Caroline
Clemmons, author of Grant Me the Moon:
Caroline’s Favorite Room
Without
a doubt, my favorite room is the small pink office I refer to as “my pink
cave”. When I’m here I’m surrounded by
many of my favorite things. Sitting at my computer, I’m engaged in one of my
favorite pastimes, writing.
My
triangle-shaped corner computer desk and my other desk are in faux dark cherry,
a gift from my beloved husband, Hero. The computer portion has pigeon holes and
a drawer and little cupboard for storage. Shelves above hold favorite research
books, a scented candle diffuser, a desk lamp, knick knacks.
One
year for my birthday, my youngest daughter redecorated my office with several
prints she knew I’d love. One of those hangs over the left side of the computer
desk. Above it is one of those press-on wall stickers of my favorite quote: “Be
the change you wish to see in this world” Ghandi. I admit the walls of my office are covered
with photos and memorabilia. I love the effect even though this might make some
people claustrophobic.
The
left side of the room is bookcases. Authors can never have too much book
shelving, can they? Research books, genealogy books, and books by good friends
reside there. Over the desk, there’s a
three-shelf cabinet with glass doors for more of the knick knacks I collect.
These include nativity sets, bells, angels, a particular type of figurine, a
hand-carved Santo of Frances de Sales (patron saint of writers) from a friend,
and a black Madonna from another friend.
One
end of my office opens off the master bedroom, designed as a sitting room. We
needed the office space more. The other end is a door onto the patio, with panes of
glass on the top portion. My desk chair is a very good one that is extremely
comfortable. When I took a creative writing course calling “Writing Fiction to
Sell”, the instructor said whatever you do, get a good, comfortable chair so
that you can sit for long periods without ruining your back. He said we could
put a laptop or computer on an ironing board in a closet, but the chair was the
most important writing aid. I believe now that he was correct. As long as I’m am sitting in my office and
writing a book, I’m a happy person.
Keta
Diablo, author of Three For the Win:
Keta's Earliest Childhood Memory
I knew I had to pen a little story
on this topic. My earliest childhood memory involves a bit of the
paranormal...ghosts or perhaps beings from alternate worlds.
When I was three years old, we lived
in a house that was over a century old. 'We' means my mom, dad and a sports'
team of brothers. Because I was the only girl, I was the only sibling with her
own bedroom. That bedroom was immediately off a large kitchen and toward the
back of the house. The ceilings were tiled with tin squares; the walls were
ancient plaster and the floors hardwood.
Despite its creaky, cranky old age,
the house was quite nice and loaded with character. But, I digress. We're
supposed to be talking early memories and in my case spirits. I saw little men
near the ceiling. They sat between the tin squares and the three-inch coving
surrounding the room. I told my mom about them every night after she tucked me
in, and I couldn't understand why she couldn't see them. Oh, she was patient
all right, and very understanding in an appeasing sort of way.
Our routine was the same every
night. She would read me a story, during which I spent most of the time watching
the little men looking down at me. And then I would point to the ceiling and
tell her, 'They're back.' She'd ask me to describe them, which I did, of
course, and I can still picture them today. Dare I say I realize now they
looked like elves? At the time, I didn't know what an elf was, much less what
they looked like, but these men were small with bright-colored pants, pointed
shoes and pointed ears. And hair...I remember hair. Whether that means they had
beards or long hair, I'm no longer certain, but they definitely had an
abundance of hair.
They weren't menacing, more like
extremely curious over what was happening below them. I don't remember feeling
threatened or overly frightened, but I think my frustration that Mom couldn't
see them, overrode any fear at the time.
My Dad insisted she sit in the
kitchen every night until I fell asleep, and she did. That promise, knowing she
right in the next room, was the only thing that allowed me to fall asleep every
night.
Mom is 89 years old now and we often
talk about the little men in the ceiling. She remembers it well, and after all
these years, so do I.
How about you? Did you ever see
beings or spirits from an alternate world when you were a child? In later
years, after several other 'otherworldly' experiences in my life, a
psychologist told me animals and children often see ghosts or spirits. 'They
see them,' she said 'because they've never been taught not to.'
Hmm...makes you wonder about those
things children and animals see that adults are blind to, doesn't it?
Thanks so much for allowing me to
share my earliest childhood memory with you. Hope it's given you something to ponder.
Happy writing and happy reading,
Keta Diablo
Hebby Roman, author of Border Affair:
Hebby’s First Kiss
My first kiss was in the balcony of our one movie theater in
Del Rio, which was called the RITA. Interesting name for a movie theater, now
that I think back. It was very dark up there in the balcony, which was why
we were there.
My so-called boyfriend, a neighbor from down my street, whose name
shall go down in history as Marty Sawyer, had dragged me up there BECAUSE
it was so dark. I somehow knew he was working himself up to the BIG KISS
because he'd been holding my hand in the main part of the movie theater for
several weeks, and everyone in my hometown knew you went into the balcony to
make out.
Not only was it dark up there, but the floors were sticky with
spilt soft drinks, not to mention stale popcorn littering the chairs and floor.
I was so nervous and excited and everything a twelve-year-old girl should be at
a time like this, I guess.
But when the big moment came, and he screwed up his courage enough
to kiss me, what a let down! He was super nervous, too, and his kiss was
wet and sloppy and did absolutely nothing for me. Oh, and luckily, he did not
use his tongue. Thank heavens!
After this dubious start to love making, is it any wonder I
decided to remain a tomboy for another few years and concentrate on riding
my quarter horse, Macy?"
