Part V
While Cate hung his coat up in the hall closet, Eric sprinted into the kitchen to take the heavy, old-fashioned coffee pot from Mrs. Miller’s trembling hand.
“Let me get that,” he offered. He set the pot on the stove and adjusted the flame underneath. With disaster averted, he looked around the small kitchen. Two pumpkin pies sat on cooling racks, a huge bowl of cubed bread stood next to a variety of herbs and spices in bottles and tins. A bowl of sliced apples sat next to a lump of dough and two pie plates. A saucepan of giblets and the turkey’s neck bubbled gently on the stove and the turkey itself, a monster, sat in an enormous pan waiting to be stuffed, trussed and roasted. Eric took a deep, appreciative breath filled with the aromas of Thanksgiving morning: cinnamon and spice and...onion?
Cate burst into the kitchen, a whirlwind of blond hair and energy. Her small hands pulled at his arm and she pushed him down into a chair. Before he could speak, she pressed a paring knife into his hand and dragged a huge pile of small white onions on a sheet of newspaper in front of him. She reached across the table in front of him and the citrusy scent of her hair eclipsed all the other aromas in the air. He wanted to grab her around the waist and pulled her into his lap so he could take another lungful of that scent. Only the fact that it would put a sharp knife in her reach prevented him. Instead Cate snagged a pot and plunked it down in front of him.
“Okay, you insisted, so here ya go. Just peel these and make an X in the bottom and drop ’em in the pot.” Cate wheeled away. “One hour, Gram.”
At that moment, Mrs. Miller turned from the counter, a plate of cookies her hand.
“Cate! You can’t ask a guest to peel onions.”
“Guest? I don’t see a guest. I see help. You said Mrs. Judson sent him over to help us. And I need help peeling the onions. Look, there’s a lot to do in the next hour, Gram. I don’t think Eric is up to making the stuffing or your famous apple pie. So, what’s left?”
Eric sat quietly and let the women work things out. He didn’t mind peeling the onions, although when his aunt sent him over to the Miller house to help them, he had envisioned putting leaves in the table, arranging chairs and bringing in firewood for the small fireplace in the living room. What he really wanted to do was be where Cate was. She’d grown from a spitfire ten-year-old whose gumption he’d admired into a beautiful woman. And if that meant peeling piles of vegetables, then he’d peel away.
(c) 2007 by Susan Atwood
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Turkey for Dinner Part IV
Part IV ~
“What are you doing here so early? We already have a turkey, so we don’t need you. Go take care of your aunt Ida.”
“It’s Eric.”
“What? Aunt Eric?” Cate was confused.
“No. My name is Eric. No one calls me Ricky except Aunt Ida. And she is fine on her own. She’s talking to your grandmother on the phone. She sent me over here to help wrestle the turkey into the oven. I guess she didn’t realize that you were here to help.”
“Nope, no help needed. I’m here. Everything is fine. Come back at two. See you later.” Cate tried to shut the door, but Ricky’s broad frame was in the way. When did he get so big? Cate had only caught a glimpse of him now and then during their teenage years. She looked up into his face. He was a lot better looking than he’d been at twelve, too. “Hey, Ricky, Eric, whoever, I’m trying to shut the door here. How about moving?”
In an instant, Eric was standing in the small entry hall and shutting the door behind him.
“Hey! That’s not what I meant. You’re supposed to be on the other side.” Cate protested.
“Look, Cate, have a heart. Aunt Ida is stewing prunes for breakfast, and if I go back there, she’s going to make me eat them.”
“Have a heart? Why should I?” Cate gave Eric a shove in the general direction of the door, but he didn’t budge. “You didn’t have a heart when you left that pie on my chair.”
“Cate, I didn’t...”
Cate set her feet apart, braced them against the bottom stair and pushed with both hands.
“Oooof. Go home Eric.” She was just getting ready to put her shoulder into it when Gran spoke.
“Well, hello Ricky. I didn’t know you were here,” She came down the narrow stairs into the front hall. Cate stopped pushing and panted.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Miller. Thank you for inviting Aunt Ida and me to dinner.”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you. Cate, take Ricky’s coat. Come on into the kitchen and I’ll make some coffee.”
“Gran!” Cate protested as he dumped his coat into her arms. It was warm and smelled like cologne and snow. Cate stifled an urge to pull the coat around her and take a deep breath. “No!” Cate shove the coat at his chest. “Ricky was just leaving.”
