Showing posts with label Tessa Gray. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tessa Gray. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

WHO LIKES ANTHOLOGIES?

Caroline Clemmons for Tessa Gray

As it says above, Caroline Clemmons here for Tessa Gray, who is overwhelmed with her day job teaching college plus the published author part of our Yellow Rose RWA chapter’s Winter Rose Contest. DeLaine Roberts is heading the unpublished portion of the contest. Those two ladies are busy, busy, busy right now.

I snapped up the chance to step in for Tessa. I have wanted to ask your opinion of anthologies. Me? I love them. The reasons I enjoy anthologies are:

1.      I can read an entire selection while waiting at an appointment or before I go to bed—even during commercials if I’m watching TV with my Hero husband.

2.       I’ve often discovered new authors whose books I then bought and enjoyed.

3.       The stories are overview visits to places and times so I know if I want a longer visit.

I have just finished reading HEARTS AND SPURS, a Valentine anthology by Prairie Rose Publishing. What a treat that was! Each story was a winner. I had read the Prairie Rose release WISHING FOR A COWBOY at Christmas and loved it. As soon as HEARTS AND SPURS released, I purchased it and started reading.

Crafting a short story for an anthology is a gift. I so admire those who do it so well, such as the women in HEARTS AND SPURS. Kathleen Rice Adams, Linda Broday, Tracy Garrett, Tanya Hansen, Sarah J. Macneal, Phyliss Miranda, Cheryl Pierson, Jacquie Rogers, and Livia J. Washburn are the nine authors whose stories are included. Each story is a gift to the reader—a mini-getaway to another time and place. I didn’t find a new author to read in HEARTS AND SPURS because most of these are already among my favorite authors. Cheryl and Livia are the publishers of Prairie Rose.

Talk about the earlier WISHING FOR A COWBOY prompted several of us western romance authors to create our own anthology. This one will be of sixteen very short stories and be titled RAWHIDE ‘N ROSES and be out in March. Proceeds will be donated to a charity for wild horse rescue. After all, we are western writers. What’s more western than horses?

One might think that writing for an anthology is less complicated than creating an entire book. It should be. For me, creating a short story for RAWHIDE ‘N ROSES was a challenge. Visualize me agonizing and beating my head against the keyboard. Sigh.

Writing short is difficult for me because I want to add in too many details and secondary characters. No time for that with a short story and only a little time in a novella. Participants in this anthology had to keep our stories short due to the number of authors. Was this ever a learning experience for me!

The sixteen authors are Simone Beaudelaire, Alison Bruce, Caroline Clemmons (me), Cheri K. Clifton, Keta Diablo, Peggy L. Henderson, Lyn Horner, Susan Horsnell, Paty Jager, Charlene Raddon, Jacquie Rogers, Carol A. Spradling , Chad Strong, Margaret Tanner, Rain Trueax, and Celia Yeary.

Susan Horsnell is editor and formatter. She is so professional and organized, one would think she engaged in editing and formatting full time as a paying job. Alas, she is donating her time. Charlene Raddon created the cover—imagine trying to please sixteen artistic people! Good thing she didn’t have us all in one room or she’d probably have lassoed us and tied us to the furniture. Instead, she showed patience and flexibility.  The group is even planning another anthology in the summer.

Many groups publish an anthology each year. Hero and I often buy collections from Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America as well as other groups that tout “the best of” whatever year for that type story. In these anthologies, I have discovered some of my now-favorite mystery authors. I’m pleased that now romance authors are publishing anthologies, too.  More reading for me.


Do you like anthologies? If so, what do you like about them?   

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Trick or Treat . . . All Hallows' Evening!

