Month: July 2018

#MysteryExchange Sink or Swim

  By Uncategorized

Welcome to the second week of the Mystery Exchange. This week I’m featuring Stacy Juba and her book Sink or Swim. 
How
do you call for SOS when only the killer can hear you?
Personal
trainer Cassidy sails into the public eye while competing on a TV
game show set aboard a Tall Ship. After she returns home and catches
the attention of a stalker, her well-ordered life turns topsy-turvy.
As Cassidy’s competitors disappear one by one, she teams up with
Zach, the charming photographer tasked to record her personal moments
for the newspaper.
Is
Zach trustworthy? He shadows her as easily as the stalker. Despite
the chemistry simmering between them, Cassidy fears he has a secret
to hide.
She
hates the bizarre rules in this guessing game, but when her stalker
forces a showdown, Cassidy plays to win. . .this time for her life.
If
you’re in the mood for a fun mystery that keeps you glued to the
pages, then pick up your copy of Sink or Swim today.
Excerpt:
Cassidy
straightened as Detective Sean Pierce returned with a Styrofoam cup
of coffee and a Coke. He popped open the can and handed it to her.
Nondescript in his gray striped button-down shirt and khakis,
Detective Pierce scraped up a plastic chair beside her. From his
retracting brown hair and the crinkles under his dark eyes, he looked
as if he was in his early forties, but he had the trim build of a
thirty-year-old athlete.
He
shot her a curious glance. “You were on that game show. I
recognize you from the newspaper. Must have been quite an
experience.”
“That’s
an understatement,” Cassidy said.
Detective
Pierce emptied a packet of sugar into his coffee and stirred it. If
he was attempting to help her relax, he wasn’t succeeding. Her mind
wouldn’t shut off. “The dispatcher tells me you have an
unwanted admirer.”
“Yes.
I feel a little silly coming here when this person hasn’t even
approached me yet, but he gives me a bad vibe. He’s really
persistent, and if you read his letters, he’s not all there if you
know what I mean.” Cassidy passed over the pile of envelopes and
picked up Raggedy Ann from the floor beside her feet.
“He
calls himself Miles,” she said. “He sent this doll to the
studio in New York, then a letter came to my apartment. I found a
half-dozen others in my fan mail from the network.”
Detective
Pierce unfolded one of the letters and held it between his fingers.
He read a few lines and frowned.
“What
do you think?” Cassidy asked, dropping the doll onto his desk
and leaning forward.
“Why
Raggedy Ann? She doesn’t exactly symbolize romance.”
“On
the show, I mentioned that I had one when I was a kid. My father gave
it to me.”
He
nodded and flipped the page. “This guy sounds like a real
winner. He sure rambles. You don’t know anyone named Miles?”
“No.”
“Did
he threaten you in any of these letters?”
“No,
I’d call them obsessive, not threatening. But that doesn’t always
matter, does it? Isn’t it true that stalkers can start out
flattering and turn violent?”
“Yes,
but I’m glad to hear you haven’t gotten any threats yet. How
about ex-boyfriends? Could any of them be hung up on you and hiding
behind this Miles persona?”
Cassidy
pulled herself erect, balancing the soda can on her knee. She’d
been the one to end most of her short-term relationships, but none of
the guys had seemed overly distressed. They’d taken the hint and
stopped calling. Unfortunately, the one man who made her toes tingle
was engaged. “I don’t think so. It’s someone who saw me on TV.
It has to be.”
“Give
me the names anyway. I’ll run a background check.”
She
scribbled a list of all her dates since high school, a deep flush
coloring her cheeks. Four names, only one in the past year. Working
her way through college hadn’t left much time for a social life and
she’d turned down several dates at the gym to avoid awkward
situations when the relationship soured. Cassidy had even less
girlfriends – most of her high school pals had moved away, either
getting married or accepting jobs out-of-state.
She
reviewed the list before handing it to the detective. “This is a
dead end. These guys would contact me directly, not use an alias.”
Detective
Pierce trailed his finger down the short list of names. “You’re
sure about that?”
“Yeah,
and besides, none of them were serious. I dated them all a handful of
times. They weren’t lunatics. I’m telling you, this guy is a
stranger.”