Gran didn’t hear here; she was already bustling around in the kitchen, pulling out the coffee and a tin of homemade cookies.
Eric grinned at Cate before he tossed his coat over her head.
“Looks like I’m staying a while. Hang that up for me, will you?”
Cate nearly threw the coat in Eric’s face, but at the last moment, she remembered the mountain of onions waiting to be peeled. A grin spread slowly over her face.
“Fine. If that’s what you want, you can help. Let me find you a knife.”
(c) by Susan Atwood 2007
“What are you doing here so early? We already have a turkey, so we don’t need you. Go take care of your aunt Ida.”
“It’s Eric.”
“What? Aunt Eric?” Cate was confused.
“No. My name is Eric. No one calls me Ricky except Aunt Ida. And she is fine on her own. She’s talking to your grandmother on the phone. She sent me over here to help wrestle the turkey into the oven. I guess she didn’t realize that you were here to help.”
“Nope, no help needed. I’m here. Everything is fine. Come back at two. See you later.” Cate tried to shut the door, but Ricky’s broad frame was in the way. When did he get so big? Cate had only caught a glimpse of him now and then during their teenage years. She looked up into his face. He was a lot better looking than he’d been at twelve, too. “Hey, Ricky, Eric, whoever, I’m trying to shut the door here. How about moving?”
In an instant, Eric was standing in the small entry hall and shutting the door behind him.
“Hey! That’s not what I meant. You’re supposed to be on the other side.” Cate protested.
“Look, Cate, have a heart. Aunt Ida is stewing prunes for breakfast, and if I go back there, she’s going to make me eat them.”
“Have a heart? Why should I?” Cate gave Eric a shove in the general direction of the door, but he didn’t budge. “You didn’t have a heart when you left that pie on my chair.”
“Cate, I didn’t...”
Cate set her feet apart, braced them against the bottom stair and pushed with both hands.
“Oooof. Go home Eric.” She was just getting ready to put her shoulder into it when Gran spoke.
“Well, hello Ricky. I didn’t know you were here,” She came down the narrow stairs into the front hall. Cate stopped pushing and panted.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Miller. Thank you for inviting Aunt Ida and me to dinner.”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you. Cate, take Ricky’s coat. Come on into the kitchen and I’ll make some coffee.”
“Gran!” Cate protested as he dumped his coat into her arms. It was warm and smelled like cologne and snow. Cate stifled an urge to pull the coat around her and take a deep breath. “No!” Cate shove the coat at his chest. “Ricky was just leaving.”
Gran didn’t hear here; she was already bustling around in the kitchen, pulling out the coffee and a tin of homemade cookies.
Eric grinned at Cate before he tossed his coat over her head.
“Looks like I’m staying a while. Hang that up for me, will you?”
Cate nearly threw the coat in Eric’s face, but at the last moment, she remembered the mountain of onions waiting to be peeled. A grin spread slowly over her face.
“Fine. If that’s what you want, you can help. Let me find you a knife.”
(c) by Susan Atwood 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Turkey for Dinner Part III
Part III
Cate pushed the red gingham curtain aside and peered out the kitchen window. Fat white snowflakes swirled down from a pewter sky. Already, there were a few white spots where the grass met the concrete walk. “Gran! Look outside! It’s snowing! I don’t think we’ve ever had a white Thanksgiving before.”
“My goodness, will you look at that! Starting to stick, too. I’d better call Mrs. Judson and tell her she can come early. I wouldn’t want her to miss out on Thanksgiving because of the snow.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure Ricky can get here even if there are a couple of inches of snow on the ground.” Even as Cate said the words, she knew that Gran wouldn’t be happy until she’d talked to Mrs. Judson on the phone.
“I have the phone number upstairs. I’ll go get it,” Gran said.
Cate picked up another small white onion from the small mountain in front of her and peeled it. So much for Gran making Ricky Hall peel them. Three onions later, Cate had tears snaking down both cheeks. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Just as she picked up another onion, the doorbell rang. Who could be at the door at 7:30 on Thanksgiving morning?
“Gran? Can you get that?” Cate called.
No answer. She must still be on the phone in the bedroom.
The doorbell pealed again.
