MURDER SHE WROTE....AND SHE HEARD ABOUT IT!

The picture at the left was taken at Walmart...you'll see my book on the "Bestseller's shelf" but my novel was only there a few minutes...just long enough to remove the book from my coat and take a snapshot.  :)  I figured when people ask if my book is at Walmart, I could say I saw it there once.  *lol*

I'm not mainstream material...I admit it.  I don't write to word requirements, and I hate the box your have to fit your story into.   I love small press because they allow you creative liberties you don't usually have, as long as you write it well.

 For a couple of years, I reviewed HQ medical romances...until I got totally sick of reading the same story with different names and locales.  Honestly...even if you write fiction, you have to use a little reality in your story.  I can't count how many times, I've read reviews that expressed their appreciation for the believability of the story.

So...I dare to write outside that stupid box.  Since I'm a pantser, my stories are all character driven, and when the hero or heroine stops talking, I stop writing.  I take the story as far as the character wants to go, and that's where it ends...whether it be 35,000 words or 95,000.

In Yellow Moon, one of my latest releases, I dared end with something other than the standard HEA.  Oh, if you look beyond, there is an HEA, just not the one expected.  A review I received gave me 4 stars.  She liked the romance, but didn't like the ending.  You can't please everyone, everytime.

NEWSFLASH!  I base my books on reality even though I write fiction.  I don't like stories tied into a neat little box, and I try to bring something a little different to the reading world.  What I've found?  Most readers want to escape their own lives, live in the shoes of a heroine or hero, and they aren't ready for the unexpected.  If you throw in a surprise ending, it upsets people, and they let you know it.  I guess Mainstream romance has taught folks to expect the hero to gallop in on a white stallion, rescue the damsel in distress, and ride off into the sunset together, to live a beautiful life, happily ever after.  Yuk!  Why can't he trample the heroine with the horse, pick up a secondary character and sweep her away to an expected future?  Okay...maybe  "trample" is a bit extreme, but you have to admit, you'd be surprised, and someone is living happily ever after, just not who you thought it would be.  To me, that's being creative.

Although my first instinct is to respond to those bitter reviews with "Write Your Own Book," I grit my teeth and move on.  I guess I'll never be as popular as those who write their stories to fit into tidy little boxes, but I enjoy being that different author.

Here's hoping there are some readers out there looking for me.  :)

If you are, you can find my books on Amazon.

SUNDAY SNIPPETS FROM GINGER SIMPSON #Sundaysnips

Yellow Moon traipsed down the dried grass path leading to the river…a lane trampled flat by many feet before hers. Halting at the bank, she gazed at the shimmering ribbon of blue driven southward by a rapid current. In what place did the water gather when its journey ended?  She recalled tales of this thing called an “ocean” that stretched as far as one could see and tried to envision what such hugeness might look like.

A tap on her shoulder drew her from reverie. She gasped. Turning, and still unable to exhale, she came face-to-face with the most attractive brave she’d ever seen. Sunlight glistened on his freshly greased braids, and muscled arms extended from a broad, smooth chest exposed beneath his fringed vest. Finding her voice proved impossible.

“Hau,” He greeted her. “I too come for water.”  He extended a pouch identical to the buffalo bladders she carried.

Releasing her pent up breath, she let go the tension his touch raised. “I was deep in thought, and you...you startled me.”  Her gaze remained locked with his–eyes capable of casting fear in an enemy, yet softened by his smile.

“I am sorry I frightened you, but our meeting is not by chance. I followed you here, hoping to learn your name. I know I should not have approached you in this way, but I have watched you helping the other women erect your lodge...and…I just have to know you. Taku eniciyapi he?” He asked her name.

“Mitakuyepi…my name is...Yellow Moon. I am so called for the season when the leaves fall.”