Retailers:
Audible:
Also available in
Kindle Unlimited as part of the Young
Ladies of Mystery Boxed Set
Author
Bio:
Stacy
Juba got engaged at Epcot Theme Park and spent part of her honeymoon
at Disneyland Paris, where she ate a burger, went on fast rides, and
threw up on the train ride to the hotel. In addition to working on
her Storybook Valley chick lit/sweet romance series, Stacy has
written books about ice hockey, teen psychics, U.S. flag etiquette
for kids, and determined women sleuths. She has had a novel ranked as
#5 in the Nook Store and #30 on the Amazon Kindle Paid List. When
she’s not visiting theme parks with her family, (avoiding rides
that spin and exotic hamburgers) or writing about them, Stacy helps
authors to strengthen their manuscripts through her Crossroads
Editing Service. Visit her website to get your free Mystery Lovers
Sampler.

#MysteryExchange Sink or Swim

  By Uncategorized

Welcome to the second week of the Mystery Exchange. This week I’m featuring Stacy Juba and her book Sink or Swim. 
How do you call for SOS when only the killer can hear you?
Personal trainer Cassidy sails into the public eye while competing on a TV game show set aboard a Tall Ship. After she returns home and catches the attention of a stalker, her well-ordered life turns topsy-turvy. As Cassidy’s competitors disappear one by one, she teams up with Zach, the charming photographer tasked to record her personal moments for the newspaper.
Is Zach trustworthy? He shadows her as easily as the stalker. Despite the chemistry simmering between them, Cassidy fears he has a secret to hide.
She hates the bizarre rules in this guessing game, but when her stalker forces a showdown, Cassidy plays to win. . .this time for her life.
If you’re in the mood for a fun mystery that keeps you glued to the pages, then pick up your copy of Sink or Swim today.
Excerpt:
Cassidy straightened as Detective Sean Pierce returned with a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a Coke. He popped open the can and handed it to her. Nondescript in his gray striped button-down shirt and khakis, Detective Pierce scraped up a plastic chair beside her. From his retracting brown hair and the crinkles under his dark eyes, he looked as if he was in his early forties, but he had the trim build of a thirty-year-old athlete.
He shot her a curious glance. “You were on that game show. I recognize you from the newspaper. Must have been quite an experience.”
“That’s an understatement,” Cassidy said.
Detective Pierce emptied a packet of sugar into his coffee and stirred it. If he was attempting to help her relax, he wasn’t succeeding. Her mind wouldn’t shut off. “The dispatcher tells me you have an unwanted admirer.”
“Yes. I feel a little silly coming here when this person hasn’t even approached me yet, but he gives me a bad vibe. He’s really persistent, and if you read his letters, he’s not all there if you know what I mean.” Cassidy passed over the pile of envelopes and picked up Raggedy Ann from the floor beside her feet.
“He calls himself Miles,” she said. “He sent this doll to the studio in New York, then a letter came to my apartment. I found a half-dozen others in my fan mail from the network.”
Detective Pierce unfolded one of the letters and held it between his fingers. He read a few lines and frowned.
“What do you think?” Cassidy asked, dropping the doll onto his desk and leaning forward.
“Why Raggedy Ann? She doesn’t exactly symbolize romance.”
“On the show, I mentioned that I had one when I was a kid. My father gave it to me.”
He nodded and flipped the page. “This guy sounds like a real winner. He sure rambles. You don’t know anyone named Miles?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten you in any of these letters?”
“No, I’d call them obsessive, not threatening. But that doesn’t always matter, does it? Isn’t it true that stalkers can start out flattering and turn violent?”
“Yes, but I’m glad to hear you haven’t gotten any threats yet. How about ex-boyfriends? Could any of them be hung up on you and hiding behind this Miles persona?”
Cassidy pulled herself erect, balancing the soda can on her knee. She’d been the one to end most of her short-term relationships, but none of the guys had seemed overly distressed. They’d taken the hint and stopped calling. Unfortunately, the one man who made her toes tingle was engaged. “I don’t think so. It’s someone who saw me on TV. It has to be.”
“Give me the names anyway. I’ll run a background check.”
She scribbled a list of all her dates since high school, a deep flush coloring her cheeks. Four names, only one in the past year. Working her way through college hadn’t left much time for a social life and she’d turned down several dates at the gym to avoid awkward situations when the relationship soured. Cassidy had even less girlfriends – most of her high school pals had moved away, either getting married or accepting jobs out-of-state.
She reviewed the list before handing it to the detective. “This is a dead end. These guys would contact me directly, not use an alias.”
Detective Pierce trailed his finger down the short list of names. “You’re sure about that?”
“Yeah, and besides, none of them were serious. I dated them all a handful of times. They weren’t lunatics. I’m telling you, this guy is a stranger.”