Cate gave another swipe at her cheeks as she pulled open the wide front door. One look at the man standing there, and she swung the door closed. With one arm extended, the man at the door pushed the door back open.
“Hello Cate. Hey, Thanksgiving is a happy holiday. It’s not a time for tears. Not unless you sat on a piece of pie or something?” Ricky Hall propped one shoulder against the door frame looking so... smug, Cate itched to smack the smirk off his face.
“Saved an extra-big piece of pumpkin just for you, Ricky.” Cate retorted.
(c) by Susan Atwood 2007
Cate pushed the red gingham curtain aside and peered out the kitchen window. Fat white snowflakes swirled down from a pewter sky. Already, there were a few white spots where the grass met the concrete walk. “Gran! Look outside! It’s snowing! I don’t think we’ve ever had a white Thanksgiving before.”
“My goodness, will you look at that! Starting to stick, too. I’d better call Mrs. Judson and tell her she can come early. I wouldn’t want her to miss out on Thanksgiving because of the snow.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure Ricky can get here even if there are a couple of inches of snow on the ground.” Even as Cate said the words, she knew that Gran wouldn’t be happy until she’d talked to Mrs. Judson on the phone.
“I have the phone number upstairs. I’ll go get it,” Gran said.
Cate picked up another small white onion from the small mountain in front of her and peeled it. So much for Gran making Ricky Hall peel them. Three onions later, Cate had tears snaking down both cheeks. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Just as she picked up another onion, the doorbell rang. Who could be at the door at 7:30 on Thanksgiving morning?
“Gran? Can you get that?” Cate called.
No answer. She must still be on the phone in the bedroom.
The doorbell pealed again.
Cate gave another swipe at her cheeks as she pulled open the wide front door. One look at the man standing there, and she swung the door closed. With one arm extended, the man at the door pushed the door back open.
“Hello Cate. Hey, Thanksgiving is a happy holiday. It’s not a time for tears. Not unless you sat on a piece of pie or something?” Ricky Hall propped one shoulder against the door frame looking so... smug, Cate itched to smack the smirk off his face.
“Saved an extra-big piece of pumpkin just for you, Ricky.” Cate retorted.
(c) by Susan Atwood 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Turkey for Dinner- Part II
Turkey for Dinner
(c) 2007 by Susan Atwood
“Aunt Ida? Do you need any help with that?”
Eric Hall arrived in the kitchen in time to see his Great-aunt Ida juggling the teakettle and her walker.
“Oh, no, Ricky, I’ve got it.” Eric, seeing her hand tremble with the weight of the kettle, had his doubts. “You sit right down there and I’ll get you some of those macaroons you bought yesterday.”
For a split second, Eric thought about refusing the cookies. For one thing, in the few days that he’d been staying with Great-Aunt Ida, he must have put on five pounds. Ida Judson was the proverbial food-pusher. But he knew that if he ate some cookies, she’d eat some too. By the time the social worker had contacted him, Ida had been missing meals on a regular basis. She was the one who needed to rebuild her strength after a bout with pneumonia that had landed her in the hospital.
Secondly, he hated macaroons.
Aunt Ida put a plate of cookies on the table and Eric took one. He bit into the sweet coconut and barely repressed a shudder.
“I’ve made reservations for Thanksgiving dinner at The Admiralty Inn. Have you ever been there, Aunt Ida?”
Eric jumped to make the tea when the kettle whistled and, whistling himself, surreptitiously dropped the half-eaten macaroon in the trash.
“Oh, Ricky, I forgot to tell you. We’ve been invited to dinner already.” Aunt Ida sat down heavily in her chair, even though she only weighed about ninety pounds.
“We have? I don’t feel right about that, Aunt Ida. I’ll just take you out and we’ll have a lovely meal. You’ll love The Admiralty Inn. They have a grand piano in the dining room and someone will play all those show tunes you’re always asking me to play for you. Only better!”
“Ricky, we’ve been invited by Mrs. Miller, down the street. As soon as she heard you were coming to visit, she asked us. You remember her, don’t you? You used to play with her grandchildren when you visited me in the summer. A boy and girl. Went to live with her after their parents died in a car accident. Very sad. I don’t remember the girl’s name, but the boy is Mark.” Aunt Ida smiled. “She remembered you right off.”
