It is summer time! The sun is shining. It is time for shorts and sandals and yummy food. Have you been invited to a picnic, barbecue, potluck, or pool party?

Looking for a new summer recipe to impress family and friends? You don’t need to buy a cookbook. Come instead to the Summer Chillin’ Blog Hop! The Hop will run from June 22 to June 29. Participating authors will post summer-ready recipes on their blogs for you to try and enjoy. They can also include drawings, giveaways, and more!

I will make sure my summer recipe is historic!

I have several Civil War era and Western recipes… now I just have to pick one.

You will also be entered in a giveaway for stopping by. So mark your calendars and join me on the Summer Chillin’ Blog Hop. I’m looking forward to adding to my recipe book.

If you are an author and want to participate the link to join is below. The more the merrier!

July 22-26, 2013

(All my ebooks will be on sale some even free during these five days)

Authors and Book Bloggers,

Sign ups for the July 2013 Blogger Book Fair will close on June 15 at midnight central time, so get your registrations in to participate!

As of 5/31/2013, we have:

Authors: 89
Books: 233
Bloggers: 14

If you haven’t yet registered, you can find all of the information on the Blogger Book Fair page.

1. Check out the Code of Conduct
2. Fill out either the Author Sign Up form or the Blogger Sign Up form (Deadline June 15)
3. Kayla will match everyone with hosts and send out this information to you after sign-ups close
4. Check out the events–all authors are eligible to participate in the events, and if you have an event you’d like to host, just fill out the simple Event Sign Up Form–all of this information can be found on the Events! page (Deadline July 8).
5. If you’re interested in hosting a giveaway to drive traffic to your site, sign up via theGiveaway Sign Up form (Deadline July 15).
6. And if your book will be FREE or $0.99 for the duration of the Fair, you can sign up on the Free and $.99 Book Sign Up Forms (Deadline July 15).

Events:

as of 5/31/2013

Art Fiction Gala hosted by Lucie Smoker

Does your fiction promote the visual arts–through featuring an artist, painting, sculpture, performance art, etc? Then, consider entering Lucie’s Art Fiction Gala.
The Art Fiction Gala is a virtual celebration of fiction that highlights the visual arts. Dress up in your finest, pick up some friends–a bottle of wine–and sample mind-blowing fiction that crosses the line between literary and visual art. Plus a gallery of art featuring reading.
More information & entry instructions

Three Wishes hosted by Kirstin Pulioff

Introduce your characters to the world.
Kirstin Pulioff invites you to ask your main character, “If you found a magic genie lamp, what would be your three choices?”
More information & entry instructions

Donate to the Blogger Book Fair via the BBF Donation Fund. To help get the word out about BBF, we would like to place ads on Facebook, Goodreads and other places, but to do, so we need a little help. We’d also like to have some BBF sponsored giveaways, so money donated would also go toward prizes. NO MONEY WILL BE KEPT BY ANY ORGANIZER OR PARTICIPANT.

Spread the word! Share the Fair on your social media accounts and show off the Blogger Book Fair logo in your blog’s sidebar.

Join us on:

• Facebook
• Twitter
• Goodreads
• Google+ 

I will not be posting exerpts every Saturday… but when I have something I want to share I will.

The directions were to post either 7 paragraphs, 7 sentences, or 7 words from your romance WIP or published story. Here are my seven sentences from my historical romance novella Midnight Caller.  It is the first novella in the Moonlight Romance Trilogy.

Young widow Emma Bennett is lonely and has a Midnight Caller.

Excerpt:

She folded herself against his body, lying on her side. On impulse, he threaded his fingers through her hair. He never touched a woman without her permission, but with Emma it seemed safe. Her every movement responded to his touch, encouraging him.

In a strange way, she seemed familiar, as if they had known each other for years. He could imagine them together.

She looked into his eyes; a dreaminess about her — if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought her angelic gaze conveyed a hint of love.

Visit My Sexy Saturday to read excerpts from the other participants. 

Thank you, Lynn for putting this together.

Want to learn a little more about Midnight Caller?

You can read the blurb by clicking here.

I find little historical details like this are fascinating. I hope you enjoyed it too.

BEHIND THE MARSH MIST

Prologue

JASON AND NAOMI scooted closer to the fire, glowing in the middle of the dirt floor, shivering for want of clothing, want of bedding, want of their mama’s arms. The course knee-length cotton shirts they wore provided little more than modesty.

Sanco sat across from them, the man trying to warm the children by telling a story. With powerful arm movements and an intense sense of purpose, he brought an African creation myth to life just as his mama had told him. His deep voice echoed through the shoddy slave cabin.