“Mitakuyepi Thunder Eyes.”  He puffed out his chest and stood straighter.

buy link: Amazon Author's Page

Here's the link of other participating authors.  We hope to see it grow:

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

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

http://www.jamiehill.biz (Jamie Hill)

http://medievalnovels.blogspot.com (Vijaya Schartz)

A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM...#apagestraightfrom

Yellow Moon

by

Ginger Simpson

Yellow Moon, stood in the arena and eyed the sacred tree.  It’s colorful paintings and images of the buffalo and other trinkets attested to a pending ceremony.  Warriors, dressed as the wooly beasts that sustained the tribes, gathered for a final buffalo dance to herald the piercing of children’s ears.  Yellow Moon wasn’t sure of the reason, but considered it some sort of initiation into the tribe.

While dancing and piercings took place, a runner was sent to summon the Sun Dancers from their lodges where they fasted and meditated.

Very few of the children even muttered a sound as holes were put into each ear lobe.  Taught from birth that silence could save their lives, their bravery was a testimony of their mother’s patience and love.  Would she be a good mother? 

  Yellow Moon turned to the girl next to her.  “Are you as happy as I am that women are excused from having to perform the Sun Dance?”

“Why is that?”  The young woman asked.

“Are you Lakota?”  Inquisitiveness cocked Yellow Moon’s head.

“I am Falling Snow of the Dakota.”

“Oh. Then you also follow Sioux belief that childbirth is even more painful than the levels experienced during the Sun Dance.  That is the reason we are excused.”  She looked back to the dancers and than back to Falling Snow.  “I have seen many births in the women’s hut.  Have you?”

The young woman shook her head, her gaze focused on the line of children.  “There is my brother.”  She pointed out a boy who appeared to be around ten summers, then waved and smiled.

“He looks very brave.  I hope I can be when my time comes to give birth. Although I want many children, I do not look forward to squatting over a trough in the ground while grasping a pole to help me expel my baby.”

Falling Snow’s nose crinkled. “I have heard the cries of many families who have lost a beloved wife and mother to birthing a child.  The thought scares me.”  The girl’s throat wobbled with a hard swallow of remembrance.

“I too, have heard those cries, and watched firsthand during my monthly time, while mothers and babies were called home by the Great Spirit.  We can only pray we are one of the lucky ones when our time comes to be called Ina.”

Falling Snow nodded.  “Do you have a husband?”

“I have been promised to Thunder Eyes of the Santee.  He will dance today.”

The piercings ended and their conversation cut short when the Sun Dancers entered the arena.  Their painted bodies displayed the expected myriad of colors and symbols, and they followed two holy men to a bed of sage beneath the tree.  Those to be skewered lay upon the aromatic herbs while those who chose only to dance or have minor pain inflicted stood to the side.  Her gaze roamed the faces of those standing, looking for someone who resembled Thunder Eyes.  No one came close to looking as handsome.

She shifted her gaze to Thunder Eyes, who lay unflinching, while staring in thought and concentration.  Pride swelled Yellow Moon’s heart.  Was this what Ina felt at hearing her daughter’s name called?

Yellow Moon turned away and picked up a sage wreath with two spiked feathers attached.  She purposely averted her gaze when the holy man knelt to make incisions in her intended’s chest.  She looked back in time to see an awl drawn through the cuts, a wooden peg inserted through the gaping skin to which a rawhide rope, symbolizing an umbilical cord was attached.  She gnashed her teeth for his pain.  Tethered to the tree, Thunder Eyes was to dance while staring at the sun until his skin tore free.  How, she wondered, could childbirth hurt more?

With blood trickling down his chest, but his face still stoic and emotionless, Thunder Eyes was helped to his feet.  Yellow Moon, as instructed previously, stepped forward and placed the sage wreath upon his head.  “You are so brave,” she whispered. 

He gave no indication he’d heard, and adjusted his head adornment.

As the dance began, the sound of bone whistles filled the air.  Thunder Eyes, and the others connected to the Cottonwood approached the tree four times, and with each forward movement, touched the wood with their palms.  Yellow Moon joined the tribal prayers chanted by all to send strength and valor to the tree so those traits passed through to the participants with each contact they made. 

The dance seemed endless.  Only Thunder Eyes remained upright.  Other’s had torn away their flesh and fallen to the ground, still others had passed out from pain.  Those who chose to make less of a sacrifice danced to the side, their movements barely noticed by the crowd as most eyes focused on the skewers that tugged at Thunder Eyes’ chest.  His face remained impassionate and his mood, focused.

