Prologue to Magnolia A Wilting Flower

Prologue

 

Before I was old enough to read, Momma had me hooked on fairy tales. She bought a new one for me each month out of the small social-security check she received after my father's death. She rocked me to sleep reading my favorite ones each night. I loved The Glass Mountain, Cinderella, and Snow White. I was only four years old when my father died one cold Christmas Day in a charity hospital.

Four years earlier, I'd been born in a charity hospital in New Orleans, Louisiana. We never had much, but I'd not yet realized that. To me, before Daddy died, we had everything.

We lived in a small town on South Third Street in a rambling white apartment house. We only rented, but I didn't realize what that meant at the time. To me, we were rich, for I was rich living in my make-believe world of fairy tales, rich in sunshine and fresh air, swinging in my board-and-rope swing underneath the giant pecan tree in our front yard.

I was a happy little girl who had everything she could possibly want. I had a doting daddy a loving momma, and a precious little sister, who was only four months old when our daddy died. Daddy rocked us and sung us to sleep, singing about our beautiful blue eyes, or Mother would read and rock us to sleep with fairy tales. My world was rich, happy, and content. I wanted for nothing. Little did I know then, that my life would be no fairy tale. Happy endings were all I knew.

We had a small front porch, and hummingbirds flew right up to the wild azalea bushes, pink honeysuckle, that grew alongside it. I'd try to catch those cute little birds, but Momma and Daddy told me to leave them alone, or they'd hurt me. I didn't see how anything so cute and tiny could hurt me, but I did as I was told, being the good little girl I was. Daddy said he was proud of his good little girl for leaving nature in peace.

I was an outdoors child who bounced up early to run outside into the sunshine and yell for Daddy to push me in the swing he'd made for me, underneath the old pecan. It didn't matter to me that it wasn't a store-bought one like my neighbor had. For, my daddy pushed me so high that my tiny feet nearly touched the low-hanging branches. I'd squeal with delight and scream. "Push me to the sky, Daddy!"

Daddy would laugh and say, "That's my girl. She already knows the sky is her limit."

My neighbor's shiny new gym set sat untouched and unused in her backyard. No loving father took the time to push her. She said her father was too busy making a living to buy her and her mother all the finer things in life. Her daddy was more important than mine because he was such a busy man with an important job. She'd tease me and brag about how she'd have so many nice things and all I'd ever have was what Daddy could put together for me with a board and some string. "Your daddy isn't important. He doesn't even hold a job, but my daddy works all the time," she'd brag. My swing is prettier than yours. Mine cost more. Yours is just an old cheap board-and-rope swing, homemade at that."

I'd run home crying to Momma and tell her all the mean things she'd said to me.

"Now, now, child, don't cry so." Momma patted my shoulder and hugged me. "You wear your heart on your sleeve. Don't let her have her way. That's what she wants, to see you cry. Tell her, Sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will never hurt you."

I dried my eyes, ran outside, and yelled the words across the street that Momma told me to say.

She responded. "If words don't hurt you, why do you run home crying to your momma, little girl?"

My friend was older than me and in school. She said she wanted to become a teacher when she grew up. Sometimes she'd practice on me. I liked her then, and I was curious to learn as much as I could from her. She taught me how to count and taught me my ABC's. Thanks to her and Momma's reading to me, when I started school at five, I could count, say my ABC's, and knew all the nursery rhymes and fairy tales by heart.

I practiced for Daddy, and he was so proud of me. He bought me a little red-plaid book sack to begin first grade. Today they're called book bags or backpacks, but it was not a backpack like the ones known to students of this age. It had a small handle and was carried like a briefcase. I'd fill it with my fairy tale books and pretend I was going to school. I still had a year to wait before I would actually start, and Daddy always told Momma that he wanted to make sure I had a book sack to start school with, just in case anything happened.

I had no idea what he meant. Momma thought he was giving me the book sack much too early, since I still had a year before I would begin school, but I was tickled over it and played school while I waited to begin the real thing. Little did I know then, school would play a very large part in my life.

I didn't understand why Daddy didn't work like other fathers. Momma told me he received a check each month because he was disabled, whatever that meant. But, Daddy didn't seem disabled to me. He was able to play with me, swing me, sing to me, and walk me to the store. He could do all kinds of things. In my eyes, Daddy was king. He walked on water. I was his little princess, and he had me spoiled rotten. If I decided I wanted watermelon at 12:00 o'clock at night, he'd let me have some. When Momma fussed at me for something, I'd run to Daddy crying. He'd pet me and make me feel better.

Daddy had a special chair. It was an old green overstuffed one, and I could curl up in it and get lost, which is exactly what I did when Daddy wasn't home and Momma fussed at me. After Daddy died, when Momma hassled me, I'd run to his chair. Somehow, I felt like I was still with Daddy when I curled up in his chair and cried my eyes out.

The year I was four years old is the year I remember best about Daddy. I can't remember much before that year. It was such a good year in the beginning. Little did I know that before I turned five, Daddy would be forever lost to me. Daddy took me with him nearly everywhere he went that year. If I didn't get to go with him, I'd sit in the swing he made for me and watch the road and wait for his return.

My mother, Alice Myrtle, would tell everyone, "Magnolia is the apple of Edbert's eye." It was plain for the world to see that I was Daddy's little girl. Momma named me after the beautiful white flower because she and Daddy got married in Magnolia, Mississippi. I often asked her to tell me about how she met Daddy. Her eyes would take on a faraway look, and she described how she met him on a Greyhound bus. She was from the small town of Springfield, Louisiana, and he was from Brookhaven, Mississippi. Momma always told me it was fate that they met that day.

Momma was a strawberry farmer's daughter, and Daddy was the son of a cotton planter. Destiny brought them together. They had so much in common. They both loved pretty sunshiny days, the country, and watching flowers or plants grow.

Before Daddy became sick and disabled, he worked at a New Orleans shipyard. He stayed in the city during the week while he worked and came home on the weekends. This was when I was very young and we were living in Mississippi beside my Grandma Russell's, Daddy's mother. My father's brother, Uncle Ernie, took over the cotton farm in Mississippi.

When I was only four years old, we visited Uncle Ernie's farm before my Daddy died later that year. Uncle Ernie let me use a smaller sack than all the other pickers and told me that I could help pick the cotton. I was tickled and proud because I had a job and could earn my own spending money. I carefully filled my sack, and he paid me twenty-five cents for each one I filled. I didn't make very much money because I soon played out, and I didn't fill very many sacks. I think I ended up with a dollar.

Uncle Ernie liked to play with me like Daddy did, but he wouldn't spoil me like Daddy. He'd bounce me up and down on his knees and let me climb onto his back, so he could give me piggyback rides. However, if I tried throwing one of my temper tantrums that always worked so well on Daddy, Uncle Ernie would say, "Cry a little louder," and he just ignored me. At first, I'd scream and yell and cry just as loud as my little throat and lungs would allow, but I soon realized that it'd get me absolutely nowhere with Uncle Ernie. He just sat on the porch in his rocker, laughed, and said, "Come on. Cry a little louder. You can do better than that. We can't hear you."

