Highway to Memories

Saturday I traveled back in time.  And I have a story to tell, a special flower to introduce.  I created Flowers on the Fence to share just such stories, back when I first entered the publishing world as a wide-eyed newbie who didn’t have a clue what she was doing or when or where to do it.  Though I have to say now that I’m a fairly seasoned multi-published author (seven books counts as multi-published, right?) I still frequently don’t have a clue what I’m doing or when or where to do it.  Those books came out at a fairly rapid rate.  Please understand, I didn’t write them all at one time, they’ve been patiently sitting in my closet, some of them for years, waiting for the moment when I, as a writer, had developed enough skill to polish them as they deserved and acquired two publishers who believed in me enough to bring them into the world.  In the press of liberating those books from the closet, Flowers on the Fence fell by the wayside a bit.  It’s been a while since I’ve entered my own self-proclaimed “Writer’s Country Kitchen” to sit and visit.  Sip some coffee.  Tell a tale or two.  Share a laugh, a tear, a memory.

But Saturday? Saturday, I’d like to share.  And the spot to share it is right here.  Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence Country. 

I was born and raised in Middle Georgia, square in the middle of the state, but that’s not where my family’s roots are.  My family, both sides of it, came from a valley that runs up and down the central eastern border of Alabama/western border of Georgia, right across the Chattahoochee River.  Several towns run almost indistinguishably together along that border.  Lanett, Valley, Fairfax, Hugley, Langdale, West Point, though West Point’s actually in Georgia.  Throughout my childhood, I traveled an old State Highway, Highway 18 West, over to that Valley to visit grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins.  When I was very small, we took Highway 41 up to Highway 18 and cut west over.  When I was seven or eight, Interstate 75 was born and opened, and we took I-75 up to Forsyth before exiting the interstate to hit Highway 18. (Yes, I’m that old.  Born before interstates.)

I loved that drive, the meander through small southern towns, the Courthouses on the squares that required you to circle them rather than just pass them, the old Victorian houses and occasional ante-bellum mansions standing right by tumble-down shanty-shacks.  The old filling stations, the rolling pastures.  Forsyth to Barnesville to Zebulon to Concord to Molena to Woodbury to Pine Mountain to West Point to Lanett and then on down the strip of towns.  Until I-85 went in.  After that you could hop on I-85 outside of West Point and be almost in Lanett.  There’s a cemetery in that Valley where I can stand on one row and see most of the names I know to be in my genealogy tree – Roughton, Lankford, Edge, Anderson, Knowles.  And there’s a book in that Valley.  And I intend to write it. Somewhere.  Sometime.  The story of interwoven families of sharecroppers and mill workers.  The Valley was a textile mill valley for a very long time, and when the mills shut down that Valley suffered just as much as Detroit suffered when the car manufacturers began to decline.  Ironically enough, West Point is now home to a big Kia plant, so things are looking up in the Valley.

Mostly though, for me, that Valley’s where one of my special flowers lives.  My Aunt Reba.  My mother’s oldest brother’s wife, as we’d describe the relationship down here.  How special is Aunt Reba?  Well, let’s see.  She’s 94.  She was born October 31, 1918.  Yes, Halloween.  When I call, I say, “Hey Aunt Reba!” and she always responds, “Heeeyyyyy, Gail!”  (And NO, I’m not her only niece so it’s not a no-brainer.)  She stills lives in her own house, because thankfully her son and daughter-in-law built their house many years back on part of her property and her wonderful daughter-in-law, my cousin Barbara, takes wonderful care of her.  No nursing homes or assisted living for Aunt Reba.

I didn’t see her that often growing up, but when I did – magic happened.  Because Aunt Reba loved me unconditionally.  Just because I was me.  The way she loves everyone she loves.  Think about it.  That’s rare.  Not because of blood, or because she was supposed to, or because I was smart or because I was pretty.  Because I was me.  My cousin Debbie, seven years younger than me, loves her just as much as I do, for the same reason.  My sister Dianne, whom I lost about fifteen years ago now, did too.  When my sister was in the last two years of her life, dying slowly though none of us would admit it, Aunt Reba, then in her late seventies, early eighties, made the drive over to us by herself frequently, staying with Dianne and helping to take care of her for weeks at a time. 

My cousin Debbie emailed me a few weeks ago.  “When have you talked to Aunt Reba?  She’s not doing well, she had a stroke the first of November.”  Well, in the press of day-to-day life and work and everything that goes along with it, I’m ashamed to say how long it had been since I talked to Aunt Reba, so I won’t.  I’d thought about it, of course.  “Oh, I need to call Aunt Reba!  But it’s too late, she’s already in bed!”  “Oh, I need to call Aunt Reba!  But first let me finish this or that or the other so I can talk a long time.” And of course, after I finished whatever that was, something else demanded attention.

