Angela lives the first six years of her life in an orphanage. She is abandoned naked on the doorstep of an orphanage on a biting, wintry, January night. By the time that the matron hears her cries she is frostbitten by cold.
At the age of six she is adopted by a con artist. He makes his living picking pockets, breaking in at night and stealing things from people. He teaches Angela how to open a safe when she is still tiny. He teaches her how to get in and out of tight spaces in breaking into homes. He feeds her very little food, just enough to keep her alive, but tiny. He confuses her age. She has no calendar or watch to tell the passing of years. Henry tells her for three years that she is eight. After awhile she has no idea how old she is, or how many years she's lived with Henry Butler.
Angela is caught breaking into the home of Blake Calkin. Blake makes her his legal ward. Henry Butler, the terrible man who had adopted her, is killed cheating at cards.
The first Christmas that Angela experiences is beyond magical to her. She loves everything about Christmas. Yet she is saddened by the plight of her new friend Lily. Angela reminds the Calkin family of the truest of celebration forms...giving to others.
Angela....Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch (Parts One and Two) will be published in 2013! Please look for it next year at Lulu.com for the written book or Nook format, or at Amazon.com for Kindle.
Merriest of Merry Christmases everyone!
Monday, December 17, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Who is Blake Calkin?
Blake Calkin....THE central male figure in my series that all the women orbit around like the planets orbit the sun. Blake is driven in every area of his life. Ordinary is NEVER good enough for Blake.
He grew up in a seriously dysfunctional (a word that they didn't use in the 1800s) family. His father was an alcoholic. After drinking all evening he would come home and beat his wife. Blake's mother would lock Blake's door by putting a large knife in the top of the door. In his drunken stupor his father never could open the door. He had tried a few times.
From his earliest memories Blake hears his Father beating his Mother. He hears his mother's cries, and pleading. He tries, more and more as he grows older to open that locked door. He wants, actually needs, to break free to protect his Mother. It's an age old primal demand to protect your Mother. In a perfect world Mother is creator, protector, and friend. Listening to the battering of your Mother night after endless night is a hideous nightmare.
When Blake is in his early teens his Father's beating of his Mother ends when he kills her. Blake hears but doesn't actually witness the heinous act.
Now Blake's life which had been barely tolerable because of his Mother's selfless love becomes a living nightmare. There is no loving hand to lock his door. In the absence of his Mother his Father begins beating Blake.
Blake does not think to alert the police. He has been taught by both his parents that the police are the enemies. As a small child he was frequently coaxed to obey by being told that the police would come with the paddy wagon and take him away never to return.
The abuse continues night after night, week after week. Finally Blake realizes that he simply will not survive much longer if he doesn't find a way out. He gets a job that allows him to hide there. He sleeps in a stable with horses.
The day dawns bright when he knows that he must leave. He has left his pitiful poor savings in a rag under one of the floorboards in his bedroom. He thinks that his Father will be sleeping off yet another alcoholic stupor in the afternoon.
After retrieving the money he makes a hasty dash for the front door. Too late. His Father is awake, and angry. He doesn't understand why Blake has abandoned him. He begins a tirade about Blake's worthlessness. Then his greedy eyes drop to the rag in Blake's hands.
He rips it from Blake. Discovering the money he begins a tirade about Blake's selfishness, about his duty to support and help his family. Blake driven to desperation punches his Father in the face.
He is no match for his Father even in his drunken condition. His Father has spent his lifetime in barroom brawls. With a fearful roar his Father attacks Blake and knocks him unconscious.
Blake awakens to find his Father in a drunken stupor on the couch. Asleep he is still holding an almost empty bottle of whiskey. He cradles it as a baby would hold a bottle. Blake tries to stand up and his legs will not hold him. He realizes that one of his eyes is swollen shut. His balance is completely gone. The world begins to reel faster than Blake's aching head will comprehend..
Too weak and dizzy to stand Blake crawls to his Father. Carefully he draws the rag from under his Father's leg. The suspense is awful as he slowly, oh so carefully pulls out the rag to find, one small coin left. Blake seriously considers taking the bottle out of his Father's hand and smashing his head with it.
It doesn't take long for Blake to realize that he can't kill his Father. If he does he will be no better than the miserable human being snoring on the couch.
Oh so quietly Blake crawls into the kitchen. He opens the cupboard and find a mouse contentedly chewing on a stale mold covered crust of bread. Nothing more. Blake opens another cupboard and discovers a half eaten can of beans. This is also growing strange life forms.
Sighing he pockets the one coin that he has. He looks around at the only home he has ever known. He realizes that since his Mother's death it has been more hell than home. He slowly, painfully, crawls out the door.
Crawling is so painful that he passes out several times before he reaches the place where he works. As he crawls into the yard he sees his boss speaking his wife. Before he can say anything Blake passes out again.
When he awakens this time he is in a bed. The bed is goose downy and beyond any comfort of his imagination. He finds that he is in a clean nightshirt. He tries to stand up and has to lie back down. Weakness fills his body. He feels as though his heart is barely beating.
Mrs. Boss comes in the room with a tray. Blake says, "I didn't mean to make any trouble for you and your family. If you'll just give me back my clothes I'll be on my way."
"The hell you say!" The ladies brown eyes flash with anger. "Who beat you like that young man? He needs to be put in jail for the rest of his life! Why you're just a kid."
"My Father. My drunken, miserable, no good Father." Suddenly the years of sorrow come tumbling out of his mouth. He speaks so quickly that the good lady with the tray has to keep slowing him down to understand his words.
When he finally finishes the woman pulls up a chair next to his bed. She hands him the tray but stays in the chair.
Jamie suddenly realizes that he is starving. He looks at the tray and finds soup, pudding, bread and butter. Ravenous he tears into the food.
"Slow down boy. You will make yourself sick. I promise nobody is going to take the food away from you. Where is your Mother son?"
Blake stopped all at once. He put down the bread that had been in his hand. "My Ma was killed by my Father. She would protect me, lock my door so that Pa couldn't hurt me. He killed her several years back."
"Why didn't you get the police?"
"Because I didn't see him kill her. She had locked me in like she did every night. This night I heard the normal screaming, slapping, and shouting. Then there was one long drawn out scream from my Ma. I broke the door down, I wish I had done it sooner. There was Pa standing over Ma with a confused look on his face."
"Ma was like a broken doll. I tried to wake her up but she was still, lifeless." Tears began to run down Blake's face. "It was my fault she died. If I had just broken that damn,.oh ma'am sorry for my language, door down sooner well, Ma might still be alive."
"Blake Calkin, you can't possibly blame yourself for something hideous that your Pa did! You did NOT kill her. He did. So please don't waste any more time feeling guilty."
She continued quickly, "I will call on the police first thing this morning. They will want to hear this story from you..."
Blake cut her off. Bitterly he said, "The police will do nothing. Neighbors called them out before when they heard Pa shouting at Ma. The police said, "Unless the lady is willing to swear out a complaint there is nothing that we can do."
"Well things are different now," the kindly woman said.
"How is that?" Blake's head felt like it was filled with fog. He couldn't think clearly, not at all.
"Your Ma isn't here. I am. My husband and I will swear out a complaint for you."
Blake sat looking far off. "I guess that's right but I can't let you do it?
"Why not?
"'Cause he'd kill you and your family."
"Never mind that Blake. My husband and I are very good at protecting ourselves. I've been hunting since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I can shoot a rabbit poking his nose above the ground before I can actually tell it's a rabbit."
Everything changed. The police came and took his Pa to jail. Blake moved back into his home. He still worked but he slept well at night for the first time in his life.
He scraped and saved every penny that he could. Finally one evening he came home and looked around. He realized that it had never been home. His Mother had been his home. Since she was killed the place had been hell on earth.
He packed his pitiful few possessions. Next he poured coal oil all over the house. He lit two matches and threw them into the place. He felt peaceful watching it burn. He didn't even react when neighbors came to see what was burning.
Finally, the volunteer Fire Department arrived. Before they started to spray the inferno with water Blake stopped them with three words. "Let it burn!"
The fire chief tried to reason with him, "Young man you could sell the house and get money from it."
Blake turned and looked down at the man who was shorter than him. "It's my house. Let it burn."
Blake watched the fire until everything had turned to ashes. By then everyone had gone home. The novelty of someone burning their own home had worn off.
Blake walked through the ashes. In the middle of the foundation he kicked a burned timber to the side. He was stunned when he saw that underneath that timber was a bowl filled with coins.
There was also a note.
"Son, if you are reading this note I've died. People always asked why I stayed with your Pa. They didn't know the man I married. He was decent, kind, and a good provider. I don't know why he changed. It was like there was a switch flipped in him that turned him from good to dark and evil."
"Every time I could I put money in this bowl. I hid it under the floor so that your Pa couldn't find it. I figured that at some point you would find it. I love you Blake. I'm sorry that I did you wrong by staying with your Pa. I hope that someday you can forgive me."
"Marry a good woman Blake. Then do your damndest to not become the monster that your Pa became. Love Ma"
Blake stood in the ruins of the house that he had grow up in with tears running down his face. After a long time he brushed the tears off his face with his sleeve. Then without looking back he began to walk. He didn't even own a horse.
Walking into the closest bar that he could find he walked in and sat at the bar. "A bottle of whiskey please."
The bar tender looked at him hard. "Ain't you kind of young to be drinking whiskey kid? You ain't even grown a beard yet."
Blake plunked a $10.00 gold piece down on the bar. "I think this is enough to calm your dubious conscience barkeep. The bar tender didn't say one more word. He put the bottle of whiskey in front of Blake and walked away.
Blake started to drink. He drank, drank, and then drank some more. The world began to feel warmer, kinder, fuzzier. When he had finished the entire bottle he said to himself, "So this is how Papa felt on a drunken binge. I can see it's benefits."
Then Blake threw up on the bar. The barkeeper swore as he came running.
Blake stepped wobbily back from the bar. Suddenly the ground below him was gone and he was free falling into nothingness. He wondered if death felt like this. There was no fear at the idea of death, of annihilation. It was living that he feared, not dying.
He fell a long way. When he landed it was with a hard crack on a concrete floor. He was in a very dark room. He walked to the door and found that it wouldn't open. Pounding on the door with his fists he cried out, "Help, help someone. Get me out of this place!"
The door was opened by one of the most beautiful women that Blake had ever seen. "So, this time we have a kiddie, barely finished nursing at his Ma's teats. What do you call yourself lad?"
"Blake, and I'm not a kid. I'm a man!"
"Well Blake, lucky for you that you're a man. Where you're going now you need to be as manly as possible."
"What do you mean 'Where I'm going?'" Blake's eyes widened in sudden apprehension. Everybody in Portland, Oregon knew about shanghaiing. Men were taken from saloons, the street, one report was a man taken coming home from church.
"Wait, you are shanghaiing me?"
"You catch on quick kid. That will also be an asset for you! Unless... Unless your Pa or Ma has a great big amount of money. If they paid a big ransom I could see my way clear to letting you go."
Blake eagerly pressed forward. He held out his Mother's legacy to him. "I have $100.00 dollars. That should buy me my freedom!"
"Big Sal is what they call me kid. I'll go talk to the others and see what they think."
Blake sat on the cold floor shivering from fear more than cold.
It wasn't long before three men came in the room. They picked up Blake and started to carry him. "What a minute. Where are you taking me?"
One of the men laughed nastily, "Where do you think? It's to the water with you son. Don't worry, you'll learn to love the briny salt water that dries out your skin and cracks your lips open. You'll begin to enjoy shoveling coal into the burner all day and night. It's a hell of a life kid and you've just joined our ranks!"
"But I gave Big Sal my money. She was supposed to use it to buy my freedom."
The men looked at each other and then burst out laughing. "You give money to Big Sal? That's money you'll never see again. Big Sal wouldn't care if she had Midas himself land here. She'd shanghai him AND keep his money."
Blake started to strike out at the men. One of them said, "Hey there sonny. We all have guns. This is NOT a fight that you can win."