At first, that made me that much madder, and I cried that much louder, but finally my throat ached, and I was out of breath and red in the face. The worst part was that it'd all been for nothing. I finally had to give up in the end because I never got my way with Uncle Ernie.

Now, Grandma Russell was a different story, and I missed her after we moved away. She spoiled me like Daddy did, and she let me play with whatever I wanted.

Momma told me I got into her kitchen cabinets and tore off all the labels from her canned goods. Grandma just laughed about it and said we'd have a surprise each time we ate. Momma fussed at me and threatened to whip me, but Grandma just said, "Oh Amelia, (used Amelia for mother's name) kids will be kids. She's done no real harm."

I was spared a whipping, but Momma said, "You should be ashamed of yourself, young lady. Now Grandma won't know what she's opening."

Another time I was at Grandma's house rocking in my little red rocking chair Daddy surprised me with on his last weekend trip home. I rocked away as hard as I could. The next thing I knew, the rocker turned over, and my head hit the floor.

Momma and Grandma both came running when they heard my cries. "You're okay," Momma said. "Lucky for you, you've got a hard head."

Funny, but I was to be called hardheaded many times after that, but I didn't yet know it. One day my own husband would tell me that I was one hardheaded woman.

The last thing I remember about my early Mississippi days was the way I loved to play outside in Grandma's front yard with the little doodlebugs that looked like little Volkswagen cars. I was fascinated by the way they rolled up their tiny bodies. Momma thought I should be ladylike and play with dolls and keep clean all of the time, but I loved the dirt and the mud. My favorite pastime was making mud pies. I can remember Momma running outside many a time and yelling, "Magnolia, you're certainly no flower blossom. Just look at how filthy you are, young lady. Get yourself inside and cleaned up this very minute. Why I named you Magnolia, I'll never know." Hands on her slim hips, her hazel eyes flashed in fury.

When I was a little older, I'd always reply, "Because you and Daddy were married in that pretty little Mississippi town." She'd laugh at me surprised that I remembered.

Momma would always say, "Why can't you be more like your sister, young lady?" Those hazel eyes of Mom's flashed green with anger. Her shoulder-length reddish brown hair glowed more red than brown with the sun, but she soon found a boxed solution to keep her hair what she termed brown. It looked black to me. Mom ranted. "She plays with dolls and keeps clean. You act like a tomboy, always playing outside in the dirt and wanting to play with boys' cars and trucks instead of your baby dolls."

After we moved from Mississippi, my aunt who hadn't seen me since I was four sent a huge box of toys for Christmas. My sister had all dolls, tea seats, and doll clothes. I had all boys' toys. Trucks and cars, not one doll. "Momma," I said, "my aunt thinks I'm a little boy. She don't even know that I'm a little girl." Tears ran down my cheeks because she knew what my sister was and had sent her all her favorite toys.

Momma tried to make me feel better. "Magnolia, perhaps your aunt remembered how much you liked to play with cars and trucks when we were in Mississippi. Don't worry. I'm sure your sister will let you play with some of her dolls and tea sets."

"I don't want no baby dolls. "I'm too old and big for a doll. I wanted skates for Christmas, and I didn't get any, so I'll just make skates out of those big stupid trucks."

Momma just looked at me and shook her head. "I hope you don't break the trucks or your legs. I didn't get you roller skates because I was afraid you'd break a leg and now you come up with your own."

I took a big yellow dump truck and a red fire truck and put one on one foot and the other on the other foot. Then, I skated across the living room with trucks on my feet.

Momma said, "I wish she'd sent you dolls like she did your sister. If you'd been more ladylike I'm sure she would've. She must remember how much of a tomboy you always were. Girls should be girls." Momma tossed her hair and with a swing of her hips, flounced to the kitchen.

When we grew older, we played school. Like my friend had once taught me, I practiced on my sister. "It's not fair," she'd cry. "You always have to be the teacher. Why can't I be the teacher sometimes?"

"Because I'm the oldest, and I know more than you." We played school underneath a huge shady tree in the pecan orchard. It branches served as the roof of the schoolhouse, and many times they served as the roof of our playhouses.

Momma always declared that she could tell the weather by my moods. Dreary weather depressed me, but sunshine seemed to mirror my very own spirit. I loved to awaken to a fresh, sunshiny day, with the sun streaming through my bedroom windows. I loved to look out the door and see the sun smile down and listen to the birds sing their happy morning tunes. Once, before we moved back to Momma's neck of the woods, Daddy bought a piece of land in Angie, Louisiana. We lived in a rent house while we were working to build our own home. I would bounce up early, ready for the fresh air and sunshine. "Momma, it's daylight. Let's get up!"

"It's just little daylight, Magnolia. Go back to sleep and wait for big daylight before you wake me up." That was Mom's way of getting to stay in bed a little longer. I'd have her up at the crack of dawn when the roosters crowed, if I could.

When we lived in Angie, Mom told me I got into her kitchen cabinets one night while she and Daddy were watching television. They didn't have many groceries, and I took all of her rice, sugar, and salt and dumped them into toy pots. I pretended to cook on my little green kitchen stove. She said she had a fit when she discovered me because I had her rice, sugar, and salt all over. It was scattered on the countertop and a trail ran from the kitchen to my bedroom. That's how she found me. She followed the mess from the kitchen and there I was stirring rice, sugar, and salt together to make a gumbo. She said that's what I told her I was cooking.

Momma declared that my face was like an open book. She could always tell if something was on my mind, or if I was upset about something. In later years, I recall how she said she could tell from the way I walked home from school each day if I'd had a good day or a bad one. If I came down the sidewalk with my shoulders sagging, my head hanging, and my eyes downcast, she knew that something bad had happened to me at school that day. If I had a good day, I'd come strutting down the sidewalk like a cocky old rooster strutting his stuff with my head held high. Words gushed from my mouth before I got inside the door. I just couldn't wait to tell Momma what I was excited about. Momma said she always hated to see me coming with my head down because she knew something bad had happened. She said I was like a flower, either blossoming or wilting. I'd say, "I should be. After all, you named me after a flower."

"Yes, and little did I know it at the time, but it was a perfect name for you. Sometimes you droop like a flower wilting or dying. Other times, you seem to sprout or spring open like a flower blossoming." She smiled. "Perhaps I should've named you blossom."

"I like Magnolia better. Besides, I think it's rather romantic to be named after the little town where you and Daddy were married. It's full of beautiful magnolia trees. Momma and Daddy had taken me on a Sunday drive once during the spring of the year to that pretty little Mississippi town. It seemed to me that Momma meeting Daddy was like a fairy tale, especially the way she told the story of them meeting on the Greyhound bus. But, like my own life was to be, Momma's was no fairy tale either. However, at that time, I was still living in my fairytale world of make believe, and I loved Momma's romantic stories.

I'd grow up loving romance novels, perhaps because there never seemed to be enough romance in real life, at least not for me. Danielle Steel was one of my favorite romance authors. Many others were destined to follow. I went from fairy tales to romance novels like a runaway roller coaster and got what little romance I could out of life from the characters in my books. In years to come, a country music singer would come up with a song about a Louisiana woman and a Mississippi man. I'd tell Momma that each time I heard that song I'd think of them, since she was a Louisiana woman and Daddy was a Mississippi man.

