Guest: Brenda B. Taylor & Through the Storm

Brenda B Taylor and her husband make their home in beautiful East Texas where they enjoy spending time with family and friends, traveling, and working in Bethabara Faith Ministry, Inc. Brenda earned three degrees: a BSE from Henderson State University, Arkadelphia, Arkansas; a MEd from Sam Houston State University, Huntsville, Texas; and an EdD from Texas A&M University, College Station, Texas.

Brenda crafts stories about the extraordinary lives of ordinary people in her favorite place overlooking bird feeders, bird houses, and a variety of blooming trees and flowers. She sincerely thanks all who purchase and read her books. Her desire is that the message in each book will touch the heart of the reader as it did hers in the writing.

Q: Welcome, Brenda! Please tell us about your new release, Through the Storm. Do you have a review you could share with us?

A: The Wade family saga continues in this work of historical fiction set in post-Civil War Missouri. Love reigns in the home of Leann and Ralph Wade, although tested many times during the course of their marriage. Sonny Wade, Ralph's brother, harbors a secret passion for Leann, and Joan Smith, a family friend, desires Ralph. Leann and Ralph struggle to overcome the storms of life through faith, courage, and commitment to each other.

"As always, you make my every childhood Oregon Trail dream come true!  Leann and Ralph's story is simply beautiful.  The characters are amazing, each one with their own identity that is so recognizable.  Well done!" ~ Jessie Clever, author of Inevitably A Duchess

Q: Sounds wonderful! What inspired this story?

A: While engaging in genealogical research, I discovered my father's family moved from Tennessee in the early 1800's to the Cuba, Missouri area. My husband and I traveled to Missouri, visited with cousins, and researched the vicinity of the family home. A flame of desire to write about the family struggles during the post-Civil War days burned brightly.

Q: What is the story behind the story?

A: The Civil War destroyed homes, property, and people. The Wades' older son, Sonny, who is a secondary character in the series, is greatly damaged by his experiences in the conflict. He lost the chance to court and win Leann, although he continues to love her after she marries his brother.

Q: Why do you choose to write historical fiction?

A: I write historical fiction, because I have a minor in history and enjoy the research of earlier time periods.

Q: Where is your favorite place in the world?

A: Beside my home, Scotland is my favorite place in the world. A Scottish historical novel is planned for publication in the near future.

Q: It's my favorite place too. Which element of story creation is your favorite?

A: Developing strong characters and weaving the story around them is my favorite element in story creation. The characters talk to me. Their conversations constantly swirl in my head until I write them on paper.

Q: What inspires you? What motivates you?

A: Writing historical fiction was a longtime desire, but I had to wait until retirement to fulfill the dream.

Q: Please tell us about your other books.

A: Through The Storm is the third book in the Wades of Crawford County saga. The first installments are Heaven Must Wait, and Follow Your Heart. The series follows Leann Clark and Ralph Wade through courtship, marriage, and the storms of family life in post-Civil War Missouri.

Excerpt

"Pa and Junior caught some nice fish in the Meramec last week," Ralph said about halfway into the trip home. "I'm gonna take you and the kids fishing soon. Johnny and me will be through with harvesting the tobacco, and we all need a break from sickness and working hard. Nothing like a good fishing trip to make a person feel better."

"How nice! The kids will love to go fishing. I'll pack a lunch. We'll have a great time." Leann slipped an arm through his.

He looked at her sitting close on the wagon seat, and felt the warmth of her body pressing against his arm. Not being able to resist the temptation to kiss her lovely mouth, he pulled up under a large oak displaying an array of orange and red colors. He had missed her sweet love while lying sick in the bed for what seemed an eternity.

The reins slacked when Leann returned his embrace. Jed came to a complete stop while they kissed in the warm sunlight of a beautiful autumn afternoon. Ralph's hat fell onto the floorboard. A red leaf floated softly into her hair as the sun's rays crowned her head with a golden halo. He nibbled a pink earlobe, then kissed the white nap of her neck where strands of sweet-smelling hair lay in small curls. A folded quilt in the wagon bed came to mind. He may spread it out on the grass for them to lie on.

Leann suddenly removed her arms from his neck. "We'd better go. The kids will be home soon."

Hating to, but knowing the necessity, Ralph released her, found his hat, and took up the reins. They rode the rest of the way in silence, basking in each other's company. The wagon pulled into the front yard at the same time Jim galloped up on Starbright.

Brenda gifting a Kindle copy (from Amazon) of her new book to one commenter! Please remember to leave an email or a way for us to contact you. Thanks!

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Thank you for being our guest today, Brenda! I've enjoyed it!