His body slanted away from the tree while blood seeped from his wounds, and the rawhide pulling his flesh into peaks made Yellow Moon wince.  His face to the sky, Thunder Eyes’ eagle-bone whistle sounded with each move he made.  Was blowing the instrument his way of dealing with the pain?

The sun had moved to the other side of the sky when he finally fell to his knees in exhaustion.  He quickly struggled to his feet and continued his dance, but only for a short time before the sound of tearing skin replaced his constant whistle.  Fresh red ran from his wounds, but the pleased look on his face denied any pain.  The Sun Dance was over, and Yellow Moon gazed with admiration and respect at her soon-to-be husband before he disappeared into the throngs of people who rushed forward to reward and congratulate him and the others.

Published by Books We Love and available on Amazon.

A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM... #apagestraightfrom

Yellow Moon

by

Ginger  Simpson

When the fire died down and the dancing ended, Yellow Moon returned to her mother’s lodge with her family for the night.  She and Two Doves lagged behind, still chatting about Thunder Eyes and the impression he’d made.  Her mother looked from the full moon to her daughter.  “Too bad the celebration lasted so late.   This would be a perfect night for a young man to come courting.”  She chuckled.

“Will I see Thunder Eyes tomorrow?”

“He’ll probably spend the day with others who plan to dance.  Although he needs a wife, he made this trip for another purpose as well.”  She gazed at the sky again.  “Isn’t the June Berry moon beautiful?”  Her ate sighed. “Makes me want to be young again.”

“Well, I’m young, and the moon is obviously of no use to me.” Yellow Moon’s hopes of spending time with Thunder Eyes unraveled. The yellow circle in the sky only had meaning if she stood beneath it with her newly intended. She pulled her mouth into a pout. “What will we do tomorrow?”

Two Doves shrugged. “Most likely spend our time as we did today, meeting others, learning new things, and sharing what we know.  Oh...how could I forget?”  She clapped her hands and smiled, her teeth glistening in the moonlight. “Tomorrow is the day the Shaman announces who will assist with the ceremony and who will lead it. You know what that means, don’t you?”

“Not really.  You have never before suggested me to be part of the ceremony, and I did not come last year.  Remember, according to you, I was wasting my time at the white man’s school?”

“Waste is a fitting word, but you are here this year and for that, I’m happy.  Tomorrow we will learn whether or not your name will be called as one to search for the sacred cottonwood. Only the purest of women are allowed to participate, so you’ll surely be among those chosen.” 

From her mother’s emotional display, being among those named must be an honor for the parents, but Yellow Moon didn’t feel the least exited...especially when she recalled the speech to the Shaman about her virtue and character.

 Embarrassment burned her cheeks.  She wasn’t in the least worthy to be among those chosen. “That’s what I get for keeping secrets from Ate and Ina. ”Grumbling, she ducked inside the tepee.

 Guilt gnawed at her, but she dare not say a word..  Her father would most likely deny Thunder Eyes courting rights, and that caused a pain in her heart.

The family settled down quickly on their pallets.  Yellow Moon slipped between the comfort of shaggy buffalo robes and curled on her side.  Although tired, images of her handsome suitor played over and over in her mind.  Thoughts of courting, how she would react to the attention, and most of all, traveling to live among virtual strangers kept her head spinning while she peered at the small crackling fire her father had built before settling into bed.

 Her eyes blurred from staring at the flames and she looked away.  A coyote’s yowl pierced the night—a chilling sound, too close for comfort.  At the rustling noise of her sister bolting upright, Yellow Moon edged up on her elbow and recognized wide-eyed fear on Red Feather’s face.

“Did you hear that?” The young girl’s creased brow made her appear older than her eleven summers.

A second howl answered the first before Yellow Moon could respond.  Goosebumps peppered her flesh despite being warm, but she swallowed hard and hid her fear.  “Don’t be afraid, my sister.”  She whispered in a calm tone not wishing to wake the others, then glanced up at moonlight filtering through the smoke hole.  “We’re safe inside.  Calm yourself and go back to sleep.  Sunrise is still hours away.”  

