Saturday, June 09, 2012

Interview: Indie Author Kathleen Valentine [Repost]

 [Originally posted on my Elucidations blog, June 9, 2012]

Interview: Indie Author Kathleen Valentine

KathleenValentine-AuthorPhotoRecently I talked with an author on Goodreads on some message forum I don’t remember. I do remember enjoying the conversation and her thoughts, so I picked up one of her books. I’m glad I did. The Old Mermaid’s Tale by Kathleen Valentine is hard to put down. It’s a beautiful coming of age story mixed with romance and recent history, accompanied by lush settings. I suggested it to my Facebook friends and a couple of them have picked it up and are loving it as much as I did.

The story line: Clair is a small town Ohio girl who makes a break from her rural life to attend college in Erie, Pennsylvania, a seaport town. Finding the stories of fisherman in the 1960s terribly romantic, Clair grabs the chance to work at a cafe where they hang out and finds herself right in the midst of their world, so different than her own. She and her friends embark on a true adventure of love, lust, gritty life, and growth. Valentine’s characters are deeply drawn, wonderfully flawed, full of spirit and hope and sadness and strength. Mix in music, mermaids, bits of history, and an enviable romance, and The Old Mermaid’s Tale sets sparks to the craft of storytelling in its finest form.

I also need to point out that this is the first indie novel I rated with 5 stars. I rarely give 5 stars to any novel, indie or traditional.

KathleenValentine-OMTpromo

I was able to catch up with Kathleen Valentine for a quick interview about her debut novel and other artsy interests.

LK: Welcome Kathleen! As you can see, I just loved your first novel. I have to say that we have plenty in common, from a love of water and a Pennsylvania residence to a love of Hemingway, along with both being indie authors with art backgrounds. I look very much forward to chatting with you today!

First, are there any comments you’d like to make about the review of An Old Mermaid’s Tale or anything you’d like to add?

KV: That was a very lovely review that you gave my book. I deeply appreciate it. I suppose every writer more than anything else wants to touch their readers hearts and I really felt like you expressed your reactions well. It is very gratifying to me as the author.

LK: My pleasure! Let’s start with location. You’re originally from north central Pennsylvania and you set The Old Mermaid’s Tale in Erie. Have you spent a lot of time there? What was it that drew you in enough to use it as a novel setting?

KV: When I was little I often spent a few weeks in the summer with my aunt and uncle who lived in Erie. My uncle loved the sea stories and sea legends and sometimes in the evening he'd take me down to the public docks and tell me stories about the ships. All the scenes when Clair goes to the public pier are directly from those visits.

Later I attended college in Erie at Behrend. Chesterton College in the book is my version of Behrend. A few of the other places are also from my memories of that period – Sullivan's Pub, Waldameer Park, the museum on sixth Street – those are all places I remember well. I worked in a diner for a couple of years on the night shift. It was quite an experience for a girl from rural Pennsylvania. One of the most interesting things that happened was when the Ringling Brothers Circus came to town. The performers and workers would come in the diner at night. There was one man who tried to get me to run away with him. He was an animal trainer from Quebec. I didn't go with him but I never forgot him. His name was Baptiste.

LK: Ah, so there’s quite a bit of truth behind this novel. I love knowing you pulled Baptiste’s name from a real character you met.

I’ve been to Gloucester, Massachusetts, your current residence, and it’s extraordinarily beautiful. I’d love to go back. What drew you there and have you used it as a setting?

KV: I moved here because I was drawn to the arts community. I was living in Marblehead, MA but spent all my free time in Gloucester so finally I decided to move here. My newest novel, Depraved Heart, is set here. It is a novel of romantic suspense with a lot of scenes in Gloucester.

LK: I have to ask, since The Old Mermaid’s Tale talks of fisherman and the dangers they encounter: Do you fish? Or do you otherwise spend much time out on the water?

KV: I don't fish but I spent several years with a man who was a commercial fisherman and I learned a lot from him. I've also spent a fair amount of time sailing and on whale watches and things of that sort.

LK: I love the storytelling theme of the book. How important do you think the oral storytelling tradition was, and is it still? Do you have any favorite storyteller authors?

KV: I think oral tradition is incredibly important especially in these days when families are becoming so broken up and live so far away from one another. I grew up in a family where storytelling was a big part of every family occasions. I can remember family parties where the whole house would be filled with people and every room you walked in to there would be people sitting around telling stories. Right now I am working on a collection of stories all set in the same town with the same characters but each one is based in a story from my growing up years. As far as storytellers are concerned, I really admire Garrison Keillor and James Thurber, of course.

LK: I look forward to release of that book. It sounds wonderful! Speaking of art, you have an art/design background and you do your own covers, which I love, by the way. Do you have advice for indie authors on cover design or on doing their own?

KV: It's tough because a lot of indie artists shoot themselves in the foot by not paying attention to their cover. If you are not an artist and are on a limited budget, you can try to find someone to swap services with to get a better cover. I do this a lot with fellow writers. I'll swap a cover design for proof-reading or something like that.

LK: Great idea. I know I bypass books with unprofessional covers because I’m afraid the book will be unprofessional. Covers matter that much.

Would you tell us how you became an indie author?

KV: Sure. It was an accident. Seriously, since 2003 I have run my own design business and over the years I was hired to design books by people who were publishing independently. I designed several books for a local art association and then a man who was writing a collectors guide to clocks hired me to design a book for him. Eventually I decided, since I didn't have to go to the expense of hiring designers, it made sense to publish as an indie – especially because the profit margin is much higher.

LK: How likely are you to recommend to other writers that they go it on their own?

KV: It depends. Being an indie has its ups and downs. I would never attempt it if I had to hire designers, someone to do a web site, marketing materials, etc. But if you can afford to do that then being an indie can be a good way to go. Personally, I think I like designing my covers and my marketing materials as much as I love writing. I've even designed covers for books I'll probably never get around to writing just because I love working with images.

LK: Just for fun, what is your favorite color and why?

KV: Sky blue – nothing is as beautiful to me as the sky on a beautiful day, summer or winter.

LK: How about your favorite music, either singer/band or genre? Do you write with music?

KV: I'm more of a classical music fan, mostly from the baroque period – Albinoni, Teleman, Allegri. Yes, I write with that kind of music on. I also like a lot of the independent singer/songwriters. Garnet Rogers, who served as my model for Baptiste's voice in The Old Mermaid's Tale, is a particular favorite.

LK: I’ll have to look up Garnet Rogers, I think. Do you have a favorite fine artist? Dancer? Actor/actress?

KV: I love Matisse but mostly I am drawn to the Hudson River School and the luminists. There is a LOT of art in my latest novel, Depraved Heart. My second novel, Each Angel Burns, is about a sculpture of the archangel Gabriel by Giovanni Dupré that has disappeared.