That email was a wake-up call, though.  Someday there wouldn’t be a tomorrow for me to call Aunt Reba.  I called Aunt Reba.  Scared to death.  Scared she wouldn’t know me.  Scared she’d sound – like tomorrows were about over.  But I called.  “Aunt Reba?”  “Heeeeyyyyyyyy, Gail!!”  Oh, my Lord, those were wonderful words to hear, spoken with the same enthusiasm and zest for life her voice always held. Her memory seemed as good as ever and if she stumbled over a name or event occasionally, it certainly wasn’t any more often than I do myself.  The only residual problem she had, she said, was being unable to stand or walk too long before she “knew things weren’t right” and she had to sit back down.  This was caused by “sludge” moving on out of the veins, and she would, she assured me, be right as rain by spring, according to her doctor when all of said “sludge” had finished disbursing.  She sounded like – Aunt Reba. And I had a second chance to appreciate her all over again.

We made the trip to Alabama Saturday, my husband and me, on that Highway of Memories, 18 West, and she was delighted to see us.  I came bearing new warm fuzzy slippers and a year’s supply of Find-A-Word and Cross-Word Puzzle Books and pens and pencils.  Aunt Reba and Find-A-Word books and Cross-Word puzzles are interchangeable.  You can’t have one without the other, she’s worked them for years.  Something that I’m sure is a factor in her continued mental acuity.  We had a wonderful visit and I ran out to visit the Colonel for lunch and brought it back.  We sat at her table and laughed and ate and ate and laughed, and I fixed a big plate of the remainder for her supper, should she care to indulge, or her lunch the next day, should she not be hungry that night.  We ate a lot, good company does that, have you ever noticed? 

 We took our leave, and I traveled my highway of memories in reverse on the way back home, treasuring the day.  My childhood re-visited.  My Aunt, still well and alert and in fighting form at 94.  And no, the days won’t slip by now without me realizing its been a few days since I talked to Aunt Reba.  And no, nothing else pressing will come up to prevent me from doing so.  Second chances are limited.  And I’m taking advantage of this one while I can. 

I hope you enjoyed meeting my Aunt Reba, this very special Flower on the Fence.  And y’all come back now, hear?

Karina Fabian - Live and Let Fly!

Hey y’all!  Yes, Flowers on the Fence country is still alive and well, it’s just, I haven’t been sure if Gail Roughton’s been alive and well over the last two months!  A surprise release, final galley on one book, content edits on another, and two more already with covers waiting for me to supply their completed contents in support of that surprise first release!  As we say down here, I been busier than a one-legged man at a square dance.  (Well, we don’t really say that, but I couldn’t think of one we do say off the top of my head, so I just made one up.)  But here’s a delightful post to make up to my wonderful Fence for neglecting it for so long! 

Presenting – Karina Fabian – Live!  On her Live and Let Fly Book Tour!

An Apologia on Extortion, An Acceptable Dragon Practice

As told by the dragon, Vern

Gail offered to host us on her blog for the Live and Let Fly book tour.  (Great story in which I take on dangerous demigods, maniacal middle managers, government bureaucracies and more, rising victorious with style in order to get a new roof for my dump of a lair.)  Gail asked for a post on “whatever,” and Karina passed it on to me.

There are some people who will read Live and Let Fly and may come to the conclusion that I’m selfish.  After all, the world was in peril, bad guys were on the loose, and I was holding out for a bonus.  A big bonus.  Well, all I can say is, those people are right—if I were human. 

But let’s face it; dragons have different standards.

Before I start, let me define apologia:  a defense of one’s opinions or actions.  It is not an apology.  I am not the least sorry for holding back information from my temporary employers while some evil overlord no doubt moved forward on her diabolical scheme.  I will, however, be glad to explain why.  Here’s the scene in question:

Mordash just leaned forward, his hand out, his eyes glinting. "I'll have our people analyze these—"

Grace started to hand him the files.

I set my large paw between them. "Not so fast. There's one very important detail we're missing," I said. I pulled out of my pocket one of the most important tools in the private investigator's repertoire.

The receipt book.

"What're you doing?" Mustache Mordash asked as I took out my small inkpot, opened the lid and dipped my writing claw into it.

"Our rescue was strictly an independent operation, remember?" I tossed Rakness a dark look but spoke reasonably enough. "So any information we might have acquired on said operation would be our own—"

"You mean to sell this information to us? I thought we were trying to protect this country; both our worlds, for that matter. What kind of patriot are you?"

I looked at him like he was a stupid mortal and didn't mention that I wasn't a citizen of the United States—or any nation, come to think of it. "Funny thing about saving the world," I mused. "It always manages to get un-saved. Kind of wrecks the job satisfaction factor. Philanthropy, though... Grace, how much did the Christian Brothers say they needed to start that school in Territory?"

Grace's eyes lit up. "Well, seven hundred fifty thousand, but the diocese and FlintCorp are contributing."

"Right. Some kind of matching funds deal." Even though I had already done the calculations in my head, I wrote them down. Dramatic effect. Very important.

Mustache blanched. "Are you out of your minds? You said yourself the forces of evil could be rising—"

"Exactly. Which is why a morally-based education for the underprivileged youth is so important. Now if we consider operating expenses for the first year..."

Mustache glowered. "And if the information you 'hypothetically acquired' is useless?"

