Robin E. Mason's Blog: Robin's Book Shelf, page 158
September 27, 2017
BLOGWORDS – Wednesday 27 September 2017 – SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
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SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
“We never did play tea parties like other girls. We played detective. Because that’s what Mercedes read, detective stories. And she was our Sherlock Holmes.
As children, our ventures were harmless enough. Until the day Simone fell in the river and disappeared.”
Oh, and there’s this eensy weensy milestone I hit last night…
“I’ve always had voices—er, stories in my head. I once said I should write them all down so someone could write them someday. I had no idea at the time that someone was me!”
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“the battle for identity, one story at a time”
#Blogwords, Special Edition, #RemSepWriMo, Seasons, The Long Shadows of Summer, The Tilting Leaves of Autumn, The Silent Song of Winter, The Whispering Woods of Spring
September 26, 2017
BLOGWORDS – Wednesday 27 September 2017 – WREADING WEDNESDAY – FEATURED BOOK EXCERPT – THE LONG SHADOWS OF SUMMER
WREADING WEDNESDAY – FEATURED BOOK EXCERPT – THE LONG SHADOWS OF SUMMER
#WreadingWednesday is back! But with a change to the format—because I post reviews almost every week and participate in First Line Fridays, #FLF, #WreadingWednedsay is now dedicated to ‘wreading’ bits and excerpts from my books!
“Mon cher.” I hadn’t heard Elle come in the room. “You had us all so worried.”
I laid le bebe in her cradle—Elle did not reach for her—and sat again in the Queen Anne chair.
“I rang for tea.” She seemed… reticent, which was highly out of character.
I tilted my head and puckered my brows. She had something to say, I knew she did. And I waited.
“Violet and her friends came to visit with you yesterday.”
I hung my head. My absence had alarmed everyone—it alarmed me. “Tante…”
She stopped me with her hand, upraised, then patted my knee before tucking her delicate wrinkled fingers under my chin. She lifted my head.
“Je connais.” She caught my gaze with her own sparkling eyes. “I know.”
Did she mean…
“Violet, the dear, didn’t notice your letters.” Her gaze shifted to the other side of the room. There on the table sat the trunk.
I heaved a great sigh of relief as tears of squeezed from my eyes. “Mon Dieu.”
“She bolted from the room, crying out, ‘She’s gone! She’s missing!’” Elle rose and retrieved the chest, set it on the small table between the chairs. “I knew, of course, this was your cherished possession. And while the rest of them were all in arms—near hysteria I might add—I came quietly to your room to hide the chest.”
“You knew what was in it?”
Madame shook her head. “Non, mon chèrie. I did not. But I knew what Monsieur Gouin said to me.”
I leaned forward, spilling my tea, my eyes pleading with her to tell me.
“He told me the Marquis was a sad old man. He had come to his repentance and gave his life to serve the church. But the most sad thing was his children had all abandoned him and his dying wish was to see them again.”
“But he…”
“Oui. He died without ever hearing from them again.” Elle was shaken by the story. “The Marquis, Monsieur Jacques, his last wish was to restore his son—ton pére—to his title.”
Words scattered about my brain like leaves in a storm. The poor man. The wealthy dying poor man.
Except that now he was gone and his wealth belonged to… me.
“You understand what this means?”
I met the question in her eyes. I grasped the concept, oui, but what it meant to my life, to my family—that I could not comprehend.
“You are no longer a servant, Madame.” Tante’s blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. “You are a lady, a Marquise.”
Except that such titles held no meaning in this country—would I have to go to Alés? Leave all I knew and loved here, in Saisons?
“But this is my home…”
“Oh, mon chèrie.” She patted my knee again and took a sip of her tea. “You would not have to leave. It is your money to do as you wish, n’est-ce pas?”
“Oh, Tante, I don’t know… I don’t know how to be a lady. All I’ve ever been is a servant. I run the household, I take care of… of… others. I… I…”
“Absurdité.” She set her tea cup firmly on the table and took my hands in hers. “You are the lady you believe yourself to be. You have seen Vivienne, n’est-ce pas? You have observed her and you know how she carries herself.”
I took in the room, seeing the elegance of it with different eyes. Not as surfaces to be dusted, or linens to be stripped and cleaned, carpets to be beaten—or vacuumed with the new machine.
