MOZART AND THE WRITERS

Written a very long time ago, but something to say on the occasion of another  notable January Birthday, that of Wolfgang A. Mozart, a fellow I liked so well he appears in three of my books.

Mozart sends telepathic messages!

 

I saw this headline in the '90's, in one of those papers where Bill Clinton could be seen  shaking hands with a friendly alien.

 

As a Mozart fan, however, I understood it to be true. After Amadeus, there were legions of us, out of the classical closet. We saw the play, then the movie. We began to collect Mozart music. CD and videotape were still new, and so we had to buy those and the new, and, in those early days, expensive, equipment. My poor vinyl collection took a back seat to digital perfection. I searched in for small businesses that would carry opera tapes. I volunteered constantly at my public radio station because they were kind enough to feed my Mozart frenzy on a daily basis.

 

I was not alone, however, in this mad Mozart revival. Every opera singer with a recording contract put out a Mozart album. Neighbors in posh NYC apartments sued neighbors after hours and hours and days and weeks and months of The Requiem played continuously and at full volume. Like so many phenoms, Mozart had surged over the top, infecting the planetary consciousness.

 

Love me! Love me! Listen to me! Do what those 18^th Century fools did not!

 

  

The single party I gave every year was to honor his birthday. My writer and poet friends, all of us struggling with manuscripts, attempting to find agents and publishers, to hold onto  day jobs, were loyal attendees. We could share our woes with that mostly impractical, humiliating, and perilous passion for writing.

 

I will always be grateful to those brave souls who drove through snowstorms from other states because they wanted to be in my kitchen, share their woes and then find a way to laugh about them.  It was a fun fellowship in the gray cold January world.

 

There was champagne and 18^th Century food of all kinds, steak and kidney pies, syllabub, etc., prepared, over the course of days and after trips to the butcher and the import shop, by the hands of Juliet the Certifiable. The Cake came from a now OOB bakery called Dingledein's, who certainly knew how to make a Mozart's Birthday Party Cake.

 

A warm winter pick-me-up among friends!

 

So, Happy Birthday, creator of musical joy, Wolfgang A!  

~~Juliet Waldron

See All my historical novels at:
http://www.julietwaldron.com
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS
 

Character Interview with Grace Cummings (AKA Dancing Fawn) from White Heart, Lakota Spirit by Ginger Simpson #historical #romance

cover by Dawne Dominique

Today, my guest is Grace Cummings, here to tell us how she survived being captured by a war party:

Just for clarification, HOST will indicate the interviewer’s questions below:

HOST:   It must have been a very traumatic ordeal for you.  Can you tell us about it.

GRACE:  It was horrid. (She shudders) I still hear my mother's screams in my head.  I…

HOST:  Do you need a moment to compose yourself?

GRACE:  No, I'm fine.  (Deep breath)  It was 1874. My family had moved around a lot because my father, bless his departed soul, was a restless man.   It was hard for a girl my age to make friends, not living in one place for very long, and just when Ma, Kevin and I thought we might settle down, General George Armstrong Custer made an announcement about gold being discovered in the Black Hills of Lakota territory.  That's all it took!  Pa loaded everything back into our Conestoga and insisted this was his chance to strike it big.

HOST:  Why didn't you mother put her foot down?

GRACE:  You have to understand that back then, women were expected to know their place.  Ma pretty much did as Pa said.  Besides, he promised her that when he hit the mother lode, he would buy us a new house; new furniture and we'd never have to move again.

HOST:  I can see how that might have sounded pretty enticing.

GRACE:  It was.  We all had visions of putting down permanent roots, so being out on the plains, cooking over a campfire again and roughing it for a just a little longer was worth it if Pa and my brother, Kevin, found gold.

HOST:  Tell us more about your experience, please.

GRACE:  Okay.   We had made camp at the base of the Black Hills, near a sparse stand of trees.  There was a small stream nearby, so water was plentiful.  Ma and I slept on a pallet of blankets in the wagon, while Pa and Kev slept in a makeshift tent.  We had just finished breakfast one morning and were laughing and talking before Pa and Kev went off to the mine, when I happened to spy some riders on the horizon. It soon became clear from the whooping and hollering that they were being attacked by Indians.

HOST:  Oh my goodness, what did you do?