There are a lot of dancers I love – Angel Corella thrills me. One of the main characters in Depraved Heart is a dancer and I tell people that in my mind he is a cross between Angel Corella and Russell Brand.

LK: In another interview, you said, “If you don’t take pride in your craft, do something else.” Can you talk a bit about this?

KV: Sure. I'm a firm believer that everyone has a gift and it is part of your destiny to find that and to do it to the best of your ability. Sometimes we get the idea that we are SUPPOSED to do a certain thing. You grow up with the idea that you have to be a doctor or a scientist or whatever but you discover, as you pursue it, that your heart just isn't in it. That is not a good way to go through life. I think when you find the thing you were meant to do you will pursue it with passion and a deep desire to do it to the very best of your ability. It is better to bake a perfect pie than to write a mediocre novel. Society has a distorted sense of what is important and it is critical to each person's happiness to realize where their gifts fit in the overall scheme of things.

LK: Well said. I fully agree.

I know you’re an avid reader. What are you reading now?

KV: Right now I am reading The Meaning of Isolated Objects by Billie Hinton on my Kindle and listening to the Audible version of The Daughters of Witching Hill by Mary Sharratt while I sew or kit.

LK: Nice to find others who read different books at the same time! If you won a week-long getaway, all expenses paid, to anywhere in the world, where would you go?

KV: Funny you should say that, I was just thinking I need a week with my Kindle and my laptop somewhere quiet and alone for a week. I love the coast of Maine and Cape Cod. I don't really have any destinations per se that interest me, just the conditions when I get there. Although I would like to spend some time in the Orkney Islands because of the lace knitting culture there.

LK: The Old Mermaid’s Tale is romantic but not a genre romance. I believe you describe it as contemporary fiction. One thing I love about it is that it’s literary and it’s romance. It’s what I call literary romance, the best of both genres meshed together. That’s also what I call my own. I’ve seen labels such as “literary thriller” recently. How do you feel about the trend, specifically within indie writing, to mix and blend genres? Do you think there’s enough market for them?

KV: I don't know. I write what interests me and I absolutely refuse to write according to a specific formula. I'm on something of a mission to restore the word “romance” back to its origins, meaning a book that combines love, adventure, honor, and poetics. One of the greatest of the American classical romances is Last of the Mohicans and we have lost so much of that kind of romance. I want novels with characters I can love and relate to. I've noticed a disturbing tendency in a lot of contemporary novels for the characters to be genuinely obnoxious people with no redeeming values. I wouldn't hang out with people like that in real life so why would I want to spend time reading about them?

LK: Again, I fully agree. I once had a lady ask what the point of a romance novel was if it wasn’t graphic. Sad, I think. Romance as it should be defined does seem to be getting lost in a quagmire of sex, and the two are not the same.

Along that line, what do you most hope to give your readers when they pick up one of your books?

KV: My deepest hope is that my readers will just get lost. That they will enter into the world I create, fall in love with the people there, experience their passions and their heart-break and their joy. I want readers to fall in love.

LK: Kathleen, thanks so much for visiting with us! I’ll be reading more of your work and I hope those who haven’t yet will give it a try. Depraved Heart sounds like a must-read. Before you go, are there any indie artists you’d like to give a shout out? Personal site links welcome.

KV: I love Billie Hinton's work. I think she is one of the most superb indie writers out there. Also although Kiana Davenport has been traditionally published she is publishing some collections of short stories as an indie and has suffered for that from her traditional pulisher. She's a great supporter of indies so I want to mention her. I'm also a big fan of Andre Juté. His book Iditarod is one of the best indie books I've ever read.

KathleeenValentine-ErieLighthouseReaders, please check out Kathleen Valentine’s site. Along with her book info, you’ll find her design work, more interviews, and some great info on publishing!

Web site with blog and buy links:
http://parlezmoiblog.blogspot.com/

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/KathleenValentine

 

Monday, May 21, 2012

Lessons from Baseball

7635lkhI love baseball.

Every summer I can remember as a pre-teen and maybe earlier, I was out there on the field, ignoring the heat and humidity and my pollen allergies, doing warm-up calisthenics (hated those at the time) and rotating positions (usually right field but now and then left field or third base – loved third base) and hoping like heck I’d actually connect with that softball when it was pitched. When I connected, I hit well. Very well. The problem was connecting. It flustered me to no end that I didn’t connect every time I went up to bat. My average … well, I have no idea what it was, but it wasn’t great. My energy level, physically, has always been on the low side. My stress/nerve level made up for it and was always on the high side.

7611-lkhAs I got older, the stress of the game interfered. I wasn’t hitting well enough. I got to play less often although my field play was pretty decent as I remember. When it came time to switch to high school league instead of summer league, I switched modes and became team ‘manager’ instead. Basically, I was scorekeeper. Hey, I was still involved, I told myself.

My older sister and I used to sit in our shared bedroom and watch the Cardinals and the Dodgers (back when the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn) on our tiny black and white TV that we were thrilled to have. A TV in a bedroom! That was really cool to us. (Those of you who grew up with a color TV, a computer, and a game system in your bedrooms just can’t understand, sadly.)

7697lkhThese days, hubby and I watch the Pirates on our flat screen color TV that’s not horribly big (or as big as hubby would like) but big enough I have to keep a certain distance away so it doesn’t hurt my eyes. I don’t know if it’s because the game is easier to see that way or if my focus has simply changed, but I notice things these days I didn’t before.

1) No matter how well a player does in the field, if he isn’t batting well, he gets benched. This even applies to those with .250 averages (which is a good batting average). If they run into a string of bad luck, they receive mandated thinking time or regrouping time in the form of watching his fellow players succeeding better. Lesson: We all have bad days/times. Watching others doing well can be terribly helpful.

2) If this bad luck string runs too long, they’re sent back to 7723lkhthe minors to relearn how to bat, presumably, or maybe to regain their focus on a smaller stage. They’re always welcomed, and encouraged, to work their way back up to deserving field space, or even coveted bench space. Lesson: well, this one is too obvious to need explanation.

3) If they mess up a game with a simple error, they better expect fans to jump all over them and even suggest they shouldn’t be playing. I guess some people do expect perfection, after all. Of course, fans can ramble online all they want. It won’t change the manager’s course. At the end of the day, it’s his decision. Lesson: never mind the naysayers; they don’t make your choices if you don’t let them. Your boss does, but in the end none of us are perfect and good bosses see the good in us even when we mess up.

7675cp-lkh4) A .250 batting average means the player gets one hit in every four times he’s up to bat. And as I said, that’s a good average and that player will get plenty of play time. Take it up to .300 or above and that’s a darn rockin’ average! I wish I’d realized that back when I was playing. Heck, even the pros don’t expect a hit every time they’re at bat. They don’t even expect it half the time. I’ve yet to see a .500 batting average. Lesson: Maybe I should have gone easier on myself and let myself keep playing instead of voluntarily jumping to the side.