"Then I'll be glad to negotiate a discount the next time you hand us a mission and some commercially available tech toys and abandon us at twenty thousand feet." I ripped off the top copy with a flourish and handed it to Mustache. He looked from my hand to Grace's, but she'd already returned the thumb drives to her sleeve pockets. He snatched the bill out of my claw.

"Let me make some calls," he growled. He spun his chair around, dismissing us.

#1. Dragons are immortal.  I tend to have a long-term view of things, having seen the extinction of the dinosaurs (known as The End of the Biggie Sized Meal, as far as I was concerned), and the rise and fall of empires.  Even if I hadn’t succeeded, things would have been chaos for awhile, but hey, the world recovers.  Been there, seen that.

#2  Dragons are confident.  I was on the case—me, Vern.  I defeated Quetzalcoatl when I was barely the size of a Labrador, and without any help from secret government agencies.  If I hadn’t given them the information, I still knew it, and they could have just followed me.  Might have been easier, come to think of it.

#3  Dragons are treasure seekers.  Thanks to St. George, I don’t get to enjoy treasure anymore, however.  In fact, I life in a dump of a warehouse on the bad side of Los Lagos, Colorado, with (at the time) a leaky roof and no hoard.  Since raiding museums and banks is frowned upon, I get my jollies where I can.

#4 The money went to a good cause.  The school I helped fund with BILE’s money is almost finished.  I can’t collect treasure, so I go for good deeds, nowadays.

#5  I was ticked off.  Not the best of reasons, but angry dragons are dangerous; better to get my satisfaction by extorting some extra cash from my employer than to flame his desk, don’t you agree?

Incidentally, I didn’t want to do this blog.  I’ve got my hands full training up an apprentice superhero.  So I held out until Karina offered me a half a lamb to do this.  Bribery, or simple payment for services?

Decide what you want.  I’ve got a veal lunch waiting.

And where can you find Vern (and hopefully Karina, 'cause she really doesn't need to let him out unsupervised, I don't think)?  Well, Karina Fabian is an award-winning fantasy, science fiction and horror author, whose  books make people laugh, cry or think—sometimes all three.  Check out her latest at http://fabianspace.com

Live and Let Fly releases April 20, 2012.  In the interim, check out:

http://dragoneyepi.blogspot.com/p/live-and-let-fly.html or e-mail Karina at http://karinafabian.com/index.php?name=ContactPro to get on the notification list for the buy links.

And don't forget -- y'all come back now, hear?

Another New Release by Roseanne Dowell!

Hey y’all!  Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence country!  Guess who’s back?  Guess who’s done it again?  Oh, yeah, Roseanne Dowell’s got another new book out!  Time To Love Again, published by Books We Love.  Sweet romance just got sweeter.  Which is a good thing, ‘cause Rose is actually kinda tart.  But we’ll let her sister tell you about her.

* * * *

Rose Asbury is my sister – was my sister.  After I passed away she became a recluse. Not that she doesn’t have reason to, mind you. We lost our parents within months of each other and Rose and I clung to each for support during our grief. Of course our husbands helped, but Rose and I understood each other.

We were just adjusting when Rose’s husband passed away suddenly. Poor Rose fell apart, not that I blame her. I would have reacted the same way if it had been my husband.  I was just getting Rose to come out of her shell when bam, I was gone.

That did Rose in. She went to pieces and to make matters worse, her kids moved three thousand miles away. She ignored all of her friends, except for Louise. Louise wasn’t about to let Rose ignore her. But everyone else gave up. Heck, you can only call people so long and have them ignore you, not return your calls and won’t talk to you before you give up. So that’s what everyone did. Louise didn’t give up. She marched right over to Rose’s house and read her the riot act until Rose gave in and at least went to the store.

At least now Rose visited Louise and came to grips with life. Not that she had much of a life. Stephen Daniels the guy next aimed to change that – or so it seemed. Good looking guy, too. Anyway he moved in to take care of his granddaughter while her parents did their tour of duty in the Mideast. He kind of took a shine to Rose. Rose wouldn’t give the poor guy the time of day. Most she did was nod at him.

Well, that’s all she did until that day. I can’t help but giggle thinking about it. She fell on the ice and splat, groceries went flying everywhere. Stephen came to her aid – or tried to. Rose, true to form, tried to ignore him. That’s where I come in again. I showed up to talk some sense into Rose. Of course, she tried to ignore me, too, but I wasn’t about to let that happen. It was time Rose started to live again. She was much too young to waste her life away.

Now it seems his granddaughter, Sarah, saw the whole thing and had other ideas. She didn’t care for the way the old lady ignored her grandpa. Yeah, all kids think anyone in their 40s is old. What can I say, we thought the same things.

But I digress. Sarah devised a plan to get Rose to talk to her grandpa. She talked  her friends into building a snowman in Rose’s front yard. You’d think that wasn’t a big deal right? I mean what harm could a snowman do?

Of course, Rose, being the neighborhood grouch –at least that’s what the kids pegged her as – had a fit.

After that things got real interesting. If you’d like to find out more about Rose, you’ll have to buy the book available from Amazon at http://amzn.to/timetoloveagain

To learn more about me and my books check out my website at www.roseannedowell.com

* * * *

Well, I don’t know about y’all but I’m on my way to grab this book!  Not that I’m pushing you out the door or anything, but – y’all come back now, hear?