GRACE:  Pa immediately yelled for Ma and I to get back in the wagon, and he and Kev grabbed their rifles and crawled underneath.  I hunkered down behind the tailgate, waiting for Ma, but she never came.  I was so scared, hearing the sound of gunfire and those blood-curdling war cries, I covered my ears, but it didn't help.  When I got the courage to peek outside, I saw the Indians circling our wagon and Ma running in the opposite direction.  I think she was trying to draw them away from me.  I didn't realize it at the time, but Pa and Kevin were already dead.  They were easy pickings with no real shelter.

HOST:  How awful.

GRACE:  You have no idea!  (Stopping to bite her knuckle, then staring straight ahead). They…they shot my ma down in cold blood right before my eyes.

HOST:  Oh you poor thing.  What did you do then?

GRACE:  (Dabbing at eyes with hanky) I curled myself into a ball and prayedit was all just a bad dream, and that I'd wake up.   When I didn't hear anything for a while, I found the courage to rise to my knees and peer over the tailgate again.  I almost had heart failure when I came face-to-face with the ugliest sight I'd ever seen.

HOST:    Oh my gosh, I have goose bumps. What was it?

GRACE:  It was the person I later learned was Black Crow.  His face was painted with bright yellow lightning bolts, and he had a scar that ran from ear-to-ear.  He pulled me out of the wagon, barking orders in a strange language, and threw me to the ground.  I thought my heart was going to pound its way right through my chemise. (Holds hand against chest)

HOST:  Lord, what was going through your head?

GRACE:  I was certain he was going to kill me, too.  I think he might have had it not been for one of his friends.  The one, called Little Elk, stepped in and calmed Black Crow down.  Still, it was an awful thing to go through, wondering if I was going to live or die.  I might have been better off being shot like Ma.  Black Crow tethered my arms together and dragged me along behind his horse, like I was nothing more than an animal.   I struggled to keep up all the way to their  village.

HOST:  How far was it?

GRACE:  (Holding out her wrists).  I'm not sure, but it seem a far piece. You can still see the scars where the rawhide bit into my skin.  I didn't have time to get my shoes on, so my feet were pretty raw, too.  I'm used to walking beside the wagon every day, but being dragged is quite different.  The torture went on forever.

HOST:  What happened when you got to the village?

GRACE:  I was so tired I could barely stand, but I dared not drop to the ground when the whole village stood in a circle around me, staring and laughing.  I thought for sure I was about to meet my maker, but something very surprising happened.

HOST:  Don't stop now!

GRACE:  A beautiful green-eyed woman walked into the midst of things and protected me.  She spoke their language and dressed in their clothing, but it was evident from her flaming red hair that she was white.  If it hadn't been for her I would never have survived to tell this story, that and the fact that Black Crow's mother despised having a white woman share her home.  (Grace chuckles half-heartedly.)

HOST:  So...What happened?

GRACE:  After only one night in her tepee, Black Crow handed me over to Little Elk. He, at least treated me with kindness, allowing Green Eyes to help me bathe and wash my hair.  I was still scared, but not nearly as much.  Pa always said I was headstrong, and it almost got me into  trouble when Little Elk gave me a new name.  (Sitting up straighter, squaring shoulders)

HOST:  Oh gosh, we're almost out of time and I hate to make you stop.  Can you give us a brief summary, and quickly?

GRACE:  Although there is so much more to tell, I'll just say white soldiers raided the camp and I hid along with everyone else. I was dressed like an Indian so....  *smile*  Unless you want to invite me back for another visit, I guess you'll just have to read the book to find out what happens.  (Holds out a copy)

HOST:  Is this for me? How nice, and it's autographed.  Grace Cummings, thank you so much for spending time with us and sharing your captivating story. I'd like to remind our readers that White Heart, Lakota Spirit by Ginger Simpson is offered at http://www.eternalpress.biz and on Amazon, available in both print and download.  There's more to story, and if you're like me, you want to know how things turned out.  Happy reading!

Character Interview with Tyler Bishop by Ginger Simpson

  Today, I’m featuring  Ellie's Legacy, one of my western historical romances.  When my hubby and I moved to TN from CA, we lived in Sparta for a year.  I was so inspired by the history of the area that writing this book came naturally when Ellie showed up among the characters in my head and started yapping at me.  Ellie's Legacy (previously Sparta Rose) was named as the Best 2009 Historical and Love Romances Café and I got lots of positive reviews. It was a fun story to write because Ellie is such a feisty heroine.  Today, you get to hear from the hero, Tyler Bishop.  Enjoy.

