Sunday Snips and Stuff #snipsand stuff

I apologize for missing last week.  I ended up with my mother at the ER and spent a good part of the day there.  She's still recuperating.  At 91, it takes a while.  :)

Today I'm sharing a portion of my upcoming "Mail Order" bride story, Desperation's Bride.  I'm really excited to have a new project and I hope you enjoy today's offering.  Remember, this is a first draft and not perfect by any means:

Clara sat at the splintery kitchen table, her bare toes curled against the hard-swept dirt floor while she peeled potatoes for dinner's stew. Two weeks had passed since she’d made an excuse to mail her last response to Jason, and now time spun a web around her, making her anxious.  “Ma, have you ever seen the train station in Marysville?”

Her mother looked up from the cupboard where she rolled out dough for a dried apple pie. “Why would you ask such a strange question?”

Continuing with her peeling, Clara calmed her breathing.  “Just curious, that’s all.  I’ve not been in that part of town since the railroad began operating.  I’ve always wanted to take a trip in one of those fancy windowed cars.”

“Don’t see that will ever happen.”  Ma floured the dough and rolled it flat with her wooden cylinder. “This is our home and we have no plans to leave.”  

“Do you have any idea how far it is to Beatrice, NE?”  Clara tried to make her query sound casual.

“Why ever would you ask that?  I’m not sure I understand all these questions.”

“I…I saw a flyer in the mercantile the other day and it made me wonder…no particular reason.”  The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

Ma shrugged.  “I’ve not traveled except from Independence to here with your father, but I did hear women at Church discussing that the Burlington and Missouri River Railroad now runs from Lincoln to Beatrice. Not sure when that happened.”  She plopped her dough into a round tin.  “We should be proud to be witness to such advances in travel.  I suffered coming here on a wagon train with your Pa, and it was definitely not as comfortable as I imagine a train would be.”

“Oh, tell me about it, Ma, you’ve never shared that story.”  Clara put down a potato and her knife and leaned on her palms.

Ma sighed. “It was a long and tiring ride.  We had to leave many of our things behind because the oxen couldn’t stand the strain of pulling a big wagon and all the other weight. The days were long, hot, and filled with work from sun-up to sundown.”  Her gaze lowered.  “A lot of good folks died on that trip in the short distance we came…drownings, illness, even a few run over by their own conveyances.”

“What do you mean by short distance?”  Clara cocked her head.

“Your Pa and I joined up in Independence, which is where most wagon trains depart for Oregon and California.  In fact, the trail has been named the Oregon Trail for the many people seeking new lives out west.”  Her eyes brightened.  “Luckily, you’re father had researched Kansas and knew we would pass right through this place.  We dropped off here because your father believed the Overland Stage and the Pony express would put Marysville on the map, and they have.   I’m just sorry he didn’t live long enough to see and do all he wanted.”  She turned her attention back to the pie, placing cross pieces of dough over the dried apples.  “Oh well,” she said.  “That was another lifetime, and I’m just thankful to have a home and family again.”

Clara stifled an inward gasp.  Now was not the time to share her intentions.  Ma would be very upset at the prospect of her daughter leaving.  The silence begged for words.  “I’m glad you made the trip safely, Ma, and I’m certain Pa would be very proud of you today.  You’re a strong woman and a good wife.  I love you very much.”

******

I'm making good progress on this one and look forward to announcing a release date soon.  Stay tuned...and in the meantime, jump on over to the following blogs and see what's up today:

ttp://connievines.blogspot.com (Connie Vines)

http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/ (Juliet Waldron)

http://triciamg.blogspot.com (Tricia McGill)

Welcome Peggy L. Henderson to Dishin' It Out - Orphan Trains

My recent book release, In His Arms (Book 3 in the Blemished Brides Series) deals with a young woman who is not only facing a physical handicap, but she was also a rider of the orphan train.  

There is so much history to be found with the Orphan Train movement, which gave me the creative freedom to come up with my own circumstances for my characters. 

The number of orphans or children of poor and destitute families continued to climb from early colonial days well into the nineteenth century. Private charities were established to care for these children, and the New York Orphan Asylum Society was one of the first private children’s charity, formed in 1806. It required that children be placed as soon as they received basic education. 