"Why, why do you do this? Taking away freedom from another human being? That is almost worse than murder!"
"Tsk, tsk," one of the men said. "So young, and yet so judgmental. There is only ONE reason we do this."
All three men spoke in unison, "Money." They laughed out loud.
Blake's heart sunk into his boots. He realized that he had actually gone as the old quote said, "From the frying pan into the fire."
He grew up in a seriously dysfunctional (a word that they didn't use in the 1800s) family. His father was an alcoholic. After drinking all evening he would come home and beat his wife. Blake's mother would lock Blake's door by putting a large knife in the top of the door. In his drunken stupor his father never could open the door. He had tried a few times.
From his earliest memories Blake hears his Father beating his Mother. He hears his mother's cries, and pleading. He tries, more and more as he grows older to open that locked door. He wants, actually needs, to break free to protect his Mother. It's an age old primal demand to protect your Mother. In a perfect world Mother is creator, protector, and friend. Listening to the battering of your Mother night after endless night is a hideous nightmare.
When Blake is in his early teens his Father's beating of his Mother ends when he kills her. Blake hears but doesn't actually witness the heinous act.
Now Blake's life which had been barely tolerable because of his Mother's selfless love becomes a living nightmare. There is no loving hand to lock his door. In the absence of his Mother his Father begins beating Blake.
Blake does not think to alert the police. He has been taught by both his parents that the police are the enemies. As a small child he was frequently coaxed to obey by being told that the police would come with the paddy wagon and take him away never to return.
The abuse continues night after night, week after week. Finally Blake realizes that he simply will not survive much longer if he doesn't find a way out. He gets a job that allows him to hide there. He sleeps in a stable with horses.
The day dawns bright when he knows that he must leave. He has left his pitiful poor savings in a rag under one of the floorboards in his bedroom. He thinks that his Father will be sleeping off yet another alcoholic stupor in the afternoon.
After retrieving the money he makes a hasty dash for the front door. Too late. His Father is awake, and angry. He doesn't understand why Blake has abandoned him. He begins a tirade about Blake's worthlessness. Then his greedy eyes drop to the rag in Blake's hands.
He rips it from Blake. Discovering the money he begins a tirade about Blake's selfishness, about his duty to support and help his family. Blake driven to desperation punches his Father in the face.
He is no match for his Father even in his drunken condition. His Father has spent his lifetime in barroom brawls. With a fearful roar his Father attacks Blake and knocks him unconscious.
Blake awakens to find his Father in a drunken stupor on the couch. Asleep he is still holding an almost empty bottle of whiskey. He cradles it as a baby would hold a bottle. Blake tries to stand up and his legs will not hold him. He realizes that one of his eyes is swollen shut. His balance is completely gone. The world begins to reel faster than Blake's aching head will comprehend..
Too weak and dizzy to stand Blake crawls to his Father. Carefully he draws the rag from under his Father's leg. The suspense is awful as he slowly, oh so carefully pulls out the rag to find, one small coin left. Blake seriously considers taking the bottle out of his Father's hand and smashing his head with it.
It doesn't take long for Blake to realize that he can't kill his Father. If he does he will be no better than the miserable human being snoring on the couch.
Oh so quietly Blake crawls into the kitchen. He opens the cupboard and find a mouse contentedly chewing on a stale mold covered crust of bread. Nothing more. Blake opens another cupboard and discovers a half eaten can of beans. This is also growing strange life forms.
Sighing he pockets the one coin that he has. He looks around at the only home he has ever known. He realizes that since his Mother's death it has been more hell than home. He slowly, painfully, crawls out the door.
Crawling is so painful that he passes out several times before he reaches the place where he works. As he crawls into the yard he sees his boss speaking his wife. Before he can say anything Blake passes out again.
When he awakens this time he is in a bed. The bed is goose downy and beyond any comfort of his imagination. He finds that he is in a clean nightshirt. He tries to stand up and has to lie back down. Weakness fills his body. He feels as though his heart is barely beating.
Mrs. Boss comes in the room with a tray. Blake says, "I didn't mean to make any trouble for you and your family. If you'll just give me back my clothes I'll be on my way."
"The hell you say!" The ladies brown eyes flash with anger. "Who beat you like that young man? He needs to be put in jail for the rest of his life! Why you're just a kid."
"My Father. My drunken, miserable, no good Father." Suddenly the years of sorrow come tumbling out of his mouth. He speaks so quickly that the good lady with the tray has to keep slowing him down to understand his words.
When he finally finishes the woman pulls up a chair next to his bed. She hands him the tray but stays in the chair.
Jamie suddenly realizes that he is starving. He looks at the tray and finds soup, pudding, bread and butter. Ravenous he tears into the food.
"Slow down boy. You will make yourself sick. I promise nobody is going to take the food away from you. Where is your Mother son?"
Blake stopped all at once. He put down the bread that had been in his hand. "My Ma was killed by my Father. She would protect me, lock my door so that Pa couldn't hurt me. He killed her several years back."
"Why didn't you get the police?"
"Because I didn't see him kill her. She had locked me in like she did every night. This night I heard the normal screaming, slapping, and shouting. Then there was one long drawn out scream from my Ma. I broke the door down, I wish I had done it sooner. There was Pa standing over Ma with a confused look on his face."
"Ma was like a broken doll. I tried to wake her up but she was still, lifeless." Tears began to run down Blake's face. "It was my fault she died. If I had just broken that damn,.oh ma'am sorry for my language, door down sooner well, Ma might still be alive."
"Blake Calkin, you can't possibly blame yourself for something hideous that your Pa did! You did NOT kill her. He did. So please don't waste any more time feeling guilty."
She continued quickly, "I will call on the police first thing this morning. They will want to hear this story from you..."
Blake cut her off. Bitterly he said, "The police will do nothing. Neighbors called them out before when they heard Pa shouting at Ma. The police said, "Unless the lady is willing to swear out a complaint there is nothing that we can do."
"Well things are different now," the kindly woman said.
"How is that?" Blake's head felt like it was filled with fog. He couldn't think clearly, not at all.
"Your Ma isn't here. I am. My husband and I will swear out a complaint for you."
Blake sat looking far off. "I guess that's right but I can't let you do it?
"Why not?
"'Cause he'd kill you and your family."
"Never mind that Blake. My husband and I are very good at protecting ourselves. I've been hunting since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I can shoot a rabbit poking his nose above the ground before I can actually tell it's a rabbit."
Everything changed. The police came and took his Pa to jail. Blake moved back into his home. He still worked but he slept well at night for the first time in his life.
He scraped and saved every penny that he could. Finally one evening he came home and looked around. He realized that it had never been home. His Mother had been his home. Since she was killed the place had been hell on earth.
He packed his pitiful few possessions. Next he poured coal oil all over the house. He lit two matches and threw them into the place. He felt peaceful watching it burn. He didn't even react when neighbors came to see what was burning.
Finally, the volunteer Fire Department arrived. Before they started to spray the inferno with water Blake stopped them with three words. "Let it burn!"
The fire chief tried to reason with him, "Young man you could sell the house and get money from it."
Blake turned and looked down at the man who was shorter than him. "It's my house. Let it burn."
Blake watched the fire until everything had turned to ashes. By then everyone had gone home. The novelty of someone burning their own home had worn off.
Blake walked through the ashes. In the middle of the foundation he kicked a burned timber to the side. He was stunned when he saw that underneath that timber was a bowl filled with coins.
There was also a note.
"Son, if you are reading this note I've died. People always asked why I stayed with your Pa. They didn't know the man I married. He was decent, kind, and a good provider. I don't know why he changed. It was like there was a switch flipped in him that turned him from good to dark and evil."
"Every time I could I put money in this bowl. I hid it under the floor so that your Pa couldn't find it. I figured that at some point you would find it. I love you Blake. I'm sorry that I did you wrong by staying with your Pa. I hope that someday you can forgive me."
"Marry a good woman Blake. Then do your damndest to not become the monster that your Pa became. Love Ma"
Blake stood in the ruins of the house that he had grow up in with tears running down his face. After a long time he brushed the tears off his face with his sleeve. Then without looking back he began to walk. He didn't even own a horse.
Walking into the closest bar that he could find he walked in and sat at the bar. "A bottle of whiskey please."
The bar tender looked at him hard. "Ain't you kind of young to be drinking whiskey kid? You ain't even grown a beard yet."
Blake plunked a $10.00 gold piece down on the bar. "I think this is enough to calm your dubious conscience barkeep. The bar tender didn't say one more word. He put the bottle of whiskey in front of Blake and walked away.
Blake started to drink. He drank, drank, and then drank some more. The world began to feel warmer, kinder, fuzzier. When he had finished the entire bottle he said to himself, "So this is how Papa felt on a drunken binge. I can see it's benefits."
Then Blake threw up on the bar. The barkeeper swore as he came running.
Blake stepped wobbily back from the bar. Suddenly the ground below him was gone and he was free falling into nothingness. He wondered if death felt like this. There was no fear at the idea of death, of annihilation. It was living that he feared, not dying.
He fell a long way. When he landed it was with a hard crack on a concrete floor. He was in a very dark room. He walked to the door and found that it wouldn't open. Pounding on the door with his fists he cried out, "Help, help someone. Get me out of this place!"
The door was opened by one of the most beautiful women that Blake had ever seen. "So, this time we have a kiddie, barely finished nursing at his Ma's teats. What do you call yourself lad?"
"Blake, and I'm not a kid. I'm a man!"
"Well Blake, lucky for you that you're a man. Where you're going now you need to be as manly as possible."
"What do you mean 'Where I'm going?'" Blake's eyes widened in sudden apprehension. Everybody in Portland, Oregon knew about shanghaiing. Men were taken from saloons, the street, one report was a man taken coming home from church.
"Wait, you are shanghaiing me?"
"You catch on quick kid. That will also be an asset for you! Unless... Unless your Pa or Ma has a great big amount of money. If they paid a big ransom I could see my way clear to letting you go."
Blake eagerly pressed forward. He held out his Mother's legacy to him. "I have $100.00 dollars. That should buy me my freedom!"
"Big Sal is what they call me kid. I'll go talk to the others and see what they think."
Blake sat on the cold floor shivering from fear more than cold.
It wasn't long before three men came in the room. They picked up Blake and started to carry him. "What a minute. Where are you taking me?"
One of the men laughed nastily, "Where do you think? It's to the water with you son. Don't worry, you'll learn to love the briny salt water that dries out your skin and cracks your lips open. You'll begin to enjoy shoveling coal into the burner all day and night. It's a hell of a life kid and you've just joined our ranks!"
"But I gave Big Sal my money. She was supposed to use it to buy my freedom."
The men looked at each other and then burst out laughing. "You give money to Big Sal? That's money you'll never see again. Big Sal wouldn't care if she had Midas himself land here. She'd shanghai him AND keep his money."
Blake started to strike out at the men. One of them said, "Hey there sonny. We all have guns. This is NOT a fight that you can win."
"Why, why do you do this? Taking away freedom from another human being? That is almost worse than murder!"
"Tsk, tsk," one of the men said. "So young, and yet so judgmental. There is only ONE reason we do this."
All three men spoke in unison, "Money." They laughed out loud.
Blake's heart sunk into his boots. He realized that he had actually gone as the old quote said, "From the frying pan into the fire."
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Thanksgiving Day
What was Thanksgiving like in the 1800's? How was it much the same as the way that we celebrate today? How was it different? What foods do we still eat that they ate? What foods do we eat that are different?
In my first published novel, "Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," lulu.com there is a chapter about Beth, Jamie, and their first Thanksgiving together. Jamie's desire to have their very own first Thanksgiving as a family unit is admirable considering the fact that Beth has tricked Jamie into marriage with the desire to make he and his family miserable.
Jamie writes a song and gives it to Beth as an early Christmas present. Have you ever given a song as a Christmas present?
