Today’s Tea Tidbit:
I wish we could sit down together,
And have a cup of tea,
But since we can’t
When you have this one,
I hope you’ll think of me. — Author Unknown
Today’s poem is an original limerick, written for a school assignment by my youngest son.
There was an old dragon with bad eyes,
Who couldn’t see anything of great size.
If his mate was in a healthy mood,
She would help him get food;
Which was usually barbecued flies.
In 1775, Eliza Bloome’s ailing father dies and just a couple days later she receives notice that she has to vacate her home. Her father was a vicar and the home would be needed for his replacement.
An Englishman who would soon inherit a wealthy estate expressed interest in marrying Eliza, but he was not the kind of man Eliza wished to marry. There was another Englishman she wished to marry, but he thought her beneath him. However, when his plans didn’t go the way he wished, he agreed to wed her and take her with him to America. Eliza’s maid, Fiona, went along.
Things were going fairly well in America, though Eliza was unsure of her husband’s love, and she longed for it–for him to say the words. America was in turmoil and the Revolution began. Her husband had embraced America as his home and agreed that they should break free from the King of England’s control. So, just after Eliza gave birth to a daughter, her husband left to join the fighting.
Nothing was the same after that. One tragedy followed another, and Eliza returned to England with no real place to go.
This book has well-developed characters that I could empathize with. I cheered for them and cried for them, and my heart broke for them. There is romance, the struggles of war and the family’s the soldiers left behind, and there is loss, and pain and suffering.
I couldn’t put the book down. It is the first in “The Daughters of the Potomac” series by Rita Gerlach, and when I reached the end, I found the end written well enough that it could be the end, but there was one thing that had not been resolved that my heart longed for. So, I immediately began the second book in the series. You’ll see that review soon.
If you like historical romantic fiction, you will enjoy this story.
“There is a great deal of poetry and fine sentiment in a chest of tea.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
an extract
i. in which the cartographer explains himself
You might say
my job is not
to lose myself exactly
but to imagine
what loss might feel like –
the sudden creeping pace,
the consultation with trees and blue
fences and whatever else
might prove a landmark.
My job is to imagine the widening
of the unfamiliar and also
the widening ache of it;
to anticipate the ironic
question: how did we find
ourselves here? My job is
to untangle the tangled,
to unworry the concerned,
to guide you out from cul-de-sacs
into which you may have wrongly turned.
ii. in which the rastaman disagrees
The rastaman has another reasoning.
He says – now that man’s job is never straight-
forward or easy. Him work is to make thin and crushable
all that is big and as real as ourselves; is to make flat
all that is high and rolling; is to make invisible and wutliss
plenty things that poor people cyaa do without – like board
houses, and the corner shop from which Miss Katie sell
her famous peanut porridge. And then again
the mapmaker’s work is to make visible
all them things that shoulda never exist in the first place
like the conquest of pirates, like borders,
like the viral spread of governments
iii.
The cartographer says
no –
What I do is science. I show
the earth as it is, without bias.
I never fall in love. I never get involved
with the muddy affairs of land.
Too much passion unsteadies the hand.
I aim to show the full
of a place in just a glance.
iv.
The rastaman thinks, draw me a map of what you see
then I will draw a map of what you never see
and guess me whose map will be bigger than whose?
Guess me whose map will tell the larger truth?
by Kei Miller
I AM FINISHED with the rough draft of my first novel! Let the editing begin — yes, that is my next step.
LCW’s Super Saturday one day writers’ conference went very well, and there were quite a few new attendees, including quite a few young people and one twelve-year-old boy. What a great thing to see!
There was a keynote address and four sessions. I attended a session presented by J.P. Robinson, who gave an information packed session on marketing!
I attended a great session on how to use setting to create strong emotional impact and suspense, which will be a great help as I edit my novel because describing and using my setting are weaknesses of mine, although I have improved from the start to the finish. I also attended an in-depth session on plot and character that had a great exercise to help understand the importance of really knowing your characters. Both of these sessions were presented by Ronie Kendig.
I also had a one-on-one appointment with Rita Gerlach who also writes historical romantic fiction. She read the first scene of my novel and gave me suggestions for two minor adjustments to improve it, but she really liked it and encouraged me in my writing. She also offered some advice on publishing.
Once again, a very valuable, worthwhile one-day LCW Super Saturday Writers’ Conference — Thank You, Jeanette Windle!
Photo by Alex Blăjan on Unsplash
Trish walked down the hallway, gripping her books to her chest, her lunch bag dangling from the fingertips of one hand, her head down, eyes on the floor. She felt the stares, heard the whispers and giggles, and saw the pointing fingers from the corners of her eyes.
At the end of the hall she bolted through the doors into the courtyard. She strode to a bench half-hidden by a couple large bushes and sat down. She placed her books on the bench beside her and sighed, then removed the baggie holding her peanut butter and jelly sandwich from her brown bag.
