Sunday Bookends: I finished another book (it’s a miracle), cabin fever, rough draft finished

On February 13, 2022February 12, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, Sunday Bookends3 Comments

Welcome to Sunday Bookends where I ramble about what I’ve been reading, doing, watching, writing and listening to.

What I/we’ve been Reading

I finished another book last week. It’s a miracle. I know.

It was The Cat Who Saw Stars and it was not one of Braun’s best at all.

I was very disappointed with the book because it meandered around, which she always does, but this book never got to the point of Qwill actually investigating anything. It was merely him visiting other people and judging contests and having odd things happen to him. The end of the book was one of the worst endings I have seen in a book as well. I’m guess this was one of her later books. She wrote 29, I believe, before she passed away and she must have been running out of ideas.

To cleanse my pallet this week, I am reading a Love Inspired romance by new-to-me author Lisa Jordan called The Road to Redemption. Love Inspired books are part of Harlequin’s inspirational romance line.

I also started a book by Sara Davison called Every Star in the Sky. It is a Christian Fiction book that deals with the topic of sex trafficking so I have a feeling I will need to take a break from this one a few times. I’m on the fifth chapter and it is very well written, but also a tough read. It is for a book tour so I have a deadline, but luckily it is a fairly long one.

After these two, there are a few books I hope to get to in March and April (but I’ll probably read only one because you know how slow I read), including:

Miss Julia Renews Her Vows by Ann B. Ross

The Reckoning Trees (which I have started) by Alicia Gilliam

Relative Silence by Carrie Stuart Parks

Until I Met You by Tari Farris

Cape Refuge by Terri Blackstock

But I also have books I am reading for book tours and author friends.

I will have to take some breaks from

What’s Been Occurring

This week the temperatures were terribly cold again in the beginning of the week, while we tried to chip our way out of the ice that fell the week before. Our driveway was a mess and I wasn’t able to go anywhere the whole week.

By the end of the week, the weather warmed up and things finally began to defrost some, clearing the driveway at least, but today the temps have dropped again, and we are once again in subzero temperatures. We are supposed to have a couple more days of this and then a slow warm up. My sinuses are just going to love the up and down temps. Ha. Ha.

*This is what happens when your children have cabin fever. They stand in window frames and look like a scene from a horror movie.*

My children are definitely having some cabin fever and sadly the only time they got out this week was to a memorial service for a good friend of our family’s. Ginger was 89 and quite a character. She and her husband Ernie were pianists who played beautiful music together. Ernie passed away in 2020 and she passed in January. She was originally from New York City and told some of the funniest stories. She was also very blunt, which created some hilarious situations. Honestly, she warrants an entire blog post so I should probably consider doing that for this week.

This week they will have another “exciting” outing when I have to drive 45 minutes north to take our dog to the vet for her annual vaccines. It will be in the town where we used to live, so my son will be excited to visit his old stomping grounds.

What We watched/are Watching

We started watching a new British comedy (new to us) called Ghosts and are hooked. It is about a group of ghosts stuck in an old house who can’t leave, which is a real problem for the new owner, who inherited the house from a step-great-aunt.

It’s the main thing we’ve been watching, and I can’t actually think of anything else I watched this week because I was working so much on finishing my next book. Which brings me to . . .

What I’m Writing

I’ve been working all week on A New Chapter, which I have renamed Beauty From Ashes.

I’ve been writing for 2-3 hours a day during the week as part of writing sprints with the Novel Academy ladies, but, of course, with two children and a dog, I’m not able to actually write the full time. I’m usually interrupted every ten minutes or so to let a dog outside or feed a child. Why do children think they have to eat every day? Sheesh. It does get tiresome after a bit. Anyhoo . . . despite all the interruptions, I was able to finish the rough draft and will start editing and fleshing out this week.

I also shared posts on the blog last week, including:

The many adventures we do and do not have in very cold weather.

You Are My Sunshine is not necessarily a ‘happy song’

Fiction Thursday: A New Chapter Chapter 21 Part 1

Fiction Friday: A New Chapter Chapter 21 Part 2

How to improve dialogue and capture your readers’ attention

Book Review: Freedom Crossing

What I’m Listening To

This week I listened to Matthew West, Johnny Cash, and a bit of Jack White to get through the week.

Now it’s your turn

So that is my week in review. How about you? What have you been reading, watching, listening to or doing? Let me know in the comments.

How to improve dialogue and capture your readers’ attention

On February 12, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings4 Comments

This appeared first on the Hope, Hearts, and Heroes blog.

For some writers, dialogue is their biggest challenge, not necessarily because they don’t know what they want their characters to say, but because they don’t know how to present that dialogue well.

Today I thought I’d jump off a topic our own Kelly Barr touched on a couple of weeks ago on the blog when she wrote about the difference between action beats and dialogue tags.

As a new fiction writer, I am among those writers who sometimes don’t do the best job of presenting dialogue in my stories.

One of the traps that we new writers fall into is adding descriptive words to replace “said” after every part of dialogue. Instead of simply writing “said”, writers often try to break up that monotony by replacing “said” with terms like “exclaimed,” “declared” or “shouted.” Sometimes these replacements work, but sometimes, if read in successive dialogue exchanges, these descriptive words can be completely awkward.

Here is an example:

“Jenny, are you going with me to the dance?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know! Stop asking me!” Jenny exclaimed.

“Gosh, sorry,” Jack extolled. “I didn’t realize wanting to take my girlfriend to a dance would be so upsetting.”

“I’m sorry,” Jenny sighed. “It’s just — I’m tired and things haven’t been great at home. My parents are fighting again.”

Instead of writing words like asked, exclaimed, or extolled, we could instead add what are called “action beats.” Action beats are when the writer has the character who is speaking doing something before they speak, to show the reader who it is that is speaking.

So, let’s try the above example again, by using action beats. We’re also going to take out the word “asked” because I once heard author Jerry B. Jenkins say he felt the word was unnecessary if there was a question mark already at the end of the sentence. It’s clear a question is being asked. There’s no need to reiterate that the person asked a question by writing “he/she asked.”

Updated example:

Jack leaned back against the row of lockers next to Jenny’s. He turned his head to look at her. “Are you going with me to the dance?” (We don’t have to add Jenny’s name since we already said he was standing next to Jenny’s locker.)

Jenny tipped her head back and groaned, slamming her locker door closed. “I don’t know! Stop asking me!”

“Gosh, sorry.” Jack held his hands, palms out, in front of him. “I didn’t realize wanting to take my girlfriend to a dance would be so upsetting.”

Jenny signed, hugging her books to her chest. “Sorry. It’s just —” She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. “ I’m tired and things haven’t been great at home. My parents are fighting again.”

Sometimes we writers even write “said” way too often. There is no need to write “she said,” or “he said” after every word our character speaks.

So that it doesn’t sound as if I am slamming other new writers, I thought I’d pull some examples from my first attempts at writing fiction to show how distracting it is to write “said” after every part of dialogue and how equally distracting it is to try to come up with new superlatives to attribute a quote to a particular character.

The following excerpt is from my first book, A Story To Tell. It’s since been revamped and re-edited, but this is how it was written before I knew more about how to write dialogue.

“She’s too young for dances,” Daddy said, sitting in his chair, reading the local newspaper, not even looking up.

“Well, Edith is going to be there,” Mama offered, mentioning my older sister.

“Is this meant to comfort me?” Daddy asked.

Edith walked into the living room in a flared blue skirt and a white blouse with the top two buttons unbuttoned. “Oh, good grief,” she said. “She’s 17, Daddy. She’s old enough for dances.”

Daddy looked at Edith disapprovingly.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked sharply.

“What’s wrong with it?” Edith looked down at her skirt and smoothed it with her hands.

“It’s fine if you want to wait on a corner in the city,” Daddy mumbled under his breath.

I knew Edith didn’t hear him, but I did.

“It looks lovely,” Mama said quickly. “At least it’s longer than the last skirt you wore. Are you going to wear your pearls with it?”

“Pearls aren’t in fashion right now, Mama,” Edith said.

Later I rewrote this part and tightened up the dialogue a bit more, taking out some of the “saids” and “askeds”.

“She’s too young for dances.”

Daddy was sitting in his chair, his eyes focused on the paper.

“Well, Edith is going to be there,” Mama offered.

Daddy peered over the paper, one eyebrow crocked. “Is this meant to comfort me?”

Edith flounced into the living room wearing a flared blue skirt and a white blouse with the top two buttons unbuttoned. “Oh, good grief. She’s 17, Daddy. She’s old enough for dances.”

Daddy glanced at Edith disapprovingly.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” His voice was sharp.

“What’s wrong with it?” Edith looked down at her skirt, smoothed it with her hands.

“It would be fine if you were standing on a corner in some city,” Daddy mumbled.

I knew Edith didn’t hear him, but I did.

“It looks lovely,” Mama said hastily. “At least it’s longer than the last skirt you wore. Are you going to wear your pearls with it?”

“Pearls aren’t in fashion right now, Mama.” Edith waved her hand dismissively, shifting her attention to me. “Come on, Blanche, let’s find you a dress and see what we can do with your hair.”

In addition to not adding too many adjectives to your dialogue tags, another way to avoid stilted dialogue is to simply take out the dialogue tags altogether. This is easy to do if you only have two people in a scene, as long as you only do it for a short exchange.

If you have two people talking back and forth about a subject, it isn’t really necessary to keep saying “he said,” and then “she said.”

We get it. The two people are talking to each other, so for a selection of lines, you could simply share what they are saying to each other.