“The girl?” Eric asked, playing dumb. He knew her name almost better than he knew his own. Caitlin MacTavish Miller. Blonde pigtails, blue eyes, she’d been the girl of his dreams, except most of the time they’d been nightmares.
“No, Mrs. Miller.”
Cate Miller. She’d never given him the time of day after that Thanksgiving when she’d sat on a piece of pumpkin pie—whipped cream and all. Eric had had the bad luck to come into the room just as Cate stood up. He couldn’t help laughing—really it was funny. Cate didn’t see it that way. In fact, Cate blamed him for the whole thing, even though he’d never touched a piece of pumpkin pie once in his life. He was highly allergic to pumpkin. Cate didn’t know that, and had thrown the pie she’d scraped off the back of her purple velvet dress at him before she’d run out of the room. He'd had hives for two days.
It had been the worst Thanksgiving Day of his young life.
“Any chance Mrs. Miller’s grand-daughter will be at her house for dinner?” One could always hope she'd married and moved far, far away.
“Why, I believe she will be,” Aunt Ida answered.
Great. This could turn out to be the worst Thanksgiving Day of his adult life.
(c) 2007 by Susan Atwood
“Aunt Ida? Do you need any help with that?”
Eric Hall arrived in the kitchen in time to see his Great-aunt Ida juggling the teakettle and her walker.
“Oh, no, Ricky, I’ve got it.” Eric, seeing her hand tremble with the weight of the kettle, had his doubts. “You sit right down there and I’ll get you some of those macaroons you bought yesterday.”
For a split second, Eric thought about refusing the cookies. For one thing, in the few days that he’d been staying with Great-Aunt Ida, he must have put on five pounds. Ida Judson was the proverbial food-pusher. But he knew that if he ate some cookies, she’d eat some too. By the time the social worker had contacted him, Ida had been missing meals on a regular basis. She was the one who needed to rebuild her strength after a bout with pneumonia that had landed her in the hospital.
Secondly, he hated macaroons.
Aunt Ida put a plate of cookies on the table and Eric took one. He bit into the sweet coconut and barely repressed a shudder.
“I’ve made reservations for Thanksgiving dinner at The Admiralty Inn. Have you ever been there, Aunt Ida?”
Eric jumped to make the tea when the kettle whistled and, whistling himself, surreptitiously dropped the half-eaten macaroon in the trash.
“Oh, Ricky, I forgot to tell you. We’ve been invited to dinner already.” Aunt Ida sat down heavily in her chair, even though she only weighed about ninety pounds.
“We have? I don’t feel right about that, Aunt Ida. I’ll just take you out and we’ll have a lovely meal. You’ll love The Admiralty Inn. They have a grand piano in the dining room and someone will play all those show tunes you’re always asking me to play for you. Only better!”
“Ricky, we’ve been invited by Mrs. Miller, down the street. As soon as she heard you were coming to visit, she asked us. You remember her, don’t you? You used to play with her grandchildren when you visited me in the summer. A boy and girl. Went to live with her after their parents died in a car accident. Very sad. I don’t remember the girl’s name, but the boy is Mark.” Aunt Ida smiled. “She remembered you right off.”
“The girl?” Eric asked, playing dumb. He knew her name almost better than he knew his own. Caitlin MacTavish Miller. Blonde pigtails, blue eyes, she’d been the girl of his dreams, except most of the time they’d been nightmares.
“No, Mrs. Miller.”
Cate Miller. She’d never given him the time of day after that Thanksgiving when she’d sat on a piece of pumpkin pie—whipped cream and all. Eric had had the bad luck to come into the room just as Cate stood up. He couldn’t help laughing—really it was funny. Cate didn’t see it that way. In fact, Cate blamed him for the whole thing, even though he’d never touched a piece of pumpkin pie once in his life. He was highly allergic to pumpkin. Cate didn’t know that, and had thrown the pie she’d scraped off the back of her purple velvet dress at him before she’d run out of the room. He'd had hives for two days.
It had been the worst Thanksgiving Day of his young life.
“Any chance Mrs. Miller’s grand-daughter will be at her house for dinner?” One could always hope she'd married and moved far, far away.
“Why, I believe she will be,” Aunt Ida answered.
Great. This could turn out to be the worst Thanksgiving Day of his adult life.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Turkey for Dinner - A short story
Part I ~
“How much did you say this turkey weighs, Gram?” Cate braced herself, then heaved the bird onto the kitchen table.