Daddy never got to hear the song, but Momma loved listening to Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn sing it. She was a country music lover and reared me on it. I like other types of music, too, but country is my favorite because it tells stories about life, and I listened to it from childhood to adulthood.

I loved to listen to Momma's stories about Daddy. Her stories were all I had left after his death. She had a way of making him come back to life for me, with her hazel eyes sparkling as she told me stories about their happy times and life together.

She told me how Daddy always showed up loaded down with surprises for both of us. He'd come laughing inside, glad to be home with us once again and say, "How's my two favorite girls?" He'd grab Momma and hug her until she thought he'd surely break her small bones in two. He'd pick me up from the crib or playpen and head to the rocker. "Got to make up for lost time and sing to my baby girl."

Eventually, Daddy sold the house in Angie and the one in Mississippi. He sold the one in Angie before he completed it. He moved Momma back to her home state so she wouldn't have to be away from her family. She could be closer to all of her relatives in Springfield, Louisiana, her hometown. I often wonder if Daddy moved us back because he knew he wasn't going to be around much longer, and Momma would need her people.

When we first moved back, he had a job at a New Orleans shipyard, where he worked until he became disabled. At first, we lived in a tiny house in Springfield. I remember Daddy taking me fishing with him when we lived there. I watched the ducks swim on the water, and the chickens followed us to the river. Daddy showed me how to bait my cane pole with a real live worm. He took me fishing and taught me how to bait my own pole when I was only four years old.

From there, we moved to a rambling white apartment house on South Third Street. I lived there until I lost my Daddy at four years old on Christmas Day.

The last week Daddy stayed in the city, Momma and I went to New Orleans to surprise him. I was too little to remember the trip, but I was all ears when Momma told me about it after Daddy passed. She was reminiscing about happier times.

"When we got to your daddy's room in that boarding house, I knocked on the door, but he didn't answer at first. I pounded and pounded and finally I heard him coming to open the door. He'd been sleeping with the gas heater on in that room without a crack in the window. It's a good thing we went to visit your Daddy when we did, or we could've lost him sooner. I had to crack the window and let the fumes air out of that room. He was so surprised and glad to see us. There, by the side of his bed, was a big walking doll he'd bought for you. He had his gifts for us and thought he'd be bringing them home and surprising us as usual. This time, we surprised him though, because we didn't wait for him. We caught a Greyhound bus and went to him.

I loved listening to Momma's reminiscing about the olden days, what she called the good old days, when she was a little girl growing up on my grandfather's strawberry farm in Springfield, Louisiana. I loved those strawberry tales about how hard my Grandpa and Grandma Threeton worked on their strawberry farm. Years later, I found out they really weren't tales at all, but truth. Most of all though, I loved listening to her tales about Daddy and how good he was to us, how happy we'd been, once upon a time. Just like a fairy tale, there was a once upon a time, but unlike a fairy tale, we had no happy ending. All we had were our happy memories.

The little girl Momma had reared on fairy tales would one day grow up and discover just what a cold, cruel adult world the real world could be. She'd soon find out how cruel life could really be and that real life was, indeed, no fairy tale. Though she dreamt of Prince Charming who'd ride up and rescue her on his white horse just like the fairy tales described, she was not destined to meet her own Prince Charming, at least not for years. Then, just when she finally thought that she had, their lives were interrupted. Later, she'd often wonder where had all the fairy tales gone?

Sadly, one day it'd be her who'd tell her own child that life was not fair and that he may as well face it. She'd grow up saying life was not fair and having someone tell her over and over that no one ever said that it was. The words, "Life is not fair, Kid," would often ring in her ears.

But until the time she was four years old, life was fair and good. Everything came up roses. She was the princess of sunshine, and her daddy always told her, "Your sweet smile is like a ray of sunshine; don't ever lose it."

Little did she know at the time, as she beamed that smile at her daddy's loving eyes, that one day in the near future, there'd be no more sunshine for her. Her world was getting ready to cloud over, and the blue skies would turn gray. She had many storms to batter, but for the time being, her life was storm free, and she could happily smile for all the world to see.

B. J. Robinson writes Southern fiction from Florida where she lives with her husband and pets, a golden cocker spaniel, Sunflower, a golden retriever, Honi, and a shelter cat named Frankie. She's an avid reader and passionate writer. When she's not writing, she's reading and reviewing books.

Buy book here or click on picture to the side. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FH06MB4

Big Price Reductions on Older Books

Prices on my first books out have all been reduced! Have some browsing fun and check out the blurbs, reviews, and prices. Don't forget the second page! Have fun and read! http://www.amazon.com/B.-J.-Robinson/e/B007DNJIKU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop

Book Launch Celtic Knot by Tammy Doherty

About CELTIC KNOT by Tammy Doherty

When widow Abby Finnegan meets ranch hand Kyle Lachapelle, she figures he’s as deceitful as her family. But Kyle is a Secret Service operative working undercover, and Abby has a disturbing connection to his counterfeiting case. Abby’s protecting her heart while Kyle can’t afford the feelings stirring in his. Love is out of the question…or is it the answer? 

 Excerpt

 “Look, mister,” Boone stood toe to toe with Kyle, their eyes level with one another. “I’m the law in these here parts an’ it’s my job to know about newcomers to town. An’ I ain’t partial to your wiseacre answers.”

“Well, I guess that makes us even, ‘cause I’m not partial to your lewd, nosy attitude.” Kyle held Boone’s gaze, as if daring the other man to make something of his answer.

Boone stared back, unblinking. He wouldn't back down from a stare-off. Most cowpunchers either worked for Raymond Bigelow or were just passing through Prophecy. Bigelow hands generally knew their place when it came to Boone Warren. Rambling men were naturally intimidated by Boone’s large size and the way he carried himself. This man was quite obviously not intimidated or impressed.

Tension thickened the air as each man waited for the other to back down. Abby noticed that while Boone’s gun rested in its customary place at his hip, the stranger was unarmed. If Lachapelle noted this fact he made no sign that it mattered. And though she well knew how apt Boone was with his fists, she began to wonder if perhaps this newcomer might be able to best him in a fight. She wasn’t willing to find out the answers to any of these questions.

“That’s enough,” she scolded sharply. “I’ll not have such a show of childish violence in front of my daughter.”

Even the sharpness in her voice did not break the staring match. Abby frowned and forced herself between the two men, shoving Boone backwards. He broke eye contact with Lachapelle and turned his gaze to her.

“I’m ashamed of you, Boone Warren.” Her voice was quiet, yet forceful. “You really must learn your manners.”

He dipped his head as if apologizing, but only to Abby and only for a moment. His anger was barely veiled as he looked again at Lachapelle. “Make sure you're on your best behavior when in my town. I don’t tolerate any hooliganism. Understood?”

 

Interview of character:

 Today I have the pleasure of chatting with Millie Finnigan. Millie's mother, Abby Finnigan, is the heroine of CELTIC KNOT.

"Welcome, Millie. Have a cookie and tell us a little about yourself."