Retailers:
Audible:
Also available in Kindle Unlimited as part of the Young Ladies of Mystery Boxed Set
Author Bio:
Stacy Juba got engaged at Epcot Theme Park and spent part of her honeymoon at Disneyland Paris, where she ate a burger, went on fast rides, and threw up on the train ride to the hotel. In addition to working on her Storybook Valley chick lit/sweet romance series, Stacy has written books about ice hockey, teen psychics, U.S. flag etiquette for kids, and determined women sleuths. She has had a novel ranked as #5 in the Nook Store and #30 on the Amazon Kindle Paid List. When she’s not visiting theme parks with her family, (avoiding rides that spin and exotic hamburgers) or writing about them, Stacy helps authors to strengthen their manuscripts through her Crossroads Editing Service. Visit her website to get your free Mystery Lovers Sampler.

Unpublished stories #OpenBook Blog Hop

  By Uncategorized

Have you written any books or stories that you haven’t published? Tell us about them. Do you have plans to release them in the future?

I wrote my first book at the tender age of nineteen. It was a handwritten romantic fantasy and I filled several notebooks. After I finished it, I typed it out. At some point, I made a recording of me reading it. (Saved to cassettes. Several of them.)  And you know what? It stunk. But I was rightfully proud of myself for doing it. I still have the cassettes and typed copy of it somewhere. But there’s no way it will ever be released to the world.

After that, I concentrated on my poetry for many years. I have a ton of poems that were never published. Not because they are bad, but because they never found a home. I’m okay with that. (And I’ll ‘fess up, some of them are bad!)

But a few years back, I had a story floating around in my head that would never become a poem. And I’d heard about National Novel Writing Month, and it sounded like fun. Write 50,000 words in a month? I could do that.

Or not. I got to 49,000 words and ran out of story. So after the month was over, I rewrote it in first person instead of third, added a new scene, and got it over the 50,000 words. But I didn’t like the new version, so I rewrote it again- in third person. And it’s okay, but after setting it aside for awhile, I realized the plot was too derivative of other stories I read. And there’s no saving it. So it’s stored away on my hard drive, and there it will stay.

But it got me hooked. I knew I had more stories in me. And I set about writing them.

One is a romance, the other a private eye story. Both have solid plots and likable characters. I haven’t given up on them. Occasionally, I’ll pull one up and read a selection. Maybe edit a few words. But as I’m concentrating my two series, I can’t give them the time they need. Someday.

Although I think my writing is steadily improving, not every story I write is a hit. I set out to write a romance a few ears ago. Solid writing, but it fell flat. I didn’t capture the characters emotions, and I knew it before I reached the end. I switched up the plot and now the beginning and the end feel like two different stories. I don’t think I’ll be able to save that one.

So, for kicks, here’s an unedited selection from the second book, titled “Book 2”, appropriately enough. It needs work, so excuse any errors.

