Monday, November 30, 2020

Cooking With Author Susan Mathis!

Today we welcome author Susan Mathis who has a new novel for us. She also has a recipe from that novel. Welcome, Susan!

“Gloom turned to joy, and it was time for cake. Mr. Bernheim led them to the dining room and even invited Daniel to join them. When they were all seated, a waiter served them a layered orange sponge cake with pecans on top and tart lemonade with raspberries floating in it. How elegant!”—from Reagan’s Reward by Susan G Mathis

In Reagan’s Reward, Reagan Kennedy assumes the position of governess to the Bernheim family’s twin nephews, and they celebrate their ninth birthday with Orange Sponge Cake. But Reagan's life at Cherry Island’s Casa Blanca becomes frustratingly complicated when service to a Jewish family when she is a Gentile and tending to eight-year-old, mischievous boys yields challenges galore.

Here’s the recipe for Jake and JoJo’s Birthday Orange Sponge Cake

Prep: 30 min. Bake: 45 min.

Ingredients

8 large eggs, separated, room temperature

1 cup flour, sifted

1 1/3 cup sugar, divided in two

1/2 cup orange juice

2 tablespoons grated orange zest

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar



FROSTING:

1 1/2 cups sugar

6 tablespoons flour

2/3 cup orange juice

3 tablespoons grated orange zest

2 large eggs

2 cups heavy whipping cream

1 cup chopped pecans

Directions

Preheat oven to 325°

CAKE:

In a large bowl, beat egg yolks. Gradually add 2/3 cup sugar, beating until thick. Beat in orange juice and orange zest. Fold in sifted flour.

Add salt and cream of tartar to egg whites; with clean beaters, beat on medium until soft peaks form. Gradually add remaining sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time, until soft glossy peaks form. Fold a fourth of the egg whites.

Pour into an ungreased 10-in. tube pan. Bake on lowest oven rack 45-55 minutes or until top springs back when lightly touched. Immediately invert pan; cool cake in pan, about 1-1/2 hours.

FROSTING:

Mix sugar and flour in a large saucepan. Whisk in orange juice and orange zest.

Cook and stir over medium heat until thickened and bubbly. Reduce heat to low; cook and stir 2 minutes longer. Remove from heat.

In a small bowl, whisk a ¼ cup of hot mixture into eggs; return to pan, whisking constantly. Bring to a gentle boil; cook and stir 2 minutes. Immediately transfer to a clean bowl.

Cool 30 minutes. Press plastic wrap onto surface of orange mixture; refrigerate until cold.

In a large bowl, beat cream until soft peaks form; fold into orange mixture. Run a knife around sides and center tube of pan. Remove cake to a serving plate. Using a long-serrated knife, cut cake horizontally into three layers. Spread frosting between layers and over top and sides of cake.

Sprinkle with pecans. Refrigerate until serving.

About the Novel

Daniel Lovitz serves as the island’s caretaker and boatman. He tries to help the alluring Reagan make sense of her new world, but she calls into question his own faith background and forces him to face the hurts of his past. Then there’s the jealous lady’s maid who seems intent on wedging herself between them. Can he and Reagan ever find common ground on such a small island?

About the Author

Susan G Mathis is an award-winning, multi-published author of stories set in the beautiful Thousand Islands, her childhood stomping ground in upstate NY. Her first two books of The Thousand Islands Gilded Age series, Devyn’s Dilemma and Katelyn’s Choice are available now, and she’s working on book three. The Fabric of Hope: An Irish Family Legacy, Christmas Charity, and Sara’s Surprise are also available. Susan’s books have won numerous awards, including the Illumination Book Award, the American Fiction Award and the Indie Excellence Book Award. Visit her website for more.

Connect with Susan

Read more about Susan and get a copy of Reagan's Reward on Amazon.

Tuesday, November 17, 2020

Cooking With Author Jim Baton



Today I welcome author Jim Baton to the Patchwork Quilt Blog. Jim has a fried rice recipe I will have to try. I was born and raised in Japan, so I make yakimeshi (Japanese fried rice) often. Fried rice holds a special place in my arena of comfort food.