Now I saw the beauty of it, the carvings of the bedposts, the simple pattern of the wallpaper, the luxury of the green and ivory carpet beneath our feet. I wiggled my toes against the plush fibers and felt the softness, and smiled at the tickle I felt.
“You see, don’t you?” Tante waved her hand across the room. “You see it? The beauty of the room.”
How did she know?
“The design, the care in creating the place for rest, for sleep.” She winked at me. “For intimité.”
My cheeks bloomed with color that Eléanore François Bouvier would say such a thing. That she should think such a thing.
“I am old, mon jeune femme, but I am not so innocent as you might think.” She poured tea, for herself and me, took two biscuits and bit into one. “I have had the lovers, oh oui, Jean Albert when I was a young woman. He was killed and his brother took me as his wife. I loved him, truly, and he was good to me. We had our children together. I was a good wife to him, and a good lover.”
Elle paused to eat her biscuits, delighted at my stunned reaction.
I didn’t like to think of others—anyone, being a lover. I thought of Simone, naturally, and I knew she and Enyeto were… happy lovers. I thought of poor Scarlett, I knew she and Donal were happy, and surely they must be—
I could not think this way. I did not like to think of Tante—Madame—as anyone’s lover. It was too personal, too private.
“Do not be ashamed, jeune femme.” The teacup made a soft clink as she set it on the saucer. “Does not even the Holy Scripture speak of love of a man and wife?”
I had never thought about it. Certainly I had read passages, and heard sermons on fidelity. But never had I thought of Holy Scripture speaking to physical love.
“And do you not think this is a dear room, a place that beckons the intimité?”
Images of Vivi and Henry, exchanging glances, whispering as they passed in the hallway, laughs at the breakfast table. More than once I had witnessed their affection as surely as I had my own parents—and as surely as Mikal and I shared a passing gesture of love.
“You do see it, n’es pas. You see the importance of the beauty, of the cleaning.” She set the cup and saucer on the table. “And you know.” She tapped a bony finger to my head. “You know how to make it so.”
“But to act as a lady?” Surely I had been pampered these past weeks. But in every moment I had known I would return to my station. Even now, I felt the time was near to go back to the cottage. Except that now…. “I’m no lady, Tante. A piece of paper does not make it so.”
“Non, the paper, non. But notre Dieu, He does. He sees you as a lady, indeed as royalty. Did not He make the way for you to belong to Him? If notre Dieu believes you are royalty, who can say otherwise?”
#Blogwords, Wreading Wednesday, Featured Book Except, The Long Shadows of Summer, Seasons, Chapter One, Seasons, The Tilting Leaves of Autumn, The Silent Song of Winter, The Whispering Winds of Spring
BLOGWORDS – Tuesday 26 September 2017 – SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
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SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
“We never did play tea parties like other girls. We played detective. Because that’s what Mercedes read, detective stories. And she was our Sherlock Holmes.
As children, our ventures were harmless enough. Until the day Simone fell in the river and disappeared.”
“I’ve always had voices—er, stories in my head. I once said I should write them all down so someone could write them someday. I had no idea at the time that someone was me!”
https://robinsnest212.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Robin-E-Mason-Author-Artist/224223274404877
http://www.amazon.com/Robin-E.-Mason/e/B00MR5IQ9S
https://twitter.com/amythyst212
http://www.pinterest.com/amythyst212/
https://plus.google.com/u/0/108929134414473292325
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7808042.Robin_E_Mason
“the battle for identity, one story at a time”
#Blogwords, Special Edition, #RemSepWriMo, Seasons, The Long Shadows of Summer, The Tilting Leaves of Autumn, The Silent Song of Winter, The Whispering Woods of Spring
September 25, 2017
BLOGWORDS – Tuesday 26 September 2017 – TUESDAY REVIEWS-DAY – BOOK REVIEW – THE COVERING by DANA PRATOLA
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TUESDAY REVIEWS-DAY – BOOK REVIEW – THE COVERING by DANA PRATOLA
Sometimes faith and life collide. Sometimes life is messy and painful, and faith pushes us from our safety net.
Tessa Silano prayed faithfully, sometimes for people she didn’t know. But Holy Spirit does, and she is obedient to His leading.