Margo Bond Collins,
author of Leaving Necessity:
Margo’s First
Kiss
That first kiss:
sweet, bumbling, awkward, and a something to be a little nostalgic about,
right? All of those things are certainly true of my own first kiss. We weren't
sure which way to turn our heads, so we bumped noses. I was terrified that I
would cut his mouth with my braces and felt the need to make sure he was okay
afterwards. I didn't know quite what to do with my tongue, though rumor had it
that tongues should be involved.
I remember other
things as well: how my heart sped up at the sight of his grin, how certain I
was that the freckles across his nose were the most charming thing in the
world, how we hardly knew what to say to each other but could hold hands for
hours.
Authors bring
their own lives and experiences into their works in various ways, and in Leaving Necessity, Mac takes Clara on a
date to a small-town skating rink, precisely so she will remember their own
first kiss—and the many, many kisses after it that happened in a darkened back
corner of the rink. While they're there, Mac confesses to her that the owner of
the rink threatened to ban them both from returning if he ever actually caught
Mac and Clara kissing.
Part of that
scene is taken from my own life: my own first kisses happened in a skating rink
in small-town Texas, and I found out only years later that they continued under
threat of permanent expulsion from one of the few entertainment venues for
young teenagers.
So what I
remember most about my first kisses is that they were sneaky. I simply didn't know quite how sneaky we were being.
Not that I would
have changed a thing.
Julie A. D’Arcy, author of The Shape of Destiny:
Julie’s First
Kiss
I don’t kiss and tell. All I will say is
year 7 with year 8 boyfriend. A long time ago.
Andrea
Downing, author of Bad Boy, Big Heart:
Who People Think I Am, Compared to Who I
Really Am
I remember being totally shocked when a
mother of one of my daughter’s school classmates leaned into my car at collection
time and told me how glamorous I was.
Uhhh—you truly have to be kidding.
I was wearing a denim jacket, hair pulled back in a low ponytail,
and—okay—large sunglasses. And then, a
few weeks later, another mother made the same comment. Pal, you MUST jest.
I’ll accept I was rather thin in those
days, a helluva lot younger, and liked nice clothes. But I was also—and still am—a nail biter of
the first degree, and most comfortable without make-up and in baggy, elastic-waisted
pants. Where’s the glamor in that?
When I returned to live in the USA and
started writing western romance, my own brother turned to me one day and asked
if I was the same Andrea who had lived in the house on Long Island, with him
and his parents. He was joking, of
course, but he couldn’t get it straight that his sister was writing about
cowboys in Wyoming, riding horses, going to rodeos, listening to country
music. Where did that come from?
So who am I? We all know the expression, ‘Beauty is in the
eye of the beholder’ but it is also true, IMHO, that we are assessed
differently by the various people with whom we come in contact. We’re somebody’s sister, somebody’s mother,
somebody’s friend. Today, I’m probably
being called something like ‘the old lady in 209’ by the building staff at my
apartment block. Surely, the tally
against which we are judged is as individual as the person judging us.
So who am I, really? I’m the author of Bad Boy, Big Heart. That’s who.
Patti
Sherry-Crews author of Desert Heat:
My Big Lie
I told one big
lie, which led to a series of smaller lies, and I never got caught. I buried my
lie.
I always
treasured the times my father and I did things together. When he suggested
entering the kite-flying contest, I was thrilled. We built the kite ourselves,
tied strips of rag on the tail, and practiced flying it. Our kite was going to
be a winner.
Finally, the day
of the contest! When we got to the park, Dad patted me on the back, wished me
luck, and took off. I was stunned.
I bravely joined
the other kids in the field. I let the string out and watched my kite soar.
Then I watched it plummet to the ground and smash into pieces.
I looked around
for help, but nobody was paying attention to me. Tears of frustration blurred
my vision—then a red-hot fury took over.
I saw the table
with the awards. I walked over, took first place and went home.
There were
questions. Why wasn’t my name engraved on it? I made up some excuse for that
and all other questions. My parents had my name engraved on the plaque and put
it in a place of honor where it confronted me everyday.
When I couldn’t
take it any longer, I put that thing somewhere I wouldn’t have to see it. I had
an odd long, low closet built under the eaves. It was very messy. I could
forget about the award hidden in clutter.
Except for years
to come, every time I cleaned out my closet, it would emerge: my big lie. Each
time I saw the plaque with my name on it, it was like being hit in the stomach.
Telling a lie is
bad. Not getting caught can be worse.
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Luke’s Fate
by Kathleen Ball
Meg O’Brien hoped never to lay eyes on
the one man who broke her heart. To her dismay, Luke Kelly arrives at her ranch
a much different and broken man. Can Meg ever forgive his callous treatment of
her and help Luke become the man he used to be?
Grant Me The Moon by Caroline Clemmons
All Tory Fraser intended was to show her
high school history club students a local archeology dig. How could she know
the excursion would involve a murder?
Three for The Win by Keta Diablo
Hollis should have known
better than to fall for a bone-melting man like Stede. He’s gone now and Eli is
left to pick up the broken pieces of her life.
Border Affair by Hebby Roman
When his partners’ daughter is kidnapped in México, a self-made
millionaire must confront his feelings about their affair and the future of
their relationship.
Leaving Necessity by Margo Bond Collins
Mac has one week to convince his
ex-girlfriend Clara not to sell his oil company. In this high-pressure reunion,
can they strike love again?
The Shape of Destiny by Julie A. D’Arcy
A young male shape shifter. A beautiful
female ranch owner. Can love be born in a web of deceit?
Bad Boy, Big Heart by Andrea Downing
She’s a New Yorker escaping her
parents. He’s a Wyoming cowboy supporting his dad. One summer, two young
people—three months to find love.
Desert Heat by Patti Sherry-Crews
A single mother struggling to keep her
guest ranch puts her own desires on hold. When a handsome and persistent
fireman sets his sights on her, she must decide how much she’s willing to give.