Jim also has some novels I know you'll want to read.

Here's Jim!

Baton Family Nasi Goreng (Indonesian Fried Rice)

Indonesia’s comfort food! And a quick favorite of nearly all Westerners who visit us in Indonesia.

Ingredients

CHICKEN

• ▢1 tbsp vegetable oil (unflavored)

• ▢5 garlic cloves, finely chopped

• ▢1/2 yellow onion, diced

• ▢1 tsp salt

• ▢2 slightly beaten eggs

• ▢5 oz / 150g chicken breast, chopped in small squares (or other protein)

• ▢3 tbsp fish sauce

• ▢3 tbsp Asian cooking wine

RICE

• ▢Choice of 2 vegetables: shredded cabbage, shredded carrots, green peas, mushrooms, mustard greens, (or chopped red or green chilis for an extra kick)—only 2, because too many vegies make it watery

• ▢1 tsp white pepper

• ▢1 tsp tomato ketchup

• ▢1 tbsp sweet soy sauce (or regular soy sauce with a pinch of sugar)

• ▢3 cups cooked long-grain white rice, day old, cold (warm rice becomes gooey)

• ▢1/4 cup green onions, finely chopped

GARNISHES / SIDE SERVINGS (OPTIONAL)

• ▢1 extra egg per person, fried to taste

• ▢Tomatoes and cucumbers, cut into wedges/chunks

• ▢Fried garlic and fried shallots, store bought (optional)

Instructions

1. Heat oil in a large skillet or wok over high heat.

2. Add garlic until fragrance rises, then add onions and salt, stir until color is clear.

3. Add beaten eggs, cook until it’s no longer runny.

4. Add chicken, cook until it mostly turns white, then add fish sauce and cooking wine and cook until chicken is fully cooked.

5. Add choice of vegetables, stirring in white pepper, ketchup and soy sauce. Mix for a few seconds only.

6. Add rice, stir in thoroughly, then taste. You can adjust the taste to be sweeter or saltier at this point. When you’re happy with the taste, turn off the stove and mix in the green onions (and some fried shallots if you like).

7. Serve, accompanied by garnishes of choice. (Serves 3-4 people)



About the HOPE Trilogy

Seventy-five years ago, fifteen-year-old Hope McCormick disappeared. To remember her, the newly incorporated town was named “Hope.” When high school friends Kelsey and Harmonie begin looking into this unsolved mystery, they discover that someone will do anything to make sure the town’s secrets never come to light.

As the violence increases, God raises up a house of prayer to wage war in the heavenlies. Angelic appearances and miracles give Kelsey and the other intercessors fresh hope that God is about to break through. A showdown with the dark forces that have dominated their town is inevitable.

This action-packed series reads like Frank Peretti novels set in the chaos of 2020. Jim Baton believes revival is coming to America. After reading the HOPE Trilogy, perhaps you will too.



About the Author

Jim Baton is best known for his award-winning PEACE Trilogy—Christian thrillers about confronting religious extremism with extreme peacemaking—based on his 20+ years of serving the Lord in the world’s largest Muslim nation. His brand-new HOPE Trilogy mysteries address issues of social justice, police brutality, illegal immigration, and other issues that strike close to home, while demonstrating a clear pathway forward to revival in America. Learn more here at Jim's website.

Get Your Copies of Jim's Books

Head to Jim's page on Amazon.

See the full PEACE Trilogy and learn more.

Wednesday, October 28, 2020

Cooking With Author Lisa Lickel



Today we welcome Lisa Lickel to the Patchwork Quilt blog! Lisa has a recipe and a new romantic suspense for us. Read on.

Lisa says: While Lily and Cam in UnderStory and UnderCut are busy professionals raising Lily’s ten-year-old nephew and don’t take as much time as they’d like for cooking, Cam’s sister Georgia is a great cook. Here is her Avocado Taco Boats.