5) A .500 season average is a good team average. My Pittsburgh Pirates have been struggling to reach and maintain a .500 season average for … oh, about 19 years now. They are close at the moment. This gives fans great hope they’ll actually hit that and end with that. We all know it’s possible to jump from a 19 year losing streak to a sudden winning streak. We believe they can do it. We want to see it. Lesson: We should believe we can do it, as well. And others will root for us to do so!  (Hats off to the Orioles who seem to have learned that well this year!)

6) A 19 year losing streak isn’t truly a losing battle. They keep moving things around, trying new strategies, rotating the lineup, and keep in mind that yes, they can break it and this could be the year. Lesson: If something isn’t working, change things around. Keep trying.

7) Some of us will support the home team regardless of their record. I’ve only been in the area less than five years. Once I moved here, I jumped onto supporting the home team. Their record isn’t what matters. Even the fact that Garrett Jones,7655cp-lkh my personal fave player, is on the team, isn’t what matters. They’re the home team. That’s the way I’m geared. I do get annoyed when they have a game that looks more like a junior high school team than a pro team, but the next day I’m still back hoping for a better game. (When the Yankees tried to grab Jones over the winter, I did watch that and was terribly relieved when Hurdle said it wouldn’t happen. Guess if it did, I’d have to watch parts of Yankees games at times, but I’d still be rooting for the Pirates.) Lesson: Supporting the home team matters! Not only to them, but also to you, whether or not you realize it.

7652cp-lkh8) At the beginning of every game, all players on both teams stand and salute the flag during the National Anthem. Lesson: always acknowledge there is something bigger than yourself and your own activity.

9) The players I enjoy and support the most are not the ones with the best average or the most skill. They are the ones with the best attitudes. If I had a choice, I would put those guys in over anyone else any day. Even when they’re having bad streaks, I root for them. When those with bad attitudes, however, have bad streaks, I’ll gladly wish for them to be sent back to the minors to regroup. Of course the game doesn’t work that way. If they want to stay in, they better work hard and keep themselves on the top. Lesson: Attitude Matters! (not that we don’t all know that already) but so does hard work.

10) The players who succeed long term are the ones that keep themselves in the game. They don’t let the stress of competition overwhelm them. They don’t let the fact that someone else is doing better throw them into despair. And when they do reach the top or close to the top, they don’t give into the fame and derail themselves. They keep their heads in the game. Lesson: also too obvious to expand upon.

These days, when I get a chance to play again (which is quite rare), I do it. A few years back when I played with my son’s little league team in a sons vs. parents game, I managed to shock the heck out of my son with a very nice hit and a nice catch. I shocked myself a bit, as well. Yes, it made me nervous to jump in at my age and given it has been so darn long since I tried, but you can’t connect if you don’t swing the bat.

And by the way, team players are more likely to be supported, respected, and given play time than those who are all about themselves.

11) I nearly forgot.. the starting pitcher is always tagged for the game’s win or loss, regardless of how well or badly the rest of the team performs. This always struck me as unfair until I stopped to realize that pitchers know this going in. They get the limelight of being the pitcher, but they also risk the fall due to others’ errors. A good, loyal team will help a pitcher have a winning season, which works out well for all of them. Lesson: This is exactly the same in the business world. Think about it. 

7762lkh

All above photos are my own from a September 2011 game where the Pirates took on the Cardinals. Okay, the Cardinals won, but I still root for them, also, so it was a no-lose situation. ;-)  Feel free to pin any of my blog photos if you’re on Pinterest. And look me up there!


Thursday, May 03, 2012

Finding the Light through our Tunnel Vision

May2012-onthebike1“Who’s Paul McCartney?”

Yes, this was a real question that was passed around Twitter during and after one of the recent award shows. I literally gaped. Who’s Paul McCartney? Are they kidding?

Even more recently I saw a conversation where a dance teacher wanted to do an American Bandstand theme for their next show, in honor of Dick Clark, I would guess. Very cool idea, I thought. Eh-hem. Most of the students had no idea what American Bandstand is/was. *sigh*

Okay, so it ended in 1989. Still, some things never truly end. They are part of our ingrained cultural heritage, like Elvis. There are things kids should just know … just because they should know them.

In talking with (complaining to) my family about this, they made valid points as to how long ago it was and that even if they didn’t recognize Paul McCartney, they would know who the Beatles are. Let’s hope that’s true. Granted. I get it. Time passes. New musicians come out at a rate of about an idol and a bunch of wannabe idols a year. TV is all fake reality now instead of the more simple music and entertainment shows of the past. I get it.

Still, I look back at when I was a teen and remember how hard I tried to find information on my favorite bands. It wasn’t easy when you were in the middle of a flyover state in the middle of cornfields. We were terribly grateful for Teen Magazine and Tiger Beat that would give us glimpsesRollersVisitHospital and info (as “factual” as they may have been) of our teen idols. Now and then The Weekender that came in the Sunday paper had a nice black and white photo of Donny Osmond or Erik Estrada or The Bay City Rollers visiting a children’s hospital (yep, I still have that tiny little b/w article). But it was no easy task for some of us to learn about music. One of the best resources was American Bandstand, originated and hosted by Dick Clark. Everyday American kids could go dance to the most current music on the show and in between, we’d get the top ten lists of the week, plus, and this was the big pull, each show featured a live performance by one of the top bands!

I know, I can hear young people today say, “So what? We get that through Youtube and VH1 and artist websites and iPods and… wherever else any time we want it.”  Yeah, yeah, I get it. But back then, we had American Bandstand and Midnight Special (if our parents let us stay up that late, which was a long shot in most cases) and a couple of other variety shows, once a week at best. Before the late 70s we didn’t even have VCRs in case we weren’t home to see it. We managed, though. We found out info and shared it with each other. We had pen pals to compare notes. We developed deep friendships simply based on sharing info about a favorite band. (And in doing so, we learned valuable communication skills!)

Why is it, then, that in this day and age of the internet and the very simple way of finding oh, so much more than you really want (or need) to know about your fave celebs (and then some), that kids seem to know less about older celebs than we did about older celebs?

In the late 70s, we all knew the names Marty Robbins, Frank Sinatra, Dale Evans, Roy Rogers, and so on, even though they were “far” before our time. We knew Peter, Paul, and Mary. We knew Jimi Hendrix. Even if it wasn’t our style or interest, we knew their names.

So yes, it still stymies me as to how on earth any teen these days wouldn’t know the name Paul McCartney or what American Bandstand is! Youtube it, for Pete’s Sake!

My guess is (and I come up with this with the help of the family discussion) that just like we now have a whole long shelf full of cereal from which to choose instead of a few varieties where the best toys got the buy, kids are under a huge onslaught of info. It’s so much and so easy to get to and so everywhere on every device under the sun that they have to tune it out and beeline for what they want specifically. They develop tunnel vision to prevent overload.