By 1854, the first annual report by the Children’s Aid Society reported that there were at least 10,000 vagrant children in New York. Publicly funded programs failed to adequately deal with these orphans, which gave rise to over 100 private charities between 1850 and 1860. Many of these charities placed these children into indentured servitude for boys by the age of 12 and girls by the age of 14. Due to the lack of jobs in the eastern states, charities began sending the children to rural areas in the west where child labor was needed. This soon became known as the Orphan Train Movement, a phrase first used in 1854.

These children could be placed anywhere, with no geographical restrictions. The participating charities would ask the families who received the children to sign an agreement that the child would be accepted into the family, but there was generally very little enforcement or oversight. 

Committees were formed in towns where the orphan trains would stop, and advertisements would be placed in local newspapers announcing the children. Prospective families could specify what child they were looking for ahead of time.  

The children were usually placed into two groups - those who were selected for adoption and those who were not. Selected children went home with their families. The others got back on the train and rode to the next stop. Siblings were often separated from each other and, in many cases, never saw each other again.  

The orphan train movement ended in 1929, partly due to labor no longer being needed in the west, and railroad expansion in the US was finished and most railroads no longer subsidized the charities for moving the children.

Excerpt from In His Arms:

“You didn’t tell me what happened to your leg.”

Grace glanced down, his words taking her off guard. She shook her head slightly. 

“It’s an old injury,” she stammered. “A wagon wheel ran over my leg when I was younger. It was never set properly.”

The corners of Levi’s eyes twitched as they narrowed. He looked unsure, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to say any more than was necessary. 

When he finally spoke, it was a low grumble. “I rode the orphan train, too.” 

Grace’s eyes widened, and she stared up at him. The cold air around her vanished. Their eyes connected and held, as if some invisible string suddenly wound itself around them, and neither could look away. She shared a connection with this man through the orphan train? 

“How’d you and your sister end up in Montana Territory?”

He asked his question before she could open her mouth to find out how he’d ended up in a remote cabin in the mountains. Grace swallowed back the constricting feeling in her throat. How much should she tell him? Not that it mattered. She and Rose were two of so many who had faced a similar plight. 

“I only have vague memories of my life on the streets of New York,” she began. “My family was too poor to properly care for me and Rose. To bring home food, I was sent to beg in the streets.” She sniffed, and wiped the back of her hand under her cold nose, and laughed scornfully. “When a vegetable vendor accidentally ran over my leg with his cart, my father had thought it a lucky turn of events. He said that folks would take pity on me, and give me more money.”

“He never took you to get your leg set by a doctor?” A spark of anger blazed in Levi’s eyes. 

Grace laughed again. “He would rather spend any money we received on liquor than getting me seen by a doctor.” She sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, letting the mist swirl around her face. 

“My mother died in childbirth, along with my baby brother when I was about ten. Soon after, Pa left one morning and never came back. I took care of Rose on my own, until an Alms House picked us up. Years later, we were put on a train and sent out west.” She shrugged to hide her pain, and gazed off into the distance as old memories resurfaced. 

How would her life have turned out if she’d stayed in New York? Her hope for a future there had been just as bleak as it had been on the journey west. No one wanted a cripple. No one, until Harlan Randall took a look at her during one of the adoption stops. Why her sister kept getting passed over time and again remained a mystery, but then again, many of the orphans rode the train for years, with no hope of finding a family willing to take them in. 

Peggy L Henderson

Western Historical and Time Travel Romance

“Where Adventure Awaits and Love is Timeless”

Author of:

Yellowstone Romance Series

Teton Romance Trilogy

Second Chances Time Travel Romance Series

Blemished Brides Western Historical Romance Series

                

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Sunday Snippets with Ginger Simpson #SundaySnips

I'm baaackkkk, and it's time for another sampling.  Today I'm offering six paragraphs from "Odessa" a western historical that hasn't gotten much press.

Odessa Clay struggled to lift the overturned wagon off her father.  Her muscles burned and splinters dug into her palms, but Papa’s ashen face and eyes squinting with pain inspired her determination. She bit her bottom lip and struggled to stay calm.