Roseanne Dowell Presents - Secrets, Lies, & Love!

Hey, y’all!  And welcome back to Flowers on the Fence Country for a return visit from one of my favorite flowers, Roseanne Dowell.  Roseanne is prolific.  We all know that.  And tireless in her efforts to promote and nurture Muse and all Muse writers, having just added Author Liason to her already impressive resume.  Mother of six, grandmother of fourteen, great-grandmother of one.  Writer of romance.  Connection of the Minds, Stranger on the Shore, Double the Trouble, Geriatric Rebel, A Second Chance, and coming soon from MuseItUp Publishing, And They All Fall Down and Elusive Mission.  Her first published novel, Satin Sheets, sold over 35,000 copies.   Coming January 4, Secrets, Lies, & Love from Books We Love Publishing.  And Roseanne brought a guest with her today, too!  Come meet the heroine of Secrets, Lies & Love, Miss Meghan Shelby!

Hi, I’m Meghan Shelby. My parents moved away from Littleton when I was seventeen, but now here it is ten years later and I’m back.

I inherited the family home, a Queen Anne Victorian from my Aunt Beth. I always loved that house, so needless to say I was excited when I received the letter from my aunt’s attorney. Not that my aunt passed away, I was very sad about that, but coming back to Littleton after all this time was exciting.

I’m not sure why we moved away. It was all kind of sudden and we never came back. Not once in all those years, not even when Gran passed away. I never knew why. Every time I asked, the question went ignored. Eventually, I quit asking.

Anyway, here I was back in the town I loved, standing in front of a dilapidated, run-down home that used to be one of the most elegant in town. Shutters were hanging by one hinge, windows were broken, the porch floor was rotten and the back door lock was broken.

How had Aunt Beth allowed this to happen? I was half afraid to go inside, but I ventured in. What a mess. It was going to take a lot of money to get this place back to its glory days.

To make matters worse when I went inside, the stench was almost unbearable. Well, no wonder, there was a dead body in the living room.

Who he was, or why he was there in my house, I had no idea. For some reason, the sheriff wasn’t convinced of that. To top it all off, he caught me in the arms of my new boss, the principal of the elementary school and the guy I had a crush on all those years ago. Oh, I was hired as school secretary.

Needless to say, I was the main topic of conversation around town the next day. Gossipmongers in Littleton were having a ball at my expense.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the next day several eighth grade boys caught the principal kissing me in his office. I’d never live this down. Not that I minded being kissed, especially by Patrick. I just didn’t need it spread all over town.

Once I hired a handyman to fix the windows and change the locks, I rolled up my sleeves and got busy scrubbing the place inside so we could paint. I hired high school kids for that job. There was only so much I could do with working full time. But at least I was able to move in.

That’s when more trouble started. First I received phone calls warning me to leave. Obviously, someone didn’t want me here.

Secrets, Lies, & Love releasing Jan. 4, 2012 from Books We Love Publishing.

http://bookswelove.net/dowell.php

A dilapidated Queen Anne Victorian, a dead body, and an ex boyfriend complicate life for Meghan Shelby when she returns to her hometown after a ten year absence.

Excerpt:

Meghan loved this time of year, though a little too hot to start school in her opinion. Why they felt the need to go back in August was beyond her. She remembered her mother complaining about it years ago. “What was wrong with starting after Labor Day like they did in my day?” Her mother used to rant and rave for weeks before school started. Even got on the School Board. Not that it changed anything. School still started the last week in August. Meghan smiled at the memory.

Now that she thought about it, it was silly. Like they took the last week of vacation away from the kids. Bet the teachers didn’t like it either.

Meghan pulled into the school parking lot. Not much had changed here either. New landscaping, new windows, but that was about it. The old building looked pretty much the same.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty hall. She’d never been in the school when it was empty before. The strong odor of wax and other cleaning products prickled her nostrils. The clean smell lingered through the first few days of school.

It had been a long time since she’d been to the principal’s office and she stopped outside, took a deep breath and held it. Here goes nothing. Mr. Duncan said look for Mr. Mac.  He must be new in town. It wasn’t a name she remembered. So what was the worse he could say? Letting out her breath, she hurried inside, before her nerve left her.

A man stood with his back to her, unpacking a box of books.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. Mac.”

 “I’m Mr. Mac.” He turned toward her.

Meghan’s breath caught in her throat. “Patrick!” The word slipped out of her mouth, before she could stop it. The love of her life stood in front of her, even better looking and sexier than she remembered. Her heart skipped a beat, her legs turned to jelly, and she grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself.

Patrick smiled at her. That easy smile she remembered from long ago. The smile she used to love. It lit up his eyes.

“Little Meghan Shelby. Not so little anymore I see.”

Heat burned her cheeks as Patrick looked her up and down, apparently taking in every inch of her. He remembered her. After all this time he knew who she was. Would wonders never cease?

“Uh, um...” Oh crap. Now wasn’t the time to get tongue tied. “You’re the principal here?” Lord, could she work for him. See him every day?