I’ll show this, using an example from my third book, The Farmer’s Daughter. First, the way I wouldn’t do it now that I know more about dialogue:

“You have a degree in computer programing, Alex,” his dad had said over the phone in his familiar depreciating tone. “We could use you here in the IT department. And from there, maybe we can move you up into — ”

“Thanks, Dad,” Alex said. “I’m good here.”

“Farming?” his dad asked. “Really? This isn’t what I had in mind for you when—”

“When you what?” Alex asked. “Abandoned Tyler and I all those years ago?”

“That’s not what happened, Alex,” his dad said. “When you get older, you’ll understand that life isn’t always easy.”

“Yeah, okay,” Alex said. “Listen, Dad, I have to go. Mr. Tanner needs me to clean some cow poop out of the stalls, and I’d rather do that than talk to you.”

Now, the cleaned-up version from the book:

“You have a degree in computer programing, Alex,” his dad had said over the phone in his familiar depreciating tone. “We could use you here in the IT department. And from there, maybe we can move you up into — ”

“Thanks, Dad. I’m good here.”

“Farming? Really? This isn’t what I had in mind for you when—”

“When you what? Abandoned Tyler and I all those years ago?”

“That’s not what happened, Alex. When you get older, you’ll understand that life isn’t always easy.”

“Yeah, okay. Listen, Dad, I have to go. Mr. Tanner needs me to clean some cow poop out of the stalls, and I’d rather do that than talk to you.”

Looking at this now, I’d love to clean it up even further, by changing the first sentence to: “You have a degree in computer programming, Alex.” His dad’s tone on the other end of the phone was depreciating. As usual.

None of what I am suggesting here means I am some expert at writing dialogue or haven’t made some insanely silly blunders in my dialogue. I’m nowhere near an expert and looking back over my last two books, I can see some major errors, including how I over-explain in between dialogue and offer too many action beats.

There is always room for improvement, no matter where you are in your writing journey so if you are doing some of what I’ve mentioned above — making what some call “writing mistakes” — it’s not the end of the world. Writing is a journey, and you can always improve whether in your next novel, novella, or short story or by editing the story you’ve already written.

Not only can, and will you improve, but some readers aren’t as bothered by these so-called mistakes as fellow writers are. Do your best to tighten your writing, but don’t let what you think you are doing wrong, stop you from continuing to write.

Learn more about the best way to use dialogue in the following articles:

Fiction Thursday: A New Chapter Chapter 21 Part 1

On February 10, 2022February 18, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, fiction, Fiction Friday, Fiction Thursday6 Comments

We are getting closer to the end of this story and I just wanted to let regular readers know that the book will not be called A New Chapter when I am done with it and publish it in book form. Last week it struck me that I already have A New Beginning and now I was going to call this book A New Chapter. It seemed a bit lazy on the naming side so I have changed A New Chapter to Beauty From Ashes and at this point it is scheduled to be released in full on April 26. I haven’t decided if I will keep the book in Kindle Unlimited or not yet.

For those who are new here, I share a chapter of a novel in progress on Fridays for Fiction Friday but sometimes I also share a part on a Thursday or Saturday. The version I share here often changes before I push publish on the final book down the line.

If you want to read the other chapters click HERE and if you want to read the other books click HERE.

Chapter 21 Part I

A cool breeze brushed Ginny’s hair back as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. She rubbed her hands across her arms and breathed in the smell of winter on its way.

“I was going to suggest we go for a walk, but maybe it’s a little too chilly for that.” Keith tilted his head toward the riverwalk across the street as he zipped his coat. “What do you think?”

It was chilly and she needed to get home, yet part of her wasn’t ready to go home. She was still angry at Stan, disappointed that he’d stood her up once again.

She zipped her coat up under her chin. “I could go for a walk. I need to burn some calories after that desert.”

The river was high, the streetlights lining the riverwalk reflecting a bright, blue-tinted white off the surface. The town of Clarkston had installed the riverwalk ten years ago, but replaced the electric lights with LED a year ago to be more energy efficient. Ginny understood the need to care about the environment, but she missed the cozy orange glow of the old streetlights.

“It’s cold but it’s beautiful.” Keith paused at one of the observation areas and leaned on the metal railing, looking out across the river. “I remember kayaking in this river with my dad. We tipped one,” he pointed toward a bend island further down river. “right about there. I thought I was going to drown but the old man grabbed the front of my vest with one hand and yanked me all the way to the island. The kayak floated to the other shore. There were no cellphones back then, as you know, so we waited, not sure what we were going to do. I was pretty sure I could swim to the other side.” He winced. “But dad wasn’t so sure. The water was pretty deep and there was a current there. We were lucky a fisherman came by an hour later and rescued us.”

Ginny stood next to him and smiled. “You were a lot more adventurous than I was as a teen. I can’t remember ever climbing into a kayak. You couldn’t get me to climb into one now either.” She laughed. “Then again, maybe it would spice up my life a little bit.”

She regretted saying it as soon as it was out of her mouth. Why was she sharing the need to spice up her life with a man she barely knew? Sure, she’d known him years ago, in high school, but not now. He was practically a stranger, even if they did have some shared memories and had been talking to each other off and on the last few weeks.

Keith turned and leaned back on the railing. “It’s never too late to add some excitement to your life, you know. I could take you kayaking.”

Ginny laughed. “And you’d be dragging me out of the river, I’m pretty sure.”

Keith winked. “I wouldn’t mind that. Much more rewarding than that time I had to push a dead beaver out of the way.”

Ginny made a face. “Oh gross. I’m not sure that’s the adventure I’d like to have.”

Keith’s laugh was rich and sent a rush of energy through Ginny. It was nice to hear a man relaxed enough to let out an authentic laugh. He pushed off the railing and started walking again. She fell in step with him, her muscles relaxing as she began to enjoy the freedom and lightness of the night. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to simply talk with another adult — well, beside Liz — without feeling like what she said wasn’t important.

Keith sighed. “I feel like I’ve missed a lot of the good things of life, Gin. I worked a lot during my marriage. Missy and I weren’t compatible. Not at all. But it didn’t help I was at the office more than I was home. I don’t want to keep missing out on life. I don’t want it all to pass me by while I’m on a conference call or sitting in a boardroom somewhere.”

He slid his hands in his jean pockets as he walked. “Maybe this is just a getting old thing. Do you ever feel like you’ve missed out on life?”

Boy, did she. “In some ways, yes.” She bit her lower lip, not sure how much she felt comfortable sharing. “There are a lot of things I wished I had done. I wish I had traveled more, tried more new things. That’s why I was at the art class, actually. I wanted to try something new, or, well, a little old for me since I took some art classes in college. I wanted something just for me again. Reading used to be just for me but then I became a librarian, and we don’t have the time for reading people think we do. We’re shelving and checking books out, but we aren’t reading them very often.”

She pulled her hood up to block the breeze. “It’s weird but when you’re a mom you feel like you’re whole life revolves around your children when they are home and then when they move out, well, you wonder what the purpose of your life is.” She smiled faintly. “I know. It’s silly.”

“No.” Keith stopped walking and turned toward her and she stopped too. “It’s not silly. It’s real. Life is real and messy and yeah, sometimes we lose our way in it and forget that it’s not only about making money or raising kids or making our spouses happy. Life is also about being happy, experiencing every last drop of being alive there is until we aren’t alive anymore.” He threw his hands out to his side. “Don’t you miss feeling alive, Ginny? I do. I miss feeling like I did when I was a teenager – that my future was unmapped and it was ripe for excitement and adventure and all the things that make life worth living.”

Yes, she missed feeling alive. She sighed. She missed feeling alive with Stan.

“I want to feel alive again, Ginny and when I’m with you, that’s how I feel.”

His gaze focused on hers. “I kissed you on that water tower. Do you remember?”

Ginny’s cheeks flushed warm, panic bubbling up inside her fast, ready to explode through her body and send her running up the sidewalk along the river and back to her car. “Yes, I remember.”

“It was a nice kiss.” The step he took toward her was full of purpose and the shock of it left her frozen, unable to move away. “A kiss full of life.”

The sudden movement of his hand behind her head brought a gasp from her throat and she put her hands up, but his mouth was already on hers. She pressed her hands against her chest, planning to push him away, but the kiss was fierce, hot, sending flames skittering through her blood stream, awakening what had been asleep for too long. Her mind clouded, the pleasure of his mouth against her making her forget where she was and who she was for a few second. She let the kiss linger without even thinking how wrong it was.

His hand on her lower back pulled her against him and the kiss deepened, but as it did, she saw Stan in her mind, his smile, his laughter, the flash of passion in his eyes when he lowered his mouth to hers so many times over the years — the Stan she used to know so well.

She pulled back quickly, gasping for a breath, yanking herself from Keith’s embrace, her hands still out in front of her. “Keith. I’m a married woman.”

“Ginny, I’m sorry.” He stepped toward her, but she pushed her hands toward him again and he stopped moving his arms still out as if he was holding her. “You’re a beautiful woman and it drives me crazy that Stan doesn’t seem to notice that. You’re smart, bright, funny, engaging. . .You deserve better than some man who is married to his job.”

Ginny hugged her arms around her and shook her head, closing her eyes. “I shouldn’t have let you do that, Keith.”

“Why? I felt you come alive in my arms, Ginny.” Keith set his hands on his waist and gestured toward her. “You clearly needed to be reminded you’re still a vibrant, passionate woman. Admit it. That kiss made you feel alive again.”