“God, please help me,” she muttered through clenched teeth, as she pushed, shoved, and lifted with every ounce of strength she had left. The veins in the backs of her hands bulged, but the wagon didn’t budge. At one hundred pounds and barely five feet tall, she proved no match for solid wood. Her chest heaved and each breath took effort. She brushed sweat-dampened hair from her brow and knelt. All her struggling had only succeeded in setting the left rear wheel into a slow spin and creating an eerie whirring in the silence.

“Hold on, Papa. I’ll find some way to help you.”   Her nails bit into her fisted palms.

 His pale features contorted, and fear clutched her heart. She rose and stared up and down the trail. Nothing stirred except the hot wind that whipped her long hair into tangles and sent a dust funnel swirling in the distance.

Turning her attention back to her father, she again attempted to lift the wagon’s cumbersome weight and failed. 

“Can anyone hear me,” she screamed, searching the trail again.

Cover by Dawne Dominique

Find Odessa on my Amazon page.  You can also find it at http://www.eternalpress.biz

Now...hop on over to my Sunday Snippet playmates and see what they're offering:

Tricia McGill

Vijaya Schartz

Connie Vines

Jamie Hill

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 with Ginger #frifreebits

Welcome back to more from Destiny' Bride.  I hope you're enjoying the tidbits I'm sharing so much that you'll want to buy your own copy.  So...on with the story:

****

The pesky rooster crowed as sunlight barely lit the room. For Cecile, he only announced another lonely day filled with tasks she hated. Still tired from yesterday’s chores, she fought the urge to roll over and go back to sleep, but resisted. Although staying within the comfort of the warm and cozy blankets was much more enticing than all the things that had become her responsibility, she threw back the covers and steeled herself against the brisk morning air. 

The rough plank flooring felt icy cold as she moved her bare feet from side to side, searching for her slippers. She pulled on her worn and faded wrapper and, hunching into a shiver, shuffled across to the fireplace. Fingers of morning light touched the pitiful mismatched furniture and rough hewn walls, a grim reminder of her disappointment in her new home, nothing at all like the painted rooms and elegant furnishings in her parents’ place. Who would have guessed that marrying the man of her dreams would bring her miles from civilization to a life that left her feeling older than her actual nineteen years? 

When flames crackled in the fireplace, she opened the door and stared across the prairie, at the fiery orange halo stretching across the horizon. A light breeze blew the knee-high grass back and forth in a rhythmic dance, and drops of dew reflected the rising sun. Goose bumps peppered her arms. Loneliness hung heavy in her heart. 

The chickens foraged the ground for feed, and the cow and horses kicked the wall of the barn, restless for release into the roomier outside pen. Unhappy grunts from the pigsty indicated the sow was ready to eat. Cecile sighed, wondering about Walt. He should have been home by now. Maybe today was the day. She ducked back inside and changed into her work clothes. 

During her husband’s absence, she’d perfected the routine of balancing the outside chores with the inside ones. Thankfully, the weather change lessened the amount of dust seeping through the crooked shutters, giving her a respite from sweeping. With everything done for the day, she sat down to practice her crocheting, noting she was getting pretty good at it. Strangely, the practice piece of knotted yarn was beginning to grow into something resembling a baby blanket. 

Images of a young boy in little coveralls, working alongside his father, filled her head. The lad looked like Walt. The picture switched to a miniature of herself, the Cecile that wore pretty dresses and looked feminine as a child. 

****

As you can see, Walt has gone for supplies, leaving Cecile behind.  She's biding her time, and now believes she's 'with child.'

Until next week...I'll leave you with my Amazon Author's Page in case you can't wait for more.

Friday Freebits with Ginger #frifreebits

Welcome to Friday...it's time for more of Destiny's Bride.  Hope you enjoy the six I've selected this week.  Remember, last week, Cecile got her first glimpse of Walt's Ranch...the place he plans as their home.  Let's see what happens next:

****

Walt was up before the sun the next morning, eager to get an early start. The cocky rooster crowed as Cecile dragged herself out of bed and slugged toward the kitchen. She’d never been an enthusiastic morning person. After pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot Walt had brewed, she sat at the table, her head propped on her arm, while she willed her eyes to stay open. 

