You can feel the moisture in the air, smell the snow over the mountain. Well, at least I think so–we haven’t seen much yet, just some rain and hail squalls a few days ago. But since I’m writing about the pioneers who lived so close to nature, I think I can smell snow? And my joints have been complaining, maybe more than usual.
We’ll see, right?
But in the meantime, it’s puzzle time on Holly Drive. This one, a vista of the Carpathian Mountains in Romania, reveals vibrant greens, rusts, blues, aquas and up in one corner of the sky, gold and yellow. Small pieces awaiting their places, their unique spots, in the final tableau. And Lance making every effort to get them to where they belong.
Yesterday I was reading about the great meteorites of 1860 over parts of India and New York State. I suppose native Americans and settlers and other citizens stared in awe at the night sky, wondering about this portent. As the year passed and tensions grew, some attributed prophetic powers to the never-seen-before-show.
A Great War was about to commence…a terrible, senseless war no one wanted. But people simply could not find common ground on the days’ issues. I also recently read William Carlos Williams’ short story, “The Use of Force.” Such an abrupt ending, leaving all the pieces in my lap to deal with.
Seemed odd, when we’re so used to authors “tying up all the loose ends.” But there you have it. Another way of arranging things.
Williams said about his style, “In my own work it has always sufficed that the object of my attention be presented without further comment. It doesn’t declaim or explain; it presents.”
Read his classic story here: https://www.classicshorts.com/stories/force.html
“The thankful heart opens our eyes to a multitude of blessings that continually surround us.” James E. Faust
What is it about gratitude that alters everything? Here in the Ponderosa Forest, I never tire of seeing the elk and deer–each siting gives me joy. And Lance’s ability to capture these creatures in action makes for photos worth sharing.
I’ve been researching for my Civil War manuscript and recently came across Abraham Lincoln’s 1863 Thanksgiving Proclamation. Issued on October 20 that year, the text really made me think.
What? Give thanks? Over fifty thousand American soldiers had died at Gettysburg alone that year, plus thousands more in other battles. As Mr. Lincoln noted, many women had become widows…many children orphans.
But he also highlighted the lack of foreign powers involved in our in-fighting–one good thing. And the physical size of the battlefield was shrinking. Progress was still being made in settling the wilderness, as well as in communications (the telegraph and the transcontinental railroad.) Other new inventions had come forth, as well.
Like George Washington and other Presidents before him, Lincoln focused on Thanksgiving in spite of dire circumstances.
In the light of so many losses, it’s amazing that a National Thanksgiving Day even crossed his mind, and it might not have, were it not for one woman, Sarah Josepha Hale, a 74-year-old magazine editor, who wrote to Lincoln on September 28, urging him to have the “day of our annual Thanksgiving made a National and fixed Union Festival.”
His response? He searched for positive news as the nation lumbered on toward eventually ending the war. Realizing how much longer it would take for the South to surrender, we find little comfort here.
But this example of thankfulness in the midst of horror can hearten us…So much suffering still lay ahead, yet President Lincoln led the Union in offering thanks for the good he could find.
No national “turkey pardoning” took place that year. Now, we watch football and pay little attention to Thanksgiving Days of the distant past. But this holiday, as we taste pumpkin pie and all the rest, hopefully we’ll pay a little extra attention to our hearts.
Even with many challenges here and abroad, and a great deal of suffering, we have so very much for which to give thanks.
Second Chances can mean everything…think of all the dramas revolving around this theme–nothing new, but at the very center of the human heart. One of my favorites, the tale of Les Miserables, reveals the struggle involved in second chances. Oh, sometimes someone wins the Lottery and their life gets turned around pronto, but more often, second chances involve taking one plodding step at a time until an opportunity comes along.
That’s what happens for Dottie and Al in WINDS OF CHANGE, my latest release. First of all, let me say I have “redone” this very first published novel, because ten years has taught me a lot about writing. Enough that I knew this story deserved better.
Especially, the characters, who have been with me every since that first pained attempt, deserved a stronger entrance into the world. So here we have it: a World War II widow and Gold Star mother, grieving the loss of her only son in a far-away battle. She merits every honor we can bestow on her–she stands for all those Moms who waited for letters from their sons and one day received a telegram instead.
