Author name: Sayling@@Away

I am coming close to my 300th post since starting my blog, and I want to thank all of you whom I follow for your friendship, support, humor, recommendations, and love. I’ve realized over the last couple of years that all y’all (Southern plural of you) make my life so much richer and interesting and how much I look forward to reading your blogs, enjoying your stories, delight in your photography and poetry. My only regret is that I can’t get to all of your posts every day. So thank you (in no particular order): Rara, Ali, Sally, Chris, Sylvia, Luccia, Elizabeth, Hug, Seamus, Bette, Jo, Bruce, Geof, Kev, Victo, Meredith, Barb, Becky, Irene, Melanie, Ed, Alex, NJ, Sue, Stuart, Hans, Esther, Takami, Charli, Jack, Darren, Charlotte, Tess, Joanne, Ronovan, John, Olga, Rosie, Eric, Suzie, Britteny, Annette, Keith, PG, Melissa, Nicholas, Belinda, Jemima, Janice, Nicholas, Esther, Cindy, PedroL, Pete, Anthony, Viv, Ellis, Hugh, Matt, Heather, Pam, Barb (#2), D. Wallace, J.W, W.H.…. and countless others. Please forgive my aging brain if your name isn’t here. You’re in my heart. I will be posting only occasionally for a while, because I am deep into the rewrite of my third book. But I’ll be stopping by to visit you.   0 0

When newly-fledged physician Dr. Adam Bascom discovers a body in a churchyard, he has no clue that discovering how the body came to be there and why the man had been killed will consume large parts of his life for the next few months. Thus opens An Unlamented Death, William Savage’s first historical novel.  Set against the background of Georgian and Regency Norfolk during the time of the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, the history of this tale focuses on the daily life of the people involved, their mores and discourse. This is what captured my interest. It is also written in the style of the time – think Jane Austen, Walter Scott, Mary Shelley – and it took a few chapters to get used to it, before I could submerge myself in the story. Once there, the rest of the book was good ride in the realities of the era. The richness and depth of the historical detail is amazing, and all of the characters are exceptionally well-drawn and interesting. As a medical professional, I especially liked the description of Bascom’s practice and that of his friend, Lassimer, an apothecary and a ladies’ man who serves as Bascom’s sounding board. I don’t want to give the mystery away but will tell you the body in the churchyard is that of an ultraconservative cleric, Reverend William  Ross, a whose bombast and judgmental personality has alienated all who know him, including his own son.  Why he would have been in the isolated churchyard, in an area known for smuggling of both goods and radical revolutionaries, is the crux of the story. When his death is ruled accidental and quickly and unseemingly put to rest, Bascom begins to worry at the decision, like a kitten with a ball of yarn. Unraveling the ball introduces us to the colorful Captain George Mimms, once of the Royal Navy, then a merchantman, and now retired, and Adam’s widowed mother and her circle of widowed but highly fashionable lady friends, who very much appreciate a good-looking, single doctor. His mother is not beyond a machination of her own, hiring the charming, intelligent, and lovely Sophia LaSalle as her companion, with the unstated hope her unmarried son will become interested. Woven expertly into story is an introduction to the social structure, polite and impolite society, religious prejudices, criminals, and civil and religious corruption of that area of England in the time. The only minor complaint I have about An Unlamented Death is its slowness in coming to the crime’s solution. As a mystery writer, I prefer things to move along at a good pace, but perhaps this is just a reflection of the time in which this mystery is set and the manner in which the book was written. I award the book five stars, but a caveat: its main appeal with be to readers who appreciate history, rich detail and absorbing characters, written in period style. I look forward to reading Mr. Savage’s next book in this series, The Fabric of Murder, also set in Norfolk. About the author: William Savage grew up in Hereford, on the border with Wales and too his degree at Cambridge. After a career in various managerial and executive roles, he retired to Norfolk, where he volunteers at a National Trust property. His life-long interest has been history, which led to research and writing about the eighteenth century.  But his is not just a superficial interest in history, but a real desire to understand and transmit the daily experience of living in turbulent times.   You can find An Unamented Death on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Unlamented-Death-Mystery-Georgian-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B00RXGWIY0/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 William Savage’s blog is Pen and Pension:  http://penandpension.com/author/bluebrdz1946/ 0 0