     The fish joint down the street was open after making some quick repairs, and Ken ate his usual-fried shrimp, coleslaw, and fries, and then sat nursing his beer, watching the other patrons, and flirting with the waitress. Each time a woman with long hair came in, he checked to see if it was Piper. He should have talked to her last night, and told her how he felt. It might have been his last chance.  When the waitress brought him another beer, he drank that one too, and another.
     He wasn’t drunk when he returned to his room, but he was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. He knew better, especially on the night before a flight. He would regret it in the morning. But now, he had to go see Piper.
     She was already there, playing a song that seemed filled with sadness. It suited him tonight, he decided, but what was she sad about? He sat beside her and listened to the music and the ocean. He hated to think that it would be his last chance to do so- this trip anyway. He would come back, he thought. If she wants me too, he would come back.
     An ending note and she lowered the flute to her lap, gracefully. “I am here, Mr. Ken Walters,” she said, teasing him.
     “I’m here too, Piper. But I will be leaving tomorrow,” he said sadly.
     “Going home does not make you happy?”
     “It should, I know, but I don’t know where home is anymore.” Together they listened to the music of the waves. “I don’t know if I have had a home since my ex-wife and I got divorced.”
      She did not answer. “Sometimes,” he continued, “When I am with my daughter I get a glimpse of what home means.” The beers must have caught up with him. “Sometimes when I am here with you, I feel the same thing.”
      She had been in the process of raising her flute, and she froze, and then set it back down. “What do you mean by that?”
     He reached over and took held one of her hands between both of his. “I mean I want to get to know you better. I want to know your given name, I want to see your face in the daylight, I want to take you to supper and talk with you for hours.”

     She pulled her hand away. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t.”

Now let’s find out what stories the other authors haven’t shared with us.

July 9, 2018
Have you written any books or stories that you haven’t published? Tell us about them. Do you have plans to release them in the future?

Rules:1. Link your blog to this hop.
2. Notify your following that you are participating in this blog hop.
3. Promise to visit/leave a comment on all participants’ blogs.
4. Tweet/or share each person’s blog post. Use #OpenBook when tweeting.
5. Put a banner on your blog that you are participating.

Blogger

Unpublished stories #OpenBook Blog Hop

  By Uncategorized

Have you written any books or stories that you haven’t published? Tell us about them. Do you have plans to release them in the future?

I wrote my first book at the tender age of nineteen. It was a handwritten romantic fantasy and I filled several notebooks. After I finished it, I typed it out. At some point, I made a recording of me reading it. (Saved to cassettes. Several of them.)  And you know what? It stunk. But I was rightfully proud of myself for doing it. I still have the cassettes and typed copy of it somewhere. But there’s no way it will ever be released to the world.

After that, I concentrated on my poetry for many years. I have a ton of poems that were never published. Not because they are bad, but because they never found a home. I’m okay with that. (And I’ll ‘fess up, some of them are bad!)

But a few years back, I had a story floating around in my head that would never become a poem. And I’d heard about National Novel Writing Month, and it sounded like fun. Write 50,000 words in a month? I could do that.

Or not. I got to 49,000 words and ran out of story. So after the month was over, I rewrote it in first person instead of third, added a new scene, and got it over the 50,000 words. But I didn’t like the new version, so I rewrote it again- in third person. And it’s okay, but after setting it aside for awhile, I realized the plot was too derivative of other stories I read. And there’s no saving it. So it’s stored away on my hard drive, and there it will stay.

But it got me hooked. I knew I had more stories in me. And I set about writing them.

One is a romance, the other a private eye story. Both have solid plots and likable characters. I haven’t given up on them. Occasionally, I’ll pull one up and read a selection. Maybe edit a few words. But as I’m concentrating my two series, I can’t give them the time they need. Someday.

Although I think my writing is steadily improving, not every story I write is a hit. I set out to write a romance a few ears ago. Solid writing, but it fell flat. I didn’t capture the characters emotions, and I knew it before I reached the end. I switched up the plot and now the beginning and the end feel like two different stories. I don’t think I’ll be able to save that one.

So, for kicks, here’s an unedited selection from the second book, titled “Book 2”, appropriately enough. It needs work, so excuse any errors.