Millie grabs a cookie but waits to eat it. "Hi, I'm excited to be here today. Let's see, I'm seven years old and I live with my mother in Prophecy, Colorado." She takes a bite of cookie, not talking again until she's finished chewing. "My real name is Millicent but Momma only calls me that when she's cross. I try not to make her angry 'cause she works real hard and hardly ever smiles. Momma has a pretty smile but sometimes her eyes seem to look far away and her face gets sad."

"Why do you think she's sad?"

"It's as if she's looking at a photograph in her memory." Millie fidgets with her dress, dropping her gaze a moment before continuing. "Remembering Daddy, I think. He died when I was four. That's when we moved back to Prophecy. Momma says that Daddy called me his little blessing. I don't hardly remember him. Sometimes that makes me sad."

"What makes you happy?"

A smile brightens Millie's countenance. "Playing with my best friend, Jennifer Stanton. Her pa is the town preacher an' her folks are real nice. They always treat me like family. Pastor and Mrs. Stanton worry about Momma an' me, 'cause we don't always have money for nice things. But Momma takes real good care of me."

"Doesn't your grandfather own the largest ranch around Prophecy? In fact, he owns most of the town. Why doesn't your mother ask him for help?"

Millie shrugs. "Momma's family isn't very nice. I've never even met my grandfather. Once, I heard someone say that Raymond Bigelow, that's Momma's father, is so mean an d contrary he makes Satan look angelic. All's I know is my uncle Clayton is scary. He says things like teaching the whelp proper respect. That's what he calls me, the whelp." She shudders. "I don't like him."

"I'm sure your mother stays away from Clayton, then."

"We try but Momma works at the Silver Streak Saloon, as a maid. Uncle Clayton goes there a lot and he looks for Momma. He likes being mean, an' not just to her. I can't understand why Boone is friends with him."

"Who is Boone?"

"He's our sheriff. Boone's real nice. He always wants to buy me stuff but Momma won't let him. She says she don't want to be beholden to him." Millie scrunches her nose. "Not sure what that means. I do know Boone wants to marry Momma. He might be a nice daddy. Still, I want Momma to be happy. She never smiles for Boone, least ways, not the kind of smile she gets when Mr. Lachapelle is around."

"Kyle Lachapelle? When did you meet him?"

"He came into the mercantile one morning when Momma was buying supplies an' things." Millie leans forward to whisper, "He likes lemon candies just like me." She sits back in the chair, speaking in her normal voice once more. "An' he stood up to Boone, didn't let anyone push him around. Later, he walked with Momma and me and he was a real gentleman. I hope he comes around more, 'cept Momma told him she don't want to be his friend. I hope she changes her mind."

"I sure hope so, too. Millie, it's been a joy having you here today. Do take one of those lemon candies from the jar for later. Yes, you may take one for Jennifer as well. Thank you for visiting."

~ purchase links: Amazon http://amzn.to/ZxBnsP 

                             Barnes&Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/celtic-knot-tammy-doherty/1007436106?ean=9781597811873 

                             iTunes https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/celtic-knot/id585956314?mt=11

                             Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/261743

 About the Author

 Tammy Doherty lives on a small farm in central Massachusetts with her husband and two children. A veterinary technician by training, she works for a veterinary supply distributor as well as working on the family perennial farm. Tammy is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and is a Grace Awards board member. Her three historical Christian romance novels, Celtic Cross, Claddaugh and Celtic Knot, are available in print and as eBooks. Currently she is working on contemporary romantic suspense. Visit Tammy on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/TammyDohertyAuthor, or  on her blog The Mystique of Naultag http://mystiqueofnaultag.blogspot.com/ 

Magnolia A Wilting Flower by B. J. Robinson

Magnolia Jane Russell is the story of a young girl who lost her daddy on Christmas Day when she was four. Her mother struggles to rear her when she's left a twenty-five-year old widow she doesn’t' want to be. Magnolia faces peer pressure in school and being made to feel that she's not college material. Will she make one dream in her life come true even though she discovers life is no fairy tale?

Journey to a simpler time in life under the shade of an old pecan tree when Jack's cookies and Coca Colas were only a nickel. Attend a school dance with Magnolia in the gym where Pistol Pete was filmed and where he played basketball. Know Magnolia personally before the end of the prologue. Won 2002 Florida Palm Literary Award and trophy. Autobiographical novel. New Release. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FH06MB4

Short excerpt. See more inside of the book at Amazon.

Before I was old enough to read, Momma had me hooked on fairy tales. She bought a new one for me each month out of the small social-security check she received after my father's death. She rocked me to sleep reading my favorite ones each night. I loved The Glass Mountain, Cinderella, and Snow White. I was only four years old when my father died one cold Christmas Day in a charity hospital.

Four years earlier, I'd been born in a charity hospital in New Orleans, Louisiana. We never had much, but I'd not yet realized that. To me, before Daddy died, we had everything.

We lived in a small town on South Third Street in a rambling white apartment house. We only rented, but I didn't realize what that meant at the time. To me, we were rich, for I was rich living in my make-believe world of fairy tales, rich in sunshine and fresh air, swinging in my board-and-rope swing underneath the giant pecan tree in our front yard.

B. J. Robinson writes Southern fiction from Florida where she lives with her husband and pets, a golden cocker spaniel, Sunflower, a golden retriever, Honi, and a shelter cat named Frankie. She's an avid reader and passionate writer. When she's not writing, she's reading and reviewing books.

Buy book here or click on picture to the side. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FH06MB4

 

 

Fishing on the Real Dead Lakes

My husband and I went fishing one day with my in-laws on Dead Lake near the small town of Wewahitchka, Florida, called Wewa for short by the locals. Yes, there are really dead lakes with a lot of dead trees that could make the trip dangerous, however, we survived. The name of the lake and the dead trees inspired this mystery set on Dead Lakes in Wewahitchka, Florida. Yes, there's more than one lake. These lakes are legendary. According to Florida State Parks, Gulf.com, and the City of Wewahitchka, sand bars created by the current in the Apalachicola River blocked the Chipola River. High water killed the trees in the flood zone and gave the area its name.

The Seminole Indian name means "water eyes" because when viewed from the sky there are two round lakes resembling eyes. The city is located in the Florida Panhandle's northern Gulf County and has approximately 1,800 residents. It's best known for the Dead Lakes and Tupelo Honey, which is world famous and has been harvested for over one hundred years from the Apalachicola River Basin. Peter Fonda's 1997 movie "Ulee's Gold" was set in this majestic beauty. It's a story about the beekeepers.

If you decide to try your luck with fishing on Dead Lake, be forewarned of a graveyard of cypress knees and dead stumps that can tear apart a boat or motor. I hear the fishing can be good. In fact, it's considered the best. You'll find crappie, blue gill (bream), shellcracker, large mouth bass, and white bass. Maybe you'll have better luck fishing than we did, if you believe in luck, fisherman's luck, that is. Dead Lakes State Recreation Area is only a mile north of Wewa.