Believe it or not, when I was learning to drive there was no Driver Ed available at my high school. My Dad showed me the basics of using a stick shift and a clutch (there was no automatic back in the Dark Ages) and on our way back from Cape Cod one weekend, he told me I could get behind the wheel of our Buick station wagon. I remember cruising down the two lane highway, wind blowing my hair (no A/C in the cars then either), and the tremulous voice of my Mom in the back seat, “Don’t you think she’s going a little fast, John?” “Noelle,” replied Dad, “can you slow down a little? You’re going 80.” I had to take that heavy Buick when I went to take my driver’s test. I remember coming out of the old Plymouth Court House with my examiner and getting behind the wheel. After starting the car, I put my foot firmly on the brake, released the parking brake and shifted into first. Then I stepped on the gas and gunned it. The examiner’s eyebrows went to the roof, but I just smiled as I slowly pulled away from the curb. I knew you had to rev it if the car wasn’t going to roll back into the car behind it. I had visions of having an old but serviceable car to drive to school, so imagine my surprise when I was presented with a Model B phaeton my Dad had seen in the garage of the house next to the Plymouth Yacht Club. The old woman who owned it had put 30 miles on the car and then stored it in her garage for 30 years. The only thing not surviving those years was the upholstery. Well… It took some learning to get the Ford started – it had a crank but it was just easier to jump start it on our driveway, which was a quarter of a mile straight down. As I recall, I put the key in the ignition and turned it, pushed the spark advance lever on the left hand side of the steering wheel all the way to the top, moved the throttle lever on the right hand side of the steering wheel to its center position, and released the brake. As soon as the engine “caught,” the spark lever was moved back to its original position. The throttle lever was moved back more slowly, to get the engine purring – well, chugging. The problem arose when I parked at the high school: there were no hills. I had to rely on fellow students to push me to get the car rolling. One day, I was late leaving and there was no one around…except for the small and round Miss Albertini, one of my teachers. I still can see her panting and pushing my car down the street in a dress and high heels! Of course, I drove the car to Plimoth Plantation when I was working there as a tour guide. Since there were no places to change into my Pilgrim dress, I had to wear it while driving the Model A. Wish I had a picture of that, but all the pictures were taken by the tourists when I parked in the lot at the Plantation. My father sold the car to pay my tuition for my sophomore year in college. I still miss that car, and it’s my goal to have another Model B one day. I’d thought maybe my books would sell well enough that I could buy one, but I suspect that’s a pipe dream. PS We named my car “The Untouchable,” an homage to Elliot Ness.     0 0

This is a re-post of something I posted on Jan 9, 2013, when I was a fledgling blogger. I still feel the same every time I drive by where they were. For many years I passed a dogwood and cedar on my way to and from home. There are lots of dogwoods and cedars along this road, but these two had grown intertwined.  In the spring the white blossoms of the dogwood popped against of the green of the cedar.  In summer, they offered two shades of green, and in the fall the burnished copper of the dogwood leaves and the red berries sparkled against the cedar branches.  In winter, I imagined the cedar protecting the dogwood, wrapping it with its branches, keeping it safe and warm until spring.  The two trees seemed like a married couple, husband and wife, complementing and protecting each other over the years. Finally, one day in late summer, I drove by my favorite trees and gasped. A road crew had come by and cut down the cedar.  It was gone.  The dogwood, forlorn and also damaged, stood, drooping.  It lasted through the winter but in the spring, the blossoms were few and the leaves were sparse.  It was as if its spouse had died, and it no longer had the will to live. Finally, toward the end of that year, the dogwood fell. Maybe I’m just getting old and sentimental, but I shed a few tears for those trees. 0 0