     The fish joint down the street was open after making some quick repairs, and Ken ate his usual-fried shrimp, coleslaw, and fries, and then sat nursing his beer, watching the other patrons, and flirting with the waitress. Each time a woman with long hair came in, he checked to see if it was Piper. He should have talked to her last night, and told her how he felt. It might have been his last chance.  When the waitress brought him another beer, he drank that one too, and another.
     He wasn’t drunk when he returned to his room, but he was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. He knew better, especially on the night before a flight. He would regret it in the morning. But now, he had to go see Piper.
     She was already there, playing a song that seemed filled with sadness. It suited him tonight, he decided, but what was she sad about? He sat beside her and listened to the music and the ocean. He hated to think that it would be his last chance to do so- this trip anyway. He would come back, he thought. If she wants me too, he would come back.
     An ending note and she lowered the flute to her lap, gracefully. “I am here, Mr. Ken Walters,” she said, teasing him.
     “I’m here too, Piper. But I will be leaving tomorrow,” he said sadly.
     “Going home does not make you happy?”
     “It should, I know, but I don’t know where home is anymore.” Together they listened to the music of the waves. “I don’t know if I have had a home since my ex-wife and I got divorced.”
      She did not answer. “Sometimes,” he continued, “When I am with my daughter I get a glimpse of what home means.” The beers must have caught up with him. “Sometimes when I am here with you, I feel the same thing.”
      She had been in the process of raising her flute, and she froze, and then set it back down. “What do you mean by that?”
     He reached over and took held one of her hands between both of his. “I mean I want to get to know you better. I want to know your given name, I want to see your face in the daylight, I want to take you to supper and talk with you for hours.”

     She pulled her hand away. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t.”

Now let’s find out what stories the other authors haven’t shared with us.

July 9, 2018
Have you written any books or stories that you haven’t published? Tell us about them. Do you have plans to release them in the future?

Rules:1. Link your blog to this hop.
2. Notify your following that you are participating in this blog hop.
3. Promise to visit/leave a comment on all participants’ blogs.
4. Tweet/or share each person’s blog post. Use #OpenBook when tweeting.
5. Put a banner on your blog that you are participating.

Blogger

#Mystery Exchange

  By Uncategorized

For the next month and a half, I’ll be featuring other mystery writers here on Thursdays, and I’ll be appearing on their blogs. This week’s guest is Donna Fletcher Crow. Please welcome her and her book, A Lethal Spectre.

A
Lethal Spectre, Lord Danvers Investigates, Book 5, a Victorian
True-crime mystery
The
elegance of a London season and the atrocities of an Indian mutiny
woven into an intricate tapestry

Antonia and Charles are swept up in the glittering swirl of a London
season as they present Aunt Aelfrida’s ward to society. In India
Antonia’s closest girlhood friend is caught in the most brutal
massacre ‘in the book of time’. What could these disparate events
have to do with murders in London and Brighton? This engrossing story
comes to life with all the vivid historical detail readers expect
from Donna Fletcher Crow.
“A stunning contrast between the dramas and machinations of
fashionable London life

and the unfurling of an unthinkable tragedy.
A story of lights and shadows, all impeccably well researched and
realised.”