But at the same time, they miss so much that we leeched right onto because we could actually find it, at times, if we tried. We stayed thirsty for knowledge because we had to make an effort to find it. No effort involved these days. Stick it in Google and within seconds, there it is. What’s the joy in that? What’s the challenge? Without challenge, how valued is the info?

So, a challenge: Dig a hole up from the tunnel’s easy to find light at the end and shovel into the dark. Put the toys (electronics) away for a day and find info about something that pulls your interest.

A hint… listen to your elders. We learned an incredible amount because we didn’t have much else to do but to listen when our elders conversed about things we didn’t know yet.

When they mention such gems as … well, Paul McCartney (he was the bassist for the Beatles, by the way), don’t go to Twitter and ask who it is. Look it up! If you’re really up for a challenge, try doing that in a library instead of on the internet. It’s good for your brain. Honestly.

Or… just YouTube it:

 
The Jacksons on American Bandstand

So… this whole conversation made me acutely aware that I’d yet mentioned American Bandstand in my Rehearsal series. That will be promptly corrected!

Rest in Peace, Dick Clark.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Shakespeare and Cervantes and World Book Night

Cover ImageApril 23 is the birthday of Shakespeare (who also died on this day) and of Cervantes. Some time ago, it was marked as International Day of the Book, but other than in Kensington MD, I don’t see much reference to it. 

Taking its place is World Book Night, a new international event where the book industry donates a ton of free books, assisted by a myriad of volunteers across the country, to “light or non readers” in hopes of encouraging literacy. 

Are they simply tilting at windmills? After all, every community in America has library access. The books are there for free reading if people are so inclined, including, I’m sure, Cervantes and Shakespeare. Is the question now to help them decide to be or not to be readers? To push them to give it a try?

I’m all for encouraging reading! Obviously, as a writer I would encourage reading, but not only as a writer. I also encourage it as a perpetual learner and as someone who knows just how much I know simply because of books.

Only recently I’ve been in Ireland during the famine and during the formation of the Irish Republican Army and I now understand that formation and what they were trying to accomplish (Irish rule and Irish land belonging to the Irish). I’ve also recently been in Madrid during their Civil War, in contemporary small town rural Georgia (I lived ‘there’ several years ago and the return visit was a little blast of the past), in Paris during the big artist move to Paris to study art and the “upper class” American surge to Paris to help broaden their children’s horizons (did you know an American Ambassador was formative at the start of the war in getting many civilians out of Paris and into safety? and the big tourist dollars helped to build and rebuild the city after the war), and now I’m in both England and South Africa as I journey along with a South African nanny relocated in England.

I admit I’m one of those oddballs who loves to read Shakespeare. You know the key to understanding it? Keep going. Just like any language (and Shakespeare certainly had his own), the more you immerse yourself in it, the easier it is to understand. That applies to any fiction, including literary fiction.

In these days of YA fiction being the bestseller even among adults, I’m here pleading for adults to also read such things as Shakespeare and Cervantes, not because one is better or worse than the other, but because they are different. Different is mind-expanding. Mind-expanding is good for all of us. I’ll admit I’ve yet to read Cervantes but Don Quixote has just jumped to the top of my to-read list (with apologies to those books sitting on my shelf already waiting patiently).

Or don’t read Shakespeare and Cervantes. Pick up anything that looks interesting on a library or bookstore shelf and jump in. If that one doesn’t float your boat, move on to something else and keep trying. I don’t believe anyone actually “hates” to read; I believe they have yet to find the right book for them.

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In my own little celebration of World Book Night, I’d like to offer up 3 copies of Stanley, my children’s book that is touching many adults in grief groups and personal struggles, and 3 copies of Protect The Heart, my sweet home front story safe for all ages. The catch: they have to go to your local library. Post the name and location of your library in the comments and I’ll randomly select 6 to send one copy of one of the two books, signed to your library. Either leave your email so I can contact you, or for privacy, come back here to check and see if you’ve been chosen and you can email me with mailing info. This will run for one week, or until I get 6 libraries.
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ShakespeareAndCoMy valued copy of the complete works of William Shakespeare, along with Don Quixote and a few others still waiting for my attention.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Stop and Enjoy the Quiet

Woods in a ParkDuring my last year of school-room college, I took a required class called Senior Seminar. Meant as preparation for the outside world, the class focused on local, world, and environmental issues. I dreaded going into this class, not because of the topic - the topic was terribly interesting – but because I knew going in it was half graded on class participation.

I still shudder to think of it. I was a good student. I’m still a good student although these days I self-teach. I’m a perpetual student. I love to learn. I love discussion that stretches my mind and my world. I love to take that new knowledge and reformulate what I already knew and didn’t know. Other than some math and science classes (we all have our weak points), my grades were high.

The professor of this course was a psychology teacher. My major was psychology. I figured he would understand my reticence to talking in class. I figured he would be able to see how hard it was to force myself to do so, and I did, red face sweaty palms racing heart and all, I did. My grade depended on it.

Midway through we also had to go talk with him privately in his office. That was nearly worse. Yet I did it. I had to in order to get through the class. So far, I’d received all As in my written work, including my essays which he praised highly. His focus, though, was that my class discussion was lacking. Okay, I know that. I did manage to tell him how hard it was, or at least to try to make him understand how hard it was. (There is truly no way for a social phobic – these days called social anxiety disorder – to fully explain.) I told him I was trying and that I was forcing myself into conversation. He said it wasn’t enough. I needed to work harder at it. He also leaned forward, invading my space, held too-direct eye contact, and generally made me terribly uncomfortable. I was flustered about that meeting for weeks, on top of being flustered to the point of wanting to drop out of school after every class period because I forced myself to talk and knew everyone saw my red face and heard my shaking voice.

I didn’t drop out. The teacher, the psychology teacher no less, who should have understood, not only made everything worse, he also gave me a C despite my glowing written work and my huge attempt at class participation.

I have a myriad of events such as this that took my social phobia to nearly unbearable heights, to the extent that when we lived in a certain location when the Army sent us there, a place where I was fully as uncomfortable as I was in that classroom, I became all but a full-time hermit.

I’m determined, though. I’m a writer. When I put my books out, I wanted them read. So I pushed myself here and there into public situations in order to let people know I was a writer.

Let’s pause a minute…

Quiet-SusanCainI wish everyone would read this book.

Yes, everyone. Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking is an amazingly powerful book. Even if you check it out from your library and read only the introduction and first chapter, you’ll learn something everyone needs to know. Not everyone should be an extrovert. Introverts should not be pushed to become extroverts. They have incredible power of their own, but that power is very often diminished because extroverts take charge and won’t listen to those who don’t speak loudly enough. This alone is harming our society by leaps and bounds. Introverts are not ‘better’ or more important than extroverts, but they are just as good and just as important. We all need to realize this. We need to learn how to deal with each other even when we’re such polar opposites as self-confident extrovert and anxious introvert.