“Twenty-two pounds is what Herb says,” Gram. Gram flipped the wax-paper-covered pastry disc over and paused, rolling pin in her floury hands.
“Two-twenty is more like it. Herb didn’t have to lug the thing home from the butcher shop. Doesn’t he deliver?” Cate peered under the paper wrappings. “I hope you have a roasting pan big enough to fit this monster. Why such a big turkey, anyway? Planning to have leftovers for the next six months?” Cate said, over the rhythmic bang-roll of the rolling pin. “It’s just the two of us for dinner this year. Mark is going to his future in-laws for dinner, right? I think Anna said they’re only stopping by for dessert.”
Cate’s brother, Mark, had recently become engaged to Cate’s best friend, Anna, which left Cate as the only unattached Miller. Cate wasn’t bothered by it, much. After all, she was the youngest of all the Miller grandchildren. It wasn’t like she was thirty and didn’t have any prospects. And she still had six months, three weeks and two days ’til her birthday. And no, she wasn’t counting. Not really.
“Well, honey,” Gram glanced up from her pastry again, looking as guilty as an eighty-four-year-old grandmother could look. “I invited a few extra people. Just a few folks who really didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Cate closed her eyes. She loved Gram with all her heart. She was the most generous and caring woman Cate had ever known. But Gram also tended to get carried away with things. Like the time she volunteered to crochet baby blankets for the shelter and volunteers kept dropping off donated skeins of yarn until the dining room looked like a yarn factory.
“How many, Gram?”
“Oh, honey, not that many.”
“How many, Gram? And I sure hope you can corral one of them to peel the onions.”
Six was all Cate heard, as Gram mumbled the rest of the words.
“Sixty! Gram! You invited sixty people to dinner?”
“Caitlin MacTavish Miller! Don’t be ridiculous! How could I invite sixty people with only a scrawny bird like this one?” Gram poked at the turkey with the rolling pin’s faded red handle. “I said six--” Gram broke off in as she coughed. “Flour,” she explained. “Would you get me some water, please?”
“Six? Okay."
Cate handed Gran a glass of water. After the elderly woman took a sip, she looked Cate straight in the eye.
“No, honey, what I meant to say is there’ll be sixteen of us all together if Mrs. Judson and her great-nephew come.”
“Mrs. Judson’s great-nephew?” Cate didn’t want to yell at Gram, so she ground her teeth, held her breath and counted to sixteen. Her breath came out in a whoosh. “Gram, which great-nephew would that be?”
“Honey, you know Mrs. Judson only has one great-nephew. Ricky Hall.”
“Ricky Hall? You invited Ricky Hall to Thanksgiving dinner? Are you out of your mind? Do you know what he did to me the last time he came to Thanksgiving dinner?”
Gram laughed. “Oh, honey, I haven’t thought of that for years and years. And the look on your face when you sat on that pumpkin pie—how old were you?”
“Ten. It was my favorite dress, Gram, and Ricky Hall knew it and he ruined it on purpose. I will never eat another meal with that...” Cate ran though a list of descriptions searching for one she could say in front of her grandmother. There weren’t any. “...that person as long as I live, so you can just un-invite them.”
“Cate Miller, you never say never. I won’t un-invite them. Mrs. Judson is not doing very well these days. That’s why Ricky is staying with her. I’m sure that boy has no idea how to cook a turkey dinner.”
“Why can’t he buy one at the supermarket?” Cate grumbled. “Fine, Gram. But he’s peeling the onions.”
(c) 2007 by Susan Atwood
“How much did you say this turkey weighs, Gram?” Cate braced herself, then heaved the bird onto the kitchen table.
“Twenty-two pounds is what Herb says,” Gram. Gram flipped the wax-paper-covered pastry disc over and paused, rolling pin in her floury hands.
“Two-twenty is more like it. Herb didn’t have to lug the thing home from the butcher shop. Doesn’t he deliver?” Cate peered under the paper wrappings. “I hope you have a roasting pan big enough to fit this monster. Why such a big turkey, anyway? Planning to have leftovers for the next six months?” Cate said, over the rhythmic bang-roll of the rolling pin. “It’s just the two of us for dinner this year. Mark is going to his future in-laws for dinner, right? I think Anna said they’re only stopping by for dessert.”