Interviewer:

We’re very pleased to have Tyler Bishop with us today.  Mr. Bishop is the hero in Ginger’s Simpson’s western historical romance, Ellie's Legacy.  So, Mr. Bishop, welcome to Dishin’ It Out.

TB – “Ty, please.  Mr. Bishop was my father.  And thanks for the welcome, but I’m here under duress.”

INT  - “Really.”

TB –“Sure enuff. I have things waiting to be done.  Cows need to be moved to another pasture, fences need mendin’ and the longer I dawdle, the more I stand to lose favor with my boss, Ben.”

Int – “Ben?  Would that be Ben Fountain, father of the heroine, Ellie Fountain?”

TB – “Yep, that’d be right.  There’s another reason I need to get movin’… Ellie.  For some reason, that little filly is out to get me.  Seems every time I chew the fat with her pa, she gets her nose out of joint.  I never met someone so… so…what’s the word I’m looking for.  You know, someone who wants to prove they can do everything better than the next feller?”

INT – “Oh, you mean competitive.”

TB – “That’s her in a nutshell.  Just wait till you read the story.  She even went out, bought a gun and learned to shoot.  She’s says it’s because of the polecats next door, threatening to trespass on Ben’s land, but I say different.”

INT – “Really?  Why do you think she bought the gun?”

TB – “To try to show me up.  She already thinks she can ride and rope as good as any man, and lord knows, she could stand to dress up a bit.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell there’s a girl under that big ol’ hat and the layer of dust.”

INT – “Does she always dress in men’s clothing?”

TB – “Well she did until I invited her to a dance.  Ben sort of pushed me into it, but down deep I wanted to go with her.  She looked mighty pretty, all fancied up, but instead of the evening turnin’ out like I planned, she went and got herself in trouble again.  She should have listened to me about those pesky Bryant boys.”

INT – “What kind of trouble did she get into?”

TB – “I may be greener than most folks you know, but I ain’t about to divulge Ginger’s whole story.  Ellie is a real tomboy, and she stays madder than a wet hen at me most times, but I’ll just say, I think she finally realizes there are just times a woman can’t match a man’s strength.”

INT – “Well it sounds like I’ll have to buy my own copy if I want to see how this turns out.”

TB – “Ginger says you're right welcome to visit her Amazing page. That’s where Ellie and my story is being sold. I’m not real savvy when it comes to the Internet, but I wrote this down.  *fishes in pockets.    Let’s see, http://www.amazon.com/author/gingersimpson. I'm supposed to share all the names with ya’ll but I did good to remember that one.  I think Ginger said there are links on her home page...whatever that is, but I scribbled the address here.  *turns paper caddy corner* Okay...it's www.gingersimpson.com.  I thank you for the time, but I best get going.  I fear Ellie Fountain is gonna be the death of me or really change my life.

INT – “Thank you, Ty, and please visit us again.”

A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM GINGER SIMPSON #apagestraightfrom

 The Well

By

Ginger Simpson

She glanced around the property and gasped.  The house’s windows were shuttered, and the ground between the house and barn, once worn smooth by wagon wheels and walking back and forth to gather eggs and feed the stock now showed overgrowth.  The corral was empty, and wheel marks still etched the dusty ground beyond the yard and disappeared into an endless prairie. The barn doors squealed in protest against the wind and created an eerie, lonely sound.

She turned wide eyes on the stranger then lowered her chin to her chest and slowly shook her head.  “My family is supposed to be here.  I wondered why they never answered my cries for help.”

“How on earth did you end up in the well?” He ignored her apparent concern for her missing family, and his gaze drifted beyond  her wet cloaking dress to her worn boots.  “We’ll need to find you a change of clothes before you catch the ague.”

“Never mind my clothes,” she spat.  “Put me down and I’ll prove this is my home.”

“First, answer my question.”  He held her firmly.