For a few seconds, it had. He was right. But it had also made her feel weak with guilt and horror at betraying her wedding promise to Stan. She’d promised to have and to hold, for better or for worse, not to let an ex-boyfriend kiss her when she felt neglected and lonely.

“I’ve had a wonderful night, Keith, but I need to go home.”

She turned, walking briskly toward the top of the riverwalk, her arms still hugged tight around her.

“Ginny! Wait!”

Keith’s footsteps behind her only quickened her steps. His hand on her wrist stopped her and she turned to look at him.

The confidence was gone, replaced with an expression she read as contrition. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard. “I got caught up in the moment, in my own desires to feel alive again.” He closed his eyes briefly as he shook his head. “It was wrong. You’re married and —” He looked at her again. “I’m just sorry. Can you forgive me?”

She folded her hands in front of her face, blew on them to try to chase the chill away. “I do forgive you, if you forgive me for leading you on.”

Keith laughed. “You didn’t lead me on. You were just being your normal sweet, amazing self and I took advantage of it. I didn’t plan on doing that, just so you know. It was the atmosphere, the good conversation, how beautiful you looked in the moonlight. It was like we were in high school again. I suddenly regretted walking away from you and letting Stan have you.”

Ginny stepped back again. “You didn’t let Stan have me, Keith. I chose him.” She gestured toward the direction of her car. “I need to go. It’s late.”

“Can we still talk sometimes?”

She shook her head, turning away from him. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” She looked over her shoulder. “I hope things work out with your business and you enjoy your time back in Spencer.”

She saw him standing in the middle of the sidewalk, watching her, as she turned the corner to head toward her car. The tears came when he was out of sight, flowing freely, cooling on her cheek as soon as they fell. Her body trembled as she walked, horror slicing through her. How had she let herself lose track of reality back there?

What [lh1] was she even thinking walking along the river after a dinner alone with a man who wasn’t her husband? What had happened to her? Stan wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t as if he was abusing her, beating her, screaming at her. He was inattentive, yes, but he didn’t deserve this – for her to be going behind his back, kissing another man.

She quickly unlocked the door of her car and slid behind the steering wheel, slamming the door closed and locking the door. Clutching the steering wheel, she pressed her forehead against the middle of it and sobbed.

“You are so, so stupid, Ginny Jefferies. So stupid.” The sobs came fast and hard, causing her to gasp for breath as an ache spread from her chest up her throat.

“God, what has happened to me? Who have I become? Forgive me, Father. Forgive me for being swept away by Keith’s charm, for losing sight of the commitment I made to Stan on our wedding day. Can you forgive me?”

She turned the ignition, checked her side mirror, and yanked the car out of the parking space, pressing her foot on the accelerator.

“Forgive me, Father.” The words choked out of her as she drove, fighting past the tears. “Forgive me for what I did. And please, please let Stan forgive me too.”

You Are My Sunshine isn’t the happy song you think it is. And who actually wrote it anyhow?

On February 9, 2022May 29, 2025 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings20 Comments

*Updated May 2025

You Are My Sunshine is a happy song, right?

It’s talking about a person being someone else’s sunshine.

This is probably why my aunt used to sing the chorus to people she loved so often, especially my son (who I call The Boy for the sake of this blog) and me.

But if you look at the lyrics of the song, it seems it could have a bit of a sadder connotation than the upbeat music suggests.

My aunt Dianne sang the chorus of that song from the first time she met The Boy (the nickname for my son on this blog) right after he was born up until right before she passed away two days before 2018 kicked off.

She sang it in the fun “hillbilly” way the song was originally written in, her original Southern accent in full swing and even more pronounced. It was usually sung while she had an arm around our necks and she’d end the chorus with a sloppy wet kiss on our cheek and a good-natured laugh.

When she passed away, Mom asked me if I would pull some photos together to display for her funeral, as I had for my paternal grandmother. I went into Walmart for some supplies, deciding I’d put together a display on poster board and then some extra photos in a photo album. As I walked up and down the arts and crafts aisle, still very much in the throes of grief, feeling like a heavy weight was on my shoulders, I was frozen in place by a photo album sitting at the front of the album display.

The words on the front were written in bright yellow: You Are My Sunshine.

I broke down right there in the aisle, clutching the album to my chest, feeling like it was a sign from Dianne, telling me she loved me.

A woman asked me if I was okay.

I sobbed out some words about my aunt dying and how she’d always sung this song to my son and me. I mumbled something about the words on the album being a sign. I’m sure I didn’t make any sense at all. The woman agreed with me anyhow (probably because she was trying to appease a crazy woman).

The boy and I have a hard time hearing the song without everything inside us tightening up like the ropes on a ship’s sail, and we usually turn it off or move somewhere we can’t hear it.

There are more than 300 versions of the song, each artist interpreting it differently and with a different tone, which can convey a different feeling.

The more upbeat version of the song, like the one sung by one of the original performers of the song — Jimmie Davis — or the one in the movie O’ Brother Where Art Thou, is what most people are used to hearing. If you listen to the first verse, however, you’re already prepared for the song to be a little depressing.

The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken
So I hung my head and I cried

The other day, I came across a version of it by a band called The Dead South, and for some reason, I kept listening. Their interpretation gives the song a darker, almost threatening tone.

I find it one of the more accurate versions, emotionally-wise, when paired with the lyrics. A distant cousin hilariously disagreed with me when I shared it on Facebook, writing that the band had virtually “murdered” the song. Her response made me giggle because she was right — to a point, anyhow. I think she felt it was a case of musical homicide because she was used to hearing my aunt and others sing it as a happy song.

Believe me, I totally understand, but for some reason, The Dead South version still appeals to me, though not as much as the version my aunt sang to me.

On its surface, You Are My Sunshine isn’t the saddest song ever, so it’s okay to sing it with a bit of an upbeat melody. If you look deeper, though, it’s clear that the point of view of the person singing it is practically begging the person they are singing to to stay with them.

You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You’ll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away

Even more unsettling are the subsequent verses:

I’ll always love you and make you happy
If you will only say the same
But if you leave me to love another
You’ll regret it all someday

It is this line — You’ll regret it all someday — that The Dead South lead singer delivers in a much more threatening way than most likely the author of the song originally intended.

This next verse isn’t much better:

You told me once, dear, you really loved me
And no one else could come between
But now you’ve left me and love another
You have shattered all my dreams

So, if the original lyrics are sung to this song, it is much more of a downer than the perky tune suggests.

I, however, won’t go as far as to say the singer means the person will regret it because they will hurt them.

There is quite a bit of debate on who actually wrote the song, even though two-time Louisiana Governor Jimmie Davis and a man named Charles Mitchell are credited with it. Davis recorded it in 1940. It is also Lousiana’s state song.

Research, however, led me to an article that I believe proves that a man named Robert Oliver Hood of Georgia actually wrote the song. Davis and Mitchell copyrighted it in 1940, though, after purchasing it from a man named Paul Rice, who Hood’s family said used to write with Hood.

Robert Mann, author of the book You Are My Sunshine, which was about the history of the song, says that the first recording of the song was by the Pine Ridge Boys in 1939 more than six months before Davis heard the song. He adds, in an interview with TownTalk.com, it was also recorded by the Rice Brothers’ Gang in New York City, who later performed it on the KWKH radio show in Shreveport. Davis, who was serving as the public service commissioner for the city, also had a show on KWKH.

“They’re both singing on the Saturday Night Round Up, which is the precursor to the Louisiana Hayride,” Mann said.

Mann says though Paul Rice claimed to have written the song, he actually didn’t own it. Still, he needed money for his wife’s medical bills, so Davis and his steel guitar player Charlie Mitchell gave Rice $35 for the song.

Davis recorded his version of the song in New York City afterward.

The song became a hit not because of Davis, Mann said, but because the Singing Cowboy Gene Autry sang it in movies, as did Crosby, making it a huge hit.

The article in The Town Talk states, “By the time Davis ran for governor, the song had been recorded more than a dozen times by other artists, Mann said. He used the notoriety of the song to help him, and he told people he was the author of the song. In early 1940, he and Mitchell got a copyright for the song and then maintained for the rest of his life that he wrote the song.”

To me, a 1990 article in Chronicles Magazine, by writer Theodore Pappas is the definitive source for this question. Pappas wrote that Robert Oliver Hood (always called Oliver), his grandfather, wrote the song and that his descendants back up this fact by saying he first sang it in 1933 at a Veterans of Foreign Wars convention in LaGrange.

It was a Japanese professor who sought in 1989 to find out who really wrote the song, Pappas says, and eventually found out the truth.

“Mr. Mitsui first went to the office of Georgia State University professor Wayne Daniel, who has long researched the history of American country music,” Pappas wrote in his article. Professor Daniel concluded in a 1984 article that the origin of the song would probably never be ascertained, a conclusion he repeats in his latest book, Pickin’ on Peachtree: A History of Country Music in Atlanta, Georgia (University of Illinois Press, 1990): “So like some of the works ascribed to Shakespeare, the authorship of ‘You Are My Sunshine’ probably will never be decided to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Daniels said, neither the Pine Ridge Boys nor Jimmie Davis ever claimed to have written “You Are My Sunshine,” but not so with Paul Rice; he claimed to have composed it in 1937.

“There are still people alive, however, who remember hearing the song long before 1937,” Pappas wrote in his article. “In particular, a mid-1930’s performance of the song by Riley Puckett himself—and what these people remember is the name of the musician with whom both Riley Puckett and Paul Rice played in the early 1930’s: Oliver Hood of La Grange, Georgia.”