Cate’s brother, Mark, had recently become engaged to Cate’s best friend, Anna, which left Cate as the only unattached Miller. Cate wasn’t bothered by it, much. After all, she was the youngest of all the Miller grandchildren. It wasn’t like she was thirty and didn’t have any prospects. And she still had six months, three weeks and two days ’til her birthday. And no, she wasn’t counting. Not really.
“Well, honey,” Gram glanced up from her pastry again, looking as guilty as an eighty-four-year-old grandmother could look. “I invited a few extra people. Just a few folks who really didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Cate closed her eyes. She loved Gram with all her heart. She was the most generous and caring woman Cate had ever known. But Gram also tended to get carried away with things. Like the time she volunteered to crochet baby blankets for the shelter and volunteers kept dropping off donated skeins of yarn until the dining room looked like a yarn factory.
“How many, Gram?”
“Oh, honey, not that many.”
“How many, Gram? And I sure hope you can corral one of them to peel the onions.”
Six was all Cate heard, as Gram mumbled the rest of the words.
“Sixty! Gram! You invited sixty people to dinner?”
“Caitlin MacTavish Miller! Don’t be ridiculous! How could I invite sixty people with only a scrawny bird like this one?” Gram poked at the turkey with the rolling pin’s faded red handle. “I said six--” Gram broke off in as she coughed. “Flour,” she explained. “Would you get me some water, please?”
“Six? Okay."
Cate handed Gran a glass of water. After the elderly woman took a sip, she looked Cate straight in the eye.
“No, honey, what I meant to say is there’ll be sixteen of us all together if Mrs. Judson and her great-nephew come.”
“Mrs. Judson’s great-nephew?” Cate didn’t want to yell at Gram, so she ground her teeth, held her breath and counted to sixteen. Her breath came out in a whoosh. “Gram, which great-nephew would that be?”
“Honey, you know Mrs. Judson only has one great-nephew. Ricky Hall.”
“Ricky Hall? You invited Ricky Hall to Thanksgiving dinner? Are you out of your mind? Do you know what he did to me the last time he came to Thanksgiving dinner?”
Gram laughed. “Oh, honey, I haven’t thought of that for years and years. And the look on your face when you sat on that pumpkin pie—how old were you?”
“Ten. It was my favorite dress, Gram, and Ricky Hall knew it and he ruined it on purpose. I will never eat another meal with that...” Cate ran though a list of descriptions searching for one she could say in front of her grandmother. There weren’t any. “...that person as long as I live, so you can just un-invite them.”
“Cate Miller, you never say never. I won’t un-invite them. Mrs. Judson is not doing very well these days. That’s why Ricky is staying with her. I’m sure that boy has no idea how to cook a turkey dinner.”
“Why can’t he buy one at the supermarket?” Cate grumbled. “Fine, Gram. But he’s peeling the onions.”
(c) 2007 by Susan Atwood
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Short Story
With Thanksgiving only a week away (where did the rest of this month go??) I got to thinking about a little seasonal romance. And so, starting tomorrow, I'll be posting a short serial Thanksgiving Day story.
Meanwhile, I'm gearing up for T-day here at home - juggling things in the freezer in hopes that by Saturday I'll be able to go buy the main attraction and have him fit.
Ice cream, anyone?
Meanwhile, I'm gearing up for T-day here at home - juggling things in the freezer in hopes that by Saturday I'll be able to go buy the main attraction and have him fit.
Ice cream, anyone?
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
New Pendant Book!
This is release week for the second book in the Pendant series: *The Pendant: Maeve* by Laura Hamby, from Moonlit Romance http://www.moonlitromance.com/
Laura and I had a blast creating the elements that will "travel" from book to book: the antique shop, Tesoro del Cuore, it's proprietor, Dacien, and of course, the unusual properties of the pendant itself.
So, check it out all this week. Laura is featured on the Authors' Blog : http://ue_authors.bravejournal.com/
There is also an excerpt up on her blog: http://laurahamby.blogspot.com/
And don't forget to visit The Pendant ~ Journeys Through Time website, which is devoted to this series:
http://www.freewebs.com/thependant/
Laura and I had a blast creating the elements that will "travel" from book to book: the antique shop, Tesoro del Cuore, it's proprietor, Dacien, and of course, the unusual properties of the pendant itself.
