped and cut into 2″ pieces
1 celery stalk, cut into 2″ pieces
1 med. green cabbage, cut into 8 wedges
1 cup corned beef cooking liquid
water
You can prep all the veggies and store in a large container covered by cold water until you’re ready to cook them. Refrigerate so vegetables remain crisp.
Place veggies in a large pot. Stir in corned beef cooking liquid. Add water to cover vegetables by 2 inches. Cover pot. Set cooking temp at medium. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat so the pot doesn’t cook over, but maintain a soft boil. Cook about 30 minutes or until veggies are fork tender.
{For more recipes from Sloane Taylor visit her website .}After you’ve enjoyed your green beer and corned beef, 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
March 14, 2023
Wednesday Special Spotlight Vinegret Salad
Here is a healthy and vibrant salad that is a traditional recipe for New Year’s celebration we made every year in Armenia when I was a girl. Now we like to eat it any time throughout the year, especially the next day after all the flavors have been absorbed. This classic festive ruby-colored salad is a favorite with my family. I hope yours likes it too.
Mom’s Vinegret Salad
3 medium beets
2 medium potatoes, peeled
2 medium carrots, scraped, or several snack-size carrots
½ lg. onion
1 cup sauerkraut, drained
2-3 pickled cucumbers
1 tbsp. wine vinegar
3 tbsp. sunflower oil, you can use light olive oil
1 tbsp. fresh dill, chopped
salt/ pepper to taste
Boil the vegetables and let them cool completely.
Dice all veggies evenly.
In a large bowl, combine all the ingredients. Add dill, salt, and pepper. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
Enjoy!
Here is a peek at one of Stella’s time travel romance novels for your reading pleasure.
One key unlocks the love of a lifetime…but could also break her heart.
Nika Morris’s sixth sense has helped build a successful business, lovingly restoring and reselling historic homes on Florida’s Amelia Island. But there’s one forlorn, neglected relic that’s pulled at her from the moment she saw it. The century-old Coleman house.
Quite unexpectedly, the house is handed to her on a silver platter—along with a mysterious letter, postmarked 1909, yet addressed personally to Nika. Its cryptic message: Find the key. You know where it is. Hurry, for goodness’ sake!
The message triggers an irresistible drive to find that key. When she does, one twist in an old grandfather clock throws her back in time, straight into the arms of deliciously, devilishly handsome Elijah Coleman.
Swept up in a journey of a lifetime, Nika finds herself falling in love with Eli—and with the family and friends that inhabit a time not even her vivid imagination could have conjured. But in one desperate moment of homesickness, she makes a decision that will not only alter the course of more than one life but break her heart.
’Til Time Do Us Part is available in Kindle and Paperback at AMAZON.
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 25 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.
March 13, 2023
Tell Again Tuesday When do your characters eat?
Food in FictionBy Sophie Masson
In life, people’s days are punctuated by meals. Food is an important part of our lives: of course, we need it for survival, but it’s much more than that. It’s pleasure, it’s penance, it’s anxiety, it’s joy—depending on our relationship with it. Eating together or alone, eating at home or out in restaurants and cafes, eating on the go or around the family table: it’s all part of the fabric of human life, all over the globe.
And in fiction? Well, it always used to puzzle me, as a kid, when people in books never stopped to eat or drink or you never got to hear what was for lunch, if it was mentioned. For me . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:March 9, 2023
Friday Feature Love
While rummaging through some file cabinets the other day I came across a worn notebook containing my first novel, written when I was in high school. As one might suspect, it is a romance—an angst-ridden story about a young girl who falls in love, marries, and lives happily ever after with the movie star teen idol she adores. Compared to my books today this is a poorly written book, but, hey, I was a teenager. It’s so bad, in fact, I won’t let anyone read it.
As I looked through that book I began thinking about the other stories I had written in my youth and the subjects I had chosen for school papers. The ones that stood out in my memory were the romance novel, which I kept; a short story called Bloody Buttons, about a witch; an outer space story featuring aliens; and a school paper on an Aztec myth about a magical feather.
Notice a theme here? Romance, supernatural elements, magic, and fantasy—the backbone of paranormal romances which my husband and I write. Wondering if my discovery about my basic writing affinities held true for my husband, too, I questioned him about his teenage manuscripts. His reply was as a teen he was too busy with sports to write, but he did have some old school papers, mostly about running and sports.
Since he hadn’t written much as a teen I asked, “So what did you read when you were younger?”
He pointed at the bookshelves on his wall displaying his childhood reading collections of Tom Swift (science fiction/fantasy), The Hardy Boy mystery series and Sherlock Holmes. Not exactly in the paranormal realm but science fiction could be considered in the ball park, and there’s usually a mystery of some sort to be unraveled in our books. A quick scan of his bookshelves revealed another set of fantasy/alternate-world series, written more for men, but definitely in the paranormal genre. If I could see his current e-library I know it would show scads of romance and paranormal romance. The books he has penned as an adult include a Sherlock Holmes story and a time travel adventure—both still within the realm of his early reading interests.
I found it remarkable that over the years our taste in home furnishings has changed. We started out Colonial and Country and ended up Southwest. My taste in jewelry went from gold to silver and turquoise. We used to window shop in the malls, and buy at Goodwill. Now we go antiquing. Rock and Roll gave way to Country music. Jeeps and sports cars moved over for more luxurious vehicles, although Donald is still longing for a Corvette. Apartments gave way to houses, and patios lined with flowerpots grew into a huge garden.