She leaned her head back and locked gazes with him. “All right. I fell.  Pa told me I needed to stretch out the amount of water left because of the long dry spell, so I leaned over to see how much remained in the well, and the old stone collapsed beneath me. I yelled for help, but no one came, and eventually someone covered the opening.  I can’t imagine why Ma, Pa or Hannah never checked on me.  I guess they figured I was dead and the  well was my grave.  I was certain I was going to die until you came along.”

Her gaze drifted to a wet outline on his shoulder, where her head had rested.  “Oh Lord, I’m ruining your shirt.  You’d best put me down.”

“Are you sure?”

“You said I needed a change of clothes, and I have dry ones inside.  Come with me and I’ll show you people really live here.”

Logan lowered her to her feet and she immediately crumpled into a  helpless heap on the ground.  He stood back with his hands on his hips.  “I guess your fall did more damage than you want to admit.  You have dried blood on your cheek.”

**********

This book is my foray into self-publishing.  I can't guarantee it's error free but I had two beta readers help proof and I love the story and Harlee's relationship with Logan.  You can find The Well on my Amazon page.  Join me next week for another page from who know's who.  *lol*

Friday Freebits with Ginger #Frifreebits

Today, I'm starting with a new release, The Well, which is my foray into self-publishing. 

  I also want to share a special announccement with you: After this month, Rita Karnopp is retiring from writing, and I'll be joined by Jamie Hill, a fellow Books We Love Author and friend.  I know you'll enjoy Jamie's posts and work and I feel certain you'll help me welcome her to Dishin' It Out.

My darling Rita has posted all her final blogs into April on her usual days, and after April 9th, Jamie will be blogging on Mondays and Fridays and I will blog on Wednesdays and Sundays.  I'm going to change Friday Freebits to Sunday Snippets and share 6 paragraphs from work (mine and guests), so I hope you'll continue to come read just enough to tease you.  :)  Speaking of teasing...here's six paragraphs from The Well.

Cover by Charlene Raddon

Harlee cranked the bucket up and shielded her eyes against the sun while looking longingly at the sky for any hint of rain. A few wispy white clouds drifted across a sea of blue, and in the distance, vultures circled some poor critter either dead or dying. Her heart ached for such a gruesome end to life. 

“Are you gonna take all day getting water?” Hannah poked her nose outside. “I’m mighty thirsty, just in case you care.” 

“Hold your horses, would ya? If you think you can fetch a bucket full any quicker, you’re welcome to try.” 

Hannah stuck out her tongue then disappeared back inside the house. No surprise, she wouldn’t put forth any effort. As the baby, she was spoiled rotten. 

Harlee turned her attention back to the chore at hand. The bucket crested the well’s top, only half full this time. The water used to be so high, she often bent over and stared at her reflection.  Doubtful she could see it now; she crawled up on the stone ledge and peered over, searching for any hint of her likeness. Stretching more…she still saw nothing but emptiness. The old stone beneath her grip gave way, sending her tumbling into the black abyss. Numbed by shock, her scream froze in her throat. 

She hit the water, creating a splash, although not a very big one. Pain shot through her head, and she grabbed her scalp to soothe the ache and found a huge lump had already formed. Something dripped down the side of her face. Was it water? She licked her hand and confirmed by the salty flavor—blood. Her attempt to choke back tears failed when the throbbing intensified and matched each beat of her heart. She cried until she got the hiccups, and leaned her head against the wall, waiting for them to stop.

Hope you'll come back next week for another installment.  Just in case you can't wait...The Well is available on my Amazon page. 

Released July 12, 2014 - Sarah's Heart & Passion

Look a little familiar?  I've combined two books into one with hopes it will soon be available in print, and Michelle Lee has designed a dynamite cover from the two that captures the essence of the story.  This book was originally a stand alone story about Sarah's Journey, but I actually received a couple of reviews that had my reviewers in tears because they didn't like the way the story ended...so I wrote a sequel for those who didn't understand the story and why there was no HEA for a white woman and a half-breed man in the 1800s.  Now, you can read the entire story, and it's a great combination of the old west, time-travel, humor,contemporary, romance, and even a little fantasy.  In fact, I had a hard time trying to decide how to categorize it.  Be the first to leave a review and let me know how much you enjoy Sarah's story.

Here's the blurb:

Sarah Collins set her sights for California and a new beginning, but never imagines a war party's attack on the wagon train she joins. A sole survivor, Sarah must find her way back to civilization, and a man of half-blood happens along at just the right time and becomes her hero...or is the whole scenario only a dream driven by all the romance novels she reads as an editor? 

