"Being Compared To Danielle Steel is better than Chocolate...at least today," says Ginger Simpson

I'm so exited.  First I got a terrific deal on 3 months of advertising on Goodbooks.  My foray into the self-pubbed world will be featured on the Amazon U.K. site.  Check it out. http://www.goodebooks.net/UKavail.html 

Then to top my day, I got this wonderful review on The Well.

TITLE:   The Well                                                             AUTHOR:  Ginger Simpson 

DATE: 5/6/2015

REVIEWER:  Carol Langstroth

REVIEW:  “ The Well”  By  Ginger Sampson has written another wonderful period romantic piece. The Well tells the story of a Harlee who fell in a well and when Logan Carruthers finds Harlee, her family and everything the family owned is gone. Harlee must figure out where her family went to while dealing with Logan’s mother.

              

I must say that Gingers Simpson’s writing in “The Well” is superb.  Harlee’s character is funny and her relationship with Logan’s mother comes alive for me. I have read many of Ginger Simpson’s work and I can’t believe how much she has improved her writing.  I am willing to bet that if she got a decent agent she could be the next Danielle Steel.  For those who love a pure romance story without sexual content than “The Well” is the perfect read. I give this story 5 star rating.

Carol Langstroth

Mind Fog Reviews

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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

After last week's guest post, I'm picking up where I left off with The Well, my latest release.

Harlee has just been rescued from the old well and was explaining her name to Logan...

This weeks Freebits:

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?”

 His apparent lack of concern for her missing family frustrated her.  How could he more more concerned about how an accident happened over an entire family gone?  She restrained screaming at him.

 His gaze drifted beyond her wet cloaking dress to her worn boots dangling past his arm.  “We’ll need to find you a change of clothes before you catch the ague.”

“Never mind my attire,” 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.”

The Well is available on amazon.

FRIDAY FREEBITS WITH GINGER #frifreebits

Invigorated by the fresh air and the sun's warmth on her face and body, Harlee's eyes finally adjusted to the brightness and the face of her hero.

"I suppose we should introduce ourselves."  She kept her fingers locked around the back of his neck and enjoyed the feel of his silken dark hair.

"I'm Logan Carruthers...live about five miles east of here."  His sweet tobacco breath assailed her face.

"I'm Harlee Wagner.  This here's my home."

"Harlee?"  That's a strange nae for a girl."

"My pa's name is Harl, so my ma just tacked on the lee."


The Well is available on Amazon.

Friday Freebits #Frifreebits

Ohhhh....It's Friday the thirteenth.  Hope you don't believe in "bad luck."  I'm forging ahead, and this week,  continuing with six paragraphs from The Well.  Hope you enjoy my offering:  Note:  Harlee sure isn't having a very good time..maybe it's the thirteenth in Oklahoma.  :)

Time ticked by and she (Harlee) grew weary. Her elbow, evidently skinned during the fall, joined the dull ache in her head, and her knees begged her to sit. The blue sky above darkened with the approaching nighttime, and Harlee sagged into the water letting it lap to her chin while she rested against the stony interior. Why hadn’t someone come to look for her? Especially her impatient little sister? 

Despite her discomfort, Harlee slept and woke with a crick in her neck and fingers wrinkled from being under water. She glanced up, praying to see someone peering back, but strangely, no longer saw the sky. Could it still be nighttime? Straining her eyes, she noted light leaking around what appeared to be a cover. Her mind whirred. Was this all a bad dream? The fact that she sat in water, confined in a stone prison confirmed the truth. But why hadn’t someone missed her, and why did they cover the well unless her family thought her dead? 

With a hoarse voice, she shouted as loud as she could, but still no one responded. Trying to find a bright spot, she remembered the circling vultures. “At least I cheated those gluttonous birds out of a meal,” she muttered as tears plunked into the water, barely making a ripple. Death would surely claim her anyhow. Maybe the grim reaper already had and she didn’t realize she’d passed. Resting a hand on her bosom, she searched for a heartbeat. 

* * * 

By Harlee’s estimation and the glimpses of light around whatever covered the well, she’d been imprisoned for at least three days. Her head still hurt and she shivered, although the shallow water wasn’t cold. She wasn’t dead…at least not yet, but with each passing moment, she grew weaker and weaker. For part of the day, she forced herself to run in place, splashing around in what little water remained, fighting the numbness in her legs from continued wetness. Now, after having no food, hunger rumbled her stomach. She stopped sloshing around and grasped the rocky wall, intending to try once again to climb out. Between weakness and the slipperiness of each stone, she made only small progress before she crashed back to the bottom further jarring her insides and scraping her hands and legs.