Oliver Hood is in the foreground of this photo provided to Rosemont Records by his grandson.

Later in the article Pappas writes: “Contrary claims notwithstanding, Oliver Hood wrote “You Are My Sunshine.” He wrote the words to the song on the back of a brown paper sack, which his children still possess, and he first performed the song at a VFW convention in LaGrange in 1933; he sang it through a megaphone out of a hotel window, and he sang no less than twenty verses, most of which are lost. Over the years he wrote hundreds of songs, as did all of his friends. To them, music was a not-for-profit venture, an act of love, something that transcended commercial consideration. Never did the thought of copyrighting their music ever come to mind—never, that is, until “You Are My Sunshine” rose to the top of the music charts in 1940. It was then that Oliver Hood began copyrighting his music—one song too late, as he so well knew. A poor cotton mill doffer doesn’t easily quit dreaming of the fame and fortune that might have been, and Oliver Hood went to his grave dreaming.”

In an interview with the Shreveport Times later in his life, Paul Rice again claimed he wrote the song in 1937 and based it on letters he had received from a girl in South Carolina who called him her “sunshine”.

Rice said in the newspaper article, “I wrote ‘You Are My Sunshine’ in 1937. Where I got the idea for it, a girl over in South Carolina wrote me this long letter—it was long about seventeen pages. And she was talking about how I was her sunshine. I got the idea for the song and put a tune to it.”

Rice lived until 101 and changed his story many times, though, according to various articles online. He doesn’t seem to have made any mention of Oliver Hood or how he knew him, from what I’ve seen.

Alice Bulmer, a musician, wrote on her site about the song:

“Jimmie Davis was a well-known country singer and politician. He recorded “You Are My Sunshine” in 1940, and the song propelled him to elected office in 1944 and again in 1960. He used it as his campaign theme, often singing it while riding a horse called Sunshine.

In 1960, Jimmie Davis was elected Louisiana governor on a segregationist ticket.

I think that might be why my American-born mother, Sue, didn’t sing “You Are My Sunshine” to her kids. In the USA in the early 1960s, it was strongly linked to a white segregationist politician.

However, it wasn’t exactly an anti-civil rights anthem – Ray Charles and Aretha Franklin and other black American singers also recorded it.”

The song, in fact, has been recorded by 350 artists and translated into 30 langauges.

In 1962, Ray Charles became one of the most popular artists to record it on the album Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music (it reached No. 7 on the Billboard Charts) and Jimmie Davis acknowledged that in a letter he wrote to Charles Sullivan of Sullivan’s Enterprises (for what purpose, I am not sure).

“Of course the Ray Charles version of You Are My Sunshine is far different to my version; and, incidentally, my version is more on the ‘cornfed’ side,” Davis wrote. “But, nevertheless, the tune itself is well established and planted in the minds of the people throughout the world. But now, to the Ray Charles version — I had a feeing when I heard his recording that it would be a nationwide hit and perhaps go to the No. 1 position. I had always felt that if it got the right kind of what I call the ‘wild treatment’, by the right artist, it couldn’t miss. And, frankly, I do not know of a person who is in a better position to give it this ‘wild treatment’, or the modern touch, or whatever you want to call it, than Ray Charles…”

In the end, no matter who wrote You Are My Sunshine (though I now believe it was Oliver Hood), the song still remains a favorite among many.

If you are a fan of the happier versions that have come out over the years, and are dead set against listening to a more serious one, you probably wouldn’t be interested in The Dead South’s version. But if you can bring yourself to listen to it, stick with it at least until the cello solo, which I think is lovely and saves the song for even the most stringent fan of the original version.

Here is The Dead South version if you want to hear it.

What each unique version of this one song shows is how much inflection and tone can affect meaning, whether in song or the spoken word.

Regardless of who sings the song and how they sing it, it will always hold a special meaning for me and my family and for the person who sang it to us — the woman who was our sunshine when skies were gray.

Additional resources:

You Are My Sunshine – the story behind the song

You Are My Sunshine – Wikipedia

Author Robert Mann sets out to tell background of ‘You Are My Sunshine’ in new book

The Theft of an American Classic

Letter from Jimmie Davis about the song “You Are My Sunshine”

Lisa R. Howeler is a blogger, homeschool mom, and writes cozy mysteries.

You can find her Gladwynn Grant Mystery series HERE.

You can also find her on Instagram and YouTube.

The many adventures we do and do not have in very cold weather.

On February 8, 2022February 6, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings12 Comments

I looked at the small kitten padding at high speed across the frozen surface of the snow and ice and pondered if I wanted to chase after her. I was sure that like usual, I would almost reach her, and she would dart out of my reach again until I was left gasping in the cold air, reaching for my rescue inhaler.

Still, it was only 18 degrees out and I didn’t want her running up a tree, getting stuck, and freezing to death.

Luckily, my son saw the crisis unfolding and swept Scout up before she could get very far.

Sadly, she escaped through the open door fifteen minutes later and darted away from my son, racing to the top of a smaller, naked tree in our backyard.

If you’re new to this blog, then you don’t know that this young cat, who I still call a kitten, has left us biting our nails many times because she has climbed tree after tree, sometimes unable to figure out how to climb down. She got herself so stuck one time, our neighbor contacted the town fire department, and they brought their ladder truck to rescue her.

My son and husband had to leave to drop off some groceries at my parents, so I said I’d watch the kitten and wait for her to come down. She eventually did come down and then somehow ran past me into the house, without me seeing her. I had shut the side door, shaking my head after I had watched her climb down from the tree, hoping she would run inside and when I stepped inside to shut the inside door I was surprised to see Scout sitting on the top step of our basement stairs. She must have run back inside when I wasn’t looking.

The bitter cold most likely chased her back inside, as it has been doing each time she’s escaped for the past six weeks or so.

Some winters bring our area snow and some cold. This year we have been plunged into a type of deep freeze as temperatures have been below freezing on more days in December and January than they have been above freezing.

These temps have not only stranded the humans inside, but also our outside cat, Pixel, and our want-to-be outside cat, Scout.

And if it hasn’t been the cold that has kept us inside, it has been the snow or ice covering our steep driveway. Right now our driveway is frozen under two-solid inches of ice and a small dusting of snow. Shoveling or snow blowing it is out of the question because of how solid the ice is. The ice storm that hit us Thursday has left some area businesses and churches closed because not even the commercial snow removal companies are able to rip up the ice without causing damage to their equipment.

Our outside cat is severely disappointed by the cold, one because we have been telling her it’s simply too cold for her to go out and then don’t let her go out and two, because she seems to expect a different outcome on the rare occasion we do allow her outside. For about three weeks now I’ve had to explain to her over and over how cold it is, but for some reason, she doesn’t seem to understand me. Hmmm..it’s almost like she’s a cat and not human.

So, she goes out into the cold and looks around her, bewildered each time. I close the door and five minutes later I find her looking into our kitchen window plaintively begging to come back in as if I have cruelly tossed her out into the cold.

She stays inside for about half an hour and then she’s back at the door scratching at the door frame trying to get our attention so she can go back out again. For a while, this was happening every 30 minutes or so. Then she finally seemed to get that it wasn’t going to get any warmer and the stretches of time between she wanted to outside got longer.

Then she eventually started to just curl up in a little ball on one of our couches or chairs or near the fire accepting that it was simply too cold to go out and explore and hunt for mice. You would think that she would forget about the outside after a while but that’s so far hasn’t happened. She is still itching to get out even when it is below freezing. Sunday she didn’t try to leave the house even once, instead making one of the recliners her bed.

The Boy and my husband’s trip to my parent’s came when my 78-year old dad called to tell me he had just taken a ride on a runner sled on the ice below his barn and it was the most frightened he’d ever been on a sled ride.

He’d gone out to test the sled because he said the ice would be perfect for sledding since there was no softer layer of snow under this snow, only solid layer upon layer of ice. He said this would make the ride exhilarating but also terrifying because a spill off the sled could mean a cut to the face if it hit the hard ice. To stop his ride, and keep himself from flying off into the woods several hundred yards away from the top of the hill, my dad had to slam the heals of his boots against the ice several times until they broke in enough to stop him.

He knows my son is a daredevil of sorts, so he invited him over to try a ride of his own.

My son took one ride on the sled and another ride without anything, simply sliding on his snow pants.

It was too cold to spend too much time outside since the thermometer stayed around 26 in the afternoon, dropping back to 21 in the evening. Based on what the weather app on my phone says (though it is often wrong) it looks like we will have some warmer weather later this week but it still won’t go up much above freezing.

This winter has been a little different since we have had more cold and less snow. In some ways, it feels like we have had snow but in fact, we only had one storm of about 7 inches and then it got so cold that the snow never melted. So, we have had snow on the ground around our house for about a month. It melted some the day before this latest ice storm came in but then the ice and a couple of inches of snow covered the ground again. I’m not complaining since I am used to Pennsylvania winters. If I was going to complain my only small complaint would be that I can’t get out of my steep driveway when it is icy and messy out so sometimes I am stranded for days at a time.

Opportunities for photographs are also reduced when the weather is bitter cold. When I do get outside, though, I’m grateful for the beauty winter often offers. Last week I snatched some photos of our ice-encased trees and bushes but spent as little time in the yard as possible since it was so cold.