~Linda Stratmann, author of The Frances Doughty Mysteries
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
It
was only midmorning and already the heat was stifling. Hot wind
seared and scorching sun radiated from the walls of the barracks
behind them. The acrid smell of the buildings of the cantonment
beyond, now reduced to black smoldering rubble—all their homes and
possessions—stung every nose. Emilia Landry stood among the women
and children who had been called from their homes in the civilian
cantonment and gathered into the military entrenchment on the orders
of General Wheeler.
They had been
here a week now, hoping for the best; but fearing the worst. No
attack had come on the entrenchment, but mutinous sepoys and vandals
had ransacked the city, burned the officers’ bungalows in the new
cantonment, and, disastrously, seized the magazine where the army
treasury, ammunitions and heavy guns were stored.
Emilia closed her
eyes against the sight of the black smoke, and saw in her mind the
pleasant bungalow she had occupied with her friend Louisa Chalwin and
Louisa’s veterinarian husband Edwin. Louisa had planted a lovely
garden, complete with English roses that bloomed undaunted in the
Indian summer. A magnificent old banyan tree shaded a summer house
where Emilia loved to sit and read in the mornings and take tea in
the afternoons. All a blackened rubble now.
They had been
hearing dire reports for weeks. Revolt of the native troops at
Meerut. Then at Delhi. And riots at Lucknow, only some sixty miles to
the northeast. But no apprehension had been felt of treachery on the
part of their own troops at Cawnpore.
This morning,
however, Sunday morning, the seventh of June, Sir Hugh Wheeler,
commanding general at Cawnpore, had received a letter from the Nana
Sahib, declaring his intention of attacking.
Now everyone on
the verandah of the barracks held their breath, as all in the
entrenchment seemed to do. The tension of the soldiers, posted with
leveled rifles around the circumference of the barricading mud wall,
communicated itself to every person.
The mewling of a
baby born only a few hours before vibrated on the air. The cry was
cut off by the boom of a cannon. Women shrieked; children wailed as
the ball struck the barrack behind them.
A bugle call
split the air, sounding above the mayhem. The crack of shot was
deafening as hundreds of rifles responded. The mutiny had come to
Cawnpore.
A
moan tore from deep in her throat and Lady Antonia Danvers sat up
sharply. She was drenched in sweat, even though the early June night
was cold in London. Tonia reached for the carafe of water by her bed
and filled a glass to relieve her parched throat. What had she
dreamed? How could such vivid horror have come from her own
imagination?
She crossed the room
and, pushing the heavy drapery aside, raised the sash on her window,
letting a fresh breeze bathe her face. She breathed deeply of the
blessed, moist air. Still unsettled from the terrors of her dream,
Antonia returned to bed. The sky had lightened to silver, however,
and the first notes of the dawn chorus rang in the garden before
Tonia returned to an uneasy sleep.
She wakened far too
late to share her morning tea with her husband as was their custom.
When she inquired of her maid she was informed that her lord would be
out for the day, involved with his man of business and taking dinner
at his club. She would have no opportunity to discuss the nightmare
with Charles, although the phantom spectre continued to follow her.
Available on Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07C2MD17S/linkCode=as2&tag=themonamurd-20
Donna Fletcher Crow
is a lifelong Anglophile with a special love for the Victorians,
especially their energy, confidence and creativity. She is a former
English teacher and the author of 50 books, mostly novels of British
history, including the award-winning Arthurian epic, Glastonbury,
The Novel of Christian England. She currently authors three mystery
series: The Monastery Murders; Elizabeth and Richard Literary
Suspense; and Lord Danvers Investigates, Victorian true-crime.

#Mystery Exchange

  By Uncategorized

For the next month and a half, I’ll be featuring other mystery writers here on Thursdays, and I’ll be appearing on their blogs. This week’s guest is Donna Fletcher Crow. Please welcome her and her book, A Lethal Spectre.

A Lethal Spectre, Lord Danvers Investigates, Book 5, a Victorian True-crime mystery
The elegance of a London season and the atrocities of an Indian mutiny woven into an intricate tapestry
Antonia and Charles are swept up in the glittering swirl of a London season as they present Aunt Aelfrida’s ward to society. In India Antonia’s closest girlhood friend is caught in the most brutal massacre ‘in the book of time’. What could these disparate events have to do with murders in London and Brighton? This engrossing story comes to life with all the vivid historical detail readers expect from Donna Fletcher Crow.
“A stunning contrast between the dramas and machinations of fashionable London life

and the unfurling of an unthinkable tragedy. A story of lights and shadows, all impeccably well researched and realised.”