Bushongo Creation Story – Bumba Vomits the Earth

“In the beginning, there be nothin’ but darkness. Out of the darkness walked the giant, Bumba.”

Naomi giggled and Jason said, “Shh.” They had never listened to a man with a thick African accent before. The words sounded strange.

An amused smile spread across Sanco’s lips. “Bumba was pale and sickly, he moaned and gripped his stomach.” With both hands the man grabbed his own stomach and wrinkled his face. “The giant had lived alone for years and years and years. His loneliness done become unbearable. His loneliness made him ill.”

Jason’s mouth parted and Naomi’s eyes widened. “Did he die?” Jason whispered.

Sanco shook his head. “Bumba, staggered then dropped to his knees and vomited up the sun.” Sanco stretched out his long arms, fingers spread. “Light brightened every corner.” He leaned closer to the children and lowered his voice. “Then he vomited out the moon, then the stars then after a long time, he choked out de Earth.”

“Did he feel better?” Naomi asked.

“He was still ill,” Sanco said. “But not so bad. Brumba vomited forth some animals, some people, and a pile of carrots.”

Jason hung on Sanco’s every word. Why carrots, he wanted to ask, but didn’t.

“Bone tired from his labors, he sat and watched as the animals multiplied. They turned into all the animals in the world.”

Sanco leaned back in his wooden chair. “Now Bumba had three sons,” he continued. “The middle son’s name be Chonganda. Chonganda see that many of the animals were hungry. There were no plants. The rabbits and the deer and the cattle begged for food.

“Feeling for them, Chonganda summoned all his powers and touched de dirt. A single green shoot rose. From this magic plant grew buds that flowered, spread their seeds and from these seeds growed all the plants, grasses, trees and bushes in de world.”

Jason gasped. He looked down at his hands. He couldn’t imagine plants growing with a touch of his fingers. “Did Chonganda have children?” he asked.

Sanco shrugged. “No one knows.”

Emmaline shook her head and made a clicking noise. She had held her tongue throughout the story but that was just for the children’s benefit. She had tried to get them to stop crying all day since they were bought and taken here. Sanco’s story succeeded.

“You know better than telling them such stories,” she siad with a bite to her voice.

“I ain’t done no harm,” Sanco said.

Emmaline grunted. She spread out the large blanket she now shared with the children. “You go to sleep now,” she said. “You don’t need to be listening to such nonsense. You don’t say a word of this to no one. Especially not Massa Benjamin and Mistress Hannah. They hear dis an’ we all get a whipping.”

“Why?” Jason asked.

“Because we’re not supposed to talk about Africa or African traditions.” She shot a sharp eye in Sanco’s direction. “Or stories.”

Naomi swallowed hard and nodded.

Chonganda had to have children, Jason thought as he lay there. Otherwise there wouldn’t be people on Earth today.

Chapter 1

Eastern, Maryland

June 23, 1800

By Commonwealth of Learning (Commonwealth of Learning, [1]) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

With a bucket of water in hand, Jason walked to the garden, fenced with white palings in front of the house. He emptied the bucket on the hollyhocks, daffodils, and touch-me-nots. One daffodil drooped, its large yellow head sagging to the ground. He crouched down and cupped the flower in his hands.

“Poor little flower. You need stronger limbs like me.” At twelve he felt grown, but his body was still that of a child. He massaged the petals gently. The flower began to raise its head. A contended smile graced his lips like a woman watching her baby sleep. The flowers, the trees, the vegetables, all plants were his friends. He cared for them just as his mama had taught him.

He didn’t know much about his mama except she was good at farming. People said she was born to good luck. She knew more about herbs than anyone he knew. She worked as a midwife on a big plantation. Spent her free time tending the garden plot behind the quarters. Her sweet potatoes grew bigger and tastier than any other slave garden. Many local slaves would pay his mama a share of their crops if she would plant their plots with her special touch.

Even though he hadn’t been with his mama long it seemed he had inherited her special touch. He tried to keep it hidden, afraid if the wrong person found out his gift would be exploited. He wanted to use it for good, to help his people. He just hadn’t figured out how yet.

A strange visitor that night would change that.

By Shanghai killer whale (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

After counseling, I realized not writing was adding fuel to my depression. I was encouraged to write however I could. Thanks to longer hours, more coffee, and encouragement from family and friends I began to make progress on one story and then another.

I am happy again. I have rededicated myself to my craft. I also know the time I spent drowning in chaos was not wasted. It will help me add depth to future stories.

It is important for a writer to reap the rewards of a crazy life. A good story takes the reader on an emotional journey. The writer needs to mine their own personal experiences and emotions in order for their characters to come across as authentic.