A shadow fell across her face and a hand set a can of Coke Zero on the bench next to her. Trish looked up into the face of an average-looking young man with light brow hair streaked with gold where the sun’s rays touched it—Brian Douglas, her church pastor’s son. He smiled at her.
“Coke Zero. Your drink of choice?”
She nodded. How did he know that?
“I noticed your brown bag and thought you might need something to wash your food down.”
“Thank you,” Trish mumbled between bites of her sandwich.
“Mind if I join you?”
Trish frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Brian plopped down on the grass in front of the empty half of the bench. “Don’t worry, they won’t suspect anything with me talking to you. They all know where I stand on that subject.”
“That’s what I used to think.” Trish finished her sandwich and pulled out a baggie of celery and carrot sticks. She took one of each and offered the bag to Brian. It made her uncomfortable to eat in front of someone.
He took the baggie, helped himself to one of each, and passed it back to her. “So the rumors are true?”
She studied his face, his eyes, for any signs of judgment, but all she saw was compassion. She nodded as tears pooled in her eyes.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Trish popped open her Coke and took a long drink. What was up with this guy? He had always tried to talk with her at church, was always polite, but she hadn’t paid much attention to him. “Why do you care?”
There was a long pause as he looked at her. She shifted her position on the bench, his gaze making her uncomfortable.
Brian took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’ve been interested in you for a long time. That’s why I always make an effort to talk to you at church.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “How come you’ve never made an effort here at school?”
“Well, you didn’t seem real interested when I approached you at church, and here, you’re part of a crowd that has no interest in me. I guess I thought I’d have a better chance getting through to you at church.”
Trish wrinkled her brow. Was he still interested in her after hearing the rumors? She’d just admitted the rumors are true. “What do you want from me?”
He leaned forward. “I’d like to be your friend, get to know you better, and see where that leads.”
“Did you miss my nod? The rumors are true. I … gave myself to Randall McQuade in the back seat of his car Friday night.” She choked back a sob.
“Trish, I understand you made a mistake and that Randall McQuade is the biggest jerk in the school to make such a fool of you.”
Tears spilled from Trish’s eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “My parents don’t know, but I’m sure it won’t be long. They’re going to be so disappointed in me. How can you, the pastor’s son, still have an interest in someone like me?”
Brian rose from the ground and sat on the bench next to her. “Trish, we all make mistakes, but that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve a second chance. And you sure seem like you could use a friend right now.”
She sniffed and nodded. “Just so you know, he used protection, so there shouldn’t be any more … complications.” She hung her head.
Brian put an arm around her. “You’re going to be okay. And you should tell your parents. It’ll be better coming from you than if someone else tells them and adds to the story.”
“I know you’re right, but I’m scared.”
“Call me afterward.”
He stood to go.
“Brian, why are you so interested in me?”
“Because I think you’re smart and pretty, and you seem like someone I would enjoy spending time with.”
“I’m going to need some time. And when we start spending time together … we’re going to have to take it slow.”
“Not a problem.” He smiled. “I’m a patient man.”
Today’s Tea Tidbit is a bit unusual. I want to share a new tea item that someone gave me as a gift. It’s a wonderful little plastic pot with a built-in loose leaf tea strainer. You can put up to 12 oz. of water in it with your loose leaf tea, then heat it in the microwave, then let it steep. When ready, you fit the pot over your tea cup or mug and the there’s a piece on the bottom that lifts when on the cup, and the tea pours down into your cup but doesn’t let any of the loose tea into the cup of tea. It’s a wonderfully easy way to make a cup of loose leaf tea.
Called Back
by Emily Dickinson
Just lost when I was saved!
Just felt the world go by!
Just girt me for the onset with eternity,
When breath blew back,
And on the other side
I heard recede the disappointed tide!
Therefore, as one returned, I feel,
Odd secrets of the line to tell!
Some sailor, skirting foreign shores,
Some pale reporter from the awful doors
Before the seal!
Next time, to stay!
Next time, the things to see
By ear unheard,
Unscrutinized by eye.
Next time, to tarry,
While the ages steal,–
Slow tramp the centuries,
And the cycles wheel.
In the past couple years, I’ve heard about a new style of historical fiction stories. The authors weave an historical fiction story and a contemporary fiction story and put them in the same book, and there’s something that connects the historical with the contemporary. The Writing Desk by Rachel Hauck is one of those stories and it is the first story like it that I have read.
The historical story follows the life of a young woman named, Birdie, who is from a prominent American family during the Gilded Age. She is a free-thinking independent woman, but her parents try to force her to marry a man she doesn’t love, so that the two will be even more wealthy, and put Birdie at the height of society. Her mother is much more adamant about it than her father. However, Birdie wants to marry for love, and she wants to write stories.
The contemporary story follows the life of a young woman who wrote a book in the midst of her grief over the death of her father, and it quickly becomes a New York Times Bestseller. Therefore, Tenley is pressured to write another one, but she is paralyzed by writer’s block and struggles with her emotions and who she really is. Then her mother, who deserted her twenty years ago, calls and announces she has cancer and needs Tenley to come to Florida to take care of her. However, the man Tenley has been involved with gives her an engagement ring and asks her to marry him, and he invites her to go to Paris to write.