~Linda Stratmann, author of The Frances Doughty Mysteries
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
It was only midmorning and already the heat was stifling. Hot wind seared and scorching sun radiated from the walls of the barracks behind them. The acrid smell of the buildings of the cantonment beyond, now reduced to black smoldering rubble—all their homes and possessions—stung every nose. Emilia Landry stood among the women and children who had been called from their homes in the civilian cantonment and gathered into the military entrenchment on the orders of General Wheeler.
They had been here a week now, hoping for the best; but fearing the worst. No attack had come on the entrenchment, but mutinous sepoys and vandals had ransacked the city, burned the officers’ bungalows in the new cantonment, and, disastrously, seized the magazine where the army treasury, ammunitions and heavy guns were stored.
Emilia closed her eyes against the sight of the black smoke, and saw in her mind the pleasant bungalow she had occupied with her friend Louisa Chalwin and Louisa’s veterinarian husband Edwin. Louisa had planted a lovely garden, complete with English roses that bloomed undaunted in the Indian summer. A magnificent old banyan tree shaded a summer house where Emilia loved to sit and read in the mornings and take tea in the afternoons. All a blackened rubble now.
They had been hearing dire reports for weeks. Revolt of the native troops at Meerut. Then at Delhi. And riots at Lucknow, only some sixty miles to the northeast. But no apprehension had been felt of treachery on the part of their own troops at Cawnpore.
This morning, however, Sunday morning, the seventh of June, Sir Hugh Wheeler, commanding general at Cawnpore, had received a letter from the Nana Sahib, declaring his intention of attacking.
Now everyone on the verandah of the barracks held their breath, as all in the entrenchment seemed to do. The tension of the soldiers, posted with leveled rifles around the circumference of the barricading mud wall, communicated itself to every person.
The mewling of a baby born only a few hours before vibrated on the air. The cry was cut off by the boom of a cannon. Women shrieked; children wailed as the ball struck the barrack behind them.
A bugle call split the air, sounding above the mayhem. The crack of shot was deafening as hundreds of rifles responded. The mutiny had come to Cawnpore.
A moan tore from deep in her throat and Lady Antonia Danvers sat up sharply. She was drenched in sweat, even though the early June night was cold in London. Tonia reached for the carafe of water by her bed and filled a glass to relieve her parched throat. What had she dreamed? How could such vivid horror have come from her own imagination?
She crossed the room and, pushing the heavy drapery aside, raised the sash on her window, letting a fresh breeze bathe her face. She breathed deeply of the blessed, moist air. Still unsettled from the terrors of her dream, Antonia returned to bed. The sky had lightened to silver, however, and the first notes of the dawn chorus rang in the garden before Tonia returned to an uneasy sleep.
She wakened far too late to share her morning tea with her husband as was their custom. When she inquired of her maid she was informed that her lord would be out for the day, involved with his man of business and taking dinner at his club. She would have no opportunity to discuss the nightmare with Charles, although the phantom spectre continued to follow her.
Available on Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07C2MD17S/linkCode=as2&tag=themonamurd-20
Donna Fletcher Crow is a lifelong Anglophile with a special love for the Victorians, especially their energy, confidence and creativity. She is a former English teacher and the author of 50 books, mostly novels of British history, including the award-winning Arthurian epic, Glastonbury, The Novel of Christian England. She currently authors three mystery series: The Monastery Murders; Elizabeth and Richard Literary Suspense; and Lord Danvers Investigates, Victorian true-crime.

Skills for Medieval Times #OpenBook Blog Hop

  By Uncategorized

What skills do you have that would make you useful in the medieval time period and/or would get you condemned as a witch?

To make this discussion easier, first thing I’m going to do is eliminate any skills that are tied to inventions that didn’t exist in medieval times. No computers, no modern-day appliances, no modern medicine. Any one of those would get me condemned as a witch in a flash.

I do have a few skills that existed back then and would make me useful. Sewing, for one. I’ve sewn some basic clothing by hand and decorated them with embroidery. That was years ago, and I don’t have any pictures, but they turned out pretty good, in my humble opinion. Both the basic sewing and the embroidery would make me useful in the Middle Ages.

I also do needlepoint, a skill that would translate well to the tapestries of those years. I’ve posted pictures of some of my work here before, but I’ll show you one.

I might have to do some bartering to get the proper materials to practice that skill, but I think I could find customers for my work.

I’m also pretty good at growing things. Not so good that I’d be accused of being a witch, but good enough to provide food for the community. And I know a little about preserving fruits and vegetables, so that’s another reason to keep me around.(Although canning didn’t exist back then.)