Bette and I met for coffee at the Red Cup Coffeehouse in Boothbay Harbor, Me, after I’d finished my stint of book selling at Sherman’s a few doors down. I had my usual latte and Bette had tea. My husband bought some scones to go with, since I’d missed lunch. This gave me lots of time to pepper her with questions! Bette, where did you grow up? From the age of one until I was ten my family lived in northern California, where my mother was born and raised. When Dad, a New Yorker, developed serious lung problems, we moved back to upstate New York. Mom, a stay-at-home mother for most of those years and a creative soul, always had books and art projects at the ready when weather kept us indoors. My childhood holds a treasure trove of happy family memories. What led you to start writing? I was always a reader. A good story—whether poetry or prose— continues to capture my imagination. When our daughters were young, I started journaling and writing poetry as a way to capture our family adventures. So you’ve actually been writing for a long time! Decades, but my first published pieces didn’t appear on the page until 1996 when I wrote two human interest articles for ECHOES, The Northern Maine Journal of Rural Culture. Then, the first edition of THE TANGRAM ZOO and WORD PUZZLES TOO! was published in 1997 by Windswept House Publishing, Mt. Desert, ME; a second edition was self-published in 2012. AMAZING MATILDA, my second children’s book was published in 2012. It won a 2013 Purple Dragonfly Book Award, which is an Honorable Mention for Excellence in Children’s Literature – Ages 6 and older category, and also placed #9 on The 2013 Gittle List for Self-published Children’s Picture Books. So when did you start writing books for older folks? 😉 In 2013, when I published my first book for the Middle-grade/YA/Adult audience. I titled it PURE TRASH. It was a short story of a boy growing up in rural New England in a family whose poverty and alcoholism mark him as a target for bullying by young and old alike. It ended up being the prequel to my novel DOG BONE SOUP, released January 2015. Inspired by nature and human nature, I continue to write poetry as well. What sparked the idea for DOG BONE SOUP? I have always loved to listen to friends and family talk about their lives, past and present. It seems that everyone has a story to tell. One of those stories had a lasting effect on me. Perhaps that’s because it was hard to wrap my mind around growing up in a dysfunctional family—about poverty or mean spirited people— because my own life was not touched by such things. At the same time, I was teaching and knew that many of my students faced these things and worse every day. I was sure that DOG BONE SOUP was a story worth telling. Which character, if any, has a personality that most closely resembles yours? When writing DOG BONE SOUP, I found that I had to learn to ‘walk in the shoes’ of each character as I wrote for them or about them. Having grown up in a loving family and supportive community myself, many of my characters were alien to me. Shawn Daniels is the character that most resembles my personality, but only in the respect that he is the eldest of four children. Being the eldest of five, I was responsible and expected to set the example for my siblings. Which character was the hardest to write and why? Eddy Daniels, Shawn’s father. Yes, he was the hardest. I had never met such a self-centered, uncaring person in my life. In fact, I didn’t realize that such people existed. In fact, all the negative characters were hard to write. The positive characters like Uncle Ted, Aunt Miranda and Mrs. Ashley were easy. I knew and their counterparts well in my own life and loved them. What’s your next project? I’m currently in the outlining stages for two stories—a sequel to DOG BONE SOUP and a story about a teacher and her students, set in the 1990s. Inspired by nature and human nature, I continue to write poetry as well. Is there one place where you find writing the easiest? Once my ideas are sketched out, it’s at my computer. But, I do journal daily in any comfortable spot at home and have paper and pen ready to jot down ideas when I’m on the go. Do you prefer e-books, hardcovers or paperbacks to read? I prefer paper and ink. There’s nothing like holding a book, putting it on a shelf and reading, rereading or leafing through it at will. In fact, we have hundreds of books, on tables, on bookshelves, on desks—so many that the grandchildren have called our house a library. But, I love my Kindle too. Especially when traveling, even if it’s only to an appointment. Whom do you admire most and why? I admire people who show kindness and love to all they meet and those who are not afraid to tell the hard stories that need to be told. Where can readers find out more about you and your work? Bette A. Stevens, Maine author/illustrator WEBSITE/BLOG http://www.4writersandreaders.com Amazon AUTHOR PAGE http://viewauthor.at/BetteAStevens   We left the coffee house with hugs and a promise for further visits! As you can tell from this interview, Bette is a very special person. She lives on a farm and delights in growing flowers and other things, and I can just imagine why her grandchildren love to visit her. I am so happy I had the chance to meet her while I was in Maine, and I encourage everyone to read Dog Bone Soup. I think children would love it, too. 0 0