The Spirit of Seventy...Two

As the holiday weekend winds down, I’ll share a memory from a Fourth-long-past with you all. This particular Independence Day from my childhood likely started with a breakfast of cereal, toast, fresh fruit and a glass of milk. Mungo Jerry possibly played on the radio, singing the classic, “In the Summertime”. The front doorbell rang, mom answered it and returned to the kitchen with two of my friends. Despite my protests, she assured me that finishing my breakfast wouldn’t hamper any of our fun. Before anyone could say frosted flakes, I kept my clean-bowl promise and headed out to our backyard with my friends. Our sneakers came to rest beneath the crabapple tree. We discussed how we’d spend our morning—the morning events we’d planned several days earlier. A quick trip by bicycle to one friend’s house a few doors down eventually found our handlebars decorated with pint-sized American flags conveniently attached to wooden sticks. After a short ride down the street, another friend’s father fitted our bicycle tire spokes with red-striped and blue-striped white straws. As our energy soared so did the temperature, so we returned to my house for some tropical punch (you know, the delicious brand featuring the little island guy). My father was in our garage and revealed a surprise for us. He had these cool metallic plastic streamers in red, blue and silver that he tied to our handlebars. While he finished his handiwork, I retrieved a souvenir from our recent visit to Philadelphia. We kids were now ready for our Spirit Ride. No sooner did our tires hit the street than we started our patriotic campaign on wheels. Flags waving and tires clicking, we recited over and over the opening lines from the Declaration of Independence. From time to time I reached into my woven bicycle basket and clanged the scaled down reproduction of the Liberty Bell. We made umpteen trips around the development, proclaiming our patriotism and having a lot of fun. When our ride ended some time later, we were treated to ice cream bars and Mom’s announcement that no rain was in the forecast. That meant no rain to ruin the town’s fireworks for later that evening. After a break to play with our Barbies and GI Joes, we got permission to make several more trips throughout the neighborhood and promised to return in time for the multi-family barbecue.

Many years have passed since that memorable Fourth, but I remember the moments well. The tang of lighter fluid and charcoal. Sizzling burgers and steaks. Our laughter and shouts. The hiss of the sparkler as it caught a flame. The burst of tropical fruit juice as it exploded on my thirsty tongue. The clang of the vacation-memento bell. Bet Paul Revere never had so many fond memories after his historical ride but we kids surely did.

Wishing you many happy reading moments,

Shawna Moore
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave
TORMENTED -- Ellora's Cave
Shawna's Myspace
Helle's Myspace

Are You There Yet? -- Setting a Story

Why do we read works of fiction in our spare time? Two reasons are for pleasure and for escapism. A novel is comprised of many parts. There are the characters, a literary cast of leading and supporting folks whose journeys, loves, losses and conflicts we eagerly anticipate. If one were dissecting a story, the plot would serve as the framework around which a story is constructed. Another aspect of story is the tone conveyed, and this runs the gamut from upbeat to angst-ridden. Today my focus isn’t on the people, conflicts or tones that comprise a story but rather on the place. Setting is the story element that grants us escapism and fantastic fictional voyages. Allows us to have the sense of being there with the characters and experiencing their surroundings.

My favorite reason for writing historical and paranormal romance deals with setting. The fact I have a chance to recreate bygone eras and create otherworlds is extremely satisfying and often finds me staying up late as my mind sifts through the creative possibilities.



Of all the wonderful and interesting places to set a fiction novel, New Orleans ranks as my favorite. Each time my husband and I have visited the Crescent City, I’ve filled steno tablets with notes referencing the glorious architectural feats and historical details. What visit to this Louisiana getaway is complete without a ride on the St. Charles streetcar? From the moment we stepped out of the front entrance of The Pontchartrain Hotel, the melodic bell’s clang-clanging filled the air. While day-tripping, we soaked up the lively atmosphere on Bourbon Street, visited Voodoo shops and the tomb of Madame Laveau. Simply standing there in St. Louis Cemetery #1 evoked a sense of spirit—not only of those past but also of the indomitable spirits once possessed by those who lay in eternal rest. As a result of our last visit to the cemetery, the idea for my upcoming historical erotic romance, TORMENTED, came to mind. One evening found us strolling parts of the vibrant city and learning about the macabre Madame Dephine LaLaurie and some of the more sinister souls who once lived there. The following afternoon, for a truly breathtaking experience, we ventured into The Garden District and admired the Queen Anne Victorian, Italianate and Greek Revival mansions. Massive oaks stretched their wooden arms toward the sky, and their plentiful leaves whispered at us in passing. Yards bloomed with crape myrtle and magnolia, and fresh-mowed grass filled the air with its crisp-green perfume. Of course, all of our outdoor activities sparked an appetite. The Vieux Carré has always amazed and satisfied us with its fantastic cuisine. Mornings found us browsing the French Market and stopping by Café Du Monde on Decatur Street for delicious cups of café au lait and mouthwatering beignets. Whether you enjoy a muffuletta or some crawfish etoufee for lunch, be certain to save room for some of the cuisine available once the sun heads toward setting. Hearty buffets at the Court of Two Sisters (enjoy their Jazz Brunch on Sundays) or sumptuous steak dinners and Banana’s Foster at Brennan’s. And if you happen to have a craving for sweets and other delectable fare, dine at The Cheesecake Bistro. In the evenings, we walked along Magazine Street or enjoyed a carriage ride through the city.