Of course there are many levels of both. Some introverts are comfortable with public speaking. Some extroverts are not. Quiet  by Susan Cain explains the middle ground and other things that affect how we act and react.

Simply, this is an amazing book. Read it.

I wish that Senior Seminar teacher had read it, or even understood the concept (which he should have, by all rights, but there are many people in professions who shouldn’t be there). I especially wish all teachers would read this and learn how to deal with their introverted students, how to help them thrive instead of stifling them.

Our culture is set up to stifle the quiet and the timid. We horribly undervalue them. In doing so, we are selling out our whole society (to include things such as the market collapse in 2008 that introverts tried to warn their non-listening extrovert co-workers about). We are also making a heck of a lot of very intelligent, very sensitive people feel miserable and unworthy because they “don’t fit” the right mold.

That’s a shame. It’s an injustice.

We the Quiet of the Western world want to be heard, but we want to be heard on our terms. We want the freedom to be who we are and to prosper in that. In return, we will help the rest of you prosper.

I found this online recently and it’s excellent. Luckily for us introverts, the internet does allow some wonderful interaction for those of us who can’t do so face to face. We are in the minority. But we have plenty to say and plenty to add. Hush a bit now and then, and listen.

introverts
Back to the story, I did finish college, although I moved away from that particular college to follow my new Army husband to his duty station. I finished online. What a wonderful thing, online classes! I don’t think I got anything less than an A there.

And, I’ve continued my quest to let people know I’m a writer. I do book signings at local events. I always have a migraine the next day due to the stress of it, but I do them. I sometimes lose sales simply because I sound timid and unsure about my own work. It’s not that. I am sure my work is worthy of reading. Sometimes the talking to one person who stops to look at my books, though, makes me want to go back to my hermit cave.

Still, I will do more this summer. If you happen to stop by and see me, don’t be insulted if I barely speak. Don’t take it as more than what it is: anxiety.

By the way, many of us writers are introverts to some extent. Introversion and creativity are highly correlational. If you want our thoughts, read our books. You will learn far more about us that way than in trying to talk with us, unless you are a very skilled and quiet listener.


Saturday, March 10, 2012

Read An Ebook Week: Rehearsal

ad-square-sm“Hey sweetie, wanna dance?”

Duncan raised his arm to wipe the sweat rolling under his chin onto his sleeve and threw her a glance. Shagged brown hair topped her average-height frame; she was not much shorter than he was, he supposed. A modern girl, judging by the way she spoke to him and her forthright gaze. “Thank you, bu’ I am workin’.” He looked back to check on his ordered beer. Smoke from the guy next to him mixed in with the general haze in the bar and choked his mouth and throat.

She moved closer. “Not at the moment, you’re not.”

Returning his eyes, he noted a tenacity in her expression and body language. A quality he liked, to a certain extent. “Well, y’ are right. At the moment, I am tryin’ t’ cool off a bit. Then I am goin’ back t’ work.” A trickle of sweat rolled down the side of his face from underneath the damp hair falling over his forehead. Duncan dipped his head to pull the bottom of his T-shirt up, rubbed it across his face, and let it fall again.

Accepting the mug that finally came across the bar, he took a large swallow. The coolness against his hand echoed the stream of liquid in his throat.

The girl cuddled into his shoulder. “Are you ever here when you’re not working?” Fingers with painted nails touched his arm.

Ignoring a snigger from the new bartender, he again raised the mug to his lips, allowing time to consider an answer. “Now and then.” The chill of the glass distracted him from the girl’s flesh pushing against his and the flirtatious scent of her cologne.

She broke through, sliding both hands around his fingers and the heavy mug, and pulled it from him. “So maybe you’ll dance with me another night?” As she sipped his beer, she kept her eyes on his. Narrow eyes. Lashes painted longer than natural matching thick black lines extended from the corners, the brushed-on green of her lids attempting to extend the brownish-green of her pupils. It didn’t work well.

She rubbed a finger around the edge of the mug, hinting.

Duncan considered the offer. She looked fake, but not snobbish. And who was he to be too particular? “Maybe.”

She grinned and pushed the drink back at him.

“Keep it.”

He watched her move away, flaunting the beer to her table of friends, repeating the conversation, he figured, making it more than it was. He never understood the infatuation girls had with guys in local bands. Hell, this wasn’t even a good local band. His mates were okay guys, as far as it went, but barely third-rate musicians. It didn’t seem to matter. They were only background noise for pick-up lines and attempts at relaxation by intoxication in the dark out-of-the-way bar.

Dark was helpful. It disguised the niched plank floor and scratches in the old wooden tables with only patches of varnish left as pointless protection. Duncan imagined his mum would cringe about him playing at the little dive, though it was better than many he’d played. For the most part, it was kept clean, not close enough to clean for her, but enough. He was just as glad she didn’t know how he was living: day to day, city to city, jumping from one third-rate band to another while doing whatever other cash jobs he could find.

This one wasn’t bad. Joe and Mel gave him a room in their house next door and all the food and beer he wanted in exchange for restocking the bar, carting kegs, and helping Joe build the breezeway to run between the two buildings. His part of what the band made, he kept. It was enough.

Duncan ordered another beer and watched the small crowd, studying the ones he recognized as regulars and the few he didn’t. Mostly, he played to the same group every weekend. It was only a paycheck. There wasn’t one, he imagined, who would even know if he played a wrong chord now and then. They weren’t listening, not more than enough to go through the motions of dancing. Their drummer was at least decent. They kept a good beat.

A movement from the table of Thiel College students caught his attention. They were always easy to spot, dressed too well for the bar full of locals and holding their chins higher than necessary. One of them rose to retrieve his drink from the bar instead of barking an order at the girls serving. He was the only male at the table without a cigarette hanging from his mouth or fingers. Worst part of playing in bars, the damned cloud of nicotine.

The guy was heading in his direction. Duncan turned back to catch the bartender. “Is tha’ beer comin’ tonight?”

“Make that two.” The college guy moved up behind him. “And a wine spritzer. After his, of course.”

Wine spritzer. For the girl at the table sitting sideways in the chair with her legs crossed and her shoulders straight, Duncan guessed.

“How long have you been playing?”

Glancing up to make sure the guy was talking to him, he answered, barely. “A while.”

“Obviously. I meant, how many years?”

“Why?” Duncan raised his hands in a questioning gesture at the new bartender. He would have to go back and play before he ever got it, at this pace.

The intruder took advantage when the stool next to him was vacated and planted himself as if he actually belonged in the bar. “You’re wasting your talent here. You’re a hell of a guitarist.”