I grew up in New England the 1950s and ‘60s, and Bette Stevens has written a coming of age novel about a life I wouldn’t recognize. Call me lucky. Shawn Daniels, the oldest of several children, lives in poverty. His father is the town drunk and beats his mother, who struggles to keep the family together in an unfinished, tar papered house with no indoor plumbing, running water, and heat. They have a TV but that’s for the enjoyment of Dad. Shawn and his brother Willie do all his chores: cutting and stacking firewood, hauling water into the house, and helping mind their two younger sisters. Despite the curtailment of a real childhood, the brothers still find a way to have adventures in small pockets of time, fishing for one, with a home-made pole and a safety pin for a hook. Dog bone soup, made from the marrow in left over bones, is what the family eats when there is nothing else. The author has written beautifully and lovingly of the daily joys, despairs and tribulations of growing up poor in a family of four children with an abusive father. She populates Shawn’s world with colorful and unforgettable characters: his long-suffering, wise and patient mother, the highly intelligent Mrs. Ashley, for whom Shawn works for a while, Uncle Hiram who aids and abets their father, Mr. Stark of Stark’s General Store, as well as Shawn’s neighbors and schoolmates. The reader is drawn into and becomes a part of Shawn’s family life, rooting for him to break away and make a life for himself. Dog Bone Soup is a gem of a book, fast paced, entertaining, and moving. I loved it and devoured it in two sittings (I had to stop to eat!). Bette Stevens is a talented storyteller and I hope we will have another book from her soon. Five stars! Excerpt from Dog Bone Soup by Bette A. Stevens Chapter 15: The 1956 Buick “Pull over!” Soon as I put her in park, Willie jumped out of the car and flew around to hop in the driver’s seat. I’d already let him back in and out of the door yard a few times. By the time Willie cruised around the edge of the field four or five times, I was getting bored. “Hey, let’s try to turn some donuts out here. Not enough room in the yard. Besides, Mum’d have a fit if she caught us doin’ something like that with Annie and Molly around. “Huh?” “Let’s switch seats and I’ll show you what I’m talkin’ about.” I jumped behind the wheel and headed straight for the middle of field, floored the pedal and held the wheels to the right as far as they’d go. The Buick was smokin’ and field grass was flyin’. I straightened the wheels, rolled to a new spot and floored it again. Then I let Willie take his turn. By the time we headed back up the road, we’d made more donuts in that field than Mum could fry up at one time in her twelve-inch cast iron skillet. “About time you boys got home,” Mum shook her head as we walked through the door without a fish in hand. Monday at work, the guys were all talking about a big police investigation going on over at Brown’s farm out on the Walker Road. “Some smart-ass kids been out there tearing up Troy Brown’s hay field. Brown’s madder than a bullfrog in a brush fire, and I don’t blame him. Says if he catches the culprits he’s gettin’ the judge to haul ’em off to the jug.” I could feel the heat flashin’ across my face. Didn’t dare look anywhere that day, except at the work tables and the hides that I tossed on ’em. Never said a word to anyone but Willie about what I heard at the tannery and I was darned lucky that we didn’t get caught. From then on we’d be sticking to open roads and fishin’ spots.   About the author: Bette A. Stevens is retired teacher, wife, mother of two and grandmother of five. She lives in Central Maine with her husband on their 37-acre farmstead. I recently met her when I was vacationing in Maine (she drove two hours to meet me!) and it is clear how much she enjoys writing, reading, gardening, and the beauty of nature. She advocates for children, childhood literacy and especially nice for me and my background, for monarch butterflies, an endangered species. She has published a children’s activity book, The Tangram Zoo and Word Puzzles, Too! And her second children’s book, Amazing Matilda, won a 2013 Purple Dragonfly Book Award (Honorable Mention for Excellence in Children’s Literature – Ages 6 and older category) and also placed #9 on The 2013 Gittle List for Self-published Children’s Picture Books. In 2013, the author published her first book for the YA/Adult audience: Pure Trash: The story, a short story of a boy growing up in rural New England and prequel to Dog Bone Soup. Read Chapter 1 of DOG BONE SOUP at http://4writersandreaders.com/dog-bone-soup-chapter-1/ Find out more about Bette A. Stevens and her books at http://viewauthor.at/BetteAStevens You can find Dog Bone Soup on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Dog-Bone-Soup-Boomers-Journey/dp/150314965X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1441806570&sr=1-1&keywords=Dog+Bone+Soup Bette’s blog is http://4writersandreaders.com/ Stay tuned for an interview with Bette in the next post.   0 0