One of the choicest Christmases in my life was one that my sister taught me to sing a duet with her of a Christmas hymn, "Oh Hush Thee My Baby." I'll never forget the joy on our parents faces as we presented them with this "gift."
Material things are fun for a while, then the excitement fades, or the thing breaks, or gets lost. Experiences that create memory are the most precious in the world. Especially joyous Christmas memories.
So....please comment...what does your family usually eat at Thanksgiving? Does your entire family get together? Do you go out to eat? There is no "right" or "wrong" way to celebrate this holiday....well actually the one "wrong" way is to NOT celebrate this holiday. Being thankful is amazing. As the old song says, "When I get tired and I can't sleep, I count my blessings instead of sheep, and I fall asleep counting my blessings!"
So, think of that "half full" glass and find some things to be grateful for....even if it's as small as being grateful for my pretty kitty who purrs me to sleep at nights, or my darling doggy who makes it necessary for me to walk every couple of hours. Or there is ALWAYS the blessing of CHOCOLATE!
Or think of the BIG things, good parents, loving spouse, or children, warm place to sleep, clothes to wear, food to eat, and hopefully you will find that that "half-full" glass is actually more full than you realized!
In my first published novel, "Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," lulu.com there is a chapter about Beth, Jamie, and their first Thanksgiving together. Jamie's desire to have their very own first Thanksgiving as a family unit is admirable considering the fact that Beth has tricked Jamie into marriage with the desire to make he and his family miserable.
Jamie writes a song and gives it to Beth as an early Christmas present. Have you ever given a song as a Christmas present?
One of the choicest Christmases in my life was one that my sister taught me to sing a duet with her of a Christmas hymn, "Oh Hush Thee My Baby." I'll never forget the joy on our parents faces as we presented them with this "gift."
Material things are fun for a while, then the excitement fades, or the thing breaks, or gets lost. Experiences that create memory are the most precious in the world. Especially joyous Christmas memories.
So....please comment...what does your family usually eat at Thanksgiving? Does your entire family get together? Do you go out to eat? There is no "right" or "wrong" way to celebrate this holiday....well actually the one "wrong" way is to NOT celebrate this holiday. Being thankful is amazing. As the old song says, "When I get tired and I can't sleep, I count my blessings instead of sheep, and I fall asleep counting my blessings!"
So, think of that "half full" glass and find some things to be grateful for....even if it's as small as being grateful for my pretty kitty who purrs me to sleep at nights, or my darling doggy who makes it necessary for me to walk every couple of hours. Or there is ALWAYS the blessing of CHOCOLATE!
Or think of the BIG things, good parents, loving spouse, or children, warm place to sleep, clothes to wear, food to eat, and hopefully you will find that that "half-full" glass is actually more full than you realized!
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Blake Calkin
It was a chilly, rainy, Portland day. It seemed appropriate to me to go for a very long walk in one of the five cemeteries that surrounded our humble cottage. I think every writer should stroll through a cemetery from time to time. The amazing life stories that you discover when you read tombstones can teach you, and/or inspire you.
I had decided that I was going to write a novel. It would be romance, historical fiction. I knew that I wanted to base a fictional town and people around an actual town and people. I knew that there would be a strong male figure that the book would revolve around. It would take place in the 1800's.
I need a NAME! Names are critical in writing. If you name someone Ebenezer Scrooge even before you know that he is miserly, and miserable, you know he's not a nice person....I mean really Ebenezer Scrooge?
Conversely, ROBIN HOOD, that is the name of a champion. He was generous, passionate in righting wrongs....a superhero long before Superman was created, and he was more or less a real human.
So....a wonderful name for the male fulcrum of my story. There stood a proud tall gravestone. Engraved in larger than life letters was the name BLAKE CALKIN! That was it! A heroes name. I chuckled though wondering if BLAKE CALKIN the man under the tombstone in real life had been a tiny accountant with very thick glasses, that was prohibitively shy, but extremely rich! (Did I mention that beautiful HUGE tombstone?)
Nonetheless, a star was born, a star named BLAKE CALKIN!
I had decided that I was going to write a novel. It would be romance, historical fiction. I knew that I wanted to base a fictional town and people around an actual town and people. I knew that there would be a strong male figure that the book would revolve around. It would take place in the 1800's.
I need a NAME! Names are critical in writing. If you name someone Ebenezer Scrooge even before you know that he is miserly, and miserable, you know he's not a nice person....I mean really Ebenezer Scrooge?
Conversely, ROBIN HOOD, that is the name of a champion. He was generous, passionate in righting wrongs....a superhero long before Superman was created, and he was more or less a real human.
So....a wonderful name for the male fulcrum of my story. There stood a proud tall gravestone. Engraved in larger than life letters was the name BLAKE CALKIN! That was it! A heroes name. I chuckled though wondering if BLAKE CALKIN the man under the tombstone in real life had been a tiny accountant with very thick glasses, that was prohibitively shy, but extremely rich! (Did I mention that beautiful HUGE tombstone?)
Nonetheless, a star was born, a star named BLAKE CALKIN!
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Nyle and my Series "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch."
For twenty long years I've been writing, writing, writing a series....actually first it was going to be one book. Then it was too long for one book. Then it became 2, 3, 4, and now I'm up to nine novels in the series.
One of the big reasons that it didn't get published sooner was because I didn't believe that my writing would interest one soul besides me. YUP....my inferiority complex had an inferiority complex. I couldn't bear the idea that someone would read my book and dislike it.
It took a long time and lots of helpful advice before I had the courage to self-publish. Amazingly, some people have read it and liked it, a lot. I'm certain that some don't like it. On the other hand, if I don't try how will I ever know if I can do it?
So, I came to Nyle (always the man with the creative ideas) and said, "There is this captain...well he doesn't start as a captain. He's shanghaied at a bar in Portland, Oregon when he's fourteen. He works very hard, and by the age of twenty owns his own steamship traveling with cargo from Portland, Oregon to San Francisco, California.
He is tired of the sea life (which he didn't want to do in the first place.) He has looked all over the world for his own personal place to build a ranch. A humble place at first but he has big plans and dreams to turn it into a beautiful mansion eventually.
His dreams become reality in a strange way. He goes to bed one night leaving the steering of the ship to his second mate. The mate has never dealt with the sand bars that are so tricky at the end of the Columbia river, and the beginning of the Pacific Ocean. He doesn't set the anchor deeply enough and the ship runs aground.
Captain Calkin goes ashore to determine first the extent of damage to the ship. Then he recognizes the place of his dreams complete with rolling hills, a water supply, and lots, and lots of lumber to build with and sell.
He begins his ranch unafraid of hard work. He names the ranch for the anchor that drifted and helped him run aground. The anchor sits at the beginning of the ranch with a large sign above it that says, "Drifting Anchor Ranch."
Nyle gave me the ranch name. I had just finished the above story, telling it to him, and quick as that he said, "Oh, the ranch should be named the Drifting Anchor Ranch." He was always so creative.
I'm so grateful for the name because it is a perfect analogy for so many things in real life. I think most of us have had an anchor that has drifted from time to time in our life's journey. Many of us have even run aground causing some temporary damage. If we are blessed that drifting anchor has led us to new opportunities, just as it did for Blake.
I'm grateful for the anchor that Nyle's love has been in my life, keeping me grounded and safe. Even though he is no longer on this physical plane, I still feel his spirit encouraging me and protecting me.
One of the big reasons that it didn't get published sooner was because I didn't believe that my writing would interest one soul besides me. YUP....my inferiority complex had an inferiority complex. I couldn't bear the idea that someone would read my book and dislike it.
It took a long time and lots of helpful advice before I had the courage to self-publish. Amazingly, some people have read it and liked it, a lot. I'm certain that some don't like it. On the other hand, if I don't try how will I ever know if I can do it?
So, I came to Nyle (always the man with the creative ideas) and said, "There is this captain...well he doesn't start as a captain. He's shanghaied at a bar in Portland, Oregon when he's fourteen. He works very hard, and by the age of twenty owns his own steamship traveling with cargo from Portland, Oregon to San Francisco, California.
He is tired of the sea life (which he didn't want to do in the first place.) He has looked all over the world for his own personal place to build a ranch. A humble place at first but he has big plans and dreams to turn it into a beautiful mansion eventually.
His dreams become reality in a strange way. He goes to bed one night leaving the steering of the ship to his second mate. The mate has never dealt with the sand bars that are so tricky at the end of the Columbia river, and the beginning of the Pacific Ocean. He doesn't set the anchor deeply enough and the ship runs aground.
Captain Calkin goes ashore to determine first the extent of damage to the ship. Then he recognizes the place of his dreams complete with rolling hills, a water supply, and lots, and lots of lumber to build with and sell.
He begins his ranch unafraid of hard work. He names the ranch for the anchor that drifted and helped him run aground. The anchor sits at the beginning of the ranch with a large sign above it that says, "Drifting Anchor Ranch."
Nyle gave me the ranch name. I had just finished the above story, telling it to him, and quick as that he said, "Oh, the ranch should be named the Drifting Anchor Ranch." He was always so creative.
I'm so grateful for the name because it is a perfect analogy for so many things in real life. I think most of us have had an anchor that has drifted from time to time in our life's journey. Many of us have even run aground causing some temporary damage. If we are blessed that drifting anchor has led us to new opportunities, just as it did for Blake.
I'm grateful for the anchor that Nyle's love has been in my life, keeping me grounded and safe. Even though he is no longer on this physical plane, I still feel his spirit encouraging me and protecting me.
Romance, and Love and Nyle OH MY
I was teaching a spiritual lesson to my Women's group at Church. The subject matter escapes me now it has been 16 years.
My beloved husband was far too ill to dress and come to church. The medical conditions that he had caused extreme nausea, difficulty breathing, pain, and many other issues.
Still, on this day, while I was teaching there he was in his suit looking so handsome, and so healthy. Nobody would have guessed what price he had to pay to make that appearance. In his arms were beautiful flowers.
He came up and presented me with the flowers. The ladies all oohed and aahed. Then he announced that the following Saturday was my 40th birthday and that all of the congregation was invited. My jaw dropped twice. Once for announcing that it was my 40th birthday (did I really want everyone to know? lol Once for the invitation to the entire congregation (about 200 people in all).
I have social anxiety, even a group that large of my closest relatives and friends would find me in fetal position in the corner sucking my thumb! (OK, maybe not the thumb sucking park)
Then he took me in his strong arms, dipped me and kissed me, and departed as quickly as he had come. May I mention that I NEVER got the lesson back on track after that. The sisters were much too impressed by my romantic husband to remember the lesson.
One sister asked me if my husband could give her husband romance lessons! hee hee hee Nyle's love was a gift, CORRECTION is a gift that I will treasure forever.
The party was splendid...he designed the graphics on our little computer and laboriously printed out different sections and then put them together to form huge banners. He purchased about 45 helium balloons. He had 40 people bring out balloons to our front yard. He announced in his best attorney/actor/radio advertisement voice that each balloon represented some problem or trouble in the 40 years that I had lived. As we let go of each balloon my slate would be wiped clean and I would be able to start again.
I could not believe the restorative power of those balloons floating away, taking my troubles, and problems with them.
Did I mention that he orchestrated all of this desperately ill? He was so nauseated, and sometimes he would cough so hard t would drop him to the floor. Yet he persevered and did all of that for me. His love humbles me, and makes me oh so grateful for the twenty-seven years that we shared, and the eternity that we will yet share.
My beloved husband was far too ill to dress and come to church. The medical conditions that he had caused extreme nausea, difficulty breathing, pain, and many other issues.
Still, on this day, while I was teaching there he was in his suit looking so handsome, and so healthy. Nobody would have guessed what price he had to pay to make that appearance. In his arms were beautiful flowers.
He came up and presented me with the flowers. The ladies all oohed and aahed. Then he announced that the following Saturday was my 40th birthday and that all of the congregation was invited. My jaw dropped twice. Once for announcing that it was my 40th birthday (did I really want everyone to know? lol Once for the invitation to the entire congregation (about 200 people in all).