“Yes, I am. I heard you were back in town. Are you staying then? Do you want to register your child?”

“Huh?” Her child, was he nuts?

 “Uh, no,  I’m here about the secretarial position. Mr. Duncan was supposed to call you.”

“Really? You want the job?”

“Yes, didn’t Mr. Duncan call? He told me to come right over.”

 “If he did I didn’t hear the phone. I’ve been in and out of the office.” He nodded toward the stack of books. “Too busy around here this time of year.” Patrick grinned and motioned her into his office. “So tell me about yourself. What qualifies you for the job?”

Qualifications? Think, damn it. What was the matter with her? She’d lost all train of thought. “Well, I’m computer proficient. I’m good with math. And I love children.” What more could he want?

“I see. So why do you want the position? Tell me about your education.”

His deep voice sent shivers down her spine. Meghan couldn’t take her gaze from him. All sense of reason flew out the window. She had the most God awful urge to reach up and push his dark hair out of his eyes. “I’m a former Math major, have two years of college. I’m a quick learner.” Finally, she looked away.

The phone rang.

Another Rose for Flowers on the Fence!

Hey, y’all!  Today I’m collecting a specific flower – a Rose!  I’ve already collected one by the name of Roseanne Dowell, and today I’ve got a Rose by the name of J. Q. in the spotlight.  I am thankful every single day for the wealth of new friends in my life from such diverse locations, of such diverse personalities.  I consider all of them true gifts from God, and Janet, you are certainly one of those gifts!  And before I hush and let y’all enjoy her, let me say that her new short, The Good Neighbors, is hysterical.  Yes, I cheated.  I’ve already read it, and she’s sharing an excerpt too!  Please bear in mind that all proceeds from this short are going to support local food banks.  So without further ado – here’s J. Q. Rose!

Gail, thanks so much for having me as a guest on your delightful blog, Flowers on the Fence.  Please let your readers know I am giving away a PDF copy of my new holiday, short story, The Good Neighbors, to the winner of your random drawing.

The Entertainer

By

J. Q. Rose

I always dreamed of being Carol Burnett. She had the most entertaining show on television. She made everyone laugh and forget their troubles for that one hour through her crazy skits and loud, and I mean loud, singing voice. She, Tim Conway, and Harvey Korman cracked each other up and then tried to play through the hilarity. Those were some of the funniest parts of the show. She was/is a true entertainer, my role model.

As a kid, I dreamed of being a great actress and dancer. I think it all started when I was about four years old. My older brothers and I were the “entertainment” when we performed in my grandmother’s living room after family dinners. John laid down on the floor and Jim beat on his tummy like a drum. I took center stage and danced to the beat usually pretending to be a mysterious Arabian princess. I still remember the joy in my parents’ faces, the applause, and the hugs.

 As you all know, we have to grow up and deal with life’s realities. I had to be realistic so I settled for “performing” in front of classes of third graders as a teacher. (You who are teachers know how you have to entertain kids to keep their attention.) I sang in the church choir, accompanied the children’s choir, and played in the bell choir. Those were enjoyable outlets for me sending the music heavenward and filling my heart. But, not exactly entertaining like in my Carol Burnett dreams ….until….. I was chosen to play a maid and a Hooverville bum in our community players production of Annie.

I was chosen to be a chorus member. I did not have a speaking part as the maid, but I had one line as the Hooverville bum. For me, the very best part of the play and the scene I was most proud of occurred when I joined all the other bums at the front of the stage. We formed a chorus line performing like New York’s Radio City Music Hall’s Rockette dancers kicking and dancing as we sang. I finally fulfilled my dream in front of an audience of town folk and friends who raucously applauded our efforts every night. I think even Carol Burnett would have been proud of my “performance.”

Writing stories is an outlet for my aspiration to be an entertainer. I wrote Sunshine Boulevard for fun and shared it with my writing group. They encouraged me to submit it so more people could be “entertained” by my writing. I am so happy they did because Muse It Up Publishing released the e-book to a much wider “audience” than I could have imagined possible.

My latest short story, The Good Neighbors, includes the characters Jim and Gloria Hart from Sunshine Boulevard. I wrote it just in time for the holidays with the hope that readers will get a chuckle if not a flat-out belly laugh when reading the story.

I get a kick out of entertaining readers and making them happy through my stories. On the other hand, if you know of anyone needing a gal to do high kicks for a chorus line, call me!

Happy Holidays to everyone!!

Tag line for The Good Neighbors-- Jim and Gloria Hart, snowbirds from Michigan, always help out the neighbors in their Florida retirement community when asked. Who knew being good could turn out to be so bad?

The Good Neighbors Excerpt:

“Jim, wake up.” Gloria shook her sleeping husband.

“What? Am I snoring?”

“Shh…I hear something out back. Someone is out there,” she whispered.

Jim sat up in the bed. He flipped on the lamp on the nightstand and tilted his head to listen with his good ear.  “I don’t hear a thing. It’s probably a cat. Go back to sleep.”

Gloria tried to comfort herself by believing it was a cat making the soft sounds in the night, but her ears were attuned to the night sounds. Was that an owl hooting? A dripping water faucet? An armadillo passing the house?