My husband has to travel in the cold, sadly, and since he tolerates the cold better than I do he has attended a couple of events in the cold winter air for his job, including a horse-drawn sled race that was held a couple of weeks ago in our town. I would have gone but the high that day was eight and I do have a little bit of trouble breathing in the cold air thanks to asthma as a child and maybe my battle with You Know What two months ago. I had him send me a few of the photos from that event so I could share them here. Keep in mind that the temperature in these photos is 8 degrees. Eight degrees!

I am looking forward to spring and warmer weather but until then I will enjoy snuggling up in front of our woodstove with a cup of tea a good book and our dog Zooma.

Even though life can be a little mundane in the winter I enjoy the slow pace of it. In the spring and summer, I feel like I have to do things, or I should be out and about because the weather is nice. In the winter I am allowed the excuse of cold weather for keeping me in the house and keeping the pace slow and easy.

If only our cats could appreciate the slow and easy life of winter as much as I do.

Special Fiction Saturday: A New Chapter Chapter 20

On February 5, 2022February 4, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, fiction, Fiction Friday1 Comment

I thought I’d share an extra chapter this weekend as I am marching toward writing the final chapters during the week. I shared Chapter 19 yesterday.

To catch up with the story click HERE.

If you would like to read the first books in this series, you can find them HERE.

Chapter 20

Ginny looked at her watch for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. Where was he? He’d told her this morning he’d be here.

“Don’t stand me up this time, Stan.”

She did not want to have to tell Keith they’d have to reschedule because her husband was, yet again, too busy with work.

Oh great. There he was. Keith, parking his car in a space a few spots up from hers. She looked in the rearview mirror.

“Stan, come on.”

Maybe she could simply drive away and text Keith, telling him she’d have to cancel. That would work. It would be awkward, but no more awkward than having to admit her husband cared more about his job than his family, especially his wife.

She slid the key in the ignition, preparing to leave before Keith reached the sidewalk next to her car, but it was too late. Curse that man’s long legs. He spotted her and waved, sliding his sunglasses off and slipping them into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

She forced a smile and waved back, opening the door to the car.

Keith reached out for her hand as she stepped up on the sidewalk and pulled her into a hug. “Hey, there. Where’s the ball and chain?”

Ginny breathed in the smell of his cologne, a pang of guilt stabbing at her for enjoying it, the manliness of it. She longed to have Stan hug her this way so she could breathe in his cologne while nuzzling his neck.

She pulled back from the hug and looked at her watch, frowning. “Running late, I guess. He should be here soon.”

Keith gestured toward the restaurant’s front door. “Shall we get a seat and wait for him? We can order drinks and an appetizer.”

Ginny chewed her bottom lip, hesitating. “Um. Yeah. Okay.”

She looked back over her shoulder as Keith opened the door for her, searching the street for Stan’s car.

Come on, Stan. Be here. Just this once. Please.

Inside the restaurant was warmly lit, tables set under lightbulbs casting off soft, orange glows.

“Two?” the hostess asked looking between Ginny and Keith.

“Three actually,” Keith answered. “The other member of our party is running late.”

When they sat, Ginny glanced at the empty chair and her jaw tightened.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Keith placed his jacket on the back of his chair. How many times in the last two years had she attended events without Stan, making apologies, waiting for him to call and explain or make another excuse? Too many to count.

She was tired of it.

After hoping for a year to taste the food at this restaurant she was here, but not with the man she’d wanted to be with.

It didn’t matter. She was going to make the best of it and hopefully, he’d show up before the waitress took their orders for entrees.

Keith folded his hands on the table. “So, at the art class, you were telling me your daughter was trying to decide if she wanted to stay in California or not. What did she decide?”

Ginny pushed aside her thoughts of Stan and sighed. “I came home from the class and found her in my kitchen.”

Keith laughed. “Ah, I see. So she made up her mind to come home then?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yes, and she’s dropped out of school. She has no idea what she’s going to do and it makes me want to scream.” She laughed. “I love her and I love having her closer to home but all that money and she’s not even going to get a degree. It’s infuriating.”

The waitress approached and Ginny ordered a glass of water with lemon, Keith an iced tea, and an appetizer of blini with caviar. Stan loved caviar. Ginny hoped he arrived in time to have some.

“You know,” Keith propped his hand under his chin. “It might be good for your daughter to take some time off. She may decide she wants to go back and get her degree later on or she may not, but either way, she’s finding out what makes her happy.” He winced. “Of course, that doesn’t replace all that money you and Stan shelled out. What was her degree going to be in?”

“Social work.” Ginny’s phone rang and she looked at the caller ID. “It’s Stan. I should take this.”

“Of course.” Keith nodded toward the phone. “Definitely take it.”

“Hey, hon’, listen, I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

She’d known what he was going to say before he said it, but hearing it didn’t make it any easier.

“Yeah.” She didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in her voice. “Okay.”

The waitress arrived with her water and Keith’s iced tea.

“Are you upset?” Oh, how perceptive of him. “Listen, I’m sorry, but the client was running late. He just got here and this is a possibly big sale.” No surprise he didn’t even wait for me to answer. “The Henderson farm. They’re looking to make it into a commercial farm. It could mean jobs for the area.”

Ginny didn’t answer. She tapped her fingers on the table and scowled into her glass. She’d heard it all, this was no different.

“Gin, you still there?”

“Yep. I’m here.”

“Send Keith my apologies. I’ll find another date we can do this again. My treat.”

“That’s fine. I’ll tell him. See you later.”

Ginny slid her finger over the end button without even a goodbye. She was tired of faking cheerful goodbyes after he let her down. It was getting old.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Not going to make it?”

Ginny shook her head, sipping her water.

“I’m guessing by your demeanor this isn’t a new thing?”

Looked like Keith was perceptive too.

“No,” she said. “Not at all.” She pushed her hand back through her hair, enjoying the feel of it soft against her skin. She’d used a new conditioner Liz had suggested, hoping Stan might finally notice her new haircut, or at least comment on it. She’d caught him starring at her one day, thinking he might have finally noticed, but then he’d told her he’d sold a property that had been on the market for three years and walked away.

“Well,” Keith spread his hands out. “We’re already here. The appetizer is on its way. We might as well have some dinner.”

Ginny felt insanely uncomfortable agreeing to have dinner with a man who wasn’t her husband, but Keith was right. They were already there, seated, with appetizers on the way and she was hungry. She was also antsy for a night out. Between the fundraiser, planning for Clint and Tiffany to come home, helping Liz with Bella and her new job. She was ready for a break. It wasn’t her fault if Stan couldn’t be bothered to show up. She was tired of waiting on him to live her life.

“Remember that night we climbed the water tower?” Keith asked the question ten minutes after they’d sampled the caviar and ordered their entrees.

Ginny looked up with furrowed eyebrows. “Oh, my goodness. I had forgotten about that.”

The dimple in the cheek popped up again as Keith smiled. “You were terrified and kept saying, ‘Keith, no. We shouldn’t be doing this. Won’t we get in trouble?’” He laughed. “You pressed your back against the tank, closed your eyes, and it took me five minutes to convince you to look out over the town.”

Ginny laughed. “Oh, I remember. I was so scared. I’m glad I finally opened my eyes, though. It was beautiful.”

“You should open your eyes more often.”

Her gaze met his, noticed the way the candle in the center of the table reflected in the light brown iris. She’d forgotten how hints of green blended into the brown. “What do you mean?”

Keith kept his eyes on her. “It’s just, I’m afraid you’ve forgotten how to live Ginny.”

She pulled her gaze from his, dropped it to her hands folded in her lap. She opened her mouth to speak but he continued. “Be honest with me. There’s been something missing your life, hasn’t there? That spark. The spark for life. Don’t you want to get that back again?”

She rubbed her fingers along the edge of the tablecloth. He was right. She did want to get that spark back again. How to do it was the question that had been poking at her for months now.

The server bringing the entrees was a welcome sight and a welcome interruption. She changed the subject to the food, to how long it had been since she’d eaten out a restaurant like this and he, thankfully, followed her lead and began to talk about his new love of cooking.

The server’s appearance came as they finished their entrees and he was describing how he had discovered how to cook the perfect pot roast.

“Desert for the lovely couple?” The server was a young man who looked like a seventh grader to Ginny. He’d been attentive the entire time, asking every ten minutes if they needed anything or if he could refill their drinks and each time she felt like asking him if his mother knew where he was.

She raised a hand in response to his question. “Oh, no. We’re not a —

“Sure.” Keith smiled at her and winked. “We’d love some dessert.”

“Keith, I —”

The dimple appeared again, his eyes sparkling. “Have some fun for once Ginny.” He ran his index finger down the desert list. “How about the Mont Blanc Chocolate Pavlova. That sounds good, right?”

His French accent when he pronounced the desert impressed her, she had to admit. She smiled and propped her chin in her hand. “Yeah, actually, it really does. Even though I have no idea what it is.”

Keith winked. “Then that is what we’re having.” He handed the list back to the server. “We’ll take two. One for each of part of this lovely couple.”

Ginny sipped from her water, the word couple lingering in her thoughts, apprehension sneaking along her senses.

***

Matt stretched his legs out and propped his feet on the coffee table. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Normally at this time he’d be pouring coffee into his thermos and grabbing a slice of toast on his way out the door to work.

There wasn’t a job to go to this morning, though, so all he could do was sit and think about the last 24-hours.

He’d expected it, of course, but the meeting with Reggie had still been uncomfortable.

“I can’t stand that I have to do this, Matt.” The man shook his head, leaned bag in his chair, and huffed out a breath, his gaze on the top of his desk. “You’re the best cop I’ve ever had in my 25 years on this force.” He shook his head, leaned forward with his hands folded in the shape of a triangle on top of the desk, and looked up at Matt. “What in the world happened, boy? Never in my wildest imagination did I think I’d be suspending you for excessive force.”