I have a couple of skills that could go either way. Reading, writing, and arithmetic. Not skills that most people, especially women, had a lot of knowledge of. I’d have to pretend to know less than I do to fit in. The task would be made easier by the language shifts that have occurred in the passing years. I’d sound foolish using the wrong words at the wrong time.

I wanted to include at least one skill that would get me condemned as a witch, but as I’ve eliminated modern technology, it was hard to come up with something. I’m not skilled with any weapons that might get me into trouble as a woman-no sword fighting for me. And I don’t have much knowledge in the way of herbs used as medicine.


But what I decided is that my modern knowledge of earth science might get me in trouble. The whole “the earth is round” and “the earth revolves around the sun” thing. It would be far too easy to let slip some seemingly ordinary scientific fact that people of that time frame didn’t know. Something as simple as understanding meteors and comets could put me in the unwanted limelight. Heck, even understanding the link between cleanliness and disease is reason for suspicion.

So, I think it might be safer to stay right where I am, time-wise. And I’ll take advantage of modern technology to hop on over and see what the other authors have to say.

July 2, 2018

What skills do you have that would make you useful in the medieval time period and/or would get you condemned as a witch?

Rules:
1. Link your blog to this hop.
2. Notify your following that you are participating in this blog hop.
3. Promise to visit/leave a comment on all participants’ blogs.
4. Tweet/or share each person’s blog post. Use #OpenBook when tweeting.
5. Put a banner on your blog that you are participating.

Blogger

Skills for Medieval Times #OpenBook Blog Hop

  By Uncategorized

What skills do you have that would make you useful in the medieval time period and/or would get you condemned as a witch?

To make this discussion easier, first thing I’m going to do is eliminate any skills that are tied to inventions that didn’t exist in medieval times. No computers, no modern-day appliances, no modern medicine. Any one of those would get me condemned as a witch in a flash.

I do have a few skills that existed back then and would make me useful. Sewing, for one. I’ve sewn some basic clothing by hand and decorated them with embroidery. That was years ago, and I don’t have any pictures, but they turned out pretty good, in my humble opinion. Both the basic sewing and the embroidery would make me useful in the Middle Ages.

I also do needlepoint, a skill that would translate well to the tapestries of those years. I’ve posted pictures of some of my work here before, but I’ll show you one.

I might have to do some bartering to get the proper materials to practice that skill, but I think I could find customers for my work.

I’m also pretty good at growing things. Not so good that I’d be accused of being a witch, but good enough to provide food for the community. And I know a little about preserving fruits and vegetables, so that’s another reason to keep me around.(Although canning didn’t exist back then.)

I have a couple of skills that could go either way. Reading, writing, and arithmetic. Not skills that most people, especially women, had a lot of knowledge of. I’d have to pretend to know less than I do to fit in. The task would be made easier by the language shifts that have occurred in the passing years. I’d sound foolish using the wrong words at the wrong time.

I wanted to include at least one skill that would get me condemned as a witch, but as I’ve eliminated modern technology, it was hard to come up with something. I’m not skilled with any weapons that might get me into trouble as a woman-no sword fighting for me. And I don’t have much knowledge in the way of herbs used as medicine.


But what I decided is that my modern knowledge of earth science might get me in trouble. The whole “the earth is round” and “the earth revolves around the sun” thing. It would be far too easy to let slip some seemingly ordinary scientific fact that people of that time frame didn’t know. Something as simple as understanding meteors and comets could put me in the unwanted limelight. Heck, even understanding the link between cleanliness and disease is reason for suspicion.

So, I think it might be safer to stay right where I am, time-wise. And I’ll take advantage of modern technology to hop on over and see what the other authors have to say.

July 2, 2018

What skills do you have that would make you useful in the medieval time period and/or would get you condemned as a witch?

Rules:
1. Link your blog to this hop.
2. Notify your following that you are participating in this blog hop.
3. Promise to visit/leave a comment on all participants’ blogs.
4. Tweet/or share each person’s blog post. Use #OpenBook when tweeting.
5. Put a banner on your blog that you are participating.

Blogger