It was probably nothing, she decided. Or was it? 

Gloria trudged out to the kitchen in the morning. It was only 6:30 a.m. and Jim was already on his third cup of coffee perusing his seed catalogs. She smelled the fresh coffee and like a zombie, headed for the coffee pot. She was not ready for morning yet after such a night of restless sleep and nightmares.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Jim looked up from the page of cabbage plant pictures just long enough to greet her.

She heard the furnace blowing warm air through the floor vents.

“How cold did it get last night?”

“I had twenty-four degrees on my thermometer this morning. Good thing we covered up the plants and brought Paul’s plants home. Otherwise they’d be goners by now.”

“I could have sworn I heard someone out back last night. I couldn’t go back to sleep after I woke you up. But you were snoring in five minutes.” She sipped the creamy coffee to perk her up this morning. No decaf in the morning. She needed the caffeine.

“Alright. I’ll go check out back if it makes you feel any better. I have to get that other seed catalog off my workbench anyway.”

Jim frightened her when he slammed the kitchen door shut on his return from the shed. His face was twisted in anger. He didn’t have the seed catalog in his hand. Why was that so upsetting for him?

Find me on the Internet:

J Q Rose Website http://www.jqrose.webs.com

 J Q Rose Blog  http://www.jqroseauthor.blogspot.com

Buy link for The Good Neighbors—All royalties go to support local food pantries

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0066CYXQI

Meet Barbara Ehrentreu a/k/a Our Own Barbara E!

Today I’m collecting a flower I’ve been after for a long time.  In the press of our busy lives, it just hasn’t happened yet.  But it’s about to.  Please join me in welcoming my guest today, Barbara Ehrentreu. 

Barbara’s very special for lots of reasons, of course – she’s a Muser and Muse only calls special people. And when those special people are called and arrive home through the Muse doors, who’s one of the first “faces” they see?  Barbara’s.  Via her virtual chocolate chip cookies and fruit basket. Her YA novel If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor debuted in September and has been collecting five star reviews right and left.  So exactly who is this woman called Barbara Ehrentreu?  Let’s find out.

Barbara, I have to ask you this.  Don’t you get tired of folks tellin’ you you look like Barbara Streisand?  ‘Cause I swear, every time I look at a picture of you that’s my first thought.

Actually, people say I look more like Bette Middler or Carole King. There’s a funny story about looking like Carole King. When I was thinner we looked almost identical, so one day I was eating lunch with my daughter and this woman sort of peered over at us and almost jumped when she saw me. Then she said: “You’re Carole aren’t you?” I said no of course, but she continued, “My aunt knows her and you are her, just admit it.” Well she went on like this for a few minutes and then finally she accepted that I wasn’t her, but as she was walking away she said, “I still don’t believe you.” There is an addendum to this story. A few weeks later I was interviewing for a teaching job in Bedford, NY where she lives. Her grandkids went to this school. When the principal saw me she said: “I didn’t know Carole was going to be here.” To be fair, she saw me from a few feet away, but there you have it.:) A lot of people joke with me and call me Bette too. I have a story about her too, but that is for another time.

Can’t say as I’d sneeze at being compared to any of the three.  I know you taught for many years, and still tutor, I believe?  Which of course explains why you write such wonderful YA.  You have met the audience and made them yours.  But give us some memories.  What was the most satisfying moment of your teaching career?

There are so many wonderful moments and not so wonderful moments. I guess the one that stands out is what happened with a student I had my first year of teaching. I taught sixth grade and I was only 21. The kids were around 8 or 9 years younger than I was. They didn’t really listen to me, because I looked like a 16 year old. This one boy was especially difficult and acted out a lot in class. So I contacted his mother, who told me she took in invalids and nursed them. So this boy could never act like any 12 year old likes to act in the house. He had to do a lot of chores too, so he had very little time for play. When I realized this I had a talk with him and his mother and he started to improve. She invited my husband and me for Christmas dinner and it was an amazing experience for us. However, his work did not improve, since he had been goofing off too much and was very behind. I had to leave him back for the next year and he understood. The following year arrived and this was a different boy. He became the class leader and helper and when he went on to the middle school I found out he became class president. I will never forget him and his mother. I wish all parents could be like her.

That’s wonderful!  Knowing that you made such a difference in a child’s life.  Now we all know there’s no honesty like the honesty of a kid, nor is there any subterfuge like the plot of a child trying to get away with something – and the combination of the two makes for some hysterical moments.  What was the funniest moment of your teaching career? 

Again, there are too many moments to remember, but one time all the kids hid in the coatroom and then jumped out and yelled “Surprise”. If I had a few memory joggers I could remember more.

And I just bet you were, too.  Surprised.  Muse is one big extended family, and one of the best things about it is sharing each other’s heritage and history.  The Holidays are coming up and all of us have our own treasured traditions.  What’s the most treasured of your family traditions during the Holidays?