So, check it out all this week. Laura is featured on the Authors' Blog : http://ue_authors.bravejournal.com/
There is also an excerpt up on her blog: http://laurahamby.blogspot.com/
And don't forget to visit The Pendant ~ Journeys Through Time website, which is devoted to this series:
http://www.freewebs.com/thependant/
Monday, November 12, 2007
A New Hero
Sometimes I find it difficult to let go of a character so I can move on to a new project. And that is how I feel about Luke Graham in *The Pendant: Callie*
Luke is the epitome of the good guy - even though his efforts are sometimes misguided. His feelings of guilt over his sister's accident have colored his perception of responsibility and have greatly influenced his relationships. After all, if you can't keep an eye on your little sister for a few hours, how on earth could you keep a wife and children safe?
As interesting as I find Luke, it is time to let him go and get to work on a new hero: C. Jefferson Worth. Jeff's attitude toward responsibility is a little different - he is willing to tackle any project his father throws his way, but when it comes to managing a multi-million dollar trust fund for Carilla Morgan, a grad student at NYU, he balks. Unfortuntely, there is nothing he can do. And because Jeff has seen several close friends run through that type on money like it was water, he is bound and determined to keep Carilla's spending under control. His control.
I'm enjoying the nuances of Jeff's character as they develop - and I'm enjoying the tussles he's having with Carilla!
Luke is the epitome of the good guy - even though his efforts are sometimes misguided. His feelings of guilt over his sister's accident have colored his perception of responsibility and have greatly influenced his relationships. After all, if you can't keep an eye on your little sister for a few hours, how on earth could you keep a wife and children safe?
As interesting as I find Luke, it is time to let him go and get to work on a new hero: C. Jefferson Worth. Jeff's attitude toward responsibility is a little different - he is willing to tackle any project his father throws his way, but when it comes to managing a multi-million dollar trust fund for Carilla Morgan, a grad student at NYU, he balks. Unfortuntely, there is nothing he can do. And because Jeff has seen several close friends run through that type on money like it was water, he is bound and determined to keep Carilla's spending under control. His control.
I'm enjoying the nuances of Jeff's character as they develop - and I'm enjoying the tussles he's having with Carilla!
Friday, November 9, 2007
Character Study
What makes the ideal heroine? We all have our own opinions - the wild-child, the spunky go-getter, the sweet girl-next-door. I like my heroines to have a measure of independence - like Callie does in *The Pendant: Callie.* She's independent to a fault, however, and this nearly costs her relationship with Luke.
My latest heroine, Carilla Morgan, has a streak of stubborness and independence as well, but she is not as strongly motivated as Callie. Callie was being smothered by her well-meaning but definitely overbearing family. With four older brothers watching her every move, it's no wonder she fled to Elm Springs, PA.
On the other hand, Carilla has just lost her father, leaving only her Aunt Elizabeth and two cousins as her closest relatives. With independence foisted on her, she turns to the people in her apartment building and they become her "family." When she uses her inheritence to help them, she runs into a road-block: C. Jefferson Worth, who controls the trust fund left to Carilla by her father.
Carilla is stubborn and creative, and she uses these characteristics to outwit Jeff. Meanwhile, Jeff is doing all he can to keep Carilla from running through her inheritence. He's also been charged with the task of keeping her safe from fortune hunters. Fortune hunters!!?? In modern day New York City? No wonder Carilla thinks she's been trapped in a Regency romance novel!
My latest heroine, Carilla Morgan, has a streak of stubborness and independence as well, but she is not as strongly motivated as Callie. Callie was being smothered by her well-meaning but definitely overbearing family. With four older brothers watching her every move, it's no wonder she fled to Elm Springs, PA.
On the other hand, Carilla has just lost her father, leaving only her Aunt Elizabeth and two cousins as her closest relatives. With independence foisted on her, she turns to the people in her apartment building and they become her "family." When she uses her inheritence to help them, she runs into a road-block: C. Jefferson Worth, who controls the trust fund left to Carilla by her father.
Carilla is stubborn and creative, and she uses these characteristics to outwit Jeff. Meanwhile, Jeff is doing all he can to keep Carilla from running through her inheritence. He's also been charged with the task of keeping her safe from fortune hunters. Fortune hunters!!?? In modern day New York City? No wonder Carilla thinks she's been trapped in a Regency romance novel!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
There's a thing in my garden
Huge and green. With a horn on the end to boot, and some huge mandibles.Freeze, but the writing is hot!
