Sunday, September 4, 2022

Books, Harvest, & the Fair by @JacquieRogers

  August--So Busy!

I Really Do Love Summer

Have no doubt about it, I love summer.  Sure, I could do without the 100°+ heat for days and days, but thank goodness for air conditioning.  ♥ 

August is the time of year for rodeos and of course, since I write westerns, it's obvious that I love this sport and can't wait for our local rodeo.  Here's the yearly cycle, we go to our hometown rodeo, then we wait 364 days to go to the next rodeo. LOL.  Actually, we used to go all four nights including slack time (when, for a variety of reasons, the entrants can't compete during the actual rodeo).  These days it's a trial just to get there for one show.


And of course the Owyhee County Fair is going on a the same time.  This year, the power went out so most of the animals were back home by Saturday, the day we went, so that was a disappointment for us.  We did get to see the rabbits and goats, though.

This well-loved goat belongs to a 4-H kid (pardon the pun).

The tomatoes are about to run us out of house and home.  There doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day to process them all.  I've already given a bunch of them away, but we still have a ton of tomatoes on the vines in various stages of ripening.


So far, my daughter (Hurricane Mercedes) and I have made chili mix, pizza sauce, Indian butter chicken mix, and dehydrated some, too.  I'll be dehydrating more (and other veggies) because dried veggies are ideal for taking with us in the RV--lightweight, compact, and easy to stow.  Home-dried veggies taste great in stews and soups.  Thanks to Hero for giving us an awesome dehydrator!

Tomato powder


My grapes aren't doing so well this year and I really hope they aren't dead, but it doesn't look promising.  The extension agent told us we have a severe infestation of Virginia creeper leafhoppers.  We sprayed yesterday (we prefer not to spray but had to concede to chemicals in this case) and most of the bugs are dead, but Mr R is going to spray again tonight just to make sure.  Then we have a whole bunch of hefty work to do to remove the larvae incubation area and I don't even want to think about it right now.

Grapes of Wrath

What have I been reading lately?  Well, nothing for fun but Pioneer Theater in the Boise Basin: 1863-1899 is the latest research book for me.  The author, Charles E. Lauterbach, Ph.D., writes a scholarly book jampacked with information, and in an entertaining style that keeps me engaged.  Highly recommended!  And now Honey Beaulieu is bound to take advantage of this information. ☺



And finally, we did spend several days at Mr R's high school class reunion.  He graduated from Nampa High School, class of 1967.  Yes, he's MUCH older than I am. Hahaha.

NHS Class of '67 in front of the Idaho Hotel
in Silver City, Idaho

Speaking of Silver City, my next readers' event will be on July 15, 2023--not sure if it will be in Homedale again, or in Silver City.  I'll keep you posted.

Until next month, Happy Reading!



If you're on TikTok, friend me!  My handle is @jacquierogersbooks.  
You can get videos of Honey Beaulieu and Sassy's latest updates there.  And goofy videos of her scribe.  Heck, we even do a few cooking videos.

Friday, September 2, 2022

THE LITTLE THINGS

By Caroline Clemmons

There’s a schmaltzy old song (the kind I like) that includes the phrase, “Little things mean a lot.”

I imagine you will agree with me that the sentiment is true. I can put on my big-girl panties for major crises and disappointments—after all, they’re a part of life. What gets me through tough times are the little things (that turn out to be big) my family and friends offer day-to-day. Fortunately, I have a good support group, but I wonder about those who don’t.


Facebook gets a lot of criticism, but should it? I admit that I “unfriend” anyone who rants, which leaves all reasonable “friends.” Through Facebook and other social media, we are able to connect with many like-minded people with whom we would otherwise never come in contact. Those who live in isolated places can interact with countless numbers through the world wide web. While online is not the same as face-to-face, it aids many. Homebound or isolated extroverts can communicate with others to their heart’s content. Introverts (like me) can remain in contact without having to leave home.