I have social anxiety, even a group that large of my closest relatives and friends would find me in fetal position in the corner sucking my thumb! (OK, maybe not the thumb sucking park)
Then he took me in his strong arms, dipped me and kissed me, and departed as quickly as he had come. May I mention that I NEVER got the lesson back on track after that. The sisters were much too impressed by my romantic husband to remember the lesson.
One sister asked me if my husband could give her husband romance lessons! hee hee hee Nyle's love was a gift, CORRECTION is a gift that I will treasure forever.
The party was splendid...he designed the graphics on our little computer and laboriously printed out different sections and then put them together to form huge banners. He purchased about 45 helium balloons. He had 40 people bring out balloons to our front yard. He announced in his best attorney/actor/radio advertisement voice that each balloon represented some problem or trouble in the 40 years that I had lived. As we let go of each balloon my slate would be wiped clean and I would be able to start again.
I could not believe the restorative power of those balloons floating away, taking my troubles, and problems with them.
Did I mention that he orchestrated all of this desperately ill? He was so nauseated, and sometimes he would cough so hard t would drop him to the floor. Yet he persevered and did all of that for me. His love humbles me, and makes me oh so grateful for the twenty-seven years that we shared, and the eternity that we will yet share.
Romance
I was married to one of the most romantic men that I've ever known....and I've known quite a few men in my lifetime. (No NOT in the Biblical sense of "know"....clean up your mind...lol)
This romantic, loving part of Nyle was and will always be a big part of my romance novels. He was not only gigantic in stature (six foot four, and two hundred eighty pounds)....Oh did I mention that it took me about fifteen minutes to iron and starch ONE of his shirts....and I'm a fast ironer? He was gigantic in gesture and love.
One example. Soon after Nyle and I married he told me that two times of the day were uniquely special to him. That was the two times of the day when it was 11:11. That was the only two times of the day that all four digits were the same. So, he concluded that whenever we saw 11:11 and were together we would hold hands for that one minute until it was 11:12.
Did I just hear all the women reading this sigh and say in a loud voice, AHHHH??? Oh he was an AHHHH kind of man. He was the stuff that romance novels are made of.
Last night I couldn't sleep. I don't know why. Once in a while I just have a miserable night where I toss and turn, and wake up frequently. This precludes much activity on the following day.
So sitting in my comfy blue recliner (that used to be Nyle's favorite chair in the house) I started to cry hard missing Nyle so desperately that I felt I couldn't breathe. Then I happened to look at the TV and saw that today's date is 11/11. So, this delightful day is dedicated to my beloved. I will write about him, and communicate with those that loved him near and far.
Today in my mind I will be holding tight to Nyle's strong, loving, comforting hand. I will be strengthening my resolve to move forward into life by remembering the love that Nyle and I shared for twenty-seven years, and I believe that we will share forever.
This romantic, loving part of Nyle was and will always be a big part of my romance novels. He was not only gigantic in stature (six foot four, and two hundred eighty pounds)....Oh did I mention that it took me about fifteen minutes to iron and starch ONE of his shirts....and I'm a fast ironer? He was gigantic in gesture and love.
One example. Soon after Nyle and I married he told me that two times of the day were uniquely special to him. That was the two times of the day when it was 11:11. That was the only two times of the day that all four digits were the same. So, he concluded that whenever we saw 11:11 and were together we would hold hands for that one minute until it was 11:12.
Did I just hear all the women reading this sigh and say in a loud voice, AHHHH??? Oh he was an AHHHH kind of man. He was the stuff that romance novels are made of.
Last night I couldn't sleep. I don't know why. Once in a while I just have a miserable night where I toss and turn, and wake up frequently. This precludes much activity on the following day.
So sitting in my comfy blue recliner (that used to be Nyle's favorite chair in the house) I started to cry hard missing Nyle so desperately that I felt I couldn't breathe. Then I happened to look at the TV and saw that today's date is 11/11. So, this delightful day is dedicated to my beloved. I will write about him, and communicate with those that loved him near and far.
Today in my mind I will be holding tight to Nyle's strong, loving, comforting hand. I will be strengthening my resolve to move forward into life by remembering the love that Nyle and I shared for twenty-seven years, and I believe that we will share forever.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Beth
"Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," is about a spoiled, miserable, woman. Her family has anything that money can buy. She's never known sacrifice or want. Since everything has been given to her when she wanted, and how she wanted it's a shock for her to discover that the world does not always work that way. People have agency, and you can't force anyone to love you NOT EVER!
At first I reviewed my 8 novel series and thought, well this book, Beth, is about a tale of redemption. Then I reviewed Celeste, and Angela, and discovered they were tales of redemption. As I thought of the many, MANY books that I have read I realized in many ways most of my favorite stories are tales of redemption. Think, "Oliver Twist," "Christmas Carol," "Anne of Green Gables," even "Little House on the Prairie," (the redemption from the difficult life of a modern day pioneer.)
Tales of redemption fire the human spirit. They help us touch what is good, and strong about ourselves, and helps us to reach for our own redemption, whether it be a short term or long term, lifelong pursuit.
My sister-in law (a delightful soul that I love, Love, LOVE) sometimes asks, "Have you redemplfied your dorsal?" A phrase that is a new twist on redemption but it works. Today....ask yourself the question, "Have I redemplified my dorsal sufficiently?" Then smile and look for the joy that may be hidden in your day.
At first I reviewed my 8 novel series and thought, well this book, Beth, is about a tale of redemption. Then I reviewed Celeste, and Angela, and discovered they were tales of redemption. As I thought of the many, MANY books that I have read I realized in many ways most of my favorite stories are tales of redemption. Think, "Oliver Twist," "Christmas Carol," "Anne of Green Gables," even "Little House on the Prairie," (the redemption from the difficult life of a modern day pioneer.)
Tales of redemption fire the human spirit. They help us touch what is good, and strong about ourselves, and helps us to reach for our own redemption, whether it be a short term or long term, lifelong pursuit.
My sister-in law (a delightful soul that I love, Love, LOVE) sometimes asks, "Have you redemplfied your dorsal?" A phrase that is a new twist on redemption but it works. Today....ask yourself the question, "Have I redemplified my dorsal sufficiently?" Then smile and look for the joy that may be hidden in your day.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch
I warned everyone that Celeste would be a bit of a rougher read than most of the novels in the series, "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch." For those of my dear friends and families that have a weak stomach for how harsh the world can be you may want to skip this novel.
On the other hand, there IS purpose for the strong stuff in this novel. It has a value, and if you can read it keeping in mind that there WILL be some forms of redemption I feel that I did some of my best writing in this book. Celeste Benoit is a remarkable woman who has faced the harshest situations that life can wrap you in, and come off conqueror. If you are brave with the first part of the book there will some fun, and uplifting things in the rest of the book that will reward your effort.
It was while writing this book, (the book that was a total surprise and almost seemed to write itself), that I learned how prevalent sexual slavery is in our world today. It's at the highest point in history! After learning that I felt that this book was meant to educate people about an ugly condition. It's horrifying for me to realize that sexual slavery is practiced far more today than it was in the 19th century! In addition there are evil people who are paid to troll the small towns in America looking for small children in vulnerable positions to snatch. One woman in this situation was an adult with the mind of a child. They target our most vulnerable. We CAN shine a light in the darkness of this evil. We CAN protect our own precious children (never ever leave them unprotected by an adult, not even in your front yard).
Thanks to all those who read and enjoy my work. Vivian Varlowe
On the other hand, there IS purpose for the strong stuff in this novel. It has a value, and if you can read it keeping in mind that there WILL be some forms of redemption I feel that I did some of my best writing in this book. Celeste Benoit is a remarkable woman who has faced the harshest situations that life can wrap you in, and come off conqueror. If you are brave with the first part of the book there will some fun, and uplifting things in the rest of the book that will reward your effort.
It was while writing this book, (the book that was a total surprise and almost seemed to write itself), that I learned how prevalent sexual slavery is in our world today. It's at the highest point in history! After learning that I felt that this book was meant to educate people about an ugly condition. It's horrifying for me to realize that sexual slavery is practiced far more today than it was in the 19th century! In addition there are evil people who are paid to troll the small towns in America looking for small children in vulnerable positions to snatch. One woman in this situation was an adult with the mind of a child. They target our most vulnerable. We CAN shine a light in the darkness of this evil. We CAN protect our own precious children (never ever leave them unprotected by an adult, not even in your front yard).
Thanks to all those who read and enjoy my work. Vivian Varlowe
Writing Sample
CELESTE-CHAPTER ONE
His hair was mane, tousled, and tangled. He had a scraggly beard that masked his features. The dim lamplight shone in the curled length of his hair, trapped, and unable to escape. He looked more like a fierce animal than a human.
A sigh escaped Celeste as he stood in her doorway. She was so very weary. Her soul felt as though it had drained from her. She was just dry brittle bone. Nothing soft was left. Even he softness of her sigh vanished into the musky darkness.
Silver trails of tears slid silently down his cheeks. The sight of the tears contrasted against the rough quality of the man. Celeste was shocked, as nothing else had shocked her in three years as a soiled dove.
"My wife, well she died last month. She died because she gave my son life. I will never love again. I don't have a heart, or love, they died with Sarah. I don't want sex either. I'm cursed. My first wife, Ardis, died giving birth to my first son. Two women have born my child. Both of them died giving my son's life. I will never again plant my seed in another woman..."
His hair was mane, tousled, and tangled. He had a scraggly beard that masked his features. The dim lamplight shone in the curled length of his hair, trapped, and unable to escape. He looked more like a fierce animal than a human.
A sigh escaped Celeste as he stood in her doorway. She was so very weary. Her soul felt as though it had drained from her. She was just dry brittle bone. Nothing soft was left. Even he softness of her sigh vanished into the musky darkness.
Silver trails of tears slid silently down his cheeks. The sight of the tears contrasted against the rough quality of the man. Celeste was shocked, as nothing else had shocked her in three years as a soiled dove.
"My wife, well she died last month. She died because she gave my son life. I will never love again. I don't have a heart, or love, they died with Sarah. I don't want sex either. I'm cursed. My first wife, Ardis, died giving birth to my first son. Two women have born my child. Both of them died giving my son's life. I will never again plant my seed in another woman..."
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Please consider and discuss!
I would LOVE my blogs to be more than just me spouting my thoughts and beliefs. I would like my blogs to inspire discussion. It would be wise to rein in emotions while discussing opposing viewpoints on things. Civil communication is always the wisest. Communication can be a powerful medium to inspire change.
Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch, is a novel about a woman who is trapped into sexual slavery at the age of 14. It went against the first rule of writing, "Write what you know," for me to write this novel. It felt almost as though someone were writing through me. I don't believe in "channeling," in the traditional spiritualistic sense of the word but I definitely wrote way out of my comfort zone.
A week after I started writing this book I watched a documentary. It was about sexual slavery NOW. I was appalled to find out that sexual slavery is at an all time high in our world today. This is not just an enslaver of female children, and teens, this is an enslaver of males as well.
The discussion that I would like to have right now is about ideas of ways to either prevent one soul from being trapped in sexual slaveries darkly evil depths, or in ways to lift one person, or even better more from this hellish mess. Two goals are needed, prevention is the best choice, but rescue is also ever so important.
There is one method that I would suggest. In America we hear lots about serial rapists, and murderers who seek out small children that are vulnerable. My girls heard about "Stranger danger" many times when they were children.
I am appalled as I go about my daily life and see small children alone, without a hint of an adult anywhere close. I always wonder, are the parents unaware of the danger, do they just not care, or are they thinking "That can't happen to us, or this is a very safe place." To my mind any of those ideas show a very tragic ignorance.
There are now people paid to stroll the streets, and byways of our country looking for prey. It doesn't take more than a quick minute to grab a small child, toss them into a waiting vehicle and drive away into a mystery.