Gunnar Mason is living death. He can’t be saved and he knows it. His days are filled with idle busyness and toxic self-loathing.
When Tessa and Gunnar’s paths meet, she is repelled by him and he distances himself from her. And yet, they are drawn to one another. As the spiritual battle mounts, will Gunnar lose his life? Or will her faith—and her love—be sufficient to cover him with Divine protection?
A powerful story skillfully written. Ms. Pratola brings to life the reality of the Christian life. Prayers of faith, and obedience in the face of questions. Love that tugs the heart beyond the bounds of preconceived limits. I know Tessa’s fear and insecurity all too well. And as I read, I silently urged her to trust. I am well acquainted with Gunnar’s self-image also, and begged him to learn to love himself—and let himself be loved. I cried and I read with baited breath, and I may have prayed for fictional characters. (wink wink) I cheered and scolded them, and wept with joy at their victories. Outstanding job by a new-to-me author.
This book was given to me as a gift. I offer my review of my own free will, and the opinions expressed in my review are my own honest thoughts and reaction to this book.
God has blessed me with a wonderful husband and three dynamic children, all of whom are destined to make wide, colorful splashes in this world. We share our New Jersey home with three dogs. I have no hobbies to speak of, unless you include writing. I don’t.
https://www.facebook.com/DanaPratolaAuthor
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https://www.amazon.com/Dana-Pratola/e/B005G40TAQ/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
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“It’s not your mother’s Christian Fiction.”
#Blogwords, Tuesday Reviews-Day, #TRD, Book Review, The Covering, Dana Pratola
BLOGWORDS – Monday 25 September 2017 – SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
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SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
“We never did play tea parties like other girls. We played detective. Because that’s what Mercedes read, detective stories. And she was our Sherlock Holmes.
As children, our ventures were harmless enough. Until the day Simone fell in the river and disappeared.”
Two days of words, two days no words because… Saturday was an event around my house—I had a surprise birthday party for my daughter. Who is 35. And lives across the street. And it was a surprise. And…
I
GOT
HER!
I
GOT
HER!
GOOD!
my beautiful daughter
#TheDeviousQueen REIGNS!!
“I’ve always had voices—er, stories in my head. I once said I should write them all down so someone could write them someday. I had no idea at the time that someone was me!”
https://robinsnest212.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Robin-E-Mason-Author-Artist/224223274404877
http://www.amazon.com/Robin-E.-Mason/e/B00MR5IQ9S
https://twitter.com/amythyst212
http://www.pinterest.com/amythyst212/
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“the battle for identity, one story at a time”
#Blogwords, Special Edition, #RemSepWriMo, Seasons, The Long Shadows of Summer, The Tilting Leaves of Autumn, The Silent Song of Winter, The Whispering Woods of Spring, Birthday Party, SURPRISE PARTY
September 24, 2017
BLOGWORDS – 25 September 2017 – NEW WEEK NEW FACE – GUEST POST – LYNN BLACKBURN
NEW WEEK NEW FACE – GUEST POST – LYNN BLACKBURN
I love writing conferences. Big ones, small ones. Near ones, far ones. I love attending them as a conferee and I love being on faculty.
But as much as I love them, conferences wear me out—usually by mid-afternoon of the first full day, if not earlier. (I once had something very close to a panic attack while in line for registration).
Over the years I’ve come up with a few tips and tricks—some self-care for the conference attending writer—that help me get the most out of each new experience.
Recognize the need for self-care. Taking care of yourself isn’t selfish, arrogant, or anti-social. This is about survival. You’ve spent a lot of money and invested time and energy to attend this event and you owe it to yourself (and everyone who has sacrificed to help you be there) to make the most of it. You can’t do that if you’re walking around in a daze or avoiding conversations.
Prepare for the conference BEFORE you leave home. You’ll feel more confident and less stressed if you’ve spent some time looking at the schedule and familiarizing yourself with the layout of the facility.
Hydrate. Seriously. I mess this up every time. It isn’t until I realize my hands and feet are swelling and I feel parched that I remember how little water I’ve had. Conferences tend to be the kind of places where you consume a lot of caffeinated beverages and sodium laden foods. We underestimate how much we need to stay hydrated to be able to think clearly. Take a bottle of water with you everywhere you go!