Sarah wakes, her cheeks damp with tears. Like a dust devil in a dying windstorm, all traces of her handsome rescuer vanish with a farewell kiss and the annoying blast of an alarm clock...until he appears at her door as a new neighbor. Will Sarah find a way to win the love she tried so hard to capture in her dream without being declared insane, or will the sexy woman living an apartment away beat Sarah at her own game? 

Previously published as Sarah's Heart and Sarah's Passion, this edition combines both stories

You can purchase this book on Amazon.

A Page Straight From Diane Scott Lewis #apagestraight from

Ring of Stone

by

Diane Scott Lewis

“These people and their paganism,” a booming voice cut the air. Catern jerked her head to the left. Lord Tideford loomed several yards off, framed against a bonfire like something risen black from the earth. He stood with the younger Gwynn girl and her parents. “More of an excuse for drinking, I daresay.”

“I thought it very quaint. I’m glad I insisted we come.” The girl beside him had a soft, sweet voice. Her long, nearly white hair feathered around her hood in the breeze. “We’ve enriched an ailing old man’s happiness.”

She’s so young, that innocent girl. Catern bit at her knuckle. “I must be off, Doctor.” Her stomach roiled. She turned about and staggered toward the darkness beyond the fringes of the fires, her head reeling as if she’d guzzled a keg.

“What is the matter, Miss Tresidder?” Nelson followed and caught her arm. “Are you going to faint? You should sit down for a moment.”

“Naw, I never faint. Please, let me go. Sorry, sir.” Catern wriggled free and hurried through the grass. The earl’s voice made her tremble like jelly. She rushed a great distance, tripping along uneven ground in the dark, then slowed and massaged the stitch in her side. Striding off once more, she had to truss up the strength to tell Miss Gwynn the ugliest part, perhaps visit Avallen herself, and very soon, to protect that pale girl.

Meet Ellie Fountain #hitoricalromance

Hi, my name is Ellie...and that's what I'm called despite my birth name bein' Roselle Fountain.  Some how, I don't figure to measure up to that fancy name ever, because I prefer ropin' and ridin' to dressin' and actin' a lady.  Pa would like me to learn all about keepin' house, but since we have Cook to tend to all those chores, I keep busy with the hired hands, preferrin' to spend my time with them over pourin' tea and holdin' out my pinkie finger.  Oh, I wear a dress, but nothing fancy.  I'd much rather have on pants and chaps, but...

What has my dander up right now is the new ranch foreman, Tyler Bishop.  Pa hired him and I have no idea why.  We were doing just fine without him, but now he's here and thinks he's the boss of everything, including me.  I think Pa wanted some added security against the polecats that live on the neighboring land...the Bryants.  They haven't said as much, but it's clear they aim to own everything they can grab onto.  I'll be danged if they'll ever get their claws into Fountainhead.  My pa built this ranch and it's going to be mine some day, and I aim to run it as I see fit.  

I suppose Pa always wanted a son, but he got me instead. Now, he's treatin' Ty like he's the boy he always wanted.  Ticks me off a bit. 

 My ma's been gone since I was real small, and everyone tells me I'm her spittin' image.  I often wonder if I would be different if she was still around, but then I guess I'll never know. Some people think I'm spoiled, and I reckon I am  That's what happens when you're treated like a storybook princess.  If I could just learn to keep my mouth closed, I probably wouldn't get into so much trouble.  

My goal right now is to show Ty that I can do everything he can do, and even better.  I secretly bought myself a gun at the mercantile, and I've been practicing well out of earshot of the ranch to prove I can defend myself and our land.  I worry that nosy ol' Tyler will come snooping around and butt into my business like he always does.  I might be able to stay mad at him if he wasn't so dang good lookin'.  When I'm good and ready, I aim to show him my new skills

He had the nerve to ask me to a dance in town.  Oh, I'm no dummy...I know it was Pa's idea to make me more ladylike, and even though I'm not hankerin' to go, I said I would.  I've had a couple of brushes with the Bryant boys, so I hope they won't be there.  It would be just like Ty to come to my rescue and spoil everything.

Ellie's Legacy available on my Author's Amazon Page.