The many cypress trees create a beautiful majesty and though we didn't catch any fish that day, I enjoyed the boating and beautiful scenery. You'll find a variety of trees including magnolia, cypress, longleaf pine, and sweetbay. I took a spiral notebook and pen with me and began this mystery. I hope you'll find it intriguing. It's the first one in my Dead Lake Mystery series. If you want to experience a hauntingly beautiful area of cypress skeletons, stumps, and knees in lakes that are considered the best freshwater sport and bass fishing in the nation, brace yourself with courage to boat in a graveyard of trees and explore. Nature photographers will find an oasis. Enjoy.

http://www.amazon.com/Dead-Lake-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00EW1LTRG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1378116851&sr=1-1&keywords=dead+lake+b+j+robinson

Preview Dead Lake

Judy helped paddle the boat, and they rounded another curve. The trees made shadows on the lake, creepy ones like demons reaching out to snag them. She'd rather enjoyed the shadows during the sunlight. Mirror images had come to mind. Reflec...tions. She gasped. There'd be no time to reflect. A man in a pirogue glided toward them upon the still, night waters. He seemed to rise out of a mist like a ghost, and she shivered as she slapped another mosquito from her arm.

  Mere hours ago, Dead Lake had rippled in the early-morning misty fog, and she'd agreed to go on this adventure with her husband, despite the prophetic feeling of doom that assaulted every nerve in her body. She frowned as the SUV pulled into Dead Lake Park and commented, "Isn't it something that a prisoner escaped less than a mile from our house last night? Gives me the creeps." Judy didn't want to go out in the boat. A deep sense of foreboding clutched her heart.

http://www.amazon.com/Dead-Lake-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00EW1LTRG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1378116851&sr=1-1&keywords=dead+

Dead Lake Mystery Series by B. J. Robinson

Judy and Jim Knowlton, a retired couple who enjoy fishing, decide to fish and explore one of the two legendary Dead Lakes in Wewahitchka, Florida, and soon find themselves boating through hauntingly beautiful cypress trees, skeletons, stumps, and knees in a lake considered the best freshwater sport and bass fishing in the nation. Brace yourself with courage to boat in a graveyard of trees and explore.

Though Judy admits nature photographers would find an oasis, she can't shake the ominous feeling that snakes through her body. A lone cypress tree forms an eerie silhouette, but it isn't the only creepy rising skeleton from Dead Lake. Many bony fingers reach for the sky. Dawn breaks. A spectacular sunrise washes across the skyline, but fingertips of pink reach for the skeletal arms.

Judy likes to fish off bank, while Jim's pride and joy is his fifteen foot red-and-black Bass Tracker. He's all about boating and fishing on Dead Lake, and it'll take more than skeletal trees to change his mind. He can't wait for a diverse fish supper the lake offers.

An unsolved mystery from long ago entangles Judy and Jim in its web when an escaped convict decides he wants to search an old junk heap behind their mobile home. When their grandson and beloved pets are affected, the stakes are raised. Whose bones are discovered in Dead Lake near Swamp Rat's cabin in the woods? Judy spies the waters of the lake bubbling. Somehow, it doesn't remind her of discovering oil and becoming rich. The water is doing its on weird thing, and the tops of the cypress trees along the bank blur like wind is rustling through them, but there's no wind. Everything is still. A Florida evening T-storm drums down with wind gusting as Judy attempts to show Jim the water, but her voice is lost in the wind, and he steers the boat away without looking back. The lake water spirals around that certain strand of trees and ripples in a huge circle. Is the mystery of Dead Lake over, or is it just beginning?

Award-winning author B. J. Robinson takes readers to the Florida Panhandle northern Gulf County best known for the Dead Lakes and Tupelo Honey, which is world famous and has been harvested for over one hundred years from the Apalachicola River Basin. This is the first novel in her Dead Lake Mystery Series, 51,376 words. Dead Lake

DARKEST HOUR by Nike Chillemi Interview

A petite widow, medical secretary and sole support of her young son and grandparents, is framed for the murder of her boss. Wealthy village residents conspire with the DA to indicte her and stop further investigation. The medical examiner thinks the shooter was a tall individual. When his report is shoved aside, he starts his own side-investigation trying to clear her and in the process he falls in love with her.

Lucinda Byrne lost her husband and parents at sea. When she discovers the body of her boss, his A-List society finacee, backed up by her powerful family and a corrupt DA, acuses Lucinda of murder. She struggles on shielding her five-year-old son, her feisty grandfather and arthritic grandmother from the ugliness of her situation. She mistrusts the dapper ME, thinking he's a ladies' man, but soon realizes he may be the only one in her corner.

Hank Jansen, the county ME who's had his share of pain and loss, doesn't know if this little widow was in on the murder, but he knows by the trajectory of the bullet she's too short to have pulled the trigger. His professional opinion ignored, he begins his own investigation and at least one cop accuses him of an ethics violation. He certainly can't deny he's fallen head over heals for the accused, and also is crazy about her son. A huge problem is there's a leak inside the investigation and the murderer is always one step ahead of them.

 

Interview Questions: chose two or three to go with the blurb and cover

Q: In DARKEST HOUR, your heroine Lucinda Byrne isn't as feisty as your previous heroines have been. Can you comment on that?

A: Lucinda Byrne certainly is strong, but she doesn't shoot from the hip the way my other heroines did. She's much more careful. I think a woman can show strength in many ways. Lucinda is a widow, the mother of her five-year old son, and the sole support of her grandparents. Her strength comes through as she handles her responsibilities with courage and grace while powerful individuals in the village seek to destroy her. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy writing spunky heroines, but in this story, I wanted Lucinda to have poise and dignity, first and foremost. Still, she can and does stand up for herself to the village detective and to Hank Jansen, the medical examiner, who she's falling in love with in spite of the fact that she doesn't know if she can trust him.

Q: You include older parents and/or grandparents in your novels who hail from another country. They're often the stabilizing, faith-based, characters who give support to the heroine. Is there something about Lucinda's grandparents that make them unique?

A: I like to capture the richness of the ethnicity in my older characters. I'll add an accent. I'll research the cuisine and customs of whatever country they come from. With Lucinda's grandparents I tried to capture the poetic beauty of the Irish soul. One scene I'm particularly fond of is when the grandfather is telling Lucinda's young son not to cry. That they're men in this family. His wife reminds the old man they're also Irish. The grandfather then admits to the boy that many an Irish man has openly wept and that there's no shame in crying.

Q: Is there anything that happened in the writing of this novel that surprised you?

A: I thought my heroine Lucinda Byrne had two sweet grandparents who would stay in the background and just...well look sweet. However, Nellie and Daniel Walsh took me by surprise. I hadn't planned on Mrs. Walsh having crippling arthritis and on that illness becoming a subtheme in the novel. So, I had to research how severe arthritis was treated in the 1940s. As his wife's role in the novel grew and blossomed, Mr. Walsh also made himself known as an elderly gentleman of honor and dignity with quite a backbone. Then I began to depict them engaging each other as a married couple. They weren't content to remain in the background. They insisted on coming to life.

Q: When we first meet Hank Williams it would never occur to us he'd take any personal risks to help a young woman he hardly knew. How did you create this character?

A: That's right. Hank wouldn't be seen as a man to go out on a limb for anyone. It's not that he's cowardly. He's got a backbone. It's just that he's been so hurt in the past he doesn't extend himself for other people. He's as surprised as anyone when he decides to help Lucinda Byrne. Perhaps it's because his professional opinion has been ignored, and the one thing he's got left is his career. Then he begins to see her as someone who's being unjustly hurt. He can certainly identify with that.