Thiel College, photo by Kelli Eyers

Rehearsal is a series of 5. Two are out. But they are not at Smashwords currently because I unpubbed them. Temporarily. They are being overhauled.

To my Rehearsal fans who keep asking when the next one comes out, I’m hard at work at it. It should be out this year. First, the first two will be re-released, with new edits and new covers. In print as well as in ebook.

This series was my first long piece of fiction. It began way back when as ideas and occasional scene sketches. And when I decided to return to my writing in 1996, the dock scene of the first book was the first thing I wrote. It’s a very long series. Five might not sound long, but they average around 650 pages each. And there will be a sequel. It’s already in progress. It’s a good thing some people still love thick books!

I’m excited about the new versions, since I’m using a cover idea from my daughter and hoping I can pull it off well enough. No hints. In the meantime, while I’m working on the re-releases and the new one, there are two free read short stories at Smashwords that relate to the novel. They’re called Evan’s Story and The Water’s Touch (okay I don’t spend a lot of time on titles of 2,000 word free reads).

I couldn’t highlight all the rest of my books without mentioning Rehearsal, so there’s the scoop.

Edinburgh airport sign

Did I mention the guitarist you met above is from Scotland? Not because it’s in right now. Because way back in … uh, well in high school (should I admit that was the mid 80s?), I decided he needed to be Scottish based on real music of the time. I also decided way back before I ever moved here that his best friend would be from Pennsylvania and a Thiel College grad. Funny how things work since I now live a stone’s throw from there and Scotland is one of my all-time favorite travel destinations.

Oh, the girl in the book. She’s a dance teacher who babysits part-time. She and Evan live across the hall from each other in fictional Lakewood, Massachusetts. She loves to visit Boston. So did I when we lived close.

~~
Susie picked up the last toy from the floor and dropped it into the plastic bin she kept for Timmy and Taylor. Now that her charges had gone home, she thought about catching up on paperwork she hadn’t bothered to do yet. But she was tired tonight. So instead, she lit the three lavendar-scented candles that accented her oak coffee table, flopped onto her favorite corner of the light brown sectional couch, and pulled her legs up in front, entwining them into a knot.

The silence was deafening after having the little ones there most of the day, and she wondered if Evan would come back over. She doubted it, since his friend just arrived. What would he be like in person? Of course, she had heard a lot about Duncan and knew how excited Evan was about him coming. She also knew Evan wasn’t sure he would stay. At least she would finally get to meet him, and no matter what he was like, she would welcome him for Evan’s sake.

Even if the guy had pulled her best friend away when they were finally getting to spend time together. The show had kept her so busy recently, with extra practices and planning meetings and ordering costumes, that she had hardly been able to say two words to him in the last two weeks. And she’d missed him.
~~

BostonSkyline-lkhI do still have print copies of the original edition of Rehearsal: A Different Drummer & Rehearsal: The Highest Aim. If interested, email for price info.

 

 

 

 

Friday, March 09, 2012

Read An Ebook Week: Finishing Touches

IllinoisCornfields-lkh

Jenna inhaled deeply, allowing crisp fall air to invade her body. Feeling a nip of winter creep through the open window, she pulled the plush blanket higher around her baby’s shoulders. Jenna loved the precious time spent rocking her child to sleep while he snuggled into her breast. At these moments, she felt the most connected to her only love. She also missed him the most vividly.

Running her fingertips over Aaron’s tiny head, Jenna studied the perfect little features, so like his father’s. Daniel had never tried to conceal the pride he felt whenever someone mentioned how much his son resembled him. He considered the child his greatest work of art, and his most important. Jenna’s husband had been many things, but humble was never one of them. She couldn’t help a grin at recalling his admission that he was a very good-looking guy. And he really was, or had been. Even after he got sick and lost too much weight, his features had still been perfect and his eyes absolutely beautiful.

She snuggled her baby closer and returned her gaze to beyond the window. The view from their loft was breathtaking at this time of the year, with hundreds of maple trees along the banks of the Illinois River boasting their shades of red and yellow and greenSpiritofPeoria-Hawkins-8in and brown. The Spirit of Peoria, a reproduction of the beloved old riverboats, often sailed by with passengers walking the decks or standing at the rails. Six years earlier, Jenna and Daniel watched the Julia Belle Swain together whenever they caught it floating along the river. Once, covered only with a sheet pulled from their bed, they had stood before the large window and talked of taking the short cruise on the old paddle-wheel. Some day.

“Some day” had never come. Neither had so many other days they planned. Their time together centered around his painting, but then, he told her to expect that. She hadn’t argued when he refused to go out because he was working or when she had to go to bed alone. She had been warned and willingly accepted his terms. The naivete of youth, Jenna mused. Now, there was no later for them. The Julia Belle and Daniel were both gone.

His baby stirred in her arms and Jenna coerced herself to rise slowly, moving across the loft to settle Aaron in his crib. Convinced he was still slumbering, she wandered into the kitchen to pour a cup of mint tea, a habit she had developed while carrying her first child. Daniel’s mother suggested it might help settle her stomach and it seemed to work. Even well after the morning sickness was gone, Jenna continued the routine and joked with her husband that maybe he should try it as well, to calm his nerves. He didn’t like mint tea. He didn’t like boats either, except at a distance. Alan once said Daniel’s work was the only interest they shared. Jenna quickly pointed out her advanced pregnancy proved him wrong. Her friend hadn’t been amused.

ILRiver-lkh-8in

Finishing Touches was my first published novel from 2003. This one is set in my home area of Peoria Illinois, with jaunts into Chicago. It features the Illinois River and her riverboats, the trees Jenna loves, the Glen Oak Zoo, Illinois Central College, the architecture tour in Chicago, the Loop area, and the Lakeshore Drive, plus a few other places along the way.

Jenna is a very young widow with a new baby who has never figured out her own path as her mother tries to plan it for her and then her husband’s art career takes over. Left on her own, she begins to again dabble in her own artwork, letting it be both therapy and a guide to a new start. 

~~
“Jenna, I never disliked Daniel.”

“Then why did you stop coming over?”

“Because he didn’t want me here.”

“I wanted you here.”

“You could have come over any time. Cheryl loves visiting with you. You didn’t have to isolate yourself because Daniel wanted to be isolated.”

“He didn’t want to be isolated, he just…”

“Wanted to be left alone to work. I know, but he did isolate you. You always had a bunch of friends in school you never see anymore. Have you even talked with Karla recently?”

She shook her head. He was right. She missed running around with her cousin and chatting about anything and everything.

“I didn’t dislike him; I just didn’t like what he was doing to you.”

“It was my choice and I loved being with him.”

“But you lost yourself….”

“No. Alan, I found myself with Daniel. I was lost before him and I’m even more lost without him now.”

He began to argue but decided against it. “Jen, come spend the day with us.”

With the happy couple and their three kids? “No, thank you. I don’t really feel like going out.”