“Good morning, beautiful.” 

“Umm hmm” she muttered, still dozing. 

When he walked over in sock-clad feet and planted a kiss on her forehead, she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. The truth dawned. He was leaving for Castroville. She squared her shoulders, determined not to make his departure any harder than it had to be, and began gathering food for his trip. While he pulled on his boots, she filled Aunt May’s basket full of biscuits, jam, and the last of the bacon. 

Walt walked up behind Cecile and put his arms around her. “Cece, I hate leaving you here alone, but the sooner I go, the sooner I can get back.” 

She stiffened at his mention of alone. “I know you have to go and that I have to stay here to take care of things, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m miles from nowhere.” She hadn’t meant to add to his guilt for leaving, but her words spilled out before she thought. 

****

Finally settled in their home, Walt has to go for winter supplies, but someone has to stay behind and tend the animals.  You guessed it:  Cecile, and she's not happy.  In fact, she has no idea where she is and where he has to go.

Amazon Author's Page

Friday Freebits with Ginger #frifreebits

It's Friday and more from Destiny's Bride.  Glad you came, and I hope you're telling your friends what a great time you have sharing teasers from my favorite book.  So...on with my six paragraphs:

****

They passed a lake at the foot of the rise, with water so inviting Cecile wished for a swim, and just beyond, the thick stand of trees Walt had talked of so many times. Her heart fluttered with excitement. They were finally home. 

The team’s shoulder muscles bulged with effort to get the loaded wagon to the crest of the hill. Once there, Walt reined the horses. “Well, here we are.” His gaze trained on the buildings below. 

Cecile blinked her eyes in disbelief. This couldn’t be it. There was no house, just a deserted shack with a terribly rundown barn. There had to be a mistake. She waited for Walt to put an end to his joke. He didn’t, just snapped the reins and set the wagon in motion, stopping in front of the ugliest structure Cecile had ever seen. 

She sat frozen to the wagon seat and looked around. Prairie grass had grown up to the doorway, and in place of glass windows, weather-beaten shutters barely hung on to the aging wood of what Walt called a house. The previous owner had added on a makeshift porch that tilted away from the house and looked unsafe. Her mind spun, remembering his description of his purchase. There were rolling hills in the distance, trees, and they did pass a small lake on the way in, but this couldn’t possibly be what he’d been so excited about. Tears burned the back of her eyes. 

Walt jumped off the wagon and reached to help her down. He looked so happy, she prayed her disappointment didn‘t show. She fixed a smile on her face and leaned over into his waiting arms. 

Despite her attempt at feigned pleasure, he must have detected something amiss. 

****

I guess you're surmised that Walt's description of his ranch doesn't exactly fit what his new bride expects.  I can only imagine her shock.  :)  

Buy link:  Amazon Author's Page.

Friday Freebits with Ginger #frifreebits

Welcome back to my Friday feature.  I finished my teasers from my short-story collection, Discovery, last week, so now I'm going to be sharing tidbits from Destiny's Bride, which is on sale for 99 cents during the Books We Love September Select Sale.  Hope you enjoy my six paragraphs and want to get a copy of your own so you can read every exciting word.  Okay...so I'm biased, but this was my debut novel and I love it..

***

He'd never been in Silver City before, she would have remembered his rugged good looks.  Tight, dark denims clung to his masculine thighs and beneath a black leather vest, open shirt buttons revealed a well-muscled chest.  Her gaze slid boldly down his body, thoroughly enjoying the sight until the reflection of the sun off his silver belt buckle blinded her.  She swallowed and averted her eyes.  What had come over her?  Such brazen leering.  Goodness, she wasn't a harlot.

At almost the same moment that she walked past, he stepped onto the wooden walkway and made eye contact.  He touched his wide hat brim and smiled.  For a second, his blue eyes held her captive.

Suddenly, the weight of the tray she carried tripled and her breathing quickened..  Her cheeks warmed at the crooked smile that told her he knew she'd been staring at him.  In her haste to escape the embarrassment behind the bank's doors, just a few steps away, she caught her heel in a large knothole.  She tried to recover gracefully but fell flat on her bottom with a resounding plop.  Her dignity suffered as she realized how pitiful she looked with her father's lunch spilled all over her.  Luckily, most of the mashed potatoes and gravy landed on the ground, but the vegetables and ham slices filled her lap.