And then there’s Al, Dottie’s next-door neighbor, and her deceased best friend’s husband. Ah, the dreams this man harbors! And the vast hidden wounds from another war, the Great War, meant to end all wars.
So I offer Winds of Change to my loyal readers a little bit early–I’ll be posting the press release on my FB author page later today for more details. But for now, I just want to present Al and Dottie to you–may they remind you of the hope we have, and the possibility of second chances, no matter what has befallen us.
One reader says: Please believe me…this story of second chances will pull you in, draw you from page to page, warm your heart, and leave you sighing. It’s simply wonderful from the first page to the last. I have a digital copy, but I already ordered a paperback copy as well. It’s that good.
This morning as I took some sun, a deer came quite close to me. They’re often passing through our yard, and sometimes I speak to them…usually from more of a distance. This time I was sitting out in the yard, and this little one surprised me.
She didn’t seem to mind my bad hair day, or that I was taking up space near where she wanted to eat.
So I carried on a conversation with her. “Hey, girl. Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
A sidelight–I’ve been working on a novel, not my usual WWII kind, but a Civil War era story. And my heroine finds comfort during dire distress in the visitations of a doe.
This manuscript, begun probably a dozen or more years back, I’ve almost thrown out. More than once. But something about the characters has kept calling to me.
That means more research, so I’m poring over books about the war and the people of the time. Did you know that the venerable Sam Houston relinquished his Texas governorship when Texas joined the Confederacy and he was forced to sign the Articles of Confederation?
He did–and dismayed thousands of Texans who had voted to secede. He stood on his principles, but they felt they were principled, too. I’m trying to crawl inside their minds to see how their belief in each state having inalienable rights drove their decisions. Such a complicated time–many of the early failures in battle were due largely to politics.
Anyway, I’m learning a lot, which satisfies me. And then this deer shows up. Big black eyes,
dark button nose, and so patient. Willing to simply stand there and stare, listening to me chatter.
One thing I’ve been thinking: today’s evil and hatred loom so large. Seems as if the bottom’s fallen out of our society. Or falling. But I’m certain people felt the same way back in the early 1860’s.
And somehow, they managed to make it through. Most likely, there’s something to be gleaned here as we struggle with sickening news reports and seemingly hopeless conundrums.
I just finished reading this novel, and if you want to get RIGHT INTO the heart of the Revolutionary War, this book will do the trick! What a tumultuous time in our nation’s history, full of intrigue and complicated choices. Lynn has a great eye for detail…I learned a lot.
A Fallen Sparrow By Lynne Basham Tagawa
Writing a story set during the American Revolution was a great adventure for me. I knew certain things—and I’m sure y’all do too—but there was so much I had yet to learn!
I loved learning about some of the people. Like Benjamin Rush. I knew he was a doctor, and a signer of the Declaration, but not much more than that. Turns out, he was a Christian and a very interesting man.
Another fascinating man was Daniel Morgan, the rough-and-ready teamster turned general. I stumbled upon a letter he wrote to a friend. In it, he was making a theological point. I’m like, wait a minute, this guy’s faith is not in the bio I have. Secular writers don’t care about this stuff. So I included a quote from that letter somewhere at the top of a chapter—every chapter has a quote.
The battles were kind of interesting, but I had a harder time with all of that. I had to figure out who was where and when and so forth. Bernard Cornwell’s book Redcoat inspired me a little. He’s good with battle scenes. I loved finding out the little things, like the aurora borealis which weirdly was visible very far south during the war.
Characters were my biggest struggle. Some kind of wrote themselves. I liked writing Robert the British spy. But I had to work on the others. At first, Jonathan, my hero, was a big fat zero. Uninteresting. I thought, I need to make him interesting, so I gave him a secret. Something bad he had done. Ruth, my heroine, was a little easier, because she likes to write—just like me.