Answering Reggie had been even harder. How did he explain that what Gabe had said about Liz had incensed him, left him mentally black for several minutes, and when he came to his senses Gabe was already bleeding on the sidewalk?

In the end, he’d simply said, “I lost my cool. I was out of line. I’m really not sure what came over me.”

Reggie had scoffed, flopping back in this chair. “A woman came over you, that’s what. Women will be the death of us and our careers, I swear.” He winked. “Don’t tell my wife I said that, of course.” Reggie slid a sheet of paper across to him. “This is your written warning and suspension conditions. You’ll be reinstated by the council after a full investigation and pending the outcome of any criminal legal proceedings against you.”

After that had been the call from the State Police Academy

“Mr. McGee we regret to inform you that due to a criminal complaint filed against you while on duty as an officer with the Spencer Police Department, we are going to have to rescind our acceptance of your application to join the state police academy.

The entire situation was surreal, yet he knew it was all entirely his fault. Those ten minutes with Gabe were still a blur. Looking back, he realized he must have had some kind of mental break. He’d heard the term blind with rage but never thought of it as a real occurrence until that moment. Then there was the saying “I saw red,” and he supposed he could say he had seen red, figuratively anyhow, when Gabe said he’d forced Liz into sleeping with him that night.

“Don’t tell Liz about this,” he’d told Jason and Alex when they’d met him outside the police station later that night.

“It’s a small town, dude, she’s going to find out,” Alex reminded him.

“Just – maybe she’ll be too worried about finding a new job or too busy with her classes to hear,” Matt said, dragging his hand through his hair. He really didn’t know, but he didn’t need to add more stress to Liz’s life.

Would she feel like it was her fault that he’d been suspended from his job and lost his place at the academy?

He hoped not.

Maybe she’d be angry instead. At this point, he had no idea. Liz was hard to read at times, especially recently. He wished they had more moments like they’d had at the bowling alley that one time or during movie nights when she laughed and joked with him, forgetting about her worries. She let her guard down during those moments and he wanted more of that, more moments of the real and unhindered Liz. The Liz he remembered from high school and before she hooked up with Gabe.

Those were the moments when he could see himself reaching over, laying his hand behind her head, clutching that beautiful dark hair, and kissing her mouth the way he’d imagined doing for years now.

Wouldn’t that shock her? Knowing he had thoughts like that. Thoughts of kissing her, thoughts beyond being a police officer or teaching young boys about how to live a good, righteous life. No, he didn’t think imagining kissing her was inappropriate, but he wondered if it would shatter her preconceived notion that he was some kind of saint.

Someday he’d have to tell her and find out if she was shocked that he wasn’t so perfect after all, but right now he had to figure out what he was going to tell her when she eventually found out he’d been suspended for slamming her ex-boyfriend off the hood of a patrol car.

He yawned and stretched. Doing nothing sure was exhausting. He hadn’t done nothing for years now. Even his days off were normally filled with activity. This time, though, he didn’t have the mental energy to keep himself busy. Plus, the idea of going into town or anywhere people could see him wasn’t appealing right now. If Liz was right and everyone thought so highly of him, they probably wouldn’t as word got around how he’d treated Gabe.

He clicked the TV off and stood, stretching again. A series of cracks sounded up his back and he reflected how that had gotten a little better since he’d started going to the gym with Jason and how he hadn’t been to the gym with Jason for a week. Lifting a few weights and a few rounds on the stationary bike might be just what he needed to lift his mood.

He turned toward his bedroom to change out of his t-shirt and sweatpants when a knock on the door stopped him. Alex was still at the farm and he had a key, so it couldn’t be him.

The sight of Bernie standing at his door sent a shiver of uneasiness sliding through him and he kept the door partially closed.

“Bern?” How did he even find his cabin? “What’s up?”

“Hey, Matt, sorry to bother you like this, and I hope you don’t mind I asked Evan Starks if he knew where you lived.” Matt had graduated with Evan. He’d have to remember to talk to Evan about handing his private information out to people he’d arrested. Bernie pushed his long strands of dirty blond hair back from his face and laughed softly. “I probably should have told him you’d arrested me once. He might not have been so forthcoming with the information.” He winked. “I’m not here about that, though. Really. Can I talk to you about something?”

Matt hesitated then opened the door wider. “Um, yeah.” It was too cold this morning for them to stand on the porch and have a conversation. “Come on in.”

Bernie looked around the inside of the cabin as he walked in. His gaze drifted upward to the high ceiling and second story. “Nice place. Didn’t this used to be just a cabin you and your dad used?”

Matt walked to the kitchen and reached for the coffee pot. “Yeah. I decided to remodel it a few years ago and turn it into a house. I was tired of living in an apartment over the hardware store.” He held the pot toward Bernie. “Coffee?”

Bernie nodded. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

Matt gestured toward the chair at the kitchen table. “Have a seat if you want. Sorry the place is a bit of a mess. I’ve got a new roommate and he’s not the cleanest guy around.”

Bernie laughed. “I hear you. Chrissy isn’t the best housekeeper and the kids trash our place pretty good. This is nothing compared to what it looks like there this morning.”

Matt set two mugs of coffee on the table and sat down, sliding the sugar bowl toward Bernie.

“Listen, Matt, I know this weird, but despite everything I trust you and I need to tell you about something that’s been going on.” Bernie sipped the coffee. “I’m in some trouble and before you ask, it’s not what you think. I did something for somebody, but I didn’t know I was doing something illegal, you know? When I found out, I panicked. I can’t go to the police about this, for obvious reasons. I mean, officially go to the police.”

Matt leaned forward, brow furrowed. His stomach clenched. Where was this going? “Hey, I understand. This is between you and me for now. Let’s figure out if we even have to go to anyone else.”

Bernie cleared his throat. “Okay, so I did this job for Gabe Martin. He wanted me to deliver a package for him. I knew it was wrong, but I needed the extra money. He told me if I didn’t do it, he’d find a way to pin something on me. He knew the police wouldn’t believe me. I couldn’t risk getting sent away again so I agreed.” Bernie stared into the mug. “I know it was stupid. I should have just told him to get lost, but, again, I needed the money. The mechanic business isn’t going great yet and we were running out of food.” He shook his head slowly. “So, I picked up the package and I delivered it for him about two hours away. I met some guy that just gave me the wrong vibes, you know? I didn’t ask any questions. Just took the package to him.” Bernie took another sip of coffee, winced. “The guy starts asking me if this is the good stuff. I’m thinking, the good what? I don’t know, right? Because I’m just delivering it for Gabe. I’m like, ‘yeah, I guess’ and the guy goes, ‘because I don’t want any of that fentanyl mixed crap you sent last time. It got one of my customers killed and I’m not messing with that again. If it’d got linked to me, I would have been sent up to state.’”

Bernie chewed his bottom lip for a few seconds and then looked at Matt. “I didn’t know, Matt. I didn’t know about the drugs, okay? I shouldn’t have done it. The cops are never going to believe me.” He pushed a hand back through his hair, clutched it at the top of his head, and drew in a breath. “Do you even believe me?”

Yeah, for some reason Matt did. Not only because he knew the real Gabe Martin but because if Bernie was guilty he wouldn’t have walked into the lion’s den this morning. Unless — he didn’t want to think it. Unless Bernie was trying to frame Gabe.

Gabe wasn’t a great guy, no doubt about it, but was he a drug dealer?

Matt studied Bernie for a few seconds then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I do. I mean, as far as I know, burglary is more your thing. I never really pegged you for messing with drugs.” He rubbed his hand across his chin. “Of course, as much as I dislike Gabe, I didn’t peg him for that either.”

Bernie nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t either, to be honest. I don’t know if this is his thing or if he’s just transporting like I was. The guy is a jerk, but a drug manufacturer and dealer.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t see it either. All I know is he is the one who sent me the package.”

The state police hadn’t released a report about the discovery at the abandoned building. They didn’t want it in the newspapers until they knew more. Alerting the media might tip off the owners. Matt wondered if Bernie knew anything about it.

“Where did you meet Gabe for the package pick-up?”

“Outside some building about five miles out of town. Looked abandoned.”

“Did you go in?”

Bernie shook his head. “No. Gabe met me outside at his truck. About 1 a.m.”

“Anyone else around?”

“No, not that I know of. Place was dark. Creepy actually.”

Matt took a swig of the coffee, swished it in his mouth. “You tell anyone else about this? Even Chrissy?”

Bernie laughed. “No, and especially not Chrissy. She’d kill me.”

Matt leaned back in the chair, arm hanging off the back of it. “Good, keep it that way for now. Let me look into some things and I’ll get back to you.”

Bernie cupped his hands around the mug. “Is it true that you got suspended for decking Gabe?”

Matt grimaced. “Yeah. That’s around town huh?”

Bernie tipped his head down slightly. “Dude, it’s Spencer. Of course it’s around town. You think people aren’t going to talk about the town’s saint police officer kicking the crap out of a guy on Main Street?”

Matt ran his hand across his face and laughed. “Saint police officer. Sounds like how someone else described me. Yeah, it wasn’t my best moment. Not in the least.”

Bernie grinned. “I thought it was cool.” He lifted the mug and peered over it. “Showed me you’re not as uptight as I thought you were.”