 

Q: How did you develop the plot for DARKEST HOUR and how did you come up with the name?

Nike: In my Sanctuary Point series, one novel flows out of another. Main characters in one novel will appear as subordinate characters in the next one. Hank Jansen, the Nassau County Medical Examiner, first appeared in my Christmas/New Year's novel in the series, GOODBYE NOEL. Then he popped up at the murder scene in PERILOUS SHADOWS. I got to like him and thought he'd be a terrific hero. He is the most flawed of my heroes, but like all my others, he seeks to right injustice. So, he needed a heroine, but I wanted a gal who would be put off by him at first. So, I created a widow with a young son who is dignified and protective of her family. At first she thinks Hank is a ladies' man and too cavalier for her taste. Then, of course, he grows on her. It helps that he's practically the only one who thinks she's innocent of murder. The name DARKEST HOUR came to mind because things in this story get so scary for the heroine.

 

 

 

 

Excerpt:

From Chapter one…

A black coach resembling an ambulance drove into the lot. An older man in overalls pulled a collapsible gurney out of the back and raised its bed to hip level. Its chrome gleamed.

The night orderly and two nurses getting off the night shift stopped to watch.

The brown-haired man pointed to the gurney and his voice carried. "They finally allocated some funds my way. Makes transporting much easier. Oscar and I used to carry them on a stretcher. My back sure is grateful to the board of supervisors."

The detective laughed. "Don't you county guys have all the dough you want?"

"Who're you kidding?"

The gurney's wheels rumbled across the gravel parking lot. The older man pulled on the straps of his overalls."Hank, you ready to move the body?"

The stylish man nodded. "Let's do it." They lifted the body onto the gurney and the man in overalls covered Dr. McCloud with a white sheet. Blood seeped through and began spreading.

Lucinda gasped, took another step back, stumbled, but managed to keep her footing. She straightened her spine. She still had to go into that building and work a full day. She had a son to support.

The detective nodded toward the body. "By the size of the hole in his chest, I'd guess he was shot with a pistol, maybe at close range. I need to have the bullet as soon as you recover it."

"Then by all means, you'll be my guest at the autopsy."

"Gee, thanks." The detective shook his head.

The debonair man chuckled, turned, and approached Lucinda.

A tremor ran down her back. More questioning, and all she wanted to do was run and hide. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the side of her index finger.

He reached into his inside pocket and offered her a folded white handkerchief. "It's rough if you've never seen anything like this. I'm Hank Jansen, the medical examiner, by the way."

Lucinda's gaze followed the gurney to the black coach. "He was my boss."

"You work at the hospital for Dr. McCloud?"

"Yes. I... I'm his secretary... was, I mean. And Dr. Hinsey's too." She couldn't believe the doctor's life had ended this way.

Detective Daltry barked, "Hank, can I speak with you?"

"Excuse me." The medical examiner stepped away.

"Wait." Lucinda quickly refolded the handkerchief and handed it back to him. She didn't know this man. Wouldn't begin to know how to return the white cotton cloth. "Don't forget this."

"Take it with you. The day's not over. Things could still get rough." He smiled.

"No, I can't take your hankie."

"Listen, I'll pick it up the next time I'm at the hospital. You say you work for Dr. Hinsey?"

"Hank," the detective called, impatience sharp in his tone.

"Yes, Dr. Hinsey is the head of the maternity ward. I'll launder it and have it ready for you."

The medical examiner nodded and smiled. "It's a date. I mean, I'll stop by and pick it up." He turned and trotted toward the detective.

Lucinda slipped the handkerchief into her purse. She headed for the main entrance of the hospital, bent and picked up a fountain pen in the gravel lot.

She pivoted and advanced toward the two men.

The detective made a chopping gesture with his hand and raised his voice. "I'm not fooling, Hank. Don't go putting another notch in your belt. She's a witness."

"Can't a fellow do a simple act of kindness?"

"I'm warning you, stay away from her." The detective spun around and nearly collided with Lucinda.

Heat rushed to her face, and she couldn't meet either man's gaze. If the ground would only open and swallow her. She held the pen out to Detective Daltry. "Uh...I…I'm sorry. I think you dropped this."

Purchase Links:

Amazon/Kindle. http://amzn.to/1bWg3F1

Barnes and Noble/Nook. http://bit.ly/17Kh6mg

 

 

Author Bio:

Like so many writers, Nike Chillemi started writing at a very young age. She still has the Crayola, fully illustrated book she penned (penciled might be more accurate) as a little girl about her then off-the-chart love of horses. Today, you might call her a crime fictionista. Her passion is crime fiction. She likes her bad guys really bad and her good guys smarter and better.

She is the founding board member of the Grace Awards and is its Chairman, a reader's choice awards for excellence in Christian fiction. She　writes book reviews for The Christian Pulse online magazine. She was an Inspy Awards 2010 judge in the Suspense/Thriller/Mystery category and a judge in the 2011 and 2012 Carol Awards in the suspense, mystery, and romantic suspense categories. BURNING HEARTS, the first book in the crime wave that is sweeping the south shore of Long Island in　The Sanctuary Point series, finaled in the Grace Awards 2011 in the Romance/Historical Romance category. GOODBYE NOEL, the second book in the series released in December, 2011 won the Grace Award 2011 in the Mystery/Romantic Suspense/Thriller category. PERILOUS SHADOWS, third in the series released July, 2012, and DARKEST HOUR, the fourth in the series released in February, 2013. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and the Edgy Christian Fiction Lovers (Ning). http://nikechillemi.wordpress.com/

Interview with BJ Robinson Suspense Writer

Interview with southern romantic suspense writer B.J. Robinson. She talks about herself and her latest work - Weeping Willows and Southern Supersitions available on Amazon - http://everything-dave.com/?cat=8

Newest Release: Serenity Through the Storm by B. J. Robinson

Newest Release! Second novella in Storms of Life Series. A man loved it and can't wait for the final one in the series. A woman loved it and can't wait for the next one. Men and Women readers for my novels. Only $2.99. Journey with the char...acters from Calm Before the Storm as new storms threaten their lives in Serenity Through the Storm. Vera, Douglass, Mark, and Serenity have to work together to plow their way through this one. Douglass and Mark are construction workers. Serenity is a nurse. Mark and Serenity honeymoon in TN but when they return from their honeymoon, Mark has to face a job he doesn't like. No way does he want to spend the rest of his life as a paper pusher, but what can he do about it with one leg? He's been assigned to a desk job, and he hates it. His once tanned and calloused working-mans hands are now smooth and white, a constant reminder that he's not the man he used to be. Will he ever be again? Is he man enough to protect Serenity from the new storms that weather their lives? His heart pounds when he sees her red Impala flying through the air. "Dear God, Please don't take this one, too." http://www.amazon.com/Serenity-Through-Storms-Novella-ebook/dp/B00DQVCMGA/ref=sr_1_12?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1373323452&sr=1-12