Just a Taste - of Killarney Sheffield

Author Bio:

Killarney Sheffield is an award winning romance author from the rustic Canadian prairies. She lives on a cattle ranch with her five kids. When she is not penning historical romantic adventures she fills her time with her Thoroughbred stallion 'Stamp de Gold', whom she affectionately calls 'Love Monkey', and her herd of AQHA mares.

Note from Ginger:  Normally, I reserve my "Just a Taste" blogs for my own work, but I'm very proud to introduce you to a new Books We Love author, Killarney Sheffield, who is also a friend as well as my competition.  *smile*  I know you'll enjoy her work, and she has three more releases coming in the very near future.  Watch for them.  *that's a request, not an order* :)

http://www.amazon.com/The-Cracksmans-Kiss-Killarney-Sheffield-ebook/dp/B00GKPLXCS/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1384441936&sr=8-4&keywords=Killarney+Sheffield

BLURB:

When Lady Kassandra is visited by a thief in the dark of night, she finds her body awakened in a way that her husband's touch has never stirred her desires. However there are consequences for even a brief stolen night of passion that leave Kassie in dire straits. She turns to the only one she thinks can help her...but will he come before it is too late?
Comte Cohen Ashton's mission is to retrieve a priceless artifact and return it to its former country of origin. He doesn't expect to have his heart stolen by his sworn enemy's lovely young wife or to discover a treasure of his own making that is more valuable than any other.
In the midst of a war between England and France, they struggle to deal with their sins and outside forces that threaten to destroy them. Can love prevail or will they be forever torn apart by the cracksman’s kiss? 

A Page Straight From...

Elysium by  Diane Scott Lewis

Amélie hurried to the salon’s front window. “It looks like Governor Lowe is here, Sire.”

                  Napoleon rose and peered through the holes he’d had his servants cut in the shutters, so he could look out without anyone seeing him. “Yes, our esteemed governor, cowing back from his minions. What could he want?”

                  Governor Lowe had reigned in, allowing a group of soldiers to ride up near the front porch, their hat plumes fluttering in the wind.

                  Their smug faces annoying him, Napoleon motioned Saint-Denis out to inquire.

                  “I wish to speak with the Count de Las Cases,” the governor’s assistant, Sir Thomas Reade, Deputy Adjutant General, announced. His moon-face barely shifted with his sly smile.

                  Ali returned and Napoleon sent him to fetch the count who sat in the drawing room, having his hair trimmed by the imperial barber.

                  “Go out there and see what that beast wants with you,” he said when the little man trotted in.

                  “I must say, I can’t imagine what he might want of my humble person.” The chamberlain bowed, twitched his nose, and stepped out the front door.

                  Napoleon bent again to scrutinize the trespassers; his shoulder muscles tightened. He nodded to Ali, who slipped out the door and followed Las Cases.

                  “That’s a large contingent of soldiers for a conversation.” Amélie touched his arm, but he didn’t mind, her hand comforting.

                  Several minutes later, Reade and another soldier escorted Las Cases out the front gate.

Two more soldiers followed, carrying trunks brimming over with papers obviously from the count’s quarters in the back wing.

                  Napoleon’s blood boiled.

                  Saint-Denis bounded up the front steps and into the salon. “Your Majesty, the governor has arrested the Count de Las Cases and the soldiers confiscated everything in his rooms.”

                  “Arrested for what reason? They’ve stolen all my dictation? This is insufferable! Ali, fetch Count Bertrand. Tell him to send Doctor O’Meara to find out what has happened.” Napoleon’s left

leg twinged, something he experienced when overwrought. He resisted the urge to run out and demand an explanation. But he could no longer act the impetuous youth who let his temper run wild—

snatching up banners and storming bridges on battlefields. He had to preserve his imperial dignity.

                  “Sire, do the British have a right to seize our people and haul them away like criminals?” Amélie asked, her fawn eyes earnest.

                  “They will push their arbitrary rights to the limit.” Napoleon felt powerless, unable to protect his own people. Yet he couldn’t let the girl—who unfortunately no longer resembled an undernourished waif— sense his weakness.

                  How much longer before he could put his escape from exile plans into action?

This book is for sale at:
http://www.amazon.com/Elysium-ebook/dp/B004VA3O8K/ref=dp_kinw_strp_1