Even when I was still a young woman a precious child was snatched away in this manner in a teeny, tiny, "safe" town near to where I grew up. A few years later a sixteen year old woman was snatched. Later it was discovered that Ted Bundy had lived in the area during that time. Neither of these young ones was ever discovered.
NEVER let your children play alone without an adult or a child twelve years of age or older. Predators target children who are unsupervised.
Networking can be a tool of power in preventing these crimes, or solving them. Please watch over your children. Our future depends on it!
Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch, is a novel about a woman who is trapped into sexual slavery at the age of 14. It went against the first rule of writing, "Write what you know," for me to write this novel. It felt almost as though someone were writing through me. I don't believe in "channeling," in the traditional spiritualistic sense of the word but I definitely wrote way out of my comfort zone.
A week after I started writing this book I watched a documentary. It was about sexual slavery NOW. I was appalled to find out that sexual slavery is at an all time high in our world today. This is not just an enslaver of female children, and teens, this is an enslaver of males as well.
The discussion that I would like to have right now is about ideas of ways to either prevent one soul from being trapped in sexual slaveries darkly evil depths, or in ways to lift one person, or even better more from this hellish mess. Two goals are needed, prevention is the best choice, but rescue is also ever so important.
There is one method that I would suggest. In America we hear lots about serial rapists, and murderers who seek out small children that are vulnerable. My girls heard about "Stranger danger" many times when they were children.
I am appalled as I go about my daily life and see small children alone, without a hint of an adult anywhere close. I always wonder, are the parents unaware of the danger, do they just not care, or are they thinking "That can't happen to us, or this is a very safe place." To my mind any of those ideas show a very tragic ignorance.
There are now people paid to stroll the streets, and byways of our country looking for prey. It doesn't take more than a quick minute to grab a small child, toss them into a waiting vehicle and drive away into a mystery.
Even when I was still a young woman a precious child was snatched away in this manner in a teeny, tiny, "safe" town near to where I grew up. A few years later a sixteen year old woman was snatched. Later it was discovered that Ted Bundy had lived in the area during that time. Neither of these young ones was ever discovered.
NEVER let your children play alone without an adult or a child twelve years of age or older. Predators target children who are unsupervised.
Networking can be a tool of power in preventing these crimes, or solving them. Please watch over your children. Our future depends on it!
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Business Cards
It's a very little piece of paper. It has textual writing upon it. Yet this tiny little emblem represents me, my writing, and my series. I was so excited to get the business card made!
I forgot one tiny little detail. Where can you purchase my books? Ooopsies. So, I will soon be ordering a new set of cards.
I've been taking a mini rest from my writing. I had surgery. It wasn't major, and I'm healing but it's hard to focus for any length of time.
I plan on starting my "parties" in the first part of August. I'm very excited and hope that I will have friends who will be willing to "hostess" or "host" a party. I promise we will have fun!
Thanks for each and everyone of my friends that have inspired me, encouraged me, and challenged me to reach my goal of publishing a series of novels!
I forgot one tiny little detail. Where can you purchase my books? Ooopsies. So, I will soon be ordering a new set of cards.
I've been taking a mini rest from my writing. I had surgery. It wasn't major, and I'm healing but it's hard to focus for any length of time.
I plan on starting my "parties" in the first part of August. I'm very excited and hope that I will have friends who will be willing to "hostess" or "host" a party. I promise we will have fun!
Thanks for each and everyone of my friends that have inspired me, encouraged me, and challenged me to reach my goal of publishing a series of novels!
Friday, July 6, 2012
CELEBRATE, PARTY TIME!
So as an independent author I also am in charge of all my own marketing. I have prayed, and thought about any ways to gain interest in my books. As much as I LOVE to write I am actually writing this series to earn money. GRIN
I was a Mary Kay "Consultant" twice. I LOVED teaching the skincare and makeup classes. I was pretty good if I DO SAY SO MYSELF! The only problem was that I felt guilty asking people to pay money for the products that I was promoting. SOOOOOO, I would GIVE them the products. That meant that I WAS PAYING FOR THE PRIVILEGE OF TEACHING! lol
I thought about it and decided that having "Drifting Anchor" parties would be a lot of fun, and hopefully would generate some book sales. I hope to be able to start this next summer, 2014.
This is the way that I see it working. I will come in costume, (something from the 1800's), my hair really doesn't look like something a woman in the 1800's would wear so I will probably get a wig. The people that attend are also encouraged to wear a costume from the 1800's.
If I hostess the party I get to choose which type of party we will have. We can have a 1. Quilting Bee
2. Knitting party 3. Crocheting party 4. Sewing party 5. Herbs, and or essential oils 6. Music from the 1800's. If YOU hostess then you get to decide the party type.
Whatever type of party we have we will also eat food from the 1800's, and every once in a while randomly I will call out, time for a gift! Each person that attends the party will be given a ticket. I will have one half of the ticket with a number on it. I will draw out a number, and the lucky winner will be given a present. They can choose from several wrapped items.
I will also read from one of my books, AND we will sing songs from the 1800's. I'm so excited to get this ball rolling.
The hostess of a party will receive a thank you present. If they have a quilting bee they get to keep the quilt, or there will be other options for the hostess as a thank you gift.
If anybody wishes to sign up for a party with dates starting in the summer of 2014 let me know. You can email me at lovethatcj@gmail.com Looking forward to summer!
In addition, I am writing three more books next year. Two more books from my series "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," and one called Haunted Love. Haunted Love came from a dream that I had one night. It will be a tense page turner with mystery, romance, a ghost, espionage, and adorable children. It's got a little of a lot.
So, roll out this old year, and the three new novels I will publish this year or very close to the New Year and roll on new novels, and book parties!
I was a Mary Kay "Consultant" twice. I LOVED teaching the skincare and makeup classes. I was pretty good if I DO SAY SO MYSELF! The only problem was that I felt guilty asking people to pay money for the products that I was promoting. SOOOOOO, I would GIVE them the products. That meant that I WAS PAYING FOR THE PRIVILEGE OF TEACHING! lol
I thought about it and decided that having "Drifting Anchor" parties would be a lot of fun, and hopefully would generate some book sales. I hope to be able to start this next summer, 2014.
This is the way that I see it working. I will come in costume, (something from the 1800's), my hair really doesn't look like something a woman in the 1800's would wear so I will probably get a wig. The people that attend are also encouraged to wear a costume from the 1800's.
If I hostess the party I get to choose which type of party we will have. We can have a 1. Quilting Bee
2. Knitting party 3. Crocheting party 4. Sewing party 5. Herbs, and or essential oils 6. Music from the 1800's. If YOU hostess then you get to decide the party type.
Whatever type of party we have we will also eat food from the 1800's, and every once in a while randomly I will call out, time for a gift! Each person that attends the party will be given a ticket. I will have one half of the ticket with a number on it. I will draw out a number, and the lucky winner will be given a present. They can choose from several wrapped items.
I will also read from one of my books, AND we will sing songs from the 1800's. I'm so excited to get this ball rolling.
The hostess of a party will receive a thank you present. If they have a quilting bee they get to keep the quilt, or there will be other options for the hostess as a thank you gift.
If anybody wishes to sign up for a party with dates starting in the summer of 2014 let me know. You can email me at lovethatcj@gmail.com Looking forward to summer!
In addition, I am writing three more books next year. Two more books from my series "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," and one called Haunted Love. Haunted Love came from a dream that I had one night. It will be a tense page turner with mystery, romance, a ghost, espionage, and adorable children. It's got a little of a lot.
So, roll out this old year, and the three new novels I will publish this year or very close to the New Year and roll on new novels, and book parties!
Celeste-Tragedy and Joy
I have begun to go through the process of finishing the rough draft copy of my third book in the series "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch." It's title is "Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch."
One of the first rules of writing is "Write what you know." I DIDN'T know about sexual slavery....I didn't WANT to know about this subject. Yet as I began to define Celeste's character, and personality that is what she became....a fourteen year old girl trapped into the soul crushing business of prostitution.
A week after I had begun to write the story of Celeste I tripped across a documentary about sexual slavery today. I was stunned when the documentary said that sexual slavery is at an ALL TIME HIGH in our world. There are more sexual slaves in our world than at any other time in history!!!
Then I began to feel as though there was a purpose in writing Celeste in that hideous situation. I warn everyone that this novel is NOT for the faint of heart. I am not graphic in describing the experience for Celeste. Yet she has a story to tell that goes beyond the 1800's. Sadly enough this hideous practice continues NOW in the 21st century.
There ARE things that we can do to help the children, and teens that are trapped in this grisly world. In my case I WILL speak out about it. I will shout from the rooftops, PROTECT YOUR CHILDREN! I have seen so many children 5 and younger by themselves at playgrounds. Where are the parents? Sexual predators actually troll places where children play looking for their next victim. Ie!
Keep your children in your sight at all times. NEVER let them outside to roam about alone. This is especially true if you travel! On excursions my husband and I used to put our two daughters in the middle of us. He was in front, I was in back, and the girls in the middle where we could see them at all times.
Teach your children the dangers of chat rooms, and meeting a VIRTUAL friend in real time alone. It is SO EASY for sexual predators to pretend that they are something other than themselves. A cute young boy for example looking for a girlfriend.
I watched another program about a young girl who went to meet a friend from a "chat room." He turned out to be a 40 year old male that trapped her into sexual slavery. She was in this horrible condition for years before she managed to escape.
This is NOT just about girls. Boys are also trapped in this web of evil. Train your children how to defend themselves. Teach them about the dangers in this world. There ARE people that still can be trusted. Another program I watched an officer spoke about if a child gets lost in a busy place. He said, "Tell them to look for a woman. 85% of the violent crimes perpetrated in this country are MALE."
I wish to end on a positive note. If we can prevent just ONE child or teen from getting into this situation it is wonderful. If we can rescue even one child or teen from this web of intrigue and wickedness also wonderful! Imagine if we could set ALL of these people free! Let's keep learning, and protecting our precious children. They are our future!
One of the first rules of writing is "Write what you know." I DIDN'T know about sexual slavery....I didn't WANT to know about this subject. Yet as I began to define Celeste's character, and personality that is what she became....a fourteen year old girl trapped into the soul crushing business of prostitution.
A week after I had begun to write the story of Celeste I tripped across a documentary about sexual slavery today. I was stunned when the documentary said that sexual slavery is at an ALL TIME HIGH in our world. There are more sexual slaves in our world than at any other time in history!!!
Then I began to feel as though there was a purpose in writing Celeste in that hideous situation. I warn everyone that this novel is NOT for the faint of heart. I am not graphic in describing the experience for Celeste. Yet she has a story to tell that goes beyond the 1800's. Sadly enough this hideous practice continues NOW in the 21st century.
There ARE things that we can do to help the children, and teens that are trapped in this grisly world. In my case I WILL speak out about it. I will shout from the rooftops, PROTECT YOUR CHILDREN! I have seen so many children 5 and younger by themselves at playgrounds. Where are the parents? Sexual predators actually troll places where children play looking for their next victim. Ie!
Keep your children in your sight at all times. NEVER let them outside to roam about alone. This is especially true if you travel! On excursions my husband and I used to put our two daughters in the middle of us. He was in front, I was in back, and the girls in the middle where we could see them at all times.
Teach your children the dangers of chat rooms, and meeting a VIRTUAL friend in real time alone. It is SO EASY for sexual predators to pretend that they are something other than themselves. A cute young boy for example looking for a girlfriend.
I watched another program about a young girl who went to meet a friend from a "chat room." He turned out to be a 40 year old male that trapped her into sexual slavery. She was in this horrible condition for years before she managed to escape.
This is NOT just about girls. Boys are also trapped in this web of evil. Train your children how to defend themselves. Teach them about the dangers in this world. There ARE people that still can be trusted. Another program I watched an officer spoke about if a child gets lost in a busy place. He said, "Tell them to look for a woman. 85% of the violent crimes perpetrated in this country are MALE."