Sneak Preview of New Book Covers for Upcoming Books

A Facebook friend, Kendra R. LaLonde, loves making book covers and has made enough to keep me busy all summer for my Dead Lake Mystery Series. This summer series will be set in the small town of Wewahitchka, Florida, and on a real lake there, Dead Lake. Cypress trees with trunks like huge bowls adorn the scenic route along the shores of the lake. Locals say fishing is good, and you'll find crappie, blue gills, shell crackers, large mouth bass, white bass among other types of fish. It's fresh-water fishing, and you can use worms or shiners. Dead Lake is a 6,700 acre lake off the Chipola River near the town of Wewahitchka. A local bait shop close by also sells swings, wooden recliners, and tables. If you enjoy relaxing fishing with beautiful scenery and like to catch various types of fish, you might want to try fishing on Dead Lake. That is, if you're up for it. Notice the cover of one of the books. The boat is empty. What happened to the fishermen? How did Dead Lake get its name? Find out in this series of novels by author B. J. Robinson. The first book in the series will release this summer. Kendra is great at making covers, loves it. She good and she's fast. If you need a cover, talk to her. She's on Facebook. I love the ones she's made for me. Browse down and take a look. Any cover with a Dead Lake title is one she made for me. The first in the series is coming this summer. Watch for them. Thanks so much for the wonderful covers, Kendra. You're a sweet blessing.

The second book in my Storms of Life series will also be out this summer, Serenity through the Storm. The first novel in the series, Calm Before the Storm, is available through Amazon for only $2.99. Readers say they can't put it down, and I packed a lot into it. Check it out.

Contest to Win New Release

New Release only $2.99. First in a series of three Storms of Life Series.
Vera Minette lost too many loved ones in her life, and she wanted answers. Was it God's timing, someone playing God, or hospital error? This 18 chapter novel... explores these questions when Vera returns to a small town she fled during the threat of a hurricane because her sister is ill and hospitalized. Jesus is our refuge through the storms of life, and Vera, her loved ones, and friends go through many in this inspirational romantic suspense. If you're a fan of humor, romance, suspense, mystery, or inspirational novels, enjoy this one for only $2.99.

Vera Minette Brady left Louisiana six short years ago and never looked back. There were times she missed Lake Pontchartrain, but not enough to return after her high school sweetheart ripped her heart asunder. She hadn't counted on a hurricane and her sister's illness to lure her back. She hated hospitals and wondered why a feeling of déjà vu iced through her veins and overpowered her each time she entered one. The truth was she knew why. She just didn't want to think about it.

Douglass Stevens, the owner of a construction company, discovered something more important he'd love to construct besides buildings. He wanted to rebuild the relationship he once had with Vera. Why did it seem something always got in the way? When Vera returned to see her sister, he planted himself at the hospital to support her, determined not to let her get away again.

Together, their path is littered with obstacles, and they have to decide if it's God's will, hospital error, or someone playing God as they helplessly watch loved ones die. Will Douglass be strong enough to provide the support Vera needs through this storm in her life? Can their love weather the storms that rage against them both? http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BJWSF5A

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BJWSF5A

For an opportunity to win a copy of this beautiful new release, sign to follow the blog. You may also win other books or ebooks.

Calm Before the Storm only $2.99 by B. J. Robinson

Vera Minette Bradley lost too many loved ones in her life, and she wanted answers. Was it God's timing, someone playing God, or hospital error? This 18 chapter novel explores these questions when Vera returns to a small town she fled during the threat of a hurricane because her sister is ill and hospitalized. Jesus is our refuge through the storms of life, and Vera, her loved ones, and friends go through many in this inspirational romantic suspense. If you're a fan of humor, romance, suspense, mystery, or inspirational novels, enjoy this one for only $2.99. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BJWSF5A

The Next Big Thing Blog Post

Ten Interview Questions for The Next Big Thing:


I was nominated by Rita Garcia for The Next Big Thing Blog Post.

Today it’s my turn to talk about my upcoming book Calm Before the Storm. At the end of the post, I’ll nominate another writer who will post their own answers about their book next week.

What is the working title of your book?

Calm Before the Storm

Where did the idea come from for the book?

The storm of illness that hits and destroys so many families. I lost my youngest sister to an eating disorder.

What genre does your book fall under? Christian inspirational romantic suspense.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Roma Downey and Kirk Cameron

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Vera Minette Bradley was the first woman to fight off the pain medication and the only one to leave the hospital alive.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency? Self-published or published by a publisher, but at this point, probably self-published.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript? It is still in the works, but I expect to complete it this spring.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre? I don't know of any in my genre, but I do know there are many books published on the topic of eating disorders. However, my novel is not focused on eating disorder, though it is one topic.

Who or What inspired you to write this book? The loss of my mother and sister six years apart.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

Vera tried to fight off the shot as the nurse thrust the needle at her hip. She'd fought them in the ambulance, too, but there were too many of them, too many arms holding her down. She tried to tell the nurse she'd had a pain shot en route to the hospital, but to no avail. She felt the sharp prick of the needle and prayed before she went under.

Three years later, Myrtle tried desperately to open her eyes. She wanted to awaken one more time to see her youngest daughter's big brown eyes. She had to say goodbye.

Six years later, Bridgett made her last telephone call.

Eight years later, Glory went into a deep sleep and never woke.

What did all these women have in common? They'd all had pain medication at the same hospital. Was someone playing God, or was it truly their time to go? The story of five women. Only one leaves the hospital alive.

My published novels include Last Resort, Southern Superstitions, Whispering Cypress, and One Rainy Summer. They are available through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Sony, and Christianbooks.com. You may check out all my available titles on Kindle at this link http://www.amazon.com/BJ-Robinson/e/B007DNJIKU

Naomi Musch is nominated to discuss her upcoming book next week. Stay tuned.

 

 

A Ragdoll Christmas

I'm thrilled to be a part of the fabulous showcase of twenty-five talented authors for the Grace-Filled Christmas Blog Tour. I want to wish a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all my readers, Facebook friends, and family. As we remember the reason for the season, may God bless you and yours with a heart-warming, safe holiday season. Jesus is the reason for all seasons.

A Ragdoll Christmas and Other Short Stories hold precious Christmas memories, though all are not so happy. "The Little Pink Washing Machine" brings back days of happily walking to town with my father, and I treasure those precious memories. It is an excerpt from a work-in-progress, and "Growing up on Fairytales," is a prequel to that same work. Once completed, you'll find other Christmas stories included as well as stories of growing up in a small town. The book itself is not a book of only Christmas stories, but a book young adults will enjoy that tells the story of a gutsy girl who lost her father at four years old on Christmas Day in Southern small-town America. Autobiographical, nonfiction Christmas stories.

 

As we celebrate Christmas this year, let's remember the reason for the season, the birth of Jesus, and understand that while some are happy and celebrating, others may be going through a Ragdoll Christmas. I've had my share, but I'm thankful to God for the precious memories and the lessons learned about life through all the joy, heartache, pain, and sadness. God has His plans, and good comes shining through even in dark situations, though we may not always see it as we're in the midst of the storm. Sometimes, it may be years later, after the storm clouds have dissolved, before we realize our rainbow of blessings.