“Maybe not, but you need to. There’s a new art exhibition at Lakeview. Why don’t we go see it?”

Art? “No.”

“Jenna.”

“No. Alan, I can’t…”

“Okay, what about the zoo? The kids have been bugging us to take them again…”

“Then you should do that. We’re fine right here.”
~~ICC-Hawkins-8in

Finishing Touches is free as an ebook download currently. Find it at Smashwords, Kobo, Sony, BN.com, Diesel, and iTunes.

It’s also the inspiration for a coming young adult novel filled with art and sketches, plus, a sequel to the original novel, expected in 2013.

~~
The baby gasped as the light breeze hit his mouth and Jenna turned his head into her shoulder, running a hand over his shiny dark hair. She stepped closer to the sign, touching her fingers to the coolnessGlenOakZoo-Hawkins-8in of the stone. The sensation triggered memories of her bare legs resting on top of the granite while Daniel carefully but quickly captured the scene with his charcoal stick. He always sketched in charcoal. He said he could get more life in a charcoal sketch than in a pencil sketch.

The leg lying against the stone had taken a while to get warm again, the other propped up so only the bottom of her foot was cold. Daniel asked her to remove her sandals because it was more natural and fitting for a zoo sign. He was the one to convince her that true art was more felt than learned. It had to come from deep within the soul.
~~
cover-2ndedition-5in100

Finishing Touches
LK Hunsaker

Novel Site
at Smashwords
at BN.com




[Special thanks to my sister and niece for the photos of Glen Oak Zoo, The Spirit of Peoria, and Illinois Central College]

Thursday, March 08, 2012

Read An Ebook Week: Off The Moon

two worlds collide

“C’mon Reynauld, you’re already in fryin’ water. Where’re ya going?”

Ryan veered around his bodyguard, dodged an ugly silver car doing a bad job of parallel parking, and jogged across the street. Daws would stay on his heels even if he was late, and Mac could wait. What choice did he have? Ryan paid for his time.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to peer up at the office building. The height made him cringe. It wasn’t even one of Manhattan’s taller buildings. Seven stories. Tall enough.

“What is up with you today?” Daws stopped at his side. “You’re edgy as hell and you’ve seen this building a thousand times. What is so fascinating?”

“Not sure. Maybe nothing.” He strode a wide angle around a couple of girls heading his way as they eyed him, pushed through the glass doors, and slid between a crowd of business suits and briefcases. It reminded him of a mud-covered pig rooting through tight-assed penguins. Grinning at the thought, he decided to hold it in his mind to use later.

Daws cut him off. “The paycheck is that way.”

“And what are you going to do? Throw me over your shoulder and make me go? Come on, lighten up. I’ll only be a minute.” He feigned anger at the body blockade. “Either get out of my way or come with me. There’s something I gotta do.”

“Something you can’t do across the street where you’re supposed to be?”

With an eye on where the girls he’d avoided were descending and joining forces with a few more, Ryan shifted out of their vision as much as possible. “Not unless you can pick this building up and move it over there. Might get kinda messy, though.”

Daws crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not one of your flattering fans who thinks you’re hysterical. You’re holding everyone up and no matter who you are, their time matters…”

Ryan ignored the rant and ducked around to sprint toward the elevator. He called for someone to hold it when it started to close. Stares answered and relief showed on a suit’s face just before the door clenched tight. “Great. Guess we do the stairs.”

“Let it go, Reynauld. I promise if you’re good and play nice, I’ll bring you back after work.”

“Funny. We’re getting a crowd, you know. The more we delay, the more there’ll be and I’m not giving in.” Ryan noted the glower and did his best not to smile while near-sprinting toward the stairwell.

Cleff-wTitle

If you’ve been following my blog this week, you’ll recognize Daws from Moondrops & Thistles. He’s my Army Sergeant, now turned bodyguard for young pop star Ryan Reynauld. If you read Moondrops & Thistles, you’ll understand why he is now Ryan’s bodyguard and why he puts up with his antics. You’ll be ahead of Ryan, then, since he doesn’t know.

Off The Moon started as something entirely different than what it became. I sometimes let my stories do that: decide what they need to be despite what I wanted. I started with the idea of a young woman who is afraid to talk to people. As I started to develop the idea, Ryan popped his head in and kind of took over, ignoring what I wanted him to do and doing what he needed to do. He does that. I had to like him, anyway.

So this one is entirely from Ryan’s POV. When he continues to ignore Daws in the scene above, he finds Kaitlyn standing on a window ledge … uh, watching pigeons. Daws isn’t a fan of pigeons. Ryan isn’t a fan of heights. He’s terrified of heights.

His world abruptly changes. (That happens to some men when that meet ‘that’ girl, doesn’t it?) For Ryan, it gets pretty intense. It gets intense enough I recommend this one only for 17 and older. (Ryan’s language isn’t so nice at times, either, as is rather typical for… well, it’s true to his character).

Of f The Moon either yanks readers right in and holds them tight till the end, or makes them throw it across the room. At least, I figure that’s what happens when a reader tells me at the beginning she just loves it and I suddenly hear nothing more about it. It’s probably hidden in a corner underneath cobwebs. Ryan’s okay with spiders, as far as I know. For those who did finish it enough to leave a review, you can find them on the novel’s site and let them tell you what they thought. Granted, there are controversial issues. Ryan is often more an anti-hero than a hero. But he’s young. He has growing to do. And he finds a way to do that.

Of course, you can give it a try yourself, since it’s only $2.96 this week (only through Saturday at midnight!) at Smashwords. See whether it holds you in or collects spiderwebs. (Okay, I guess the ebook version won’t do that. I don’t recommend throwing an ereader across the room, not that I would do that to a book, either. But you get the drift. Drift. Water. Boats…) Ryan adores boats.

Off The Moon-LK Hunsaker

He forced his voice not to shake as he had practiced a bazillion times at the start of his career. “Is the view nice up here? Myself, I prefer the ocean view. You know, ’cause if I fall in the ocean, I can swim. I’ve yet to learn how to fly, though. But hey, to each his own, right?” He got nothing but a stare. “I bet it’s cool to watch everyone down there scurry like ants. I don’t have the nerve to look myself. Heights aren’t my thing. But hey, describe it for me. I’m visual. I’ll get it from what you say.”

Her eyes remained on his, wary. She said nothing.

“How about if you come this way more so I can hear you better? I haven’t heard a word yet.”

When he reached a hand toward her, she slid farther from him. He pulled it down. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll listen harder. I’m Ryan. I’m supposed to be at work across the street but decided to check out your place first. Glad I did. I don’t often get to meet anyone who goes to extremes to be alone as much as I do. It’s quiet out here, huh? Well, not so much since I’m annoying you and you can tell me to go away if you want. I know how it is.” Complaining to himself about sounding so stupid, Ryan heard Daws return and tried to wave him away.