We have continually evolved in almost every aspect of our lives, sometimes even making 180 degree turns. But one thing hasn’t changed. We still love books, and we still love the genres we cut our reading and writing teeth on. Romance, fantasy, paranormal, and science fiction claim a big part of the bookshelves in our home, both paper and ebooks.
I guess what they say is true—write what you know … and what you love.
What’s the earliest book you remember writing and reading? Are you still writing and reading in that genre? Let us know in the comments.
After you check your library for your childhood books, 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
March 7, 2023
Wednesday Special Spotlight Annie Oakley in My Soul
shares her background and her inspiration.
When the venue is appropriate to do so, I often open my author and artist biographies with the following: “As a child on the farm of my maternal grandparents in Southern Ohio, and while carted around on the shoulders of my teenage uncles, or on the broad tall backs of our horses, my view of life began atop those high places. From those lofty vantage points, the fairytale landscape and the storybook yarns spun by the hill people there impressed my mind’s eye and ear so indelibly that they emerged over the years as images in my artwork, and as the bedrocks of my last three books.”
Looking up to it from the main highway far below, the farmhouse, shielded in white clapboards and silver metal roof, seemed to float high on dewy air, harbored in make-believe. Arrive down its long and winding lane, and sit on its creaky front porch swing, only then did you see the source of its magic, for it hovered on the southern rim of the star-wound crater in which the world-famous Great Serpent Mound lies, a mythical place, whose stories reach back millennia, and can never be known by mortal beings. A place like that weaves into a person’s soul and doesn’t let go. It becomes the soul’s very fabric, textured by its plant life, its animals, and its people. Near and not quite so near, fabled persons populated comparable, as well as varied, Ohio backdrops, individuals such as inventors Thomas Edison and Orville and Wilbur Wright; astronauts Neil Armstrong and John Glenn; actors Roy Rogers, Clark Gable, Doris Day, Dean Martin, Paul Newman; singers Nancy Wilson and John Legend to name a few—and oh yes, more presidents of the United States than from any other state in the union—and lest I forget, sharp- and exhibition-shooter Annie Oakley.
In addition to our both being Ohio-girls, Annie and I were born on the same day of the same month, although she preceded me by well over three quarters of a century. Farm-life shaped both of us, me to a far less degree than it did Annie, because my everyday tenure on the farm was interrupted in my toddlerhood when my parents and I moved to Columbus. Thereafter, weekends and summer vacations found me back on the farm, decidedly citified and a bit awkward in my former sanctuary.
Annie’s was a back-and-forth girlhood, too, but as dissimilar to mine as it could be. The sixth-born of her parent’s nine children, she and her family were thrust into deep poverty upon her father’s death when she was six years old. By the age of seven, Annie was trapping, and by eight, shooting and hunting, and bringing food to the table of her siblings and widowed mother. She was a budding entrepreneur even at that young age, for she sold her excess kills to nearby locals and shopkeepers, one of whom shipped it to hotel kitchens in Cincinnati and other cities. Not to be outdone, she undertook to sell her game personally to regional restaurants and hotels. Her “sharpshooter” days had begun.
Having been too impoverished even to attend school, three years after the death of her father, Annie was admitted to the care of the superintendent and his wife of the Darke County Infirmary, where she learned to sew and decorate. At a later date, she was “bound out” to a local family to care for their infant son, a position whose promise of fifty cents per week in wages and an education never materialized. Her two-years of near slavery to them comprised cruel physical and mental abuse. At age 12, she ran away, found herself a much more benign situation, and by age 15 was back living with her mother again. Despite having married for a third time, apparently her mother was never able to outgrow her dependency on Annie, an obligation Annie shouldered willingly. By the age of 15, Annie was able to pay off the mortgage on her mother’s house with the money she earned by way of her unparalleled skill at shooting guns. By then she had won shooting contests and met traveling show marksman Frank E. Butler, the man who became her husband, partner, manager, and mentor for the rest of her life.
Remaining childless, together Annie and Frank, accompanied by their adopted dog, became headliners. Five-foot-tall and comely, Annie as America’s first female star, appeared in such venues as “Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show,” and in Europe at the “Paris Exposition of 1889.” She was received in the United Kingdom by Queen Victoria and crowned heads of state in Italy and France. Supposedly, upon his request, she shot the ash off a cigarette held in the mouth of Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm II, a feat she regularly performed with her husband in their shows.
Ill health as a result of a train accident, and then again, a car accident in later years, Annie slowed the pace and the face of her career, appearing on stage in shows written for her. Legal battles against libelous lies about her took up much of her time and energy as time passed, but she continued to perform and to set shooting records well into her sixties, nearly to the very date of her death on November 3, 1926. By then Frank and Annie had been together for just over 50 years. So grieved by her death was he that Frank stopped eating and died 18 days later. It was discovered that throughout her life, Annie had donated all her fortune to her family and various charities.
“Aim at the high mark and you will hit it. No, not the first time, not the second time and maybe not the third. But keep on aiming and keep on shooting for only practice will make you perfect. Finally, you’ll hit the bull’s-eye of success.” Annie Oakley, scribed at the exhibit at the “National Cowgirl Hall of Fame in Fort Worth, Texas.”
From the porch swing of our family’s farmhouse, I often saluted Annie Oakley. It was as if her spirit hung high in the air above our Appalachian hills that formed the backdrop of our enormous Serpent Mound Crater, a spirit urging me on, willing me, a fellow Ohioan, to never give up.
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.