No, I'm not having a fancy fiber-optic Christmas this year. You'll understand when you read the story about that one. I'm having a simple Christmas at home. I pray all of my readers have a blessed Christmas season with many rainbow blessings to come and that you enjoy my writing. Thank you for taking a chance on it and supporting my work as an author. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

A Cozy Fireside Christmas

A Cozy Fireside Christmas

 

I remember a cozy Christmas spent in a Holden cabin in the woods with a roaring fire, hot chocolate, and a rocking chair by the fireside. A cedar tree decorated the picture window. The lights on the tree flickered and glowed with the flickering firelight. Christmas music filled the air, and I listened in peaceful solitude as I rocked by the fire.

My son Rodney was about twelve and those were the days, the days of enjoying my son and shopping for his Christmas gifts. We lived in the woodlands of Holden, Louisiana, and he wanted a tent for Christmas that year. He got his tent among other gifts. Reflecting back, I can still see him camped out on the hillside behind our cabin in the woods, the cabin I used to call my Walden. For, I always said, if a man could have his own cabin in the woods, his own Walden, why couldn’t a woman? As Henry David Thoreau had his Walden, I, too, had mine.

Christmas was kept simple, but simple was good enough for us. Enjoying the simple things in life can bring the greatest pleasures. Life is about learning how to enjoy the simple things and taking advantage of them. When I look back on days gone by, sometimes I wish I could go back to the past instead of back to the future for just one day and relive some of those days. I would know to enjoy them while I had them the second time around, wouldn’t I?

Now, Christmas decorations are no longer so simple. We no longer go into the woods and chop down a cedar tree. This year, I have the newest style going, a fiber optic Christmas tree. A simple star no longer adorns the top. A fiber optic angel has taken the place of the star. My son is now grown and gone with kids of his own. They live in another state, so I don’t get to see them for Christmas. My yard is the best decorated it has ever been, but my baby boy is not here to share it.

Simple is better. A fancy decorated yard is empty without children to share it. If I could trade it all for the simple times, I would do it in a blink. Appreciate the simple things in life, because they are the best, the things that money can’t buy, the things that you can’t get back once they are gone.

Some of the best years of my life were when my son was about twelve, but I didn’t know it then. Why are we always in such a hurry for everything? I spent my days in a hurry to obtain my education, in a hurry to do everything. In life’s hustle and bustle, in my haste, I forgot to take the time to enjoy the simple things while I had them. I was in such a hurry to live life that I really didn’t live life. I let life live me.

Don’t let life live you, or it will pass you by. Live life and enjoy it to its fullest. Enjoy each day and take each day one day at a time, being thankful for the day you have.

While I will never be able to go back and see my twelve year old son camped in a tent on the hillside, perhaps I will see my grandsons’ faces lighted with joy as they someday receive a tent from grandma for Christmas. Perhaps, it is meant for grandparents to get to relive the days of rearing their children through their grandchildren, a chance to do better and appreciate it more the second time around.

Now, there is one thing that could still make this fancy fiber-optic Christmas special, if only my grandchildren could see my fancy decorated yard. Somehow sharing it with them from another state, with only pictures, is just not the same as being able to see shining eyes and glowing faces. Though my youngest son is now a grown man, being able to share it with him would make it special again. Decorations and presents don’t make Christmas special. People do.

Christmas today is a yard of blow-ups: Santa, Snowman, Grinch, Reindeer, Santa and Reindeer, but no real live children and grandchildren to share it. Somehow, blow-ups are just not as warm and welcoming as warm hugs from loving family. Yes, I’d trade all this fancy fiber-optic, blow-up Christmas for a simple, traditional family-filled Christmas in a flying reindeer, if I could. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I say, a thousand words coming from family and friends are worth a thousand pictures.

So, as I try my best to be positive and enjoy my blow-up, fiber-optic Christmas, empty of family, those of you who have your children and grandchildren with you, just know you have the best Christmas of all. You don’t need fancy decorations. You need the gifts that money can’t buy! Those are the best gifts in the world!

I won’t be rocking by the fireside with a cozy fireside Christmas this year. I won’t have a twelve year old son to watch, as he rips open a tent with shining eyes and a glowing face. Instead, I will have Florida sunshine in the Sunshine state and a fancy blow-up, fiber-optic Christmas, but make no mistake, as I enjoy my fancy fiber-optic Christmas, I am thankful, and I do appreciate it, thankful for all those simple, traditional family memories that time and fancy decorations can’t replace. I am thankful that I can still enjoy Christmas and the holiday season and sending my loved ones, who live in another state, Christmas cards.

Enjoy your times together while you have them and enjoy the simple pleasures life has to offer; for, they are the most precious and valuable gifts on this earth, and they are true gifts from God.

Interview about Sunrise on Alligator Lake

We are blog hopping our way through some new reads. For those who aren’t familiar with a blog hop, it's like a treasure hunt to find new authors and books. Once you find something on one blog you hop on over to the next one to discover more treasure, a wealth of new and exciting books. Some are still being written, some are just being released. Either way, for fiction lovers, it’s a treasure. I’d like to thank  Brenda K. Hendricks for tagging me to participate.

In this particular hop I answer 10 questions, and you get to learn about my current WIP (work in progress), my new Christmas book of short stories, Ragdoll Christmas and other Short Stories, which releases Wednesday, December 5.

I am tagging the following five authors to continue the blog hop: Naomi Musch, Rita Garcia, Regina Andrews, Nike Chillemi, and June Foster.

What is the working title of your book? Sunrise on Alligator Lake

Where did the idea come from for the book? My husband and I go fishing on the lake which has gorgeous sunrises, and I was inspired to write a romance novel using it as the setting.

What genre does your book fall under?
Southern Christian Inspirational Romance

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

John Dye with Roma Downey or Meg Ryan with Tom Hanks.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book? A divorced woman escapes an abusive husband to live a life of peace and contentment in a trailer park on Alligator Lake and learns to enjoy the sunrises in her life until her world spirals out of control when she comes face-to-face with her past.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I have books published by Desert Breeze Publishing, Inc. out of California, but this one is going to be a novella, and I plan to self-publish it.

 

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript? It's still in the works, but I plan to finish it within a four to six month time span since it's a novella. Ragdoll Christmas will be released Wednesday and available at Amazon for the Kindle.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre? Eva Marie Everson has a Cedar Key Series, and the first novel, Chasing Sunsets, is about a divorced woman who seeks a new beginning. My debut novel, Last Resort, is about a woman who escapes an abusive boyfriend.

Who or What inspired you to write this book? Domestic abuse rears its ugly head far too much in society. I have been inspired to write a story of how God uses bad for good, one to show victims they can have a new, fresh beginning just like a fresh new sunrise on Alligator Lake. God and the sunrise on Alligator Lake inspired me to write this novella because of the glorious view that seemed fresh, like a renewal, or new beginning.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest? It's set on a real lake in St. Cloud, Florida, and I have pictures to post on a blog taken on the lake. The heroine has been through the wringer and come out on the other side to rainbow blessings.

 

 

The Haunting of Alligator Lake by B. J. Robinson

Just published and only 99 cents for a short story set in St. Cloud, Florida, on a real lake. Visit a quaint diner and enjoy another alligator tale by B. J. Robinson. Are all those white alligator tales and ghostly mermaid stories true? Find out in a few seconds with instant delivery.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00A9U9JEE