Monday, April 30, 2018

What Are Writers Really Like? #WriterMadness

I love writer quotes. Here are 4 quotes about writers I can really relate to. The successful writers I know were not sudden overnight successes; they were persistent and dedicated to writing. I can't imagine any of them giving up, not ever.

Writing does require spending a great deal of time alone and often in silence. Writers may party in between projects, but most of them spend their energy creating stories, thinking about stories, working out difficulties with stories, and writing down their stories--oh and then promoting their work which seems to be one of the most difficult parts of their writing careers. I don't actually know a writer who is out of story ideas. It seems to me the more a writer writes, the more ideas they have. That's my opinion and experience anyway.

Some people may believe that writing is easy and fun (well, it IS kinda fun), and that a writer effortlessly produces story after story to their great economical gain. Hog wash! Writers sweat and weep over their work and worry a great deal if anyone will like their stories. If writers didn't love what they do, they would just go have a beer and a snooze in the hammock.

I found these writer quotes on Pinterest where I go to regain my sanity. I relate to these 4 quotes in particular.
Do you have some favorite quotes that you feel best define you as a writer? Do my 4 quotes speak to you, too?
If you are not a writer, what is your opinion of writers and their work? Do you tend to buy more of a writer's work after you read a story you particularly liked? What image comes to mind when you think of writers?

Saturday, April 21, 2018



I care about Mother Earth, about climate change, pollution, clean water, protecting living things, and preserving wilderness areas. It’s overwhelming if I think about all the things that are dying, going extinct, or being ruined by human beings. I focus on the things within my power: conservation of water and power, using organic methods for pesticides, taking care of my trees, using reusable bags when I shop instead of plastic, recycling everything I can, donating to associations that are working toward a healthy planet, and signing petitions to prevent pollution and preserve what we have.

The Earth would get along just fine without human beings. We are the cause of many problems and that means we can work to fix those problems. If we continue the way we are going, we will systematically destroy our planet and we have nowhere else to go, no plan B; no contingency plan. Earth Day is celebrated by becoming mindful of the things we can do to keep our planet healthy for the coming generations.

I know I can’t do everything, but I can do some things. If we all pledge to do some thing, we can make difference. We still have time.

Saturday, April 14, 2018

FOR LOVE OF BANJO by Sarah J. McNeal #TheWildings

For Love of Banjo 
by Sarah J. McNeal

Deceit stands between Banjo Wilding’s love for Maggie O’Leary and his search for the father he never knew.

Banjo Wilding wears a borrowed name and bears the scars and reputation of a lurid past.  To earn the right to ask for Margaret O’Leary’s hand, he must find his father and make something of himself.

Margaret O’Leary has loved Banjo since she was ten years old but standing between her and Banjo is pride, Banjo’s mysterious father and the Great War.

Excerpt: (The Promise)

In one graceful movement, he dismounted the pinto then stepped to the porch where Maggie stood with unrestrained tears that flowed down her cheeks.  Banjo swept her into his arms and kissed her.  The kiss wasn’t his brotherly, friendly peck on the cheek.  He kissed her with a slow burning need and ran his tongue along the groove of her lips then slipped inside.

He tasted of coffee and mint.  Maggie reached up to weave her arms around his neck.  She stepped on her tiptoes to better reach him and taste him.  Her heart raced and heat rushed hungry waves of yearning into places in her body she never knew existed as she responded to his explorations with her own.  If only she could slip into his pocket and follow him wherever he went.  She wanted to become the marrow in his bones, to always be a part of him.

Just when she thought he would take her to her room and make love to her as she had asked, the kiss ended.  Banjo bent his head his rough cheek rasped against hers.  The fragrance of him, a combination of horse, pine and crisp snow, caressed her senses.  He slipped his hand into her hair and gently rubbed the tender skin of her neck where her blood pulsed beneath his thumb.

His mouth so close to her ear she felt the warm moisture of his breath as he spoke his last words.  She would never forget them, not as long as she lived.  Breathless from the kiss, he said, “Don’t forget me.  Write to me every day and I’ll write back.  You are the star in my sky and my compass home.  I’ll come back, if it’s the last thing I do, I will come back.  I swear it.”

Excerpt 2: (The Battle Field in France)

Once the men had climbed out and headed for safety, Banjo climbed the wall and crawled out onto the flat, barren ground between him and the next trench.  A glance behind him gave Banjo the unfettered view of the huge metal vehicle with treads wrapped around wheels that moved it over impossible terrain.  He heard rumors about these new weapons.  Tanks.  Jesus, nothing could stop the thing.  As curiosity overtook him at the wonder of such an invention, Banjo did the unthinkable and stood to get a better look.

Something hot bit into his flesh, first in his chest and then his leg.  The support of his legs seemed to disappear from beneath him and he fell.  Just before the dark void sucked him under, he saw a face, a familiar face.  He couldn’t quite make it out because he couldn’t see through the blood smeared over the lenses of his glasses.  The lips moved but he couldn’t hear what the face said as if the apparition spoke to him through oceans of turbulent water.  Maggie.  Oh Maggie, darlin’, I’m so sorry.  Then everything went black. 

Saturday, April 07, 2018

A Dinosaur in a Strange World

Sometimes I feel like the dinosaurs...
Can't keep up with technology. Don't understand the millennials. Instagram seems too complicated and Twitter, too. Everyone pulls out their cell phones at dinner and I feel kinda like I'm alone or too boring to talk to. I am a walking anachronism. Anybody else feel like this? Maybe I can find a canoe or something and get to rowing.

Monday, April 02, 2018

THE VIOLIN by Sarah J. McNeal #BlogABookScene

THE VIOLIN by Sarah J. McNeal
 Find us on Twitter with the hashtag #blogabookscene and #PrairieRosePub.
Blog-a-Book-Scene is a monthly themed blogging endeavor from a group of authors who love to share s time?

April’s Theme: April showers
See my springtime excerpt from my time travel novel, The Violin

Genevieve Beaumont dreams of a handsome, unknown man almost every night—and has, for most of her lonely life. Inexplicably compelled, she buys a violin—and finds the remnants of  John Douglas’s life and the mystery of his long-ago death revealed within its case.

Intrigued, she makes a decision—one that will change her life forever.

Is there a way to change the past and save this man who haunts her heart?


When she finished eating what she could choke down, Genevieve decided to sit in a rocker on the porch and get hold of her nerves before she went down the road to meet John. The very thought of his name sent a little buzz of excitement to the pit of her stomach. Her skin tingled as if an electric breeze had blown over her.
She chose a rocker near the climbing roses That twisted their fragrant way up the balustrade onto the roof. Once she set her bag down beside the rocker, she sat there for a few moments with her eyes closed.
Genevieve took slow deep breaths of perfumed air and set the rocker into a slow, easy motion. For an actual minute, she was able to get hold of her run away emotions. Just be in the moment. There's nothing happening at this moment. I'm just sitting here, rocking on a porch with the smell of roses in the air.
She relaxed her back against the chair, loosened the muscles at the base of her spine and began to hum. Ah, that’s much better now.
After a few minutes of relaxation, Genevieve realized the time to leave had arrived. She tried to maintain her serenity, but it evaporated completely in the face of her excitement but the fear remained that she might lose her nerve. In an attempt to outrun panic, Genevieve bolted from the chair, picked up the brown paper bag, and almost ran down the stairs. She rushed across the gravel parking lot and down the narrow road that led to another time, and John.

Buy Link:   AMAZON

Sunday, April 01, 2018

Happy Easter! Pleaceful Passover!

I'm sending out some sunshine and love...