I wish to end on a positive note. If we can prevent just ONE child or teen from getting into this situation it is wonderful. If we can rescue even one child or teen from this web of intrigue and wickedness also wonderful! Imagine if we could set ALL of these people free! Let's keep learning, and protecting our precious children. They are our future!
Monday, June 18, 2012
Angela and Wilhelmina Elizabeth
Have you ever noticed that when it's hard for you to get along with someone generally it's because they share your faults. The things that you dislike the most about yourself are even more annoying when you see them in someone else. Maybe witnessing firsthand what it's like to see those flaws in action causes self doubt, friction. Like the grain of sand that an oyster surrounds with their own chemical smoother, we can use those people to guide us on to better behavior. Or we can just leave that grain of sand irritant, and simply become more and more annoyed, and frustrated.
Angela and Wilhelmina Elizabeth have many personality characteristics in common. They are both extremely strong individuals. Even in times of personal weakness they are capable of moving forward. The most damning trait that they share is their inability to express emotion in any other manner than anger. So...they become angry often, and instead of understanding that about each other, they go in a negative cycle, until they cause each other harm.
I have not written my series in a chronological order. Eventually when I have published all eight novels I may go back and number them in that chronological order. At the same time I have written each book in such a way that each book can stand alone. You will WANT to read all of the novels because each sheds new perspective on the series, the people, the place, the history, and the romance.
The biggest difference between Angela and Wilhelmina Elizabeth is that Angela has endured years of the hardest struggles that life can bring. Angela is filled with gratitude for the change in her life that comes when she is brought into the Calkin family.
Wilhelmina believes that she is entitled to all the wishes and dreams that she might ever have. She has lived a life of being spoiled, and cossetted by her Mother. Thinking that everyone needs to do her bidding she is a miserable person to be around.
I hope that readers will enjoy getting to know Angela, and Wilhelmina Elizabeth.
Angela and Wilhelmina Elizabeth have many personality characteristics in common. They are both extremely strong individuals. Even in times of personal weakness they are capable of moving forward. The most damning trait that they share is their inability to express emotion in any other manner than anger. So...they become angry often, and instead of understanding that about each other, they go in a negative cycle, until they cause each other harm.
I have not written my series in a chronological order. Eventually when I have published all eight novels I may go back and number them in that chronological order. At the same time I have written each book in such a way that each book can stand alone. You will WANT to read all of the novels because each sheds new perspective on the series, the people, the place, the history, and the romance.
The biggest difference between Angela and Wilhelmina Elizabeth is that Angela has endured years of the hardest struggles that life can bring. Angela is filled with gratitude for the change in her life that comes when she is brought into the Calkin family.
Wilhelmina believes that she is entitled to all the wishes and dreams that she might ever have. She has lived a life of being spoiled, and cossetted by her Mother. Thinking that everyone needs to do her bidding she is a miserable person to be around.
I hope that readers will enjoy getting to know Angela, and Wilhelmina Elizabeth.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Bit N Pieces
So....it would help readers to know a little bit about the series. All of the books revolve around a man, Blake Calkin. They are connected to him in different capacities, wife, daughter, daughter in law, or neighbor. All of the books also revolve around a ranch, The Drifting Anchor Ranch, which is founded, and owned by Blake Calkin.
The ranch is in a fictional place in Oregon, twelve miles southeast of the actual historical town of Astoria, Oregon. Astoria was named for the man John Jacob Astor who invested money into a group that traveled to the place and named Astoria after him. It was a place of great wealth in the 1800's. There were furs to be trapped, lumber to be harvested, and sold, the ocean was teeming with seafood, and there was a waterway from the interior of Oregon, (the Columbia River) to the Pacific Ocean.
John Jacob Astor never saw the town that was founded in his name. If a town was named after me I would be on the next bike, horse, car, plane, bus, or train to that location. I would want to make certain that my namesake town was worthy of my name. Vivian does sound like a lovely name for town, don't you think?
Blake Calkin is married to three women....not at the same time. He married Ardis first. They had a wonderful son together, Eric. Ardis only lived a few days after Eric was born.
Sarah was Blake's next wife. She was tiny physically, but a powerhouse of spiritual energy. She gave up leading her Native American tribe to marry Blake. She and Blake created Jamie, a beloved son, and she died the day after Jamie was born. Yet she is not completely gone. She appears in spirit form to different people who are connected to the ranch one way or another.
Celeste is Blake's third wife. It takes her years to convince him that they should marry. He has become so superstitious after losing two wives shortly after they have given birth to his sons that he is convinced that being married to him is a curse. He makes a vow to never marry again, and never have intimate relations with ANY woman knowing that it could cause pregnancy, and convinced that abstaining is a way to keep his "curse" from being repeated.
So these are some little facts about the series, and the area where I have based it. Just a reminder, you can buy Beth Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch at lulu.com in paperback format, or eformat for Nook, or other eformats. If you wish to buy KINDLE format you can buy that at Amazon.com. I write under the pen name of Vivian Varlowe.
The ranch is in a fictional place in Oregon, twelve miles southeast of the actual historical town of Astoria, Oregon. Astoria was named for the man John Jacob Astor who invested money into a group that traveled to the place and named Astoria after him. It was a place of great wealth in the 1800's. There were furs to be trapped, lumber to be harvested, and sold, the ocean was teeming with seafood, and there was a waterway from the interior of Oregon, (the Columbia River) to the Pacific Ocean.
John Jacob Astor never saw the town that was founded in his name. If a town was named after me I would be on the next bike, horse, car, plane, bus, or train to that location. I would want to make certain that my namesake town was worthy of my name. Vivian does sound like a lovely name for town, don't you think?
Blake Calkin is married to three women....not at the same time. He married Ardis first. They had a wonderful son together, Eric. Ardis only lived a few days after Eric was born.
Sarah was Blake's next wife. She was tiny physically, but a powerhouse of spiritual energy. She gave up leading her Native American tribe to marry Blake. She and Blake created Jamie, a beloved son, and she died the day after Jamie was born. Yet she is not completely gone. She appears in spirit form to different people who are connected to the ranch one way or another.
Celeste is Blake's third wife. It takes her years to convince him that they should marry. He has become so superstitious after losing two wives shortly after they have given birth to his sons that he is convinced that being married to him is a curse. He makes a vow to never marry again, and never have intimate relations with ANY woman knowing that it could cause pregnancy, and convinced that abstaining is a way to keep his "curse" from being repeated.
So these are some little facts about the series, and the area where I have based it. Just a reminder, you can buy Beth Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch at lulu.com in paperback format, or eformat for Nook, or other eformats. If you wish to buy KINDLE format you can buy that at Amazon.com. I write under the pen name of Vivian Varlowe.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Sheriff Simmon's tries to Interview Angela
ANGELA
Chapter Five – Sheriff
Simmons
Blake
walked slowly, stiffly, up the stairs towards Angela’s room. He cradled a mug of hot coffee in his
hands. The smell soothed his
spirit. Blake marveled at the comfort
and pleasure of little things in life.
He was surprised
to hear a loud male voice coming from Angela’s room. He knew it wasn’t Red. Red was downstairs cleaning up from
breakfast. Blake had assigned Eric and
Jamie fence-mending chores far from the house.
It was unlikely to be them.
Blake
quickened his step down the hall. He
turned the knob, and very quietly opened the door. Sheriff Simmons was holding both of Angela’s
hands in one of his rough, meaty, hands.
She was still unconscious but the Sheriff had pulled her into a sitting
position.
“Don’t
pretend with me girlie. I know when
someone is pretending. Calkin thinks he
owns this town, and everyone in it. He
don’t own the law. He can’t keep me away
from you. I need you to answer some
questions. It’s my job to protect this
town. I need to know about the other
thief that was with you, the one that got away.”
Blake
spoke in a deceptively quiet voice.
“Sheriff Earl
Simmons you’re going to let that girl down very, very gently.”
An angry red
suffused the Sheriff’s face.
Begrudgingly, he lowered Angela.
Blake sat down on the bed near Angela.
He began to gently massage the angry, red marks on Angela’s hands and
arms.
Blake
was furious when he realized that Sheriff Simmons had handled Angela so roughly
that she would have bruises. As he
massaged her he checked for the possibility of broken or dislocated bones. When Blake was certain Angela was only
bruised, he spoke again in a quiet, calm voice edged with steel.
“Earl, is this the
technique you use to question all your prisoners? Maybe you save this method for young,
vulnerable ones?”
Sheriff Simmons’s
face turned from angry red to purple.
Blake thought his head might burst.
“I
have every right, yes, a duty to question criminals in this town. You wouldn’t bring this one to me so I came
to her.”
Blake’s carefully
controlled temper finally boiled over. “You jackass, this
child is not a criminal, she’s a guest in my home!”
Sheriff
Simmons snorted, “Do you invite all robbers to stay at your home or only the
purty ones?”
“I’m not going to
stand here and exchange insults with you, Sheriff Simmons. You’re in my home. I am not bringing charges against this
child. That means you have no business
with her at all. I’ll thank you to get
out of my house. Don’t ever come back
without an invitation or a search warrant.”
“I’ll
just get that warrant from a judge to search your house. There must be a judge somewhere that ain’t in
your pocket, Blake Calkin.”
“Search for
what? The money never left the premises
until it was distributed the next day as payroll. Angela won’t be able to talk to you for a
long time, if at all.” Blake’s voice became deadly quiet. “If she lives, there is still no guarantee
that she will be able to speak again.”
Blake
walked straight towards the Sheriff. He
didn’t stop until they were two inches apart.
Blake towered over Sheriff Simmons by four inches.
Pointedly, Blake looked down at him and said, “I have never done
anything illegal. I never will. I have never influenced anyone with my wealth, position, or power. I never will.
If I hear that you’ve uttered those words to anyone else, I’ll have you
brought before a judge on charges of slander.
It wouldn’t do any good for you.
You might well lose the next election. Frankly, Sheriff, you have a very
big mouth. Keep it shut or I will shut
it for you.”
“Are you
threatening a Peace Officer?” Sheriff
Simmons asked, tapping his shiny badge with one stubby, dirty, forefinger.
Blake backed away and smiled. “I would never
threaten a sheriff. On the other hand, I
defend what is mine.”
Sheriff
Simmons turned. He grabbed his hat and
strode to the door.
“You haven’t seen
the last of me, Calkin.”
Blake sighed in
resignation. “Darn, I’m afraid you’re
right! You may let yourself out Sheriff,
it’s obvious that you know the way.”
Retreating,
the Sheriff’s footsteps echoed through the otherwise quiet home. As a finale he slammed the solid oak front
door. The bang shook the sturdy log house.
Red
came in to Angela's room, “Goodness
gracious, Mr. Blake. What in tarnation
is going on around here? That slam was
so loud I thought either we were having an earthquake or the dear Lord was
making His next appearance!”
Blake
chuckled. He shook his head, “I couldn’t get
Angela to sleep at all last night. She
was too hot, too cold, too restless, too sick, in too much pain, etc. Finally at five this morning I gave her the
strong medicine that Doc left if her pain was severe. In ten minutes she was asleep. I still can’t believe she slept through
Sheriff Simmons tantrum.”
Both
men looked at Angela. They were assured
that she was still sleeping peacefully.
“Red, what are we
going to do?”
“Mr. Blake, right
now, you’re going to eat the breakfast I left for you on the table
downstairs. Then you’re going to
sleep.”
“Red, I
can’t. I have bills to pay, payroll to
work out, and the paperwork to arrange for the sale of the stand of timber in
the canyon behind the house.”
“Whoee,
Mr. Blake, you are such an important man.
You’re so important that if you slept for a few hours the world would
spin out of orbit, get too close to the sun, and we’d all fry like bacon.”
Blake laughed. “I
get the point, Red. I guess I could
spare a few hours to sleep.”
Red
smiled. “I’ll be right here with Angie, Mr. Blake. Lunch is ready for the boys when they come
in. If I need you I know where to find
you.”