One of the things I like about Facebook is that there are people who always have something kind to say. I’m sure you have contacts who add a bright touch to your day—I won’t name mine for fear I’ll miss someone. However, I want to mention Judy Esposito. She is the first person I recall who posted a daily beautiful, kind thought. I believe she started a movement, because now I receive many of them from a wide variety of friends. Those small posts of encouragement get my day off to a smile.

Do you send or do little kindnesses to others?

Stay safe and keep reading!

If you’re looking for a book to read, our blog members will keep you supplied. My latest release is GENTRY AND THE MAIL ORDER BRIDE. Book 1 of my new historical western romance series.

Get it from Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B6YN6QHK

Here’s the blurb:

Sometimes the perfect match is the one you didn’t expect.

 Nothing much riles Gentry McRae. He works hard on the ranch he co-owns with his best friend, and is content with his life. He’s proud of all they’ve accomplished in the ten years since the war. That is, until his partner dies and leaves a fourth of the ranch to his mail-order bride—and wills the bride to Gentry.

 “Now wait just a doggone minute, I don’t plan to marry for years!”

But, a single woman can’t reside on a ranch where four men live without ruining her reputation. What’s a good man to do, except marry the woman when she arrives?

Heidi Roth has been spurned for being too plainspoken and too tall. In addition, her sister constantly makes fun of her for those reasons. That’s why—with many doubts—she’s willing to travel for months from Bavaria to Texas to marry a man who once lived in her town. When she arrives, she learns her prospective groom is dead, but left her a fourth of his share of a ranch. She has serious doubts, but agrees to wed Gentry to protect her reputation. Sure enough, from the next day, one event after the other happens. Is this the life she wants?

 


  

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

Cora Lee's Wager by Kara O'Neal

CORA LEE’S WAGER is finally here! Book 3 in the GAMBLERS & GUNSLINGERS series was quite a surprise. I had no idea the book would go in the direction it did, and I must say, it was quite exciting.

Cora Lee suffers through the death of her entire family in a yellow fever epidemic. Then her wealthy and formidable grandmother refuses to take her in. She becomes the ward of Frederick Tucker, who is also the father of four rowdy boys.

Cora becomes a member of the Tucker family quickly, and ends up falling for the oldest boy, Graham. And he falls for her.

But before they can go forward with their future, Cora is sent away. She ends up in an orphanage, and eventually becomes…

The “Angel of the Acre”. Hell’s Half Acre, that is.

She’s the gambler in this romance. Which was interesting, to say the least. A spot at her table is coveted, but her hero, the man she’s always loved despite the pain he’s caused her, is pretty straight-laced. And when he comes to find her, at the behest of her wealthy grandmother, Cora’s mettle is tested on many levels.

I adored writing Cora. I loved giving her and Graham their happy ending. They have to defeat more than one foe to have the future they’ve always wanted, but Graham is determined and won’t let anything stand in their way. Including Cora’s own fears.

It’s a beautiful story about second chances and the power of love. Happy reading!



CORA LEE'S WAGER
Gamblers & Gunslingers
Historical Romance
Book 3

Cora Lee Walsh. The Angel of the Acre—Hell’s Half Acre—never intended to be a professional gambler. But her wealthy grandmother hadn’t wanted her, and, at fifteen, she was abandoned by the Tucker family who’d taken her in as their ward. She had no other choice than to make vice her life. Now, the eldest son of the Tucker family is on her doorstep, asking for an audience.

Graham Tucker loved Cora to distraction, and when she ran away, it destroyed him. Twelve years later, he’s been ordered by Iona Evans, Cora’s grandmother, to bring Cora back to Houston. He’d rather chew glass. But Iona owns half his business, and she’s willing to sell her shares to him if he’s successful. Graham takes the deal.

When Cora and Graham meet again, they both fight old feelings. And Graham finds himself across the betting table from her, making a wager he can’t afford to lose.

But more threatens the pair, and Cora finds herself needing Graham. Can she trust him? The young man who’d abandoned her? Or will she find herself a victim…again?


CORA LEE'S WAGER: AN EXCERPT

Cora rocked lightly as birds twittered and flitted about. A fox trotted across her yard, and she smiled at the creature. Its red coat contrasted with the green of the short grass and the orange of the Indian paintbrushes that grew in patches.