Trick or Treat . . . All Hallows’ Evening
by Tessa Gray


            I’m always fascinated by the lengths people go to when it comes to decorating their homes for Halloween. I must confess I’m a bit of a “Halloween Scrooge” about celebrating the event. My view is that Halloween is nothing more than a preamble to Thanksgiving, and we need to get it over with as quickly as possible. The decoration on this post is one my daughter, Megan, made us over twenty years ago. When you drop by our home for a visit, it’s the only sign of Halloween you’ll see.
            If you’re a fan of Halloween, you have the Scots and Brits to thank because when they immigrated to America, they brought this Gaelic tradition (dating back to the Middle Ages) with them. Legend has it that people of Gaelic descent believed that on October 31st of every year, the boundaries between the living and dead overlapped when those who had passed on came back to earth, damaging crops and causing illness.  I suspect people back then were as relieved to get Halloween over with as I am. I do have some Irish blood in me, so perhaps I’m channeling one of my ancestors.
            Halloween began gaining momentum in America during the twentieth century, but when World War II was being fought and sugar was rationed, much of the celebration was placed on hold from April of 1942 until June of 1947. Initially Halloween was called All Hallows’ Evening but eventually, it was dubbed Halloween.
            The first Halloween costume I recall wearing was a tattered, white bed sheet, as I pretended to be Casper the Friendly Ghost. As you can see, we Minnesotans didn’t plunk down a lot of money for costumes. Of course, it doesn’t always have to be about money. When I approached puberty and my foster mom wouldn’t allow me to wear make-up, I skirted around the issue by dressing up like a gypsy, piling on all the lipstick and rouge I could get my hands on! As the old saying goes, this ‘killed two birds with one stone’ because I didn’t have to spend much money, and I was allowed to wear a week’s worth of makeup in one night.
            The most innovative costume I’ve ever seen was in a Lawrenceville, New Jersey school parade where a little guy dressed as a Lipton teabag. His very creative mother stuffed gorgeous, brilliantly colored leaves into a clear, plastic bag and wrote the Lipton Tea logo at the top. I wish I’d taken a picture. We Americans can be innovative, can’t we?
            But as blasé’ as I am about Halloween, there is one that’s forever etched in my memory. My foster sister and I shared a bedroom and had just gone to bed and turned off the lights when we saw a large, gnarled shaped twig scraping against our window. Startled, we sat up in bed and stared at one another. The scraping continued, and before long, a low moan could be heard just outside our window. By now we were clinging to one another like passengers on a lifeboat. Within minutes, we saw my foster mother’s face appear in the window as she screamed, “Boo!”
            That incident, as silly as it was, provided me with an important life lesson. My foster mother had just enough ‘kid’ in her to remind me that life is to be enjoyed; a little playfulness is always a good thing. When she passed on several years ago, I shared that impactful moment at her memorial service and it brought smiles to those who knew her well.
            In the course of our lives, there are many reasons to celebrate, but in that celebration, we need to remind ourselves that as we live each day, we’re creating memories; memories that are powerful; memories that we’ll share with our loved ones. It’s important, even for me, a non-celebrator of Halloween, to remember to take time to “play.” I’m thankful for a foster mother who had enough ‘kid’ in her to teach me a valuable life lesson. As I share this memory, with you, my readers, I’ve made the decision to add a couple of decorations to the house and get into the spirit of Halloween.
            Happy All Hallows’ Evening, and if you see any ghosts out there, I hope they’re as friendly as Casper.
             


Sunday, September 22, 2013

Back to School - by Tessa Gray


Back to School . . . by Tessa Gray

         As I watch our neighborhood children board the narrow steps of the yellow school buses, I must confess that I’m almost envious . . . almost. This past week I assigned my college students an essay called “Remembering an Event.” The young men and women in my English class approached the assignment with some degree of trepidation. As we discussed potential scenarios for their papers, many of them began reminiscing about their school experiences.

          School memories are often instrumental in shaping us, molding us into the  adults we become. They’re the memories we often share at high school or family reunions. As we look back on our school memories, we often yearn to have “do-overs” – to be able to right a wrong that’s been done to us or confront someone who bullied us. Most of us won’t ever have the opportunity to “get back” at someone who embarrassed or humiliated us. I was fortunate enough to have that magic moment presented to me on a silver platter. And now . . . allow me to share my very own “payback is a bitch” moment.

          Flashback to 1966 . . . I’m strolling down the hall of my Minnesota high school (which shall remain nameless). Spring is in the air and the lush trees outside had begun budding after a grueling winter. Donning my adorable “A-line” skirt, my white tennis shoes and cream colored “wigwam” socks, I’ve feeling pretty good about myself. As I rush to my fifth period class, a loud voice roars through the narrow halls, interrupting my train of thought.

          “Hey, Tessa-wanna go to the prom with me?”

          I whirl around and who do I see but a short kid I’ve known since grade school; the shy, preacher’s kid I’d probably engaged in conversation with four times during our entire school careers. I’m certain I gave this guy, we’ll call him Dexter, a rather furtive glance as I pretended to mull over my decision.

          “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

          The look of relief on this guy’s face was comical. Pulling himself up to his full five foot, four inches, he threw back his head and breathed an enormous sigh of relief. I often think of that Clint Eastwood phrase, ‘Go ahead, make my day’ when I recall how pleased Dexter appeared to be I’d accepted his invitation. I quickly began planning which of my girlfriends to tell first. Truth be told, I was more excited about attending the prom than I was having a date with Dexter.

          “Thanks for going to prom with me. We’re going with Barb and Gary.” If only Dexter has simply left it at that-had not felt compelled to be so brutally honest. But he didn’t. As he blurted out the rest of his words, my ego plummeted.  “Thank God you agreed to go with me. You’re like the fiftieth girl I’ve asked.”

          Way to turn a girl’s head.

          Too humiliated to continue our conversation, I slithered through the halls to my history class, already regretting my decision.

          Flash ahead to 2006-my 40th high school reunion.