Give yourself permission to skip a session. I know you don’t want to miss anything, but just because you signed up for a class doesn’t mean you have to go. Sometimes what you need most is a nap. Or time in a prayer room. You might need to spend catching up with a friend. The conference experience is about more than how many classes you attend so don’t stress about it.
Don’t fight your wiring, but don’t let it keep you from getting the most out of the conference. If you’re an extrovert and you loving being around so many like-minded writers, enjoy all the socializing. Just don’t forget to cement the things you’re learning in your mind. For some extroverts that might mean talking about what you just learned in a class with a fellow conferee. Or you could make a voice recording on your phone so you can get those thoughts out of your head so you won’t forget them. If you’re an introvert, take a break when you need to. Just don’t hide in your room so long that you fail to take advantage of the networking opportunities that exist between and after sessions.
Get your rest. My conference motto tends to be “I’ll sleep when I get home” and I still do that if the conference is short in duration. But I have learned the hard way that if I’m attending a conference that’s longer than two nights, I need to be sure I get at least one early bedtime or skip breakfast so I can sleep in—or both. This may not apply to you if you’re under 40.
September 21, 2017
BLOGWORDS – Thursday 21September 2017 – SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
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SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
“We never did play tea parties like other girls. We played detective. Because that’s what Mercedes read, detective stories. And she was our Sherlock Holmes.
As children, our ventures were harmless enough. Until the day Simone fell in the river and disappeared.”
[image error]gotta cut out the distractions! and no, i don’t mean facebook only!
“I’ve always had voices—er, stories in my head. I once said I should write them all down so someone could write them someday. I had no idea at the time that someone was me!”
https://robinsnest212.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Robin-E-Mason-Author-Artist/224223274404877
http://www.amazon.com/Robin-E.-Mason/e/B00MR5IQ9S
https://twitter.com/amythyst212
http://www.pinterest.com/amythyst212/
https://plus.google.com/u/0/108929134414473292325
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7808042.Robin_E_Mason
“the battle for identity, one story at a time”
#Blogwords, Special Edition, #RemSepWriMo, Seasons, The Long Shadows of Summer, The Tilting Leaves of Autumn, The Silent Song of Winter, The Whispering Woods of Spring
September 20, 2017
BLOGWORDS – Wednesday 20 September 2017 – SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
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SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
“We never did play tea parties like other girls. We played detective. Because that’s what Mercedes read, detective stories. And she was our Sherlock Holmes.
As children, our ventures were harmless enough. Until the day Simone fell in the river and disappeared.”
WOULD YA LOOK AT THAT!! OVER 5K AGAIN!! I’m on the home stretch now, just another 15 – 20K til I type those two magic words: THE END!!!
“I’ve always had voices—er, stories in my head. I once said I should write them all down so someone could write them someday. I had no idea at the time that someone was me!”
https://robinsnest212.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Robin-E-Mason-Author-Artist/224223274404877
http://www.amazon.com/Robin-E.-Mason/e/B00MR5IQ9S
https://twitter.com/amythyst212
http://www.pinterest.com/amythyst212/
https://plus.google.com/u/0/108929134414473292325
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7808042.Robin_E_Mason
“the battle for identity, one story at a time”
#Blogwords, Special Edition, #RemSepWriMo, Seasons, The Long Shadows of Summer, The Tilting Leaves of Autumn, The Silent Song of Winter, The Whispering Woods of Spring
September 19, 2017
BLOGWORDS – Wednesday 20 September 2017 – REM GUEST POST at READING IS MY SUPERPOWER – THE FICTIONAL TOWN of SAISONS
REM GUEST POST at READING IS MY SUPERPOWER ( http://readingismysuperpower.org/ ) THE FICTIONAL TOWN of SAISONS
Stories come to me in different ways. Sometimes I “get” the gist of the story, sometimes I get character names. Sometimes I get the title first.
When Seasons came to me, the first thing I got was the names, and then the story titles. I therefore knew the series would then be Seasons. And I eventually got to the setting. I first thought it was current day, set somewhere north of here, somewhere that seasons are markedly different. Somewhere they get snow.
But as the story started speaking to me, I knew that a) it was not current day, but set in 1912 and 1913—very concise timeframe compared to my first series—and b) it was set in South Carolina.