Available from Books We Love on my Amazon page.

A Page Straight From Ginger Simpson #apagestraightfrom

Yellow Moon

by

Ginger Simpson

A thunder of drums created a steady melody. Male dancers, most dressed only in breechclouts, knee-high moccasins and wearing a variety of feathered headdresses, stomped in time to the beat around a roaring fire in the middle of the compound.  On this, the first night of the Sun Dance festivities, Yellow Moon sat with her family in a large circle comprised of members from other tribes who had traveled great distances to pay homage to the Great Spirit.  Her focus was more on meeting Thunder Eyes than the celebration and the pleasing aroma of roasting meat wafting in the air.  She swiped her damp palms down the skirt of her dress.

Her mother sat to Yellow Moon’s left, next to Walking Tall. Dressed in fringed buckskins, he wore one eagle feather draping down the side of his silver-streaked hair, his back straighter than the arrows he carried in his quiver.  The firelight reflected ebony eyes that stared forward.  Yellow Moon’s pride knew no boundaries.

She had changed into her favorite doeskin...the one her mother had adorned with colored beads. Even her younger sister and brother sparkled like the cherished new penny Father O’Brien had given her. He’d said the coin promised good fortune, and she’d hidden the treasure in her moccasin.  A wayward stone poked into her skin.  She reached beneath her leg, found, and tossed aside the offending pebble. Maybe the penny’s lucky power had nothing to do with discomfort.  Still, she cherished the gift from a beloved friend.

Casting aside those pleasant memories, Yellow Moon glanced down at her dress then to her mother.  “Maybe we shouldn’t sit together. You look more like my sister than my ina. We are even dressed alike.”  Yellow Moon giggled and smiled. “Maybe I should worry that Thunder Eyes will find you more attractive than….”

Her mother clucked her tongue against her teeth.  “Such a silly daughter you are.  I am already married and have birthed three children. Clearly, Thunder Eyes asked after you.” She cocked her head and returned her daughter’s smile. “Why would he want an old woman like me?”

“Old? No one would ever guess you near your forty-third summer, Ina.  Your skin is smooth unlike other women your age.  I hope I am as blessed.”

Her mother’s gaze returned to the dancers, her fingers keeping time to the sound of each ‘hi-ya, hey-ya, hey’ sung in accompaniment to their movements.  The drummers sat separate from the circle, their faces bearing colorful paint and their hands moving in unison with one another.  The constant tempo sounded in Yellow Moon’s chest and kept time with her pulsing heart.  Despite reminding herself to be composed, nervousness danced along her spine like flames charring a log.

Conversation of aging forgotten, she craned her neck, searching the crowd, but then realized her suitor was supposed to be unknown to her.  She relaxed and turned her gaze to her mother. “Do you yet see Thunder Eyes, Ina?”  The innocence in her voice sounded convincing even to her.

Her mother’s gaze didn’t sway from the entertainment. “No, but I am captivated by those who dance tonight.  Did you know their movement tells a story of a hunter’s kill?” She patted Yellow Moon’s knee. “You showed very little excitement about Thunder Eyes earlier, I’m surprised by how anxious you are now.”

For fear of discovery they’d already met, Yellow Moon had dared not ask too many questions when her mother had announced Thunder Eye’s request, but now that an official meeting with him had been approved, she had many queries.  Her subtle gaze darted from face to face, searching.  Her mouth turned dry, and unwanted images played in her mind.  What if he’d found another who interested him more? Her stomach felt as though a stone had settled at its bottom.

She recalled her encounter with him at the river, and worried she hadn’t made a good impression. Memories of brushing his arm sent shivers through her again.  Had he felt something similar? Why would he have asked permission to meet her if he didn’t find her appealing?  Doubts clouded her mind and kept her from enjoying the festivities.

Thunder Eyes had been on her mind all afternoon, and those muscular arms, copper chest and deep voice should be reserved only for her. She took a deep breath and struggled to put aside thoughts of him with another. The bitter taste of jealousy in her already dry mouth made it even more difficult. She blinked back tears—foolish tears, she told herself.

Yellow Moon is availabe on my Amazon page.