Red smiled with
pleasure, blushed with embarrassment, and said, “Shucks, Mr. Blake, don’t go
getting all sappy on me. We’re both so
tired we’re liable to bawl like a couple of old hens at a funeral.”
Chuckling
softly, Blake headed for the door.
“Thanks again Red. Remember, wake
me if…”
“I need you.” Red finished Blake’s statement. “Mr. Blake, you just remember the world will
keep spinning while you sleep.”
Without
another word, Blake headed downstairs for breakfast.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Extra, extra, read all about it!
When you purchase a DVD many times there are short clips on it that are listed as EXTRAS. Those extras are often part of an original script that for one reason or another did NOT make the final cut for the film. So sometimes it's fun to see what was left out. Sometimes you understand WHY it was left out.
In writing Angela, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch, it was achieved during twenty years of waiting. I wrote a line here, a line there, waiting for the children to come out of school, waiting for a soccer game to be done, waiting for appointments, waiting for the girls to go to church activities. Once in awhile I would finish an entire page, and even more rarely one entire chapter would come into existence.
When I decided to publish Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch first I was pleased with it's size around 90,000 words. Imagine my surprise to find out that Angela, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch is almost twice that size?
So this last week I've been doing what all writers hate...CUTTING my book into a more manageable size. I've actually cut out 10,000 words...and guess what I've decided to do with many of those segments. In case you haven't guessed, they will become my EXTRA section. I will choose the segments that best enlarge on the story and publish those here on my blog.
If you have read Beth and are anxiously awaiting the publishing of my second book, watch for the EXTRAS that will be coming out this week!
In writing Angela, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch, it was achieved during twenty years of waiting. I wrote a line here, a line there, waiting for the children to come out of school, waiting for a soccer game to be done, waiting for appointments, waiting for the girls to go to church activities. Once in awhile I would finish an entire page, and even more rarely one entire chapter would come into existence.
When I decided to publish Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch first I was pleased with it's size around 90,000 words. Imagine my surprise to find out that Angela, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch is almost twice that size?
So this last week I've been doing what all writers hate...CUTTING my book into a more manageable size. I've actually cut out 10,000 words...and guess what I've decided to do with many of those segments. In case you haven't guessed, they will become my EXTRA section. I will choose the segments that best enlarge on the story and publish those here on my blog.
If you have read Beth and are anxiously awaiting the publishing of my second book, watch for the EXTRAS that will be coming out this week!
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Sharing with Mama
Mother's Day held a golden moment for me. I took my first novel, Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch to my Mama. I used her pen name Vivian Varlowe for my series.
As she held the novel up her brilliant, brown eyes, (they still sparkle like diamonds), filled with soft, joyous tears.
I said, "Mama, it took awhile but you made it! YOU and I are published! I would never have had the talent, skill, or determination to write a novel if you hadn't been my fan club, my teacher, and my beloved friend."
Then came the warmest of hugs, and the sharing of long held love. For me the achievement of a goal is ALWAYS sweeter when shared with my Mother!
Happy Mother's Day everybody!
As she held the novel up her brilliant, brown eyes, (they still sparkle like diamonds), filled with soft, joyous tears.
I said, "Mama, it took awhile but you made it! YOU and I are published! I would never have had the talent, skill, or determination to write a novel if you hadn't been my fan club, my teacher, and my beloved friend."
Then came the warmest of hugs, and the sharing of long held love. For me the achievement of a goal is ALWAYS sweeter when shared with my Mother!
Happy Mother's Day everybody!
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Rose's Fruit Crisp
This is a delicious recipe. I know because it's one of my favorites!
2 cups brown or white sugar
1 1/2 cubes REAL butter
1 cup white flour
1 cup other types of flour (I like using almond, garbanzo, whole wheat, flax, etc,
and sometimes I blend a bit of several of those flours)
2 cups oatmeal
6-8 medium apples (I like to use multiple types to get both a sweet,
and tart combination taste)
2 tsps vanilla
1/2 tsp lemon juice
1 tsp pumpkin pie spice (cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves)
1. Blend together all of the ingredients down to and including 2 cups oatmeal,
you can use two forks to blend them or butter your hands well (so that the
mixture doesn't stick to them) and mash it all together with your hands. It's
kind of like playing with playdough...fun
2. Chop the apples into thin slices...not too thin they dry out and don't have
as much flavor. Mix the vanilla, lemon juice, and spices together in the bowl
where you have your chopped apples. Stack the bottom of a deep dish pie pan
or casserole dish with apples layer by layer.
3. Put the dry ingredients on top of the apples.
4. Bake for 45 minutes at 400 degrees.
5. Serve with whipped cream, or ice cream.
6. YUMMMMMY!
You can make this recipe using other fruits. I also love to make it with blackberries
which grow wild in Oregon. If you use blackberries, or berries of any type, add
1/2 cup of cornstarch to your berry blend to thicken the fruit. Don't use lemon
juice or pumpkin pie spices, but still use the vanilla.
2 cups brown or white sugar
1 1/2 cubes REAL butter
1 cup white flour
1 cup other types of flour (I like using almond, garbanzo, whole wheat, flax, etc,
and sometimes I blend a bit of several of those flours)
2 cups oatmeal
6-8 medium apples (I like to use multiple types to get both a sweet,
and tart combination taste)
2 tsps vanilla
1/2 tsp lemon juice
1 tsp pumpkin pie spice (cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves)
1. Blend together all of the ingredients down to and including 2 cups oatmeal,
you can use two forks to blend them or butter your hands well (so that the
mixture doesn't stick to them) and mash it all together with your hands. It's
kind of like playing with playdough...fun
2. Chop the apples into thin slices...not too thin they dry out and don't have
as much flavor. Mix the vanilla, lemon juice, and spices together in the bowl
where you have your chopped apples. Stack the bottom of a deep dish pie pan
or casserole dish with apples layer by layer.
3. Put the dry ingredients on top of the apples.
4. Bake for 45 minutes at 400 degrees.
5. Serve with whipped cream, or ice cream.
6. YUMMMMMY!
You can make this recipe using other fruits. I also love to make it with blackberries
which grow wild in Oregon. If you use blackberries, or berries of any type, add
1/2 cup of cornstarch to your berry blend to thicken the fruit. Don't use lemon
juice or pumpkin pie spices, but still use the vanilla.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Holding my book in my hands
A glorious moment today. I held my first book, "Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," in my hands. I've spent twenty years wishing, hoping, and dreaming for this event. It makes me smile to think of my sweetheart Nyle's pride for this accomplishment.
In case anyone reads my dedication and wonders who "Bingo" is....that was one of the many names for my husband. He was in a play at Brigham Young University that he didn't want to be in. The director begged Nyle so he decided to do it even though it was a tiny part. He had his name listed as Bingo Smith because he was slightly embarrassed to be on a small stage in a small part.
How could he have known that the small stage with the small part would earn him a nomination for the Irene Ryan Regional Acting Award? This is a very big deal in this corner of the world. Imagine his chagrin when on the list of nominees he was listed as "Bingo Smith," just as he had printed on the program.
After that many of his friends called him Bingo. I thought this story was so funny, and it was entertaining to call him Bingo. I have a lanyard somewhere that says "I Love BINGO." Our girls gave it to me for Christmas one year. Many people would be surprised and say, "Really, do you love Bingo that much?" Then they would get to hear the story about my beloved Bingo...and NO it wasn't about the game!
In case anyone reads my dedication and wonders who "Bingo" is....that was one of the many names for my husband. He was in a play at Brigham Young University that he didn't want to be in. The director begged Nyle so he decided to do it even though it was a tiny part. He had his name listed as Bingo Smith because he was slightly embarrassed to be on a small stage in a small part.
How could he have known that the small stage with the small part would earn him a nomination for the Irene Ryan Regional Acting Award? This is a very big deal in this corner of the world. Imagine his chagrin when on the list of nominees he was listed as "Bingo Smith," just as he had printed on the program.
After that many of his friends called him Bingo. I thought this story was so funny, and it was entertaining to call him Bingo. I have a lanyard somewhere that says "I Love BINGO." Our girls gave it to me for Christmas one year. Many people would be surprised and say, "Really, do you love Bingo that much?" Then they would get to hear the story about my beloved Bingo...and NO it wasn't about the game!
A hint of news from the 1800's
So....we speak often in our country in the year 2012, about the current litigious nature of our culture. It seems as though we're always hearing about somebody suing somebody else. Imagine my surprise to discover that in the nineteenth century the people of America were MORE litigious!!
In 2012 if you go to the doctor he wants you to sign an arbitration agreement. This means that you WON'T sue him if problems arise. Instead you will have a mediator who will work with both parties to reach a compromise.
My husband was an attorney for twenty years. He believed in the justice system. On the other hand he believed that litigation was a LAST RESORT, not something to ever be used frivolously.
Well, there is my little random factoid about litigation in the 1800's!
In 2012 if you go to the doctor he wants you to sign an arbitration agreement. This means that you WON'T sue him if problems arise. Instead you will have a mediator who will work with both parties to reach a compromise.
My husband was an attorney for twenty years. He believed in the justice system. On the other hand he believed that litigation was a LAST RESORT, not something to ever be used frivolously.
Well, there is my little random factoid about litigation in the 1800's!
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
How and Why Vivian Varlowe?
My beloved Mama wanted to be a writer. As a child she felt driven to record feelings, experiences, and to create stories, and verse. Tucked into bed she would wait until her parents had gone to bed. Then flashlight in hand she would quietly climb into her closet. There she would write, sometimes into the wee small hours of the morning.
Dreaming of fame and fortune Mama wrote, wrote, and then wrote some more. One day it occurred to her that she needed a name to attach to her writing. In her estimation her own name was a little too common, too everydayish to warrant such a grand thing as the name by a writer would be known.
Vivian Varlowe....how she received that exact inspirational name is lost to history. As an adult I told Mama about my compulsion to write. She laughed and shared with me her childhood dream, complete with her pseudonym.
The sad tale is that at some point Mama became convinced that she had no talent to write. Feeling the pressing cares of everyday life Mom quit writing stories and books. Fortunately she kept writing letters, journals and occasional poetic verse. She didn't become a "published" author, but her writing is incredibly precious to her over 75 descendants.
As I grew closer to finishing the first novel in my series "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," I went to a book store one day. I looked at the neat alphabetical novels on the shelf. There was Carol Smith...part of my name. Next I looked and found CJ Stone...another extremely close version of my name. Perplexity wrinkled my brow as I considered my approach to this conundrum. I remembered Mama's dreamed of author name and looked on the shelves. I didn't see anything close to Vivian Varlowe...a pseudonym was born!
So...readers please look for and find my first book, "Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," by Vivian Varlowe, at Lulu.com for book or Nook, and at Amazon for Kindle. It is also carried at Aunt Addy's Country Home in Farmington, Utah. If you live in Utah that is the best deal. You can purchase it there for $3.00 cheaper, and no shipping charges as well. My first book signing will be held on May 31, from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m. at Aunt Addy's Country Home in Farmington, Utah. I will soon post the address. Thanks Mama for dreaming big, and passing those big dreams on to me!
Dreaming of fame and fortune Mama wrote, wrote, and then wrote some more. One day it occurred to her that she needed a name to attach to her writing. In her estimation her own name was a little too common, too everydayish to warrant such a grand thing as the name by a writer would be known.
Vivian Varlowe....how she received that exact inspirational name is lost to history. As an adult I told Mama about my compulsion to write. She laughed and shared with me her childhood dream, complete with her pseudonym.
The sad tale is that at some point Mama became convinced that she had no talent to write. Feeling the pressing cares of everyday life Mom quit writing stories and books. Fortunately she kept writing letters, journals and occasional poetic verse. She didn't become a "published" author, but her writing is incredibly precious to her over 75 descendants.