We don’t do much of the traditions anymore, but when the kids were younger I wanted them to have a taste of Christmas. We used to go to my English sister-in-law, (now ex) and she would do up Christmas big. So they had stockings filled and one gift when they woke up Christmas morning. I used to read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, to my younger daughter every Christmas eve. As for my own religious traditions, we still light the Menorah, which is the candelabra with 8 candles representing the 8 days the oil burned in the Temple. Sometimes I make latkes, the traditional potato pancakes or we buy them. Homemade is definitely best, but it takes awhile.

Speaking of homemade and food – you told me an hysterical story once about a family gathering.  Something involving an uncle, a fainting spell, and a moving food line?  How ‘bout you tell everybody?  Because I swear, that needs to a scene in one of your books!

Yes, you wouldn’t believe it if you weren’t there. It was a holiday occasion at my brother’s house and my ex sister-in-law invited my cousins who had to drive hours to get there. So anyway, my cousin’s husband, who is usually very quiet, was in the buffet line and suddenly he went down. We had no idea why and someone immediately called 911 for him. My aunts, one of which is no longer here, looked at him and just stepped right over him like he was an obstacle in the road. They would have their food no matter what. I was behind them and I couldn’t believe it. One of them was his mother-in-law!!! The rest of the line stopped in horror as they watched the two of them blithely go on filling their plates. It turned out my cousin’s husband had a few too many drinks, but we couldn’t believe that. He was someone who never made waves at all. So the firemen came and he was okay, but they stayed and had some drinks and food. The poor guy never lived it down to this day! It is probably the most told family story ever!! I will have to figure out how to put this into my next book.

Gives new meaning to mother-in-law jokes, huh?  The other day, The Book Breeze published a few of your shorts, and you knocked me and several other Musers for a real loop!  This is our BarbaraE?  Who writes YA?  And I know I for sure and a few others too, let you know right quick we thought you ought to expand your genres.  We know YA will always be a genre you love, but I really want to see some more of the Barbara who wrote the stories we read in The Book Breeze.  And on that note, when you and I were talking about that, you shared with me a story that’s much shorter than Flash, and you called it a “Drabble”, I think.  It knocked me out!  Would you share it here on Flowers on the Fence?

Definitely. I will be happy to share it. I have a few others that are a little longer and may start posting them on my blog. So look for them. Here it is:

Happy Anniversary 

Twilight on the water was always an array of rainbow colors. Tonight the colors only emphasized pain. Karen had thought coming to the city where they spent their honeymoon would rekindle the flame of their love. Now as they neared the shore she knew his affair with her best friend had killed it. 

The roses Ken, her husband of 20 years, had bought on impulse from the vendor were wilting without any water. She heard the bells ringing from the church tower flanking the piazza where they first met. Karen moved closer to Ken. Placing her lips on his, she reached out with both of her arms and pushed.

Grabbing the flowers, she heard the splash and smiled.

“Happy Anniversary, Ken,” Karen said throwing his roses overboard.

The Fiction Flyer published in April, 2007

* * * *

And so I ask you, gentle female readers – is that Everywoman’s Fantasy or what?!  So com’on, help me out here!  Post your comments and let Barbara know – we want more!  We want more! But before we go this time, here are the links to If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor, along with Barbara’s bio and an excerpt from the novel.

And y’all come back now, hear?

Muse Bookstore
https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=203&category_id=6&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1
Amazon - Paperback
http://www.amazon.com/If-Could-Like-Jennifer-Taylor/dp/1927085926/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1322072164&sr=8-1
Amazon - Kindle

http://www.amazon.com/Could-Like-Jennifer-Taylor-ebook/dp/B005NWRLL6/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1322072164&sr=8-2

 Barnes & Nobles
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/if-i-could-be-like-jennifer-taylor-barbara-ehrentreu/1105870667?ean=9781927085929&itm=1&usri=if+i+could+be+like+jennifer+taylor
 

Bio: 

Barbara, a retired teacher with a Masters degree in Reading and Writing K-12 and seventeen years of teaching experience lives with her family in Stamford, Connecticut. When she received her Masters degree she began writing seriously. If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor, Barbara’s first YA novel, was inspired by Paula Danziger. Barbara is a NY Literature Examiner for Examiner.com with several articles for them. Her blog, Barbara’s Meanderings,  http://barbaraehrentreu.blogspot.com is networked on both Facebook and Blog Catalog. She hosts Red River Writers Live Tales from the Pages on Blog Talk Radio every 4th Thursday. In addition, her children's story, “The Trouble with Follow the Leader” and an adult story, “Out on a Ledge” are published online She writes book reviews for Authorlink.com. and several of her reviews have been on Acewriters and Celebrity Café. She is a member of SCBWI. Writing is her life!

If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor

Carolyn Samuels’ freshman year becomes a series of lies to cover Jennifer Taylor’s terrible secret in return for popularity.