This heavenly spot, ironically so close to hell on Earth, couldn’t be duplicated anywhere else. It was one of the reasons why she’d stayed and hadn’t sold the house after Butler had died.

She let out a sigh, sank deeper into the rocker, opened her book and just enjoyed the morning. A half-hour had passed when she felt a presence to her right. She turned her head, and her breath flew up into her throat.

Graham!

He stood on the dirt lane that went by the side of her home, his hands in his pockets, a guarded expression on his face. Their past stretched between them.

In a second, every morning she’d ever spent with him flashed before her eyes. They’d both loved the dawn. Those quiet hours before the world started. And they’d shared them together in his father’s library or on the porch just beyond the French doors.

And he must’ve decided to take a chance and see if she still woke with the sunrise.

She managed to drag in a breath but couldn’t move. She needed to get inside, hide herself from the pain he caused her. But her feet wouldn’t listen.

With a tight jaw, he took a few steps, and now he was in her yard, but still on the fringes.

He didn’t want to get close to her, either.

Well…

They’d sent her away, hadn’t they? She shouldn’t be surprised he didn’t want to see her.

So why was he subjecting them to this torture?

“Good morning,” he rumbled.

Her stomach clenched at the sound of his voice. It was deeper than she remembered.

“I need to speak with you,” he continued. He removed his hat, revealing his dark brown hair that fell attractively over his forehead.

The suit he wore helped cut him into a powerful figure. She was certain he was capable. Intelligent. Probably took care of things efficiently and to his satisfaction, regardless of whom he hurt.

He was a man now. And she thrilled at the sight of him.

Panic gripped her, and she squared her shoulders instantly, needing to get away from him, or she might beg him to explain what she’d done wrong. “I doubt we have anything to say to each other.” She twisted her lips into a sardonic smile. “You’re not someone with whom I choose to associate any longer.”

Oh, praise the Lord! She’d found the Angel of the Acre, and she would use her to block her desperation for this man.

He flinched and stiffened. “Look,” he growled, “I’ve got important business with you, and—”

“I can’t imagine why.” She shrugged. “There’s nothing you have that I could want, and I’m not interested in learning why you disagree.”

He curled his hands into fists, crushing the brim of his hat. “Maybe not, but you could at least hear me out.”

She laughed as if she hadn’t a care or concern for him. “I don’t think so. I only do business over a poker table.”

Disgust flashed in his eyes.

Good. Perhaps he would leave her alone now.

“So I’ve learned,” he spat. “Gambling is an abomination.”

She smirked. “And one I adore. There’s nothing like discovering your opponent’s weaknesses and taking him for everything he has.”

She’d never willingly done that. Or she hoped she hadn’t. She couldn’t control a man’s behavior or choices.

Graham let out a noise of disgust. “Fools. All of you.”

She shrugged. “At least we’re having a good time.”

Something shone in his eyes that she couldn’t name, but she didn’t want to look too deeply anyway. She needed to get him to leave. “Your errand is more foolish than any wager I could make,” she told him. “Best be on your way and find someone else to have your discussion with.”

He glared at her for a few silent moments. “Are you telling me that you truly only conduct business at a poker table?”

She grinned. “It’s no fun otherwise.”

With a frustrated exhale, he shoved his fingers through his hair.

Her heart flipped at its mussed state. My God. He’s gorgeous.

When he faced her again, she schooled her features back into a careless mask.

“Fine,” he ground out. “I’d like to enter tonight’s game.”

She laughed. “You can’t be serious?”

“If that’s the only way I can speak to you, then it’s what I’ll do.”


PURCHASE CORA LEE'S WAGER





Sunday, August 28, 2022

Crones by Bea Tifton

 I always heard that through age comes wisdom. I concede that I do know more than I used to know about bad vs. good decisions. But I still do make inadvertent bad decisions. The older I get, the less I care about what other people say or think about me, but I do still care.  And if I get inside my own head about their opinions too much, I can drive myself crazy. I’m well away from being a crone, but why in our society do people think of this ancient woman, wearing black, back bent almost double, with gnarled, arthritic hands? Even the word “crone” can be used as a pejorative.  The etymology of the word is quite insulting, indeed. It originated in the 14th century and basically meant “A disagreeable woman.” Hmmm. Disagreeable, or comfortable in her own skin, filled with knowledge, and independence?