A winsome Boston socialite—Eve Morneau—falls victim to a venomous beetle’s bite. Her healing and sexual awakening are placed in the hands of a New Orleans physician, Charles Galletiére, whose unconventional means of curing her malady lend themselves to unbridled passion and abandonment of her former ways of life. Immortality comes at a cost to the innocent woman, and her Christian soul might be left hanging in the balance.

As I type this message in a town quite far away from New Orleans, my desire is piqued to return to the delta and place that has served as a setting for several of my novels, some of which are unpublished. Here’s to you all having many journeys to fabulous places and exotic worlds over the course of your traveling and reading lives. As they say, Laissez les bon temps rouler…Let the good times roll.

Wishing you all many happy reading moments,


Shawna Moore
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave
TORMENTED -- Coming soon to Ellora's Cave
Shawna's Myspace
Helle's Myspace

Excerpt from Winning the Highlander's Heart

5 Angels!!! (FAR)
5 Beacons!!! (Lighthouse Literary Reviews)
5 Hearts!!! (Romance Studio)
4.5!!! (Romance Junkies) Winning the Highlander's Heart

ISBN: 0-9785368-3-5

Deceit, Intrigue, Romance in Medieval Scotland and England during the reign of King Henry I.

Determined to avoid King Henry I's randy advances, Lady Anice of Brecken attempts escape, wishing to find a Highlander to escort her home to her castle in Glen Affric where she will rule until she can find a laird worthy of her hand. Laird Malcolm MacNeill desires an English bride to improve his standing with those in power. But rescuing the Scottish lass from an escape attempt casts him into deadly political intrigue when the king sends Malcolm and his brothers to escort the lady home and investigate the disappearance of some of her staff. Now he must protect the king's ward without losing his heart to the willful lass, or he could very well earn His Majesty's wrath...and lose far more.

Excerpt from Winning the Highlander's Heart:

Later, the sound of men’s voices stirred him from his ragged sleep. For a moment, he lay muddle-headed trying to discern what it was he’d heard. Was it his brothers? Then they spoke again. He quickly sat up. ‘Twas not his brothers’ voices. Instantly, his body went on high alert.

Was it the owner of the croft then? If so, would he be angry to find they’d used his dry wood for the fire and used his blankets, too?

Malcolm covered Anice’s face with the blanket, then grabbed his damp trewes and shoved them on, when four men stepped out of the byre into the house.

They appeared to be knights, not a farmer and his family, bearded, wet, and bedraggled. The situation couldn’t be worse. “How now,” Malcolm said in greeting, but edged in the direction of his sword.

“We got caught in this storm and beg your charity, good man,” a black-haired man said, his voice dark, but attempting cheerfulness, his blue eyes icy. He pulled off his rain-soaked cloak, handed it to a stockier man, then glanced at the body buried underneath the blanket.

“Aye, there is a fire here to warm ye.” Malcolm motioned to the hearth, trying to be cordial, though he felt less than charitable if these were some of the baron’s men.

The other three men began to pull off their wet clothes, hanging them around the room to dry.

The first said, “If those are your horses in the byre, methinks you are not the owner of this farm.”

“Aye, the owner was not here when my wife and I came upon the place in the storm.”

“Wife?” The man’s thin lips turned up slightly, but his eyes remained hard. He cast another glance at Anice. “I am Baron Harold de Fountenot. You must be a knight to own such a fine horse, and the lady a daughter of a knight, perchance?”

Malcolm’s heartbeat pounded fiercely to hear that this was the very baron who wished to marry Anice. “Aye, Laird MacNeill.” But he couldn’t give away Anices’s identity. If they knew who she was, they’d kill him, just as they’d planned to do using their mercenaries earlier on their travels.

“We will take the place by the hearth,” the baron said, stripping out of his clothes.

The baron was shaking, undoubtedly cold to the bone like he and Anice had been. Too bad he wouldn’t die from a chill. Mayhap he would still. “My wife is still sick from the chill she had taken.”

The baron’s mouth turned up. “Then I will warm her. ‘Tis the only way, do you not agree?”

Malcolm grabbed his claymore. He would kill all of them if any laid a hand on Anice.

The men were half naked and trembling from the cold so hard, he assumed he could easily kill all three of them. A part of him wanted to, to protect Anice from this murderer. But how would he explain his actions to the king if he should act on his feelings? That he had killed the king’s first choice of a husband for Anice because the baron had found them bedded together naked?