          As my husband, Jim, and I sat at a table filled with the reunion attendees in a ballroom of the Crowne Plaza Hotel, I quickly scanned the group, noting several familiar faces. At that round table, in the nine o’clock position if you’re describing the hands of a clock, sits my prom date, Dexter, and his lovely wife. Now, I realize many would have taken the high road, resisting the urge to remind Dexter about his comment from forty years ago. Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people. Dr. Phil would no doubt call me a “right fighter.”

           Within the first three minutes of our conversation, I set the record straight. Like most men, Dexter refused to believe he could possibly have made such a remark. His wife, fortunately, was well aware that her husband didn’t have much of a filter. As Dexter gasped and chortled, trying desperately to deny his embarrassing behavior as a teen, his wife quickly set the record straight. Leaning over, she stared at me intently, her dark eyes boring through mine. “I totally believe you,” she replied. “That’s so something Dex would do.”

          Of course, all was forgiven. But a word to the wise might be in order here. Guys…if you ‘dis a woman and behave poorly, just know this: We never, ever forget.  And while we women have long since finished our schooling, those of us who write might just put you in our next book. So…watch your back.
   

                   
byb

Monday, July 22, 2013

THE POWER OF BOOKS

by Tessa Gray

“The unexamined life is not worth living.” Although there’s some debate as to who said this (Socrates or Thoreau), this quote remains one of my all-time favorites. I firmly believe that most individuals continuously re-examine their lives, and books play an important role in reshaping us. And to take this a step further, I propose that well-written books sometimes change the course of our lives.



When I was around seven years old, I detested fairy tales. That intense dislike probably stemmed from a troubled childhood. Shifted between foster homes more often than I care to admit, I had little time for make believe stories; I was far too busy trying to figure out real life. I learned early on that nothing comes easily. For that reason, I fell in love with author Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie books. 

For those of you who’ve read the Little House on the Prairie series, you know that those frigid winter settings Wilder paints strike a chord, particularly if you’re from Minnesota, like I was. 

For the Ingalls family, life could often be brutal, and I identified with that. I found myself rooting for this tight-knit family, cheering right along with them as they struggled, rejoicing when the crops came in that year, or when Pa got a well-paying job. And, of course, there was the fact that Laura sometimes struggled in school and was far from perfect-unlike her sister, Mary.


The summer I turned nine, my situation shifted when a foster family took me in and made the decision to raise me permanently. Once the dust settled and I didn’t have to change schools every year, I began to feel like a pretty normal kid. My taste in reading shifted, and I found myself drawn to books that were somewhat lighter. 

The Trixie Belden stories by Julie Campbell became my favorites. Trixie and her sidekick, Honey, experienced adventures most girls during the 1960’s only dreamed about. Although I don’t recall many of the storylines for this series, I know that those two girls often made me laugh. Whenever we drove into our small town of Osseo, I always made a beeline to the local library to check out more Trixie Belden books. 

When those notorious Trixie Belden paper dolls came out, I was the first girl in the neighborhood to own them and quickly began creating even more Trixie Belden adventures with my Trixie and Honey paper dolls.  
                                                                                                  

Eventually, of course, I moved on to romance novels. Truth be told, I’d never been exposed to a romance novel since no one in my very conservative, religious family ever owned one. But one hot summer day, all that changed. I’d just graduated from high school and was working at a Target store when one of the employees (who just so happened to also be a classmate of mine) introduced me to a novel called Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann. We were breaking for lunch when Sheryl reached into her purse, handing me the novel she’d kept hidden from everyone. It took me most of the summer to finish the book because I didn’t have the nerve to take it home, fearful my family would catch me with it. Sheryl would fish it out of her purse when we went on break, and I’d pick up where I’d left off the previous day.

While I can’t say this is a favorite novel, for me, it represented the fact that the world could be an evil place. I realized that I was a grownup now who would be heading off to college without my foster parents to shelter me from the evils of the world, and frankly, I was scared.

I don’t know if any of you have ever been influenced by a novel you didn’t particularly like, but I was profoundly affected by this one. My biological family, unlike the foster family I lived with, was extremely dysfunctional and self-destructive, so I did understand the consequences of making bad choices. But truth be told, it was this novel about three women being led down an endless spiral of self-destruction that drove it all home-propelling me into taking charge of my life. Up until that time, I don’t know that I gave much thought to how negatively poor choices can impact a life, but after reading Valley of the Dolls, I was more determined than ever to make decisions that were wise and would lead to a happy ending.


My taste in books during college probably most closely reflects what I enjoy reading at the present time. I adore strong, compelling characters that stand up and fight for what they believe in. In To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, lawyer Atticus Finch fits the bill. 