The crone of cultural folklore is a great woman indeed. The crone was defined as a symbol of wisdom, a woman who has lived a life composed of love and hate, sorrow and joy, and has come through it all with a dignity and strength of spirit that only time and a life well lived can achieve.

 


Wow.  I hope that I can make it to crone someday. Crones were the matriarchs, the seers, the healers. 


So as you go through your life and you become a "woman of a certain age" ( whatever that means), celebrate being older and wiser.  After all, we crones must stick together. 


 Picture Credits

Crone: Katja from Pixabay

Crone: Stefan Keller from Pixabay

Woman with Crystal Ball: Brigitte Werner from Pixabay

Aged Cheerful Women in Elegant Outfits Together: Anna Shuets from Pexels

I'm filling in for Beth Trissel.

Friday, August 26, 2022

When Words Turn On You by Laura Hunsaker

 Moist, and other words.

Words are beautiful. You can have a bunch of words and turn them into a lush and descriptive sentence. You can evoke a scent, a memory, an entire world with words alone! They can turn you on...

And they can turn on you...

I noticed the other day I had no other word to use at work than moist. Mmooiiiisstttt. I swear this word has texture and heft.


One coworker cringed,and the other said she doesn't get why everyone hates that word? It got me to thinking, I don’t really know either? Are there more words like moist that we don’t like? Is anything worse than moist? My teenagers tell me moist is the cringiest word. So I did what any well-adjusted adult would do. I asked Twitter.


These are all answers I got that were mentioned by two or more people:


Phlegm.

Spunk

Damp

crusty

oozing

spurt

Soggy

squelch

gushy

soppin

turgid

The number one word is so gross I won't actually post it, and it did actually have several mentions.


I noticed most of the words people don't like either have to do with being wet (heh moist), or both sound gross, and mean something gross (phlegm).


So share with me your cringeworthy words. Do you agree/disagree with the list I so scientifically compiled through my Twitter ;)


And I absolutely promise, I don't use the word moist at all in my books!


Check them out here on my website www.laurahunsaker.com




Mackenzie Stewart is in Scotland for a much-needed vacation. During the castle tour, Mackenzie becomes completely enamored with a painting of one of the previous lairds. Two gentlemen come up behind her and, begging her pardon, they kidnap her, dragging her through time.

The men are sorcerers attempting to end a feud that has plagued their lands for years. Their patron has begun to dabble in the black arts, and between his irrational thirst for power, and his dark secret, the sorcerers are frightened. They believe Mackenzie can break the Stewart curse. They try to convince her to play along with their crazy scheme: marriage to the evil John Campbell.

Before Mackenzie can protest, her carriage is halted and the door thrown open. For a split-second she is arrested by the same beautiful piercing blue eyes that belonged in an oil painting.

Mackenzie then finds herself the victim of a second kidnapping...

Her new captor, however, does nothing but tempt her body and her temper. Believing her to in fact be the betrothed of his mortal enemy the Campbell, Connor MacRae originally sets out to capture his enemy’s betrothed. He never thought he would be so attracted to her that he’d want to keep her.






Tuesday, August 23, 2022

HERE COMES AUGUST...AND THERE GOES SUMMER!

 by Judy Ann Davis

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, 
and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time. 
                                                                                                     ~Sylvia Plath 
 
Here she come comes…August and her last days of summer. I don’t know how those days flew by so fast. My husband saw some sumac changing to red on one of his many jaunts around the area. For many, myself included, it’s one of the harbingers of fall.
 