If nothing bad or stressful had happened in my life I would have no idea how to describe Peter’s experiences in the Civil War. I’ve never been to war, but I know how hard it is to be away from the ones I love, and I used that experience to build the homesick scenes in Grits and Glory. Unfortunately, I also what it is like to be worried your loved ones are going to die, and I have experienced the heartache of losing some, too. This also helped me with my Civil War novel.

It is true an author writes themselves into an aspect of every one of their characters. It is seldom autobiographical, but it is there. A relatable experience, a shared connection between character and creator.

Feel free to comment. Have you learned to adjust to the craziness in your life? Have you found the silver lining?

Ladies decorating the grave of Thomas J. “Stonewall Jackson”, 1866

As mentioned in my post on the history of Memorial Day (which is up for debate by the way as people cannot agree on the origins of Memorial Day) the ladies of the South began decorating soldiers’ graves before the end of the Civil War.

This is the hymn written in their honor.

Kneel Where Our Loves Are Sleeping

Kneel where our loves are sleeping, Dear ones days gone by,
Here we bow in holy reverence, Our bosoms heave the heartfelt sigh.
They fell like brave men, true as steel, And pour’d their blood like rain,
We feel we owe them all we have, And can but weep and kneel again.

CHORUS
Kneel where our loves are sleeping, They lost but still were good and true,
Our fathers, brothers fell still fighting, We weep, ‘tis all that we can do.

Here we find our noble dead, Their spirits soar’d to him above,
Rest they now about his throne, For God is mercy, God is love.
Then let us pray that we may live, As pure and good as they have been,
That dying we may ask of him, To open the gate and let us in.

CHORUS
Kneel where our loves are sleeping, They lost but still were good and true,
Our fathers, brothers fell still fighting, We weep, ‘tis all that we can do.”

(Words by G.W.R. Music by Mrs. L. Nella Sweet, 1867)

There are many stories as to its actual beginnings, with over two dozen cities and towns laying claim to being the birthplace of Memorial Day. There is also evidence that organized women’s groups in the South were decorating graves before the end of the Civil War: a hymn published in 1867, “Kneel Where Our Loves are Sleeping” by Nella L. Sweet carried the dedication “To The Ladies of the South who are Decorating the Graves of the Confederate Dead” (Source: Duke University’s Historic American Sheet Music, 1850-1920). While Waterloo N.Y. was officially declared the birthplace of Memorial Day by President Lyndon Johnson in May 1966, it’s difficult to prove conclusively the origins of the day.

By Brian D. Padgett (Own work) [CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

It is not important who was the very first, what is important is that Memorial Day was established. Memorial Day is not about division. It is about reconciliation; it is about coming together to honor those who gave their all.

General John A. Logan
Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, [LC-B8172- 6403 DLC (b&w film neg.)]

By 1890 it was recognized by all of the northern states. The South refused to acknowledge the day, honoring their dead on separate days until after World War I (when the holiday changed from honoring just those who died fighting in the Civil War to honoring Americans who died fighting in any war).

It is now celebrated in almost every State on the last Monday in May (passed by Congress with the National Holiday Act of 1971 (P.L. 90 – 363) to ensure a three day weekend for Federal holidays), though several southern states have an additional separate day for honoring the Confederate war dead: January 19 in Texas, April 26 in Alabama, Florida, Georgia, and Mississippi; May 10 in South Carolina; and June 3 (Jefferson Davis’ birthday) in Louisiana and Tennessee.

Information taken from Memorial Day History. To read the whole story click here. http://www.usmemorialday.org/backgrnd.html

This one is from Freedom to Love.

‘Woman with a Picnic Basket’ by Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta, c. 1890. Oil on panel, 65 x 47.8 cm. Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute

Ben picked up one chunk and pressed it to Nora’s luscious pink lips, bidding her mouth to open. Finally, it did, and her warm tongue brushed his fingers, heating his core to the temperature of a forge. The fire spread until his whole body was hot, until his whole body tingled with anticipation, until his whole body longed to mold Nora into him. He opened his mouth, begging her to reciprocate. She picked up a piece of cheese, hesitated for a second, and then pushed her delicate fingers into his mouth. He gently licked her fingers along with the cheese. She sucked in her breath and squirmed in her seat.

You can read another excerpt from Freedom to Love here.

A man haunted by memories of WWII travels to Germany to try to put them to rest but while there he finds more than peace, he finds forgiveness.

One nightmare.
One reunion.
One life-changing moment.

Use the Smashwords coupon ME28Q
You can click on this link to be taken to the Smashwords page for easy purchase.

I hope you enjoy the short story and remember those who have served in the armed forces.

~Haley