Part of my fascination with this book stemmed from the fact I’d never been south of the Mason Dixon Line but had spent the majority of my childhood in the North. Frankly, we didn’t have any African American students in my high school, and I don’t believe I’d ever been exposed to racism. When Atticus lost the court case, I suffered right along with him, angry at the injustice of it all. But through it all I learned that although our world is far from perfect, we all play an important part in trying to create a kinder, gentler world-one which we can be proud of.

To Kill a Mockingbird  is a “must read” in many school districts, and after reading it, I began planning which books I could use in my classroom as tools for teaching some of life’s most important lessons. It truly shaped the way I teach.

It wasn’t until my own two children grew fairly self-reliant that I actually began reading novels on a regular basis. I’d finally reached a point in my life where I’d achieved many of my own personal goals and allowed myself the luxury of escaping through a good, old-fashioned romance novel. I settled on many books by writers such as Nora Roberts, Sandra Brown, and Fern Michaels, enjoying the storylines immensely.

Author Debbie Macomber wrote a book called Dakota Home and for me, that book would forever change the way I viewed characters in romance novels. In the prologue, hero Jeb McKenna loses his leg in a farming accident. After reading that short prologue, I remember leaning back in my chair, wondering how in the world this author would manage to make an actual hero out of a guy with one leg. It’s a judgmental thought, mind you, but I’m being honest here.

The book was written in 2000, before our country went to war and we learned to deal more openly with people who’d lost limbs. By the middle of this book, I’d fallen in love with this hero and spent many sleepless nights thinking about him. This book was part of my evolution and I found myself drawn to characters with angst, enormous flaws, and lots of grit. I continue to marvel at how skillfully Ms Macomber wove together this cast of characters from a small, fictitious town.

On a personal note, I’ve been fortunate enough to attend many of Ms Macomber’s book signings and at one of them, she wrote a special message to my mother-in-one. My mother-in-law shared this special inscription with many of her friends until the end of her life. How special it is when authors take that extra time to make someone happy. The characters in Debbie Macomber’s novels are kind and gracious, and I suspect they’re drawn straight from the heart.
                                                                                                                                   

Firefly Lane by author Kristin Hannah is a beautifully written women’s fiction novel about the journey of two best friends. Like many readers who’ve reached a milestone, we often become not only reflective about our lives but begin moving away from situations and circumstances that don’t bring out the best in us. In other words, we become much more selective. It’s another part, I believe, of our complete evolution as women.

Ms. Hannah’s lush descriptions of the Pacific Northwest with settings so real you can actually feel the ocean waves wash over your legs are a huge draw for readers; coupled with the fact that her characters are flawed, gritty, and often full of angst. 

The most surprising thing about this novel is that one friend disapproves of the other’s choice in men, and yet, the women learn to live with it. Many friendships have broken up over this, but not the deep and abiding friendship between Kate Mularkey and Tully Hart. It’s a great summer read that I highly recommend.         
                                                                                                              
The cast of characters writers create often greatly impacts us. I attended a writing workshop sponsored by the school district I taught in a number of years ago. We sat in groups, reading the poem Sympathy by Paul Laurence Dunbar. One of the teachers became very emotional when we got to the part about the bird beating its wings against a cage, longing for freedom. Suddenly, her eyes welled up with tears as she confessed to everyone at the table that she’d been in a loveless marriage for years with a husband who controlled her every move. She announced that the poem had caused her to step back and take a hard look at her life. We shed many tears together and when all was said and done, she headed home to tell her husband that the marriage was over.

                 Sympathy – by Paul Laurence Dunbar
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opens,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!
I often find myself wondering if the author of this beautiful poem had any idea how impactful his writing truly was. It’s mind-boggling that the power of words can impact a life so profoundly as it did this woman’s. In the grand scheme of things, I suspect that’s all we really want as readers-to find our true, authentic self through the writings of others. I suspect as most of you read, your own life stories have a great deal to do with the books you choose to read. Read what you enjoy, read what helps you become the very best person you can be, and above all else, share with everyone you know the impact a book has had on your life.hlse again with a keener sting— he beats his wing!
 
Author Tessa Gray

If there’s such a thing as reincarnation, Tessa Gray plans to live her second life in the tiny, west Texas town of Alpine, getting to know the locals. After attending the Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Alpine, she’s chosen this location for her “Dreamcatcher” series. The first book in this series, LAST CHANCE TEXAS, was released in December 2012 and is available in electronic format. Having written for nearly nine years, she’s completed eleven novels. In addition to writing, Tessa spends a large chunk of her time singing and quilting. She resides on a three acre plot in Fairview with her husband of thirty-eight years, Jim, four dogs, and two miniature donkeys.

The amazon link to LAST CHANCE TEXAS is:


The amazon link to TEXAS SUNSET is:
Both books are also available in print, as well as e-book versions.

Find out more about Tessa Gray at her website:
TesssaGrayBooks (Twitter)