And it showed you I might be the prime person to help you set up Gabe if that’s what you’re doing. Matt hated even having the thought and he hoped it wasn’t true. While hoping Bernie really had started a new chapter in his life, he also hoped he was right that Gabe hadn’t known what was in the package either. He didn’t like Gabe, that was for sure, but the last thing he wanted was for Bella’s biological father to be a drug dealer, for the sake of her and Liz, and for Gabe.

Book Review: The Rhise of Hope by Max Sternberg

On February 1, 2022February 1, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings3 Comments

Book: The Rhise of Hope

Author: Max Sternberg

Genre: Christian Fantasy

DESCRIPTION: A new Judge has been chosen, now a new path must be taken…

Leon Rhise has been chosen. He is the latest Judge to walk amongst civilization. Saving villages, slaying undead, and bringing the light of a forgotten God back to the world was proving to be no easy feat. Recently, it had become even more difficult after being branded a criminal.

Hidden behind a heroic identity, he attempts to atone for his past deeds– including ones that left the Kingdom without its prince. After uncovering and witnessing a long forgotten truth, Leon and his friends rush to aid Princess Schalae who had once been betrothed to Leon’s commanding officer, Prince Gelan.

A massive army of undead is bearing down on her home, and they must help her decide whether her people should stand and fight against impossible odds, or run and save what they can.

Pasts and paths converge, and the fate of the last kingdom will be decided. But what form will that fate take when it seems as if all hope is already lost?

MY REVIEW

Sternberg has done it again in this second book in the series, using an imaginative world to tell a compelling story while pointing the reader to the true story of who God is and how he loves his people. The first book is called The Rhise of Hope.

The creativity in the book is as impressive as the writing, which draws you into the world until you feel like you are there. Sternberg’s world is vivid and full of endearing characters that readers won’t be able to stop themselves from falling in love with.

Leon’s journey to help the people of the land fight against evil forces can easily parallel our own lives. While we may not be fighting physical zombies or monsters as Leon and his friends do, we fight them daily within our minds and we have the spiritual realm around us and within us.

This is a book that will take you away from your everyday struggles, drawing you into an imaginary world, but will also leave you thinking about the picture of your life, especially the spiritual aspect.

EXCERPT

Schalae pressed her hands on the table and leaned forward, “Can’t this Adonai just fix everything if He is so all powerful? He could stop this Xhormas right now if He wanted to, right?”

“Who is to say that He has not already?” Rohiel countered, also leaning forward over the remnants of their breakfast. He picked up a leftover grape and set it at one end of the stone table.

“Adonai sees all time, all at once, He sets His plans, which include our purposes, in motion.” Flicking the grape, it rolled across the table until it slowed and stopped at the other end. “He sees the end before we do because He is already there. Already at the solution.

Yet because we are not Him, we can only see the plan in motion. Your assumption that Adonai sees the world in the same way that you do would be incorrect.” To learn more about Max’s books check him out on Amazon and www.maxbsternberg.com

Book Review: Blood Brothers. A story of people, not politics.

On January 26, 2022January 25, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn book reviews, books and reading, everyday musings3 Comments

Book: Blood Brothers

Author: Elias Chacour and David Hazard

Genre: Non-fiction

Description:

As a child, Elias Chacour lived in a small Palestinian village in Galilee. When tens of thousands of Palestinians were killed and nearly one million forced into refugee camps in 1948, Elias began a long struggle with how to respond. In Blood Brothers, he blends his riveting life story with historical research to reveal a little-known side of the Arab-Israeli conflict, touching on questions such as:

•What behind-the-scenes politics touched off the turmoil in the Middle East?
•What does Bible prophecy really have to say?
•Can bitter enemies ever be reconciled?

Now updated with commentary on the current state of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, as well as a new foreword by Lynne Hybels and Gabe Lyons, this book offers hope and insight that can help each of us learn to live at peace in a world of tension and terror.

My Thoughts

I would love to say that Blood Brothers by Elias Chacour is merely a book full of history, a story of experiences of the past, not of the present, or even the future. I would love to say this book is now irrelevant, that the problems that face the nation of Israel and the Palestinian people are no longer there.

Sadly, Chacour’s book about growing up as a Palestinian Christian when Israel became established as a nation in 1948 holds familiar themes for our world today. Chacour’s book, first written in 1984 holds many of the same lessons and truths we need to be aware of today when talking about the tension and bloodshed between the Israeli and Palestinian people.

Chacour’s story is an eye-opening look at the conflict in Israel but also at those working for peace there. Chacour, now in his 80s, is still working for that same peace, the peace that was lost long before modern history, but especially in the late 40s when the United Nations declared Israel its own nation. Chacour may not have seen peace on a wide scale but at the personal level, he has seen healing and understanding unfold between Jews, Muslims, and Christians in a way he never thought possible as a child who witnessed unimaginable, heartbreaking violence toward his people and others.

As the back of the book says, Blood Brothers is a story about people, not politics and that’s exactly how I found it.

Chacour grew up in a small Paestinian village in Galilee. In 1948, tens of thousands of Palestinians were killed and nearly one million were forced into refugee camps. Chacour’s only family was chased from their village and their men were arrested, some of them later able to return, some of them killed. Being called a terrorist was a routine occurrence for Chacour from the time he was a small child and probably even know. He dealt with these these taunts and oppressive comments even as he studied to become a pastor with the Melkite Church. He is now the Archbishop of that church.

Chacour’s personal experience created a struggle within him between the love of the Christ he knew and how humans treat other.

Blood Brothers has become an international best seller, not only because it details Chacour’s experiences, but because it offers hope that healing will come on a personal level, if never on a political level, for the people of Israel and Palestine.

It is a book we all should read before we form or express opinions on the Palestinian-Israeli conflict and I hope more will do so.

Fiction Friday: A New Chapter Chapter 17

On January 20, 2022January 23, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, Fiction Friday3 Comments

This chapter will need a lot of work before the final publication. It could be cut altogether in the end too. This book is giving me a lot of trouble, to be honest.

As always, this is a work in progress and there may be typos, plot holes, etc. and the final story is always subject to change before I later publish the final version. To catch up with the rest of the story click HERE.

Chapter 17

Stan was sitting in his car outside the abandoned building when Matt pulled up in his truck.

He climbed out of his sedan and stuck a hand toward Matt as he walked toward him. “I appreciate you coming, Matt. I know it’s not in your jurisdiction, but I didn’t think the staties would come out this far to check it out.”

Matt’s eyes darted around as he shook Stan’s hand, taking in the dilapidated building, the vines stretching up the side, the broken windows, a partially caved in roof. “No, problem. I figured I’d do it off duty just to eliminate the appearance of the Spencer police stepping into the state’s territory.”

He wasn’t sure how much poking around he could do since Stan wasn’t sure who the property belonged to. He didn’t have a warrant, but Stan had expressed concern about the back door looking like it had been broken into. He could at least take a look and decide then if a search warrant was needed.

“We’re hoping to find the owner and sell this property.” Stan talked as he followed Matt. “We have a commercial company interested in this whole area. The owners of the properties adjacent have already signed. I’ve got my secretary combing through deeds records at the courthouse.”

Matt pushed a branch out of his way as he walked through the high brush toward the back of the building. “Oh yeah? What do they want to put in?”

“Distribution center of some kind.” Stan ducked under a tree limb. “It could bring a lot of jobs to the area if it works out.”

Matt stepped into a clearing and looked up at a small flight of stairs leading to a metal door, a bolted lock on a chain hanging from it, leaving the door slightly ajar. The sight of the open door placed him on edge and he hoped it was only from all those horror movies he watched as a teenager.

He wasn’t sure how much further he should go, since entering the building might be considered trespassing. He took in the outside of the building again. The place had clearly been abandoned years ago, maybe even a couple of decades ago. There was a good possibility someone was squatting or the door had simply been jammed open by some teenagers look for a place to smoke and drink.

Stepping up the stairs he peered through the gap in the doorway. From what he could see the building looked empty other than some old tables and chairs, and a few pieces of old machinery, maybe from whatever business used to be here. On the far side of the room there was a longer table, maybe the remnants of a conveyor belt. The tarp covering it drew Matt’s attention and he hoped it was only covering more equipment or machinery.

“I probably shouldn’t go any further until we find out who owns this.”

Still, that tarp drew his eye, and he had a sudden urge to look under it, even as a larger part of him wanted to take off back to his truck and alert the state police to it instead.

“Stay here, I want to check something out.”

Stan nodded, clearly uneasy as he slid his hands in his dress pant pockets and stepped a couple of steps down from the door.

The concrete floor was still in good shape, even under several thick inches of dust. A bird flew out of the metal rafters and Matt flinched but kept walking toward the tarp.

“This is stupid, Matt,” he said outoud as he walked. “No one is going to leave something like drugs under a tarp in an unsecure building.” His arm bumped a large board sticking out of one of the tables and knocked it to the ground. The clatter of it hitting the concrete floor bounced off the walls and ceiling.

“You okay?” Stan called from the stairs.

“Yeah. Just a board. All good.”

It would be stupid for there to be anything criminal under the tarp, but the building was several miles outside of town and in the middle of nowhere. He needed to at least double check and if he found anything his first call would be to the state police. He’d have to explain why he was trespassing on someone else’s property while off duty, but he had a feeling the troopers would simply be happy to bust one of the many drug rings that had cropped up in the area recently.

Lifting the tarp, he found himself praying this wasn’t really like a moment in a horror movie, that there wasn’t a dead body underneath, even a dead animal.

“Be a man, McGee,” he told himself. “Lift the tarp. Also, stop talking to yourself. This is getting weird.”