The lives of both women are so different, yet they are connected by several threads.
I found this book impossible to put down. Last night I stayed up an hour and a half later than I usually do because I just had to finish it. I always say that a book that can make me laugh and cry is on my list of “best books”, and this one struck both of those chords within me, and there was one tremendous surprise twist in the story that I never suspected that made me laugh and cry tears of joy!
Because I, too, am a writer, I could relate to both the women in this story, and I continually cheered them on throughout the book. The other characters also evoked strong thoughts and/or emotions within me and I either, cheered for them or wished for them to go away.
Not only was this an incredible pair of stories woven together, it was also an incredible story of loss, hurt, guilt, pain, hope, healing, and love. Birdie, Eli, Tenley, Jonas, and even Alfonse, Rose, Blanche, and Holt will live on in my memory and heart for a long time to come. This book has endeared itself to me. It is the kind of book I LOVE to talk about with friends who have also read it, and it is a book I will highly recommend to anyone who loves a wonderfully, skillfully told story that includes all of the things I’ve listed above.
The Writing Desk by Rachel Hauck gets five stars from me.
I also have to say it is the first and only book that I have ever read by Rachel Hauck, but I will definitely be looking for more.
Photo by Corinne Kutz on Unsplash
Julie rushed through the library clasping her folder to her chest, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. As she burst out the library doors, she gulped the warm fresh air, relieved to be rid of the feeling of suffocation. She fast-walked toward home, longing for the safety and solitude of her bedroom.
As she walked, the dam broke, and tears gushed forth. Why are people so mean? Why are they so critical and judgmental? Hadn’t anyone ever taught them that “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”—words Grandma Rose had drilled into her head?
Julie’s family’s house came into view, and Toby Jefferson, her best friend for the past three years, sat on the top step of the large front porch. She slowed her pace and scrubbed her tears away with one hand, while retaining her tight grip on her folder. She hoped her eyes didn’t look too red and puffy.
Julie turned onto the gray stone walkway leading to her house. Her eyes met Toby’s, and he grinned. She offered a small smile.
She stopped before him, and he patted the porch floor next to him. “Have a seat.”
When Julie was seated, Toby turned to look at her. “So, how’d it go? What did they say?”
One look into his kind, encouraging, chocolate brown eyes and she came undone. Sobs shook her slight frame.
Toby wrapped an arm around her and stroked her long black hair. He just held her until her sobs subsided, then she sat up, looked at him through watery blue eyes, and sniffed. “Oh Toby, I don’t think I can do this. Apparently my writing isn’t any good. They hated it—said the characters aren’t developed enough for them to like them, let alone care about them. They said I have no idea how to write a story people will want to read, and I shouldn’t waste my time.” Another tear spilled from her eye.
Toby, one arm still around her, rubbed her shoulder. “Didn’t they offer suggestions on how to do the things they think are missing?”
Julie shook her head and sighed. “Don’t ever suggest another writers’ group to me again. The people in those groups are mean and cruel. First, it was the two groups you suggested online that said I shouldn’t write again until I take a college creative writing class, and now this. Maybe I’m not really cut out to be a writer after all.” She laid her head on Toby’s shoulder and leaned into him.
“May I see the piece you shared?” Toby spoke into her hair.
Julie sat up and looked at him, tears, once again, pooling in her eyes. She shook her head and wrapped both arms around the folder.
“Come on, Jules. You’ve let me read your stuff before. You know I’d never be like those other people.” He gently brushed a few strands of hair from her face.
She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Not today.” She rose to her feet. “I’m going to my room. I’ll talk to you later.” She turned toward the house.
Toby got to his feet. “Jules…”
His pet name for her always made her breath catch in her throat. She wondered if he knew, that six months ago when he became the champion for her writing, she’d fallen in love with him. She turned to look at him.
“Aw, never mind. I’ll talk to you later.” He turned and walked down the porch steps.
The next day, Toby met Julie at her locker at lunchtime like he did everyday. She greeted him with a large smile.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t expect to see such a bright smile on your face.”
“Oh Toby, you’ll never guess what’s happened!”
“Well, don’t hold me in suspense … tell me.”
“Do you remember I told you, Miss Wilson, my English teacher convinced me to enter one of my short stories in a contest a few months ago?”
Toby nodded.
“Well, today she informed the whole class that my story won first place!”
Toby wrapped her in a hug, lifted her from the floor, and spun her around. Then he set her down and looked into her eyes. “That’s great, Jules! One day you’ll have a bestseller.”
Heat crept into her cheeks, as he still had his arms around her, and other students stared. She nodded, looking up at him, his face so near to hers. “Miss Wilson also said she’s part of a very good writers’ group, and she wants me to go to the next meeting with her … this Saturday.” She bit her lower lip.
“Are you going?”
She nodded.
Toby grinned and they walked to the lunchroom, his arm around her lower back.
Kelly F Barr 