And who doesn’t think summer is sliding to an end when our local Clearfield County Fair gets underway? If you are anywhere in the vicinity of the fairgrounds during fair week, you can smell its presence. The sweet smell of cotton candy and waffles dunked in sugar wafts in the air with the flavored smoke of hamburgers, hotdogs, beef, and hot sausage cooking on burners under the concession stands. Anyone who owns land near the fairgrounds have lawns and driveways that look like parking lots. Children gather in groups to lose their money on games of chance or to ride any fast moving mechanical apparatus that swings its riders high into the air and twirls them around and around.
                                                                                                             

Speaking of lawns in Central Pennsylvania, they are morphing into shades of light brown—which means less mowing, less gasoline consumed, and less work. Scott is not heartbroken over this occurrence, even though he agrees a thunder storm once in a while is a welcome relief from the heat we’ve been having. 
 
August is the month of reaping what we sow. Tomato plants, scattered around in my flowerbeds, are dressed in bunches of still green tomatoes. But if you’re lucky, you can find a handful of small red cherry ones to whet your appetite or to use for a treat on your salad. Why do the flavor of fresh juicy tomatoes from the garden taste better than any you can buy at a store?
 
This year, we tried a bucket garden again, concentrating on spices. We now have parsley, lemon thyme, rosemary, sage, mint, along with two buckets of marigolds and a bucket of lettuce. I also have chives in a bed and a container of basil on our patio. What get used the most? Ironically, it’s the chives that come up each year without fuss or coaxing. 
 
For some odd reason, instead of writing, my wandering mind and body heads off to do other chores that need my attention. I think it’s called procrastination. It’s one of my many talents. Do you have an activity or special summer chore you put off despite the nagging of a little voice inside your head? 
 
I’m always curious to hear how others enjoy the end of the summer season. Drop me a line in the comment section below. And, let’s enjoy August as summertime in all her sunny glory abdicates and autumn splendor ascends the throne next. 
 
                              VISIT MY AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE FOR ALL MY BOOKS 
 
 

Thursday, August 18, 2022

The Ride Home by Liz Flaherty

One of the first articles I ever sold as a new writer was an article on the value of the ride home from work. I don't remember the title of the article or the examples used in it, but I do remember how important that 28 miles was in so many different areas of my life. Just lately, as I began doing battle with the last 10,000 words of my work-in-progress, I was reminded about the ride home. 

Summer of Sorrow and Dance is not a book that has come easily--although not very many of them do, do they?--and I'm so ready for it to be done. There's another one on the back burner whose flame is brighter, hotter, and looks like more fun. 

It used to be that 10K words was a week or so...maybe 10 days if the words were being argumentative or sticking in the keyboard's throat. It's not that way anymore, and I know I've got some time to put into Dinah's story before she's ready to finish telling it to me. But sometimes 10,000 words might as well be 100,000. They are just stuck. The black moment is meh, such a light gray it doesn't even show up on the planning wall. The plot point I want in Chapter Twelve should have been foreshadowed in Chapter Three and Chapter Seven, the conflict is laughable, and I have twice as many characters as I should. 

This is not a repeat blog post, by the way; however, I do still whine about the same things as I crawl through the last few chapters of every book. I also use the words I hate this book! complete with the exclamation point numerous times. I wonder whatever made me think I could be a writer. I must have been insane.

It's not true. I love the book. I love Dinah and Zach and the five children they have between them. I love Fallen Soldier, Pennsylvania, and Cooper Lake, which forms its edge before you get to the mountain road. I love that Captain Jason Benteen, a Vietnam vet, shows up in each of the three books in the Second Chances series. 

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0B2HWVPZ2?ref_=dbs_p_mng_rwt_ser_shvlr&storeType=ebooks

Last night, as I drove home from a writers' group meeting, I thought about the last 10,000 words and about Dinah and Zach, seeing them my mind's eye. I thought about how they've come to know each other, how one of them will sense the other's pain and the other is reluctant to accept help. I thought about the grief one of them is suffering and suffered it myself. 

What a gift to a writer the ride home is. While I didn't get home with the whole last 10K planned out, I filled in some gaps, found an aha moment or two, and darkened the gray of that culminating moment up a bit. I figured out how to tie up a few strings while leaving a few others fluttering a bit. Just in case I want to go back to Fallen Soldier sometime. I'll give that some thought later, on another ride home.