Her soaked dress cloaked her like a second skin, and the slime from the well’s bottom coated her skinned palms. She crinkled her nose at the musty smell and kept assuring herself help would come, but her weak cries bounced off the walls and went unanswered. 

Harlee’s strength waned more and more by the morning of the fourth day, and she prepared to die. Her measure of time came by means of daylight filtering around the well’s sealed edges, and she no longer had hope of rescue. After wanting water so badly, she hadn’t even sated her thirst, and now dreamed of Ma’s buttermilk biscuits. An imaginary aroma masked the musk and hung teasingly in the air.

Cover by Charlene Raddon

Available on my Amazon page.  This is my first self-published novel.

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. 

A Page Straight From... #apagestraightfrom

Veering from my Wednesday feature, I'm going to share a page from my WIP, The Well, which has no cover yet.  Please feel free to offer feedback.  I need all the help I can get on this one.  As you will probably be able to tell, it's a time travel.

THE WELL
OKLAHOMA


Hot winds drove a herd of tumbleweeds across endless acres of sod—broken and dried by the sun.  The devastating drought in Oklahoma continued on, leaving everything parched or dying.  Using the rope crank, Betsy Wagner lowered the bucket into the well. She swiped at the perspiration on her brow with the sleeve of her blue and white checked cotton dress.

Each time she fetched drinking water for the family, the rope attached to the wooden pail reeled closer and closer to the end.  What would they do if the well ran dry?  They’d already given up bathing and Ma only prepared one meal a day, using mostly vegetables she’d preserved and dried meat.  Her younger sister, Hannah, moaned the most, but change was inevitable if they were to survive.

Drastic times called for change. The horses needed water every day but Betsy no longer filled the trough, instead gave them small amounts from a pail.  The chickens seemed unaware of their plight and pecked unaffected at the ground, searching for insects.  A small dirt devil swirled across the empty corral and moved like a ghost-like apparition through the white-washed fence and then disappeared from sight behind the barn.  Rain was certain to come and things would improve.  She needed to cling to that hope.

Pa’s hunts were unsuccessful as most game had fled in search of vegetation. Fishing was no better since the lakes and streams dried up, leaving bloated trout and catfish littering the banks. At seventeen, this was the most severe time Betsy had witnessed in her life.  The plants in the garden were a withered as Betsy’s heart.  She'd never find a beau miles from nowhere to whisk her away to better times.  Her stomach growled the hunger and her dried mouth cried out for a long, cool drink.

A glance at the shack they called home served as a reminder there was no reason to stay in this God-forsaken place, but Pa saw something she didn’t and remained determined to make this their permanent home.  Perhaps it was because they’d been driven from every other place they’d lived…either by crooked tax men or cattlemen who didn’t want to share the rangeland.  Pa came from a family that raised sheep and saw that as his calling.

Betsy 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.

She 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 her image now, she crawled up on the stone ledge and peered over, searching for any hint of her likeness. Stretching farther . . . she still saw nothing but emptiness.  The old stone beneath her grip gave way, sending her tumbling head first into the black abyss. Her screams echoed back to her.
Betsy hit the water, barely creating a splash.  This wasn’t the way she expected to prove how much remained.  Gathering her wits, she stood, wiped sodden hair from her face and found the water dismally came to her knees. Her second worst fear was realized…her first—how to get out of the well.
“Help me.  Ma!  Pa! Hannah!  Someone!  Heellllpppp!”  Her cries went unanswered but she yelled until she had no voice left.

Time slipped by, and she grew weary.  Her elbow, evidently skinned during the fall, ached and her knees begged her to sit.  The blue sky above darkened with the approaching nighttime, and Betsy sagged into the water letting it lap to her chin while she rested against the stony interior.  Why hadn’t someone come to look for her?

Despite her discomfort, Betsy slept.  She woke with a crick in her neck and fingers wrinkled from being under water.  She glanced up, praying to see someone peering back, but strangely, no longer saw the sky.  Could it still be nighttime?

  Straining her eyes, she noted light leaking around what appeared to be a cover.  Her mind whirred.  Was this all a bad dream?  The fact that she sat in water, confined in a stone prison confirmed the truth.  But why hadn’t someone missed her, and why did they cover the well unless her family thought her dead.  With a hoarse voice, she shouted as loud as she could, but still no one responded.  Trying to find a bright spot, she remembered the circling vultures.  At least she’d cheated them out of a meal, but that didn’t lift her spirits.  Tears plunked into the water, barely making a ripple. Death would surely claim her and deny her marrying, having a family of her own and growing old with them.  She rested her hand on her bosom, searching for a heartbeat.  Maybe she was already dead and didn’t realize it.

****