OffTheMoon-banner-md

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

Read An Ebook Week: Protect The Heart

AbeMaura-©LK Hunsaker

Abraham slung his backpack over his shoulders and headed down the dusty road toward town. His father asked to take him. Begged, nearly. But Abe didn’t want his goodbye, which could be his final goodbye, to be at the train depot. He wanted it at home, on their farm, where by all rights he should have been helping with chores. His father would manage without him. He had always managed. Even through the torturous years of watching Abraham’s mother drift away through the mind-dissolving dementia and then finally leave them for good, his father had managed.

Abraham hoped with every part of his soul he would return to the farm, to his father, and be there to help him manage during his aging days. It would be soon. Charles Luchner showed signs of slowing. It hurt Abe to see it. It would hurt him more to have to see his father watch him leave on that train, standing on the platform managing to control his sadness, his fear.

At the edge of his property, he kicked a rock out of his path. The long walk into town would do him good, help him prepare for what was to come. Not that he wasn’t prepared already. Constant farm chores without machinery to make them easier had built his strength and stamina well. Days of rising before the roosters to take care of the crops and the cows, and to move lines in bitter cold air and knee deep snow and in the hottest times of the summer made him sturdy. He didn’t figure war would be much harder, physically. What he wasn’t sure of was how disruptive it would be to his mind. He had no qualm about fighting as needed. He was raised to stand up for himself and those around him and did so without hesitation. And now he was proud to do it for his country. He’d never actually taken a life, though. He knew how to avoid that risk during a fight.

His father told him to be someone else out there, to tell himself he was doing good and that sometimes evil was necessary to prevent worse evil. “Never let it make you feel bad about who you are.” Charles Luchner’s voice echoed in his thoughts. “Remember your heart is in the right place and that’s what matters.” Lives came and went. They always would. The heart is what lasted. Protect the heart, he’d said.

Abraham adjusted his backpack in an imitation of adjusting his thoughts and wondered how soon his father would find the wood carving at the back side of the house. He’d done it in secret as a message for when he wasn’t there. A heart. Enclosed within hands inside an image of the farm, their farm. Abe engraved it in the back of the wooden bench swing he’d made while he kept it hidden in a corner of the barn. His father loved to sit out behind the house on nice days and simply look over their land, land passed through generations of his family, worked by many hands who loved their bit of America, as his father said. Before he left, Abe wanted him to have a more comfortable place to do it; a place that would leave a part of himself behind for his father to keep. He’d moved it out to the yard just as dawn was breaking.

As he walked, he eyed the light echo of misty mountains in the distance. There weren’t many trees in Snake River country, at least not in his part of it, in southern Idaho. What were there were rather sparse, as compared to what he’d seen during his travels back east. His father had sent him to see something of the country after he earned his diploma and before he settled in to learn how to take over the farm. Abraham’s thoughts often returned to the long train trip where he jumped off here and there to explore different territories and different people. As much as he loved the travel, he also loved the return to his mountains. To his farm. One day, it would be his. One day after that, he would share it with a family of his own. Anyway, that was his plan.

If he returned.
~~ ~~ ~~

So begins Protect The Heart, my sweet home front novel. As the excerpt shows, this one is set partly in southern Idaho, specifically the Snake River Valley around Twin Falls. I’ve been there, a few times, visiting my in-laws. It’s where my husband grew up. A beautiful place, and a natural for a story setting, particularly natural for an old-time feel story.

This isn’t a historical. I have to upfront about that. It’s actually a blend of different times, both the World War eras were ladies still wore long dresses and protected themselves with parasols, and more modern times where soldiers drive Humvees and fight in the desert. It’s a tribute to my great uncles, and to my husband, but it’s very much set around my heroine, Maura, the girl who stays home and takes care of everything and everyone around her while she’s on her own.

It’s romantic. Sweet. Emotional. True-to-life. And it emphasizes nature both in the setting of the great SnakeID-riverandcanyon-lkh River and the fact that it’s set in a small farm town with focus on growing vegetables and flower gardens (with a touch of a metaphor thrown in). There are liberties taken. For instance, every time I visited, the locals were terribly friendly and warm. It’s not quite true for Maura. The story dictated otherwise.

This week at Smashwords, Protect The Heart is only $1.46 (be sure to use the provided coupon code).  It is also available in print from ElucidatePublishing.net. The print version includes charcoal sketches by the author.

Protect The Heart is also a short read, only 191 pages in print. A great introduction to my work for those who are still new to me!

I should note at this point that all of my books are somewhat different styles (other than the Rehearsal series which maintains the style through the series). While Protect The Heart is sweet (all age safe) and uses a more old-fashioned tone, Moondrops & Thistles, which I featured yesterday, is more contemporary, more sensual, and has a feisty heroine. Off The Moon, which I’ll feature tomorrow, is fairly intense, all male POV, with stronger language and adult (controversial) situations. Rehearsal is more young adult style, although written for adults. And Finishing Touches is more mainstream, all female POV, with no strong language but lightly adult themes. If one doesn’t appeal to your personal preferences, another might. You can always read the first 10% on Smashwords before buying.

Boots-charcoal drawing, ©LK Hunsaker

Here’s a bit from Maura’s POV:

With another sigh, she grasped her parasol from the rack beside the front door and went out to the front porch. She didn’t want it opened to cover her head. The sun leaked beautiful heat from the sky and she wanted to raise her face and let it sink in. Her father would have a fit. Young women of “a certain class” shouldn’t look like farm hands. Did he think if she did marry Cameron, she wouldn’t ever help him on the farm? She supposed the wealthier farm ladies didn’t, but the thought appealed to her, maybe even more than Cameron did. She had to think caring for crops and animals would be much like working at the home in care of people, but with less heartache. The infants she always fell in love with were adopted out easily if they were open for adoption. The young mothers often settled for whatever man would have them and their children, often older men they didn’t care anything about. It hurt her to see it.

No. Maura wouldn’t be one of them. She would wait. If she didn’t find someone, she would be fine on her own. The house would go to her when her father passed. She could take care of herself as long as she had a roof over her head.

Pausing at the trellis, she fingered a morning glory and dropped the parasol back to allow the dense blue-spotted vine to provide her shade. Its soft silky petal felt much like an infant’s cheek. Delicate and yet hardy. Calming and nurturing even as it needed to be nurtured. Her mother said, when they had last sat on the front porch together, how the morning glories reminded her of Maura. Each year the plant rejuvenated itself, became more hearty, more filled in, with more blooms.

Maybe her mother was right, but she felt more like her beloved columbine with their two layers in two shades, one softly rounded, the other pointed, as if in warning. The yellow stamen shooting so proudly from the center announced their need and longing for pollination. Maura blushed at the thought. She was, after all, old enough. Twenty-three already. Quite old enough.

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