Before she could stand, he knelt at her side, plucking green beans from her dress.  "Are you all right ma"am?" His quivering lips failed at masking his desire to laugh.

She'd just made a fool of herself in front of the most handsome man she'd ever seen.  Of course she wasn't all right  What must he think?

Managing a weak smile and struggling for some semblance of composure, she accepted his proffered hand. While avoiding his gaze, she nervously smoothed wet wrinkles from her dress.  "Yes, I'm fine," she croaked. "Thank you for your help."  Her voice trembled in unison with her insides.


****
I've just taken a passage from the start of the novel, where Cecile Palmer meets her future husband...oh, but her fate takes an unusual turn which I'll get to during the course of the next few offerings.  In the meantime, if you want to take advantage of a great sale, you can find Destiny's Bride on my Amazon page.

Friday Freebits with Ginger - #frifreebits #blogshare

I'm continuing with six paragraphs from White Heart, Lakota Spirit, my western historical release from Eternal Press.  In this book, the heroine from Destiny's Bride is present, and although this is a stand-alone story, I suggest you read Cecile/Green Eyes' history to familiarize yourself with her decision to stay with the Lakota as it plays a role in Grace's life.  I really enjoyed researching and writing this book.

Here are my six this week.  Enjoy:

 Realizing her mother hadn’t followed, Grace rose up on her knees and peeked outside. A pack of whooping Indians rode round and round the wagon, their voices creating a din of eerie screams while bullets exploded. The hair on Grace’s arms stood on end. She covered her ears, crouched against the sidewall and prayed the savages would go away.

Shots rang out from beneath the wagon when Papa and Kevin returned fire.  Fretting over her mother, Grace peeked out again. Mama shrieked and grabbed for the tailgate, but a mounted marauder

pumped a bullet into her shoulder. She fell, silenced for the moment, but tried to struggle to her feet. The Indian shot her again.

 Grace’s screams echoed in her own head. “No! Oh God, Mama,” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Mamaaaa...”

Overpowered by hopelessness, Grace looked on as the painted rider stopped next to Mama’s fallen body and emptied another round into her. A stream of bright red trickled through the dry dirt, and her beloved mother lay motionless. Bile rose in Grace’s throat. She collapsed into a cowering heap, silenced her sobs with her hands, and clenched her teeth to keep from screaming.

God hadn’t intervened so maybe the ordeal was all a bad dream and Mama wasn’t really dead. Still, the shooting and whooping continued. Pounding hooves sent dust seeping into the wagon,

and Grace sputtered. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t awaken from the terror.

The gunfire suddenly ceased. She listened for the awful war cries but heard nothing but stony silence. Terror brought her breathing in ragged gasps. Were her brother and father still alive? And what about Mama?

*****

Available on my Amazon page.  Favorable reviews are greatly appreciated.

Now, please visit the other participants and see what they are offering this week:


Jamie Hill
Tricia McGill
Juliet Waldron
Taryn Raye
Kathy Fischer-Brown
Rhobin Lee Courtright
Margaret Tanner

Round Robin Blog with Ginger - #RndRbn0614

This month, Rhobin Courtright has given us a real challenge:
Post your best explosive (literally or figuratively, physically or emotionally) scene from your writing.  Try to keep it relatively short. Tell about your reaction to writing it, background information for your purpose, for the characters, etc.

I've selected a scene from Sarah's Heart and I think what takes place explains why my heroine is worried, tense, and emotionally upset. 

 I react to Lone Wolf's treatment with the same angst, but maybe a little more so because of the way he's treated solely because of his ethnicity.  I took writing this scene very personally because almost every day, someone plays the race card and places us in a position to defend ourselves against something we clearly aren't.  I once was sued for racial bias by a co-worker I'd worked with for eight years, and when I thought of all the nights I'd carried her work home to help her stay afloat, and that I'd never done a thing to treat her any differently than the rest of my co-workers, I was hurt, mad, and confused all at the same time. At the time, I had no idea she took legal action merely for the purpose of monetary gain, and even once I figured out her motives, the whole scenario still stung. 