Move over, Philippa Gregory- you have competition from Tony Riches! I love to read books about the Tudors, so when Rosie Amber offered a historical novel about the founding of the Tudor dynasty, about which I knew nothing, I couldn’t resist. The story begins in England in 1422. Owen Tudor, who comes from a line of Welsh nobleman but of humble beginnings, has risen by virtue of hard work and not a little luck, from being a soldier in the King’s army to keeper of the Queen’s household. His mistress, Catherine of Valois, is both beautiful and lonely – her husband Henry V, is a warrior and often away, leaving her with their infant son. Hers is a dangerous life, with civil war simmering at home as various noble families jockey to influence and rule Prince Henry, crowned King of England and France when his father dies. Owen begins an affair with Juliette, one of Catherine’s Ladies-in-Waiting, but it becomes clear that his real love is for the Queen. He becomes her protector, and against all odds, she falls in love with him. Eventually they risk all to marry and then have a large family together, in the process founding the dynasty that becomes an epicenter of British history. The book is impeccably researched and written, quite an accomplishment given that there is not a lot of extant information on Owen Tudor’s life. I sensed a difference between the story up to the time of Catherine and Owen’s marriage and what happened afterward – a little stiff, as Owen’s relationships in the household were until his marriage, then more flowing and easy, as if marriage empowered and relaxed Owen. One thing that left me still wondering to the end is the unlikelihood of Owen and Catherine’s love and marriage, but history can’t be wrong! His other long term love interest, Juliette, also seems improbable, but there is a historical indication that such a woman existed. The author’s notes on the historical aspects and what he had to create were helpful and underscored his talent at putting together a great story based on limited facts. The characters that populate Owen are distinct and colorful and the history is detailed and richly described. I know a little of the various noble families of the time, but to the initiate the names and warring factions might be a little confusing. Nevertheless, this does not distract from a grand pageant of a story. Owen is written in the present tense, which I find tiresome in all but short stories, but Riches does such a good job that I actually didn’t even think about it until I was already hooked by the story. He managed to give the story an immediacy that maintained the tension but did not become wearing on the reader. All in all, this is a great read. I recommend it and look forward to the next book in this series. About the author: Tony Riches was born in Pembrokeshire, West Wales, and spent part of his childhood in Kenya. He gained a BA degree in Psychology and an MBA from Cardiff University and worked as a Management Consultant, followed by senior roles in the Welsh NHS and Local Government. After writing several successful non-fiction books, Tony decided to turn to novel writing. His real interest is in the history of the fifteenth century, and now his focus is on writing historical fiction about the lives of key figures of the period. His novels Warwick, The Man Behind the Wars of the Roses and The Secret Diary of Eleanor Cobham have both become Amazon best sellers. Today Tony has returned to Pembrokeshire, an area full of inspiration for his writing, where he lives with his wife. In his spare time he enjoys sailing and sea kayaking. Visit Tony online at www.tonyriches.co.uk, Tony Riches Author on Facebook and follow him on Twitter @tonyriches.     0 0