Men like George Whitefield and Samuel Rutherford have no lines in the story, but their influence is critical. Americans in 1776 didn’t just engage in riots and killing for the mere sake of rebellion. They had ideals. They had to do it right. They had to do it according to law and honor and a sense of justice—and not just justice for themselves, but for all. They weren’t always successful, but they gave us a good start. I wanted to dive into what all of it meant.
I hope I was successful.
A Fallen Sparrow Summary:
Ruth Haynes uses the pen name Honorius when she writes for her father’s newspaper. Boston has changed beyond recognition, and her Loyalist views soon get her in trouble. With war looming, what will their family do?
Jonathan Russell hides a guilty secret. The Battle of Bunker’s Hill sweeps him and his Shenandoah Valley family into the war. The unthinkable happens, and he’s forced to deal with both his grief—and his guilt.
Lieutenant Robert Shirley is summoned by his godmother and introduced to the Earl of Dartmouth, who charges him to gather intelligence in Boston. He is horrified but must obey.
Gritty, realistic, and rich with scriptural truth, this story features Dr. Joseph Warren, Major John André, Henry Knox, and Lt. Col. Banastre Tarleton.
Excerpt:
Robert’s mind whirled. He was being ripped from his duty here with the Fifth Regiment and inserted into the melee of Boston political intrigue, a totally unknown world. The parlor itself seemed to waver.
“But General Gage? Does he have his own sp—sources?”
Dartmouth paused while the countess handed him another cup of tea. “General Gage uses his own judgment. We have given him considerable leeway in his command. After all, we are three thousand miles away. But consider this, lieutenant. It is clear the inhabitants of Boston hate the soldiers stationed there. How is Gage to gather intelligence? How is he to discover the thinking of the ordinary man? Worse, he will have difficulties discovering the plots of the rebels.”
Discovering the plots of the rebels. This was a serious task. He had only one more card to play, a weak one. “I have a cousin who might be willing to serve in this capacity.”
Lord Dartmouth studied him.
His godmother arched an eyebrow. “Nonsense. Lord Rawdon is too young.” Her voice dripped with what she would not say, that her grandson’s character was deficient. Robert’s cousin was a scapegrace and a follower of the rakehell Banastre Tarleton. Both had been behind him several years at both Harrow and Oxford, and they were notorious for bullying the youngest students. Rawdon’s father had washed his hands of him, and his uncle had purchased him a commission.
She was right. There was no escape. “My lord, I am honored to serve King and country.”
A little about Lynne:
Lynne Tagawa is a mom and a grandma to six. Coffee and chocolate, in that order. She loves to include gospel truth in her stories. She lives with her husband in Texas.
Hi! I’m Jodie Wolfe. It’s great to be here. Thank you, Gail, for having me. I live in south central PA with my husband. This December we’ll celebrate our 36th anniversary. I have two sons and six grandchildren. I’ve always had an interest in writing since I was a little girl.
What genre do you write?
I write Christian historical romance. My stories usually revolve around a theme. Usually, it’s something either God is in the process of teaching me, or He’s recently taught me. 🙂 Most times I’m learning along with my characters.
What is your least favorite aspect of writing?
Editing and marketing. I’d rather be creating a story and interacting with my characters – going with them on their adventures and seeing where they lead.
How is faith interwoven in your books?
It’s an intrinsic part of each of my books. My characters are often struggling in their faith walk, but they’re striving to be better.
What things do you like to do outside of writing?
I enjoy walking, birdwatching, and spending time with my hero husband.
Did you always want to be a writer?
I did. Ever since I wrote my first poem and stories while in grade school, I dreamed about becoming a writer.
What’s the title of your new book, and is it part of a series?
My new book is Wooing Gertrude, and it’s book three in my Burrton Springs Brides Series. All this month, Amazon has a discount on the first book in the series, Taming Julia. It’s only $1.99 for the ebook.
Tell us about Gertrude’s story, please.
Enoch Valentine has given up finding peace for his past mistakes. He throws everything he has into being the new part-time deputy in Burrton Springs, Kansas while maintaining the foreman position at a local horse ranch. But when trouble stirs on the ranch, he questions whether he’s the right man for either job.