 Carolyn Samuels is obsessed with the idea of being popular. She is convinced that the only thing keeping her from happiness is her too heavy for fashion body and not being a cheerleader. Hyperventilating when she gets nervous doesn’t help. When she is paired for a Math project with the girl who tormented her in middle school, Jennifer Taylor, she is sure it is going to be another year of pain.With Carolyn’s crush on Jennifer’s hunky Junior quarterback Brad her freshman year in high school looks like a rerun of middle school. After Jennifer’s the only student who knows why she fell in gym class, Carolyn is blackmailed into doing her math homework in return for Jennifer’s silence. Jennifer takes on Carolyn as a pity project since she can’t be seen with someone who dresses in jeans and sweatshirts. When Jennifer invites Carolyn to sleep over to make her over and teach her to tumble, Carolyn learns Jennifer’s secret and lies to her own friends to cover it up. Will Carolyn become a cheerleader and become popular? Does she continue to keep Jennifer’s secret? Or will she be a target of this mean girl again? 

Excerpt:

Feeling my old hatred of gym, I glance across the locker room and see Jennifer in red designer shorts and a tight sleeveless shirt to match. She's standing in front of the only mirror in the room turning back and forth.

Becky and I slide into our loose camp shorts and a T-shirt, and once they're on, we race onto the gym floor. Always better to be early for gym the first day. You never knew what kind of teacher you'd have. My athletic ability is zero, so I don’t take chances. Once I was a few minutes late, and the gym teacher in middle school made me run around the gym ten times. It took me the whole gym period.

Becky and I sit on the low seats in the bleachers, but Jennifer and her group saunter into the gym and choose the highest seats avoiding the rest of us. Miss Gaylon, the gym teacher introduces herself and gives us a few minutes until the last stragglers come from the locker room. For those few minutes, I almost feel comfortable. My breathing returns to normal. I hear giggles from Jennifer and her group, but I ignore it.

"Maybe it won't be so bad this year, Carolyn." Becky always tries to cheer me up now. This wasn’t true a few years ago. I had to cheer her up a lot. Becky’s brothers are just turning five, and they’re both in kindergarten. Her mom remarried after being divorced for ten years. Becky was just getting used to her new stepfather when her mom got pregnant. I remember how miserable Becky was the first year of middle school when her mom spent so much time with her twin brothers and didn’t have enough time to help Becky with her homework. Luckily, Becky’s stepfather is a history teacher, so she got very interested in history and current events.

"Right, Becky, and maybe I'll learn to be a gymnast in ten minutes. Reality check, remember last year?"

"Okay, I'm hoping it won't be so bad."

"You mean like the dentist finding you only have one cavity and filling it the same day?"

"You’re so lame, Carolyn. Since we're all older, maybe she'll treat us differently. People change over the summer you know."

"Look at her, Becky."

Becky turns to look over at the group at the top of the bleachers and then turns back to look me in the eye. “You know you have to put that stupid day behind you.”

I pretend not to know what she’s talking about. “What stupid day?”

Like I don’t remember every detail.

“The zip line day.”

“Oh, that day,” I say with a combination grimace and smile. “The day I wound up having to climb off the platform. I wanted to bore a hole into the ground so I wouldn’t have to walk past them but couldn’t, and everyone screamed at me: ‘Breathe, Carolyn, breathe.’”

“You have to admit it was funny the way the gym teacher ran up the ladder like a squirrel to rescue you. Everyone laughed at how stupid she looked. Jennifer got the whole class going with that ridiculous ‘breathe, Carolyn, breathe.’” Becky looks behind her to Jennifer. “You know I wanted to run over and punch her, but I couldn’t because I was still on the platform, and it was my turn to go.”

“Yeah, if I had a few more minutes, I would have been able to get up the courage to grip the zip line and hook myself to it. Stupid teacher didn’t give me a chance. This not breathing thing when I get nervous really sucks.”

Becky nods because she knows me so well.

“So then Jennifer started with that horrible chant, and of course, the whole class followed her, like always.” My eyes fill with tears as I remember, and my breathing is getting worse by the minute.

“I thought it was a dumb idea to do ropes course stuff in school. We did it at my camp the summer before, and no one was forced to do it. Anyone could get nervous with Jennifer in front of them,” Becky comforts me.

I continue talking as if I’m in a trance. “Remember how last year whenever I ran into Jennifer she would whisper ‘breathe, Carolyn, breathe,’ so no one could hear it except me. Once she did it just before I had to go up in front of the class in math. Sometimes she would do it in front of everyone and, of course, get a big laugh while I wanted to turn into a piece of furniture.”

Becky grabs my arm. “Do we have to go back over this again? You need to forget about it.” She takes her hand away from my arm as I continue to speak.

“Becky, I can’t. The thing is it’s this bad movie in my brain looping the same horrible scenes. The funny thing is, most of the time, she would ignore me. I would never know what she was going to do. You have to admire someone so single-minded she managed to get to me at just the right time.

You remember don’t you? And today did you see how she wore the same outfit as me? It’s spooky.”

My funny breathing returns as Miss Gaylon tells us to line up on the yellow line alphabetically. I hope there will be someone to go between Jennifer and me. No luck. Jennifer is going to be behind me all year. I hold my breath. I couldn't stand more of the same this year. I pray for the day to end soon. A glance at my new watch shows me fifteen more minutes left of the period. Is Miss Gaylon's voice getting lower? What is that pounding in my ears?

Jennifer turns to face me, and I hear, "Breathe, Carolyn, breathe.” Then my world turns black.