Okay, last night did it. A hard freeze. We'd spent the weekend pulling out the tomatoes and peppers and a bunch of marigolds, and trimming back some annuals that were scraggly.
I'd seen a really fat, green catapillar on one of the tomato plants and just ignored him - and a few days later, his friend. And in my "Oh, but it's going to be a butterfly or a moth" misplaced sympathy, I decided to leave them on a tomato branch instead of sending them to the yard waste collection.
Then I did a little internet sleuthing. Yep. Tomato hornworms.
So, in 40 mph winds, I hike out to find the critters. The big one was gone, naturally. They burrow into the ground to pupate, which I'm sure is where it is now.
Of course the website I visited suggested "squishing" them as a control method in a small garden; I'd like to see whoever wrote the article "squish" a caterpillar that is 5" long and 1/2" in diameter and has a pointy hook on its rear end.
Daylight savings gives us so much. You really pay for that extra hour of sleep you get on Sunday morning. We're paying because the animals have decided they're not falling back this year, and between the dog woofing and the cat crying at the door, you just may as well get up. Well, today I just ignored the beasts, and in that wonderful state between sleep and awake, plotted two scenes for my new work-in-progress.
Of course this comes on a day when I'm running errands galore and still haven't even opened the document. I have about 35 minutes before it's time to pick up the car from the garage... let's see what I can do!
I'd seen a really fat, green catapillar on one of the tomato plants and just ignored him - and a few days later, his friend. And in my "Oh, but it's going to be a butterfly or a moth" misplaced sympathy, I decided to leave them on a tomato branch instead of sending them to the yard waste collection.
Then I did a little internet sleuthing. Yep. Tomato hornworms.
So, in 40 mph winds, I hike out to find the critters. The big one was gone, naturally. They burrow into the ground to pupate, which I'm sure is where it is now.
Of course the website I visited suggested "squishing" them as a control method in a small garden; I'd like to see whoever wrote the article "squish" a caterpillar that is 5" long and 1/2" in diameter and has a pointy hook on its rear end.
Daylight savings gives us so much. You really pay for that extra hour of sleep you get on Sunday morning. We're paying because the animals have decided they're not falling back this year, and between the dog woofing and the cat crying at the door, you just may as well get up. Well, today I just ignored the beasts, and in that wonderful state between sleep and awake, plotted two scenes for my new work-in-progress.
Of course this comes on a day when I'm running errands galore and still haven't even opened the document. I have about 35 minutes before it's time to pick up the car from the garage... let's see what I can do!
Friday, November 2, 2007
Contest Winner!
Congratulations JoAnn Carter, you've won *The Pendant: Callie* and a TryMe kit from Devita Natural Skin Care!
Thanks to all who participated!
Check back, I'll be having another contest soon!
Thanks to all who participated!
Check back, I'll be having another contest soon!
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Frosty, But Not Freezy
Thanks to all who participated in the contest. The winner will be announced tomorrow.
Meanwhile, the garden is still holding its own. We had a heavy frost in some areas last night, but it didn't do much damage in the garden. Even the most tender of the plants are still green. It is time spray the evergreens with an anti-wilting solution that will protect them from the bitter cold and harsh winter winds that they're subjected to here in the plains. This weekend will be busy as we add mulch to the perennial beds and start clearing out the annuals.
Writing was a little slow today. I came up with some names for two secondary characters that I think fit their personalities well. After all, a woman who wears lurid blue nail polish and eyeshadow needs a name that stands up to her quirkiness! The plot is plodding along. There were a lot of interruptions this morning; hopefully tomorrow things will take off.
Meanwhile, the garden is still holding its own. We had a heavy frost in some areas last night, but it didn't do much damage in the garden. Even the most tender of the plants are still green. It is time spray the evergreens with an anti-wilting solution that will protect them from the bitter cold and harsh winter winds that they're subjected to here in the plains. This weekend will be busy as we add mulch to the perennial beds and start clearing out the annuals.
Writing was a little slow today. I came up with some names for two secondary characters that I think fit their personalities well. After all, a woman who wears lurid blue nail polish and eyeshadow needs a name that stands up to her quirkiness! The plot is plodding along. There were a lot of interruptions this morning; hopefully tomorrow things will take off.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