“The southern town of Saisons lies at the crossroads between North and South, progressive and genteel antebellum life. Between East and West, between history and heritage, and new frontiers. Downton Abbey meets Gone With the Wind.
It’s 1912, in a world where slavery is dying and women’s rights are rising, and four young women who once shared a bond—and experienced a tragedy—question their own truths.”
When I get into the flow of a new story, I first see a vision of what the town is like. Then I go to Google maps to find a town to, er, borrow. And Lake City seemed just perfect. So I printed me a nice little map of Lake City…
… zoomed in…
… and promptly drew all over it.
Looks kinda like a spider web, doesn’t it?
Saisons is a crossroads town, with a statue of René Armand Dubois (1572) and a fountain in a quintessential town square in the center. A quarter of the town—and at least that much of its wealth—is owned by the Dubois family. Two other families, the Fontaines and the Marchands, also were part of the founding fathers of my little town. Ashley Santee, the Marchand estate is to the north, and Bastille House and Vineyards belongs to the Fontaine family.
I drew up a list of common places and businesses in a town and named them. The little red numbers on the map is the key to where each business is. They may never show up in the story, but in my mind, I know what’s there when Mercedes or Scarlett walk down Weatherbie Road or Tarleton Street.
The logistics, though, of Lake City didn’t fit some of the directional details and I moved the town a bit further south. It now sits on the Edisto River a little south of where Branchville is.
But what I had the most fun with—my interior interior designer voice—was designing the houses! I drew a floor plan for Saisons House (and later for Alés House, Mercedes’ townhome) so as I described clandestine meetings in the study—or in the secret room—tea in the parlor or dances in the ball room, I could see it all.
This is a fairly close representation of how I see Saisons House. (In the real world it is Magnolia Plantation in Charleston, SC.) Can you imagine how oppressive the heat would be in that tower in the summer?
Saisons house is designed as above, and functions as Downton Abbey. The Dubois family were not so strict with the rigors of protocol, but servants were expected to use the belowstairs entrances.
Inside the formal entry was a sweeping curved stair.
And that door there? The one that’s just cut off? That leads to Monsieur Dubois’ study—where the entrance to the secret room is oh-so-cleverly disguised!
There are, of course, also the parlor and music room
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The dining room.
And the ballroom.
There was also a small chapel and loggia.
The grounds were a botanical feast, with angel oaks and magnolia trees.
There are cottages that were former slave shacks, and the barn and stables. The paddock, and of course, the fields of sugar cane and tea, the signature Saisons Plantation crops.
I hope you visit Saisons soon, and get to know Mercedes and her friends. The Long Shadows of Summer released just last month. Of all my main characters, Scarlett’s story most closely correlates to my own though not a true parallel. The Tilting Leaves of Autumn is her story and releases in November. Pearl has just gone MIA and The Silent Song of Winter will tell you why when it releases in February of next year. And finally, Simone, in a way the main character of the series, answers the last of the clues and questions in The Whispering Winds of Spring, in May of 2018.
https://robinsnest212.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Robin-E-Mason-Author-Artist/224223274404877
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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7808042.Robin_E_Mason
#BLOGWORDS, Guest Post, Reading is My Superpower, Carrie Schmidt, The Fictional Town of Saisons, Plantation, French Heritage, Downton Abbey, Gone With the Wind
BLOGWORDS – Tuesday 19 September 2017 – SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
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SPECIAL EDITION – REMSEPWRIMO
“We never did play tea parties like other girls. We played detective. Because that’s what Mercedes read, detective stories. And she was our Sherlock Holmes.
As children, our ventures were harmless enough. Until the day Simone fell in the river and disappeared.”
“I’ve always had voices—er, stories in my head. I once said I should write them all down so someone could write them someday. I had no idea at the time that someone was me!”
https://robinsnest212.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Robin-E-Mason-Author-Artist/224223274404877
http://www.amazon.com/Robin-E.-Mason/e/B00MR5IQ9S
https://twitter.com/amythyst212
http://www.pinterest.com/amythyst212/
https://plus.google.com/u/0/108929134414473292325
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7808042.Robin_E_Mason
“the battle for identity, one story at a time”
#Blogwords, Special Edition, #RemSepWriMo, Seasons, The Long Shadows of Summer, The Tilting Leaves of Autumn, The Silent Song of Winter, The Whispering Woods of Spring
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