I wasn't guilty, but that didn't matter. In the end, ##### got my job, my retirement, and for a while, me...consumed by hatred.. After years, I finally realized I was only hurting myself by carrying around all that anger.. she probably went on with her life with no further thoughts of me.  For eight years, I considered her a friend, so wherever she is, I hope she's fine and enjoying life.

Anyhow...on with Sarah's Heart.


At the sound of approaching horses everyone turned toward a swirling cloud of dust climbing skyward. Sarah’s heart quickened until she glimpsed the familiar blue coat with gold buttons on the first two riders appearing from the haze. A cavalry troop, maybe fifty strong, in two perfect lines, reined in their animals in front of the mission. 

While the rest of the regiment remained astride, the ranking officer dismounted, removed his hat and approached. 

“Good morning, Father Brouchard. First Lieutenant Blandon Moore at your service. You might recall we passed through last month.” 

Despite a seemingly pleasant disposition, the officer’s eyes fixed a stony glare on Wolf. “May I ask your name?” 

“Only if you tell me why you want to know.” Wolf stared back, his tone defiant. 

The Lieutenant’s jaw tensed. With narrowed eyes, he glanced over his shoulder. “Sergeant Flynn, you and Private McCoy dismount and take this half-breed into custody!” 

At the rigid tone in their commander’s voice, the two men scrambled down, each grabbing one of Wolf’s arms.

 Sarah gasped. 

“Let me go, dammit!” Wolf fought against restraint until they twisted his limbs so far behind his back that his face contorted with pain. 

Sarah cast a pleading look at the priest, but instead of intervening, the man stood quietly with his fingers interlaced and a look of apprehension on his face. Despite detesting confrontation, she squared her shoulders and stepped forward. “Excuse me, Lieutenant, but what’s the meaning of this?” The quiver in her voice belied her courage. 

He removed his hat and raked a surveying gaze over her. “And who’s asking?” 

“Sarah Collins. I’m traveling with Mr….Gray Wolf. I’m sure you’ve made a mistake. There is absolutely no reason for the horrible way your men are treating him.” 

“Would that be Miss Collins?” His gaze rested on her bosom then moved to her face. She squirmed beneath the undeniable hunger in his eyes. 

“Yes.” Her voice was terse. “Wolf has been kind enough to save my life and see me to my destination. I would appreciate you allowing us to continue our journey in peace.” 

Lieutenant Moore frowned. “Traveling alone with a breed? Humph! I’m sure you would like to continue…whatever it is you were doing,” his mouth formed a sneer, “but I believe your friend is a thief. There’s a wanted poster floating around with his picture on it.” 

“Again, you are very much mistaken.” She stood toe-to-toe with the Lieutenant in the wake of the his insulting tone. His intimated impropriety heated her cheeks. 

“Well see about that.” He plopped his hat back atop his head and turned to his men. Secure the prisoner on his horse. We’ll take him back to Fort Leavenworth and see if the quartermaster can identify him as the scoundrel who helped himself to the stolen supplies. 

“But…no…wait…” Sarah’s shoulders sagged. 

“Good day, Miss Collins.” The officer made a slight bow, spun on his heel and remounted.

Sarah watched helplessly as the men tied Wolf’s hands and threw him astride Scout. She dropped her valise and ran to his side. Peering up at him, she clutched his leg while her stomach twisted into a knot. “What can I do to help? They can’t just take you away and leave me out here alone.” 

His brow furrowed. “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do. Wait for me. I’ll get back…at least try to, as soon as I can.”

Wow...bet you can't wait for more tension.  Hop on over to the other participants' links and see what they have to offer:

Margaret Fieland at http://margaretfieland.com/my_blog
Heidi M. http://heidiwriter.wordpress.com
Beverley Bateman at http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Kay Sisk http://kaysisk.blogspot.com
Anne Stenhouse at http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com
Connie Vines at http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Ginger Simpson at http://mizging.blogspot.com
Geeta Kakade at http://geetakakade.blogspot.com/
Fiona McGier at http://www.fionamcgier.com
Lynn Crain at http://lynncrain.blogspot.co.at/
Rhobin Courtright at http://rhobinleecourtright.com