I remember learning the difference in spelling the homonyms principle and principal: the principal is your pal. One principal in particular – Mr. Lawrence Bongiovanni – made an indelible impression on me, and I’d like to thank him, belatedly, for his contributions to my education. I was an excellent student (f I do say so myself), but not a perfect pupil, a fact on which I will elaborate. Nevertheless, I think I had a reasonable relationship with Mr. Bongiovanni, as much as one of several hundred kids could have with a person with absolute authority over their lives. Principals were definitely not pals in those days. Mr. Bongiovanni was my high school principal and a true son on Plymouth, having been educated in the town’s public schools. He had served in the FBI prior to and during WWII, and it was very evident in the way he carried himself: ram-rod straight, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, greying hair neatly trimmed. As another PHs alumnus wrote of him: “He was a man of personal culture, dignified in his bearing without being aloof, respectful of his students as individuals in a way that was cordial without being familiar.” I do believe I tried Mr. Bongiovanni’s patience, not the least because I became regular visitor to his office because of French class. I was an insufferable chatterer in French class. Madame Jaques, my French teacher, suffered talkers poorly and more than once sent me to Mr. Bongiovanni for discipline. The first time he found me sitting outside his office, he called me in and asked me why I was there. I didn’t lie and told him I liked to talk in French class. “Madame Jaques?” “Oui.” Apparently that was self-explanatory. He instructed me to go back outside and wait until the bell. I do believe I saw a faint smile on his face. When I showed up thereafter, he would just sigh and ask, “Not again, Miss Parsons?” One day I was bet by a classmate I couldn’t slide down the bannisters from the third floor to the basement of the high school. Never met a bet I wouldn’t take! In those days I frequently wore what is today called a pencil skirt – tight and straight – so in order to ride the bannister, I had to hike my skirt up to my hips. Then I straddled the wood, started to slide, and six sections of bannister later, I arrived in the basement. Mr. Bongiovanni’s antennae must have been operating at full strength, because he was waiting for me at the end of my ride. I stood before him, pulling down my skirt and probably blushing. I swear he was having a hard time keeping a straight face when he asked, “Miss Parsons, do you think you could find a more dignified way to come downstairs?” “Yes, Mr. Bongiovanni.” It was one of his outstanding characteristics that he treated the students as adults, although I clearly didn’t get the message at the time. Sometime after I graduated, Mr. Bongiovanni resigned as principal and joined the Massachusetts Department of Education. There he held a number of executive positions, notable among which were director of the Division of Elementary and Secondary Education and assistant to the Commissioner of Education. He died in 2010, so my thoughts and thanks come a little late, but are nevertheless heartfelt. Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Bongiovanni. 0 0

A fellow blogger (A Star on the Forehead) asked me for my recipe for scones. I’ve never posted a recipe before, but this is a good one! 2 cups all purpose flour 1/3rd cup plus 1 tsp sugar 1 tsp baking powder 1/4th tsp baking soda ½ tsp salt 8 tbsp – 1 stick – unsalted butter (I use anything healthier, no difference) ½ cup raisins or dried currants Tsp cinnamon ½ cup sour cream 1 large egg Adjust oven rack to lower middle position and preheat oven to 400o. In a medium bowl, mix 1/3 cup sugar, flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add cinnamon, if you are making cinnamon raisin scones. Cut butter into tiny pieces and use your fingers to work in the butter. The mixture should resemble coarse corn meal. Stir in raisins. In a small bowl, whisk sour cream and egg until smooth. Using a fork, stir the sour cream mixture into flour mixture until large dough clumps form. Use your hands to press the dough against the side of the bowl into a ball. The dough should become very sticky and should come together easily. Place the dough on a lightly floured surface and pat into a 7-8 inch circle about 1/4th inch thick. Sprinkle with remaining sugar. Use a sharp knife to cut the dough into 8 wedges. Place on a greased cookie sheet or parchment paper (my oven runs a little hot and the parchment paper kept the bottoms from getting too brown), 1 inch apart. Bake until slightly browned on top, 15-17 min. Keep an eye on the scones – depending on the oven, it could take as little as 13 min. Cool for 5 min before serving. For orange-cranberry scones, add a generous tsp of orange zest to the dry ingredients and substitute cranberries for the raisins. For cherry-almond scones, add ½ tsp almond extract to the sour cream mixture, and substitute dried cherries for the raisins. For lemon-blueberry scones, add a generous tsp of lemon zest to the dry ingredients and substitute dried blueberries for the raisins. 0 0