As I grew closer to finishing the first novel in my series "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," I went to a book store one day. I looked at the neat alphabetical novels on the shelf. There was Carol Smith...part of my name. Next I looked and found CJ Stone...another extremely close version of my name. Perplexity wrinkled my brow as I considered my approach to this conundrum. I remembered Mama's dreamed of author name and looked on the shelves. I didn't see anything close to Vivian Varlowe...a pseudonym was born!
So...readers please look for and find my first book, "Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," by Vivian Varlowe, at Lulu.com for book or Nook, and at Amazon for Kindle. It is also carried at Aunt Addy's Country Home in Farmington, Utah. If you live in Utah that is the best deal. You can purchase it there for $3.00 cheaper, and no shipping charges as well. My first book signing will be held on May 31, from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m. at Aunt Addy's Country Home in Farmington, Utah. I will soon post the address. Thanks Mama for dreaming big, and passing those big dreams on to me!
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The first book in the series is done! HOORAY!
Wilhelmina Elizabeth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch is my first finished novel in the series. I am NOT writing the books in perfect chronology. Eventually when all eight novels are finished I may consider numbering them in the order of time that they happen. For now I rather like having readers bounce about seeing bits and pieces of things, but left wishing to know the story before or after.
I just hope that readers will enjoy reading the novels as much as I've enjoyed writing them!
I just hope that readers will enjoy reading the novels as much as I've enjoyed writing them!
Friday, April 13, 2012
Excerpt from Wilhelmina Elizabeth's novel
Beth NEVER felt positively towards another human being except her family and Eric Calkin. Marriage to Jamie had not changed that. Looking at him with the sun shining through his thick, strong hair the blue-black of a raven's wing, Beth noticed again that he was very handsome. He was lean, with strong, firm, muscles. His eyes were so deeply brown that it was like looking into a bottomless well. He had long, curly eyelashes. When Jamie was angry, or happy, he had dimples that decorated his face. Eric Calkin his brother, and Blake Calkin his father had the same dimples. It was definitely a common Calkin trait.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Beth's Checkerboard Knitted Hotpads
Most household things were made in the household in the middle to late 1800s. Lucille Bond is a whiz at all things domestic. She teaches Beth, her daughter, how to make the following pattern.
MATERIALS NEEDED
Size 10 or 11 knitting needles
two skeins of yarn (3 oz or more, this is a loose measurement you may have more than needed)
CAST ON 120 STITCHES.
FIRST ROW: knit 1st 6 stitches, purl six stitches, knit 6 stitches, purl 6 stitches (alternate knit and purl for 20 segments)
SECOND THROUGH SIXTH ROWS: Repeat the above pattern
SEVENTH ROW: purl 1st 6 stitches, knit six stitches, purl 6 stitches, knit six stitches, (alternate purl and knit for a total of 20 sections)
EIGHTH ROW THROUGH TWELTH ROW: Repeat seventh row.
FOR THE REST OF THE PATTERN: Alternate knit and purl every six rows to make a checkerboard pattern. Make a total of 6 rows x 20...ending with a total of 120 rows
CAST OFF
Fold knitted piece in half. With a needle and thread (matching color to yarn), sew the right sides together of the hot pad. Leave one inch undone to turn the hotpad right side out, then blind stitch the last unstitched segment.
MATERIALS NEEDED
Size 10 or 11 knitting needles
two skeins of yarn (3 oz or more, this is a loose measurement you may have more than needed)
CAST ON 120 STITCHES.
FIRST ROW: knit 1st 6 stitches, purl six stitches, knit 6 stitches, purl 6 stitches (alternate knit and purl for 20 segments)
SECOND THROUGH SIXTH ROWS: Repeat the above pattern
SEVENTH ROW: purl 1st 6 stitches, knit six stitches, purl 6 stitches, knit six stitches, (alternate purl and knit for a total of 20 sections)
EIGHTH ROW THROUGH TWELTH ROW: Repeat seventh row.
FOR THE REST OF THE PATTERN: Alternate knit and purl every six rows to make a checkerboard pattern. Make a total of 6 rows x 20...ending with a total of 120 rows
CAST OFF
Fold knitted piece in half. With a needle and thread (matching color to yarn), sew the right sides together of the hot pad. Leave one inch undone to turn the hotpad right side out, then blind stitch the last unstitched segment.
Family Connections
The Drifting Anchor Ranch was begun by Blake Calkin. He was a ship's captain with a dream. He wanted to start a family, a ranch, a legacy but needed the perfect place to achieve this goal.
Blake Calkin was married three times. His first wife was Ardis, and she gave him a son named Eric. His second wife was Sarah, she gave him a son named Jamie. His third wife was Celeste, she gave him twins, Daphne, and Daniel.
All eight of the novels in the series Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch are connected to Blake and his ranch in one way or another. Seven of the books orbit around one specific person. The eighth novel is called Tapestry, and it will be a bit about everyone in the series in one way or another.
The books are Wilhelmina Elizabeth, Ardis, Sarah, Angela, Celeste, Rose, Lily, and the above mentioned Tapestry.
Blake Calkin was married three times. His first wife was Ardis, and she gave him a son named Eric. His second wife was Sarah, she gave him a son named Jamie. His third wife was Celeste, she gave him twins, Daphne, and Daniel.
All eight of the novels in the series Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch are connected to Blake and his ranch in one way or another. Seven of the books orbit around one specific person. The eighth novel is called Tapestry, and it will be a bit about everyone in the series in one way or another.
The books are Wilhelmina Elizabeth, Ardis, Sarah, Angela, Celeste, Rose, Lily, and the above mentioned Tapestry.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Lucille's pinafore pattern
In the late 1800's women usually only owned two dresses. When you realize that one dress took almost 13 yards to make it's easier to understand why pinafores (aprons that covered from the neck to the knee or sometimes longer) were so very popular.
A pinafore usually consisted of a square piece of material on the bottom that had been gathered into a waistband, and a top piece, (square, heart shaped, or round) that was sewn into the waistband.
In Wilhelmina Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch, Chapter Three; Beth's Mother, Lucille Bond gives each of her three daughters a new pinafore that she has sewn for them. She then promises to teach each of them how to make one.
The instructions that follow are for a pinafore apron comparable to what women wore in that time period. The fabrics that were used were mostly either cream colored muslin, gingham, or calico. Some women knitted or crocheted lace to adorn their pinafores and make them prettier. This pattern will be quite basic. On the other hand I will give a simple, moderate, and difficult adaptation so that you can make the pattern according to your personal level of expertise.
I also realize that unlike most women in the mid to late 1800's you probably have access to a sewing machine. I enjoy sewing by hand sometimes. It does remind me of a simpler time. Yet sometimes it's necessary to use a sewing machine to do things quickly.
SIMPLE DIFFICULTY
MATERIALS NEEDED: 1. A three yard piece of fabric. (Fabric was usually only 36 inches wide during that time) 2. A two yard piece of fabric (that meant it was two yards squared) 3. Six yards of ribbon, either satin or grosgrain. Sewing needle and thread to match the pinafore.
SKIRT OF THE PINAFORE: 1. Take seventy two inches square (2 yards) of fabric and gather it all with a very loose hand stitch. This can be done by stitching in and out, in and out of the fabric (like the folds of an accordian fan). 2. Hem the raw edges of the skirt just as you did to the top of the pinafore.
TOP OF THE PINAFORE: 1. Cut out a square of fabric that is thirty six inches (1 yard). 2. Turn under the raw edge of the fabric by sewing a tiny locked stitch. (In and out and then pass through that loop to create a lock knot).
WAISTBAND OF THE PINAFORE: 1. Buy 3 yards of grosgrain, or satin ribbon. (Sometimes they would re-use a ribbon from something else, an old dress, hat, etc.) 2. Attach the ribbon to the gathered fabric of the bottom of the pinafore with a locked stitch (in and out, making a loop with the thread). 3. Attach the ribbon to the bottom of the upper part of the pinafore with the same locking stitch.
TOP STRAPS OF THE PINAFORE: 1. Using the ribbon left after making the waistband, attach one end of the ribbon to the outside edge of the pinafore top. 2. Stitch it securely to that position, with the stitching done on the wrong side of the fabric. 3. Next stitch the other end of the ribbon to the other outside edge of the top. 4. Cut the end of the ribbon in a slant. 5. You secure the finished apron top by tying it in a bow behind your neck.
MODERATE DIFFICULTY
Follow the same instructions as above only this time cut a circle pattern out of a large piece of butcher paper. Using the pattern cut out a circle for the top of the pinafore. Then follow the above instructions.
MOST DIFFICULT
Take a large piece of paper and make a giant heart pattern. Cut out two hearts. Put the material right sides together. Sew from the bottom around the top and down again to the bottom leaving a 3 inch gap at the bottom to turn the heart right side out and then attach the bottom unsewn portion to the waistband of the pinafore.
You can also make straps by sewing right sides together of long pieces of material and then turning them and using them instead of ribbon.
A pinafore usually consisted of a square piece of material on the bottom that had been gathered into a waistband, and a top piece, (square, heart shaped, or round) that was sewn into the waistband.
In Wilhelmina Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch, Chapter Three; Beth's Mother, Lucille Bond gives each of her three daughters a new pinafore that she has sewn for them. She then promises to teach each of them how to make one.
The instructions that follow are for a pinafore apron comparable to what women wore in that time period. The fabrics that were used were mostly either cream colored muslin, gingham, or calico. Some women knitted or crocheted lace to adorn their pinafores and make them prettier. This pattern will be quite basic. On the other hand I will give a simple, moderate, and difficult adaptation so that you can make the pattern according to your personal level of expertise.
I also realize that unlike most women in the mid to late 1800's you probably have access to a sewing machine. I enjoy sewing by hand sometimes. It does remind me of a simpler time. Yet sometimes it's necessary to use a sewing machine to do things quickly.
SIMPLE DIFFICULTY
MATERIALS NEEDED: 1. A three yard piece of fabric. (Fabric was usually only 36 inches wide during that time) 2. A two yard piece of fabric (that meant it was two yards squared) 3. Six yards of ribbon, either satin or grosgrain. Sewing needle and thread to match the pinafore.
SKIRT OF THE PINAFORE: 1. Take seventy two inches square (2 yards) of fabric and gather it all with a very loose hand stitch. This can be done by stitching in and out, in and out of the fabric (like the folds of an accordian fan). 2. Hem the raw edges of the skirt just as you did to the top of the pinafore.
TOP OF THE PINAFORE: 1. Cut out a square of fabric that is thirty six inches (1 yard). 2. Turn under the raw edge of the fabric by sewing a tiny locked stitch. (In and out and then pass through that loop to create a lock knot).
WAISTBAND OF THE PINAFORE: 1. Buy 3 yards of grosgrain, or satin ribbon. (Sometimes they would re-use a ribbon from something else, an old dress, hat, etc.) 2. Attach the ribbon to the gathered fabric of the bottom of the pinafore with a locked stitch (in and out, making a loop with the thread). 3. Attach the ribbon to the bottom of the upper part of the pinafore with the same locking stitch.
TOP STRAPS OF THE PINAFORE: 1. Using the ribbon left after making the waistband, attach one end of the ribbon to the outside edge of the pinafore top. 2. Stitch it securely to that position, with the stitching done on the wrong side of the fabric. 3. Next stitch the other end of the ribbon to the other outside edge of the top. 4. Cut the end of the ribbon in a slant. 5. You secure the finished apron top by tying it in a bow behind your neck.
MODERATE DIFFICULTY
Follow the same instructions as above only this time cut a circle pattern out of a large piece of butcher paper. Using the pattern cut out a circle for the top of the pinafore. Then follow the above instructions.
MOST DIFFICULT
Take a large piece of paper and make a giant heart pattern. Cut out two hearts. Put the material right sides together. Sew from the bottom around the top and down again to the bottom leaving a 3 inch gap at the bottom to turn the heart right side out and then attach the bottom unsewn portion to the waistband of the pinafore.
You can also make straps by sewing right sides together of long pieces of material and then turning them and using them instead of ribbon.
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