Peace has been elusive for most of Gertrude Miller’s life, especially under the oppressiveness of an overbearing mother. She takes matters into her own hands and sends for a potential husband, while also opening her own dress shop. Gertrude hopes to build a future where she’ll find peace and happiness.
Will either of them ever be able to find peace?
Sounds so interesting, and the cover really draws me in.
Often in memoir writing workshops, we focus on a person from our past. But an object from yesteryear can also bring up all sorts of memories. That’s true for me with this hen-and-chick ceramic piece I inherited–the only thing I have from her household. Not complaining, with my five aunts llterally fighting over the fruit jars in the basement,
Somehow, they missed this treasure…or failed to see its worth? I’m talking sentimental value, of course. How many hands reached inside this trusty hen for treats over the decades? And how could she possibly survive without a chip?
True, her paint has faded, but that’s to be expected. What intrigues me most about her is that eyebrow. Interesting how one little mark made by the painter can invoke emotions. Is this hen communicating with the chick one her back, or irritated by yet another human seeking a bit of sweetness?
As with the Mona Lisa, we’ll never know. But this little study reminds me of the literary device called SHOW DON’T TELL By the visuals around our character, or the smells, textures, and setting, we SHOW the hero/heroine’s reactions.
Quite the challenge–this skill probably took me the most time to learn, but what a difference it’s made in my writing.
This photo reveals a sign of change. We all know what happens next…we wake up to hoards of brilliant leaves piling up on our lawns. And before we know it, yet another seasonal change lies just around the corner.
All of a sudden, it seems, vibrant summer green gives way to golden hues.
We begin to notice these leaves everywhere around our yard.
They get caught in cobwebs between flower boxes and porch floor, they cling to the edging against our house’s outer walls. This one’s a bit more interesting, with its pinkish tones.
The changing of the seasons reminds us of other alterations, some not so pleasant, some downright painful and ugly. As a friend who has battled fibromalgia’s confusing pain for over twenty years said recently, “I’ve had to learn to adapt…it’s the only way through.”
This summer, I’ve been busy editing a new set of short stories for our 2024 Hill Country Christmas Collection and also editing a manuscript that has hung around for a long, long time. The characters really want to come to life–how can I throw them out, even though my writing was pretty pathetic way back when I started?
Ah…that’s life, decisions upon decisions, and continuous change.
Nothing to do but keep plunging ahead, right? I’d love to hear about your own changes these past months, if you care to share.
Shakespeare coined the phrase “leading someone down the primrose path” in Hamlet. We’ve always thought of this as a “rosy” track leading to destruction. This familiar concept has come to mind recently as our cheery primroses perk up garden paths.
They look so bright and inviting…how could they possibly lead to dire consequences? That’s just the point. In our garden, the path leads only to more flowers–tall yellow daisies, Shastas, delphinium, impatiens, perky petunias, flowering chives, the list continues.
But in Shakespeare’s meaning, a primrose path deceives the traveler by looking harmless– “the easy way.” Instead, disaster lies hidden around the curves ahead and the individual suggesting this path has a nasty future in mind for listener.
Our phrase for the day! We can only wish the primroses bloomed all summer long.
I don’t think I’ve ever noticed these fragile “caps” on new pine growth.
Have you?
All these years, the pine just outside our front door has kept growing, but I’ve not \
paused to notice these tiny caps made of something like onionskin.
What else haven’t I noticed? Most likely, a lot.
However, I’ve always appreciated the delicate bells on Lily of the Valley. So small, very invasive, but beautiful, imho–kind of like cardinals, a mere splash in a sea of springtime flowers, but deserving of notice.
Engaged in editing these days, both for my own work and some others’, I focus on what needs fixing. It’s great to work with authors willing to let go of their work and be open to suggestions–wanting to grow in our skills helps us so much!
And attention the the “little stuff” becomes an absolute requirement. Just this morning I spoke with a fellow Iowa author who “got a late start” like me. The learning curve seems insurmountable at times–but it did to me, too.
As usual, tales from the infamous stalls and starts in my “career” come in handy.
Nothing encourages us like stories. At least that’s how it is for me, and the stories that come to us at just the right time need not be remarkable to anyone else.