He lifted the tarp gingerly and peeked under. It only took one look to know he had to pull the tarp all the way off while reaching in his pocket for his phone.

“State Police Barracks, Benford County, Trooper Banfield speaking.”

“Hey, Officer Matt McGee from the Spencer Police Department here. I need to be transferred to Trooper McCallister, drug unit.”

***

Olivia had been home a week now and Ginny still hadn’t been able to pin her down and get a straight answer about whether she’d dropped out of college or not. Every time she tried to ask Olivia waved and said, “Going to meet up with Melody” or Avery, or Trish, or one of her other many friends who were still living in Spencer. Ginny was determined to corner her daughter today.

She heard footsteps on the stairs as she placed two plates on the table, one with vegan pancakes and some kind of vegan sausage, the other with bacon, eggs, and a waffle.

“Hey, Liv. I made you breakfast.” She called the words out before her daughter could slip out the door.

Olivia peeked into the kitchen. “Thanks, Mom, but I —”

“Sit down, Olivia.” Ginny pointed at the chair opposite hers. “You’ve been avoiding me all week. It’s time we talked. I even made vegan food for you. It took me 20 minutes to figure out which fake sausage to get so you’re going to at least sit down long enough to eat it.”

Oliva sighed as she entered the kitchen and sat. Her gestures as she begrudgingly picked up a fork reminded Ginny of when her daughters had been teenagers and had tried to skip breakfast so they could slip out early and meet up with the boys they liked. Oliva had used to meet up with Brent, before she decided he was “too small town” for her.

Ginny stirred creamer into her coffee. She usually didn’t have coffee but this morning she decided she needed the extra pick me up. She’d made sure to add only half a cup of coffee so she could fill the rest with creamer and sugar. “Time for some tough talk. Did you drop out of college or are you on an extended break?”

Oliva kept her eyes on her plate. She pushed the pancakes around her plate, soaking up the syrup.

“You need to tell me the truth.” Ginny prodded her daughter, knowing she needed an answer so she could decide how they would break the news to Stan without him having an aneurysm.

“Fine.” Oliva rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I dropped out.”

Ginny took a deep breath to keep herself calm. “Why?”

“I told you. California just isn’t for me anymore. I don’t even know what I’m doing there. I’m wasting your money by working toward a degree that I don’t even know if I’m going to use anymore.”

“If you’re not going to get a degree then what are you going to do?”

Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

“Olivia. Seriously?” Ginny tried to keep the anger she felt gnawing at her insides outside of her voice. “You can’t just drop out of school and —”

“How come you cut Liz Cranmer slack but not me?”

Ginny’s eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“Dad says you’ve been hanging out with her for months now. What’s so great about her? She got knocked up by some jerk and everyone knows she was a total alchey and pill popper.”

“Olivia!” Ginny stared at her daughter in disbelief. “When did you become so judgmental? Is this how you learned to act out there? Liz has worked hard to get back on her feet. She’s a wonderful mother, she’s working toward a degree in social work through online courses, and she just took a job as the children’s librarian. Just because she made some mistakes in her past doesn’t mean she’s a horrible person.”

Oliva slid down in her seat and closed her eyes, wincing softly. “Yeah. I know. Sorry.” She let out a breath and looked up at her mom. “I don’t know where that came from.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I guess I’m jealous.”

“Of Liz?”

“Yeah. I mean, she’s had all your attention lately. You two have fun together. It’s like you replaced Liv with Liz. Dad said you watch movies together, go to lunch, attend art classes.” Oliva picked at the fringes on the cloth placemat under her plate. “You never did that stuff with me.”

Ginny set her fork down and set her hands under her chin. “I tried, Olivia. Maybe you’ve forgotten but you never wanted to be around me as a teenager. I embarrassed you. I would gladly have done all those things with you and would do them with you now if you wanted to. Liz needed some extra support. Things have been tense with her parents, she was trying to figure out how to be a new mom. I just wanted to help and, well, we do have fun together. She makes me forget that I’m a dried up old lady with a very dull life.”

Olivia scoffed. “Mom, you’re not a dried up old lady.” She reached across the table and covered her mom’s hand with hers. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Ginny waved a hand dismissively. “It’s probably just some midlife crisis thing. I’ll get over it eventually. In the meantime, I’ve enjoyed my time with Liz. If you’re going to be home for a while I’d love to have you join us when we go out or get together for a movie night.”

Olivia’s tone softened even more. “I’d love to, Mom.” For the first time in a long time Ginny heard sincerity in her voice.

“Don’t think that this conversation about you dropping out of school is over, though. You know how upset your dad is going to be. There will be conversations about what you’re going to do for a job, where you’re going to live.”

“Can’t I live here for now?”

“For now, but do you really want to be almost 21 and living at home with your parents?”

Olivia made a face. “Yeah. I didn’t think about that. Guess I better start making some real plans.”

The back door opened as the women finished their breakfast. Ginny noticed a flush to Stan’s cheeks as he strode across the kitchen and reached for the coffee pot. She raised an eyebrow as she and Oliva exchanged a look.

“Uh-oh.” Ginny mouthed the words.

“Hey, Dad. Busy morning already?”

“Hmm?” Stan reached for the creamer on the table. Ginny could tell he was distracted again. Probably thinking of another real estate deal. “Oh yeah. Busy.”

He sipped the coffee and cleared his throat. “Listen, I need to talk to you two and I don’t want you to go all crazy on me.”

Ginny’s muscles tensed around her neck like they usually did when Stan said he needed to talk. It was usually about a big property he was working selling or telling her he wouldn’t be able to attend this or that.

Stan sat at the table, the coffee mug cupped in his hands. “I wasn’t going to tell either of you about this, but then I thought about how you’d probably find out from someone else.” Ginny rubbed a hand against the back of her neck, trying to loosen the tightness and distract herself from the thoughts racing through her mind. “Last week when Matt and I went to that property, Matt discovered a stash of heroin.”

Olivia sat back in her chair, her eyebrows raised. “Whoa. Seriously? In Spencer Valley”

“Yes.” Stan stirred the creamer in the coffee and took another sip. “Matt says heroin has been big around here lately. It’s replaced meth as the dominant drug industry. He called the state police and I had to stay for questioning.” Stan starred into the cup of coffee for a few silent seconds as if waiting for a word of wisdom. “They called me in again this morning. I couldn’t offer them any information beyond what Matt and I saw, unfortunately. None of this has hit the papers yet, but I have a feeling it will soon. I just hope my name will be kept out of it.”

Ginny swallowed hard, her muscles even tighter now. “I’d never really thought about real estate being a dangerous job before.”

Stan grunted and stood. “It’s not. This is the first time I’ve ever encountered anything criminal in the 25 years I’ve been doing this job.”

Apparently, she wasn’t even permitted to worry about him now.

He opened a cupboard and reached for a travel mug to pour the rest of the coffee in. “I’ve got to head back to the office. I have two potential clients coming in.”

A small smile tugged at Olivia’s lips. “Dad, aren’t you worried the drug dealers will come after you?” Her voice quivered with a stifled laugh.

Ginny shot her a scowl. “This isn’t funny, Olivia. This could be really serious.”

Stan laughed. “Not that serious. They left the door to the building open and a tarp loosely covering them. Whoever is running this stuff obviously isn’t a criminal mastermain..” He pressed the lid down on the mug. “So, no. I’m not worried.” He headed toward the back door again. “I won’t be home for dinner but if you could make me a plate, that’d be great. See you both later.” He pointed at Olivia. “Especially you. We need to talk.”

Olivia slumped back against her seat. “Yeah, I knew that was coming.”

Ginny raised her hand. “Stan, wait. Keith is back in town and wants to know if we’d like to go out to dinner with him.”

Stan paused in the backdoor doorway, stepped back, and peered around the door. “Keith?” His eyebrow quirked questioningly. “Your old boyfriend Keith?”

“Yes. He’s moved back and running his business from a cabin a few miles out of town. He invited us to dinner on Thursday.”

Stan stepped back into the kitchen, brow furrowed. “When did you run into him?”

At the grocery store, at an art class, and outside the library.

She decided to pick just one. “At the grocery store a few weeks ago. So, what should I tell him?”

Stan looked above her head for a moment, frowned, and then nodded. “Yeah. I should be able to make that. Where at?”

“Antonio’s in Clarkston.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard that place is great. Sure. I’ll probably have to meet you two there. I have a meeting at six. Shouldn’t take more than a half an hour.”

“He suggested 6:30. I can ask him if 6:45 is okay.”

Stan shifted the travel mug to his other hand, a stack of papers under his arm. “Sounds great. I’m looking forward to it.”

Ginny cocked an eyebrow as he walked through the doorway, then narrowed her eyes. Well, that was interesting. He’d been saying he was too busy for anything she suggested for months now. One mention of dinner with Keith and he could make it? What was that all about?

Boondock Ramblings

Category: everyday musings

Sunday Bookends: I finished another book (it’s a miracle), cabin fever, rough draft finished

How to improve dialogue and capture your readers’ attention

Fiction Thursday: A New Chapter Chapter 21 Part 1

You Are My Sunshine isn’t the happy song you think it is. And who actually wrote it anyhow?

The many adventures we do and do not have in very cold weather.

Special Fiction Saturday: A New Chapter Chapter 20

Book Review: The Rhise of Hope by Max Sternberg

Book Review: Blood Brothers. A story of people, not politics.

My Thoughts

Fiction Friday: A New Chapter Chapter 17

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