Avocado Taco Boats

Makes 10 halves

Ingredients

5 ripened avocados, halved, pitted

1 can, 15-0z black beans or mixed cilantro lime black beans

1 can 15-0z corn or mixed red pepper mixed white and yellow corn

Small can of green chilis, or one small fresh, chopped finely

1 small onion, chopped

1/3 cup or more chopped fresh cilantro, divided

1 and 1/2 cup shredded smoked turkey

1 and 1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese, divided

4 T taco seasoning

*Fresh tomato salsa or 1 c. of your favorite brand

To make fresh salsa, the simplest recipe is chop one tomato, add 1T each, according to taste, finely chopped onion, finely chopped pepper, chopped cilantro, lime juice. Add a pinch of salt if desired.

Directions

Prepare a 9 by 12 baking dish, grease bottom or spread foil; preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Partially scoop the avocado halves; place halves face up in baking dish, mash scooped pulp and set aside in a medium bowl. In a large pan, sauté onion (add oil if not using a nonstick pan) until wilted, add beans, corn, and about 2/3 of the green chilis. Add the turkey and seasoning, stir until well combined and warm through. Remove from heat.

Mix remaining mashed avocado, remaining chilis, salsa and 1 cup of cheese.

Divide the meat filling among the avocado shells and top with avocado-salsa-cheese mixture.

Bake uncovered 25 minutes. Remove from oven and sprinkle with remaining cheese and return to oven until the cheese is melted.

Serve with sour cream, chips, and more salsa if desired.



About the Book

Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them. Psalm 139:16 (ESV)

When you are loved, you have everything to lose . . .

Lily Masters was born with a deformity that shaped her life. When she, white and rural-raised, and Cam Taylor, a biracial army medic and literary professor who left his work under a cloud of suspicion, meet, fall in love, and get engaged, Lily decides it’s time to take control of her body in order to feel whole. She schedules plastic reconstructive surgery in Texas and leaves Cam and her nephew Kenny, also of mixed heritage, who they’re planning to adopt, back home in Wisconsin to wait.

The nightmare begins when Cam can’t get a response about Lily’s condition from the hospital and both his friend Matt the newspaper editor and his sister Georgia send him a horrifying news story about murder and mayhem at the Southern Shore Medical Center in Houston where Lily is supposedly under the knife.

But whose knife? A terrifying ring of human organ black marketers harvest organs from unwilling victims to meet the demand for transplants as the procedures become less risky and the race to create engineered organs fails.

In Lily’s case, she’s not only the victim of black marketers, she’s a target for revenge. The international terrorist family, the Limms, want payback for the loss of a favored son when Lily helped expose their international sex-trafficking operation. She undergoes reconstructive surgery but wakes without kidneys.

“You’ll never see the face of your lover again,” Old Man Limm promises. “And your body will slowly rot in its own poison.” As their friends and family gather around them, Cam and Lily wonder about their future together and whether being whole is a solitary or communal endeavor.

About the Author

Lisa Lickel is a Wisconsin author of inspiring fiction who loves books, collects dragons, and travels. She writes novels, short stories, feature articles, and radio theater, and loves to encourage authors through mentoring, coaching, and leading workshops. Lisa is a member of the Wisconsin Writers Association, the Chicago Writers Association, and instructor for Novel-In-Progress Bookcamp and Writing Retreat, Inc. She is an avid book reviewer and blogger, and a freelance editor. Find more at www.LisaLickel.com.

Purchase UnderCut from any of these links below

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

Kobo/Walmart Books

Apple

Wednesday, October 14, 2020

Cooking With Author Cheryl Colwell and a Giveaway!



Today we welcome Cheryl Colwell to the Patchwork Quilt blog! Cheryl recently lost her home and belongings in the Glendower Oregon fire. She feels blessed that she has a place to stay for now. Cheryl has a new book, Astoria Rumors, and a recipe for us. Her recipes are all gone (lost in the fire) but her daughter had a copy of Cheryl's mom's favorite soup. I hope you will read on to find out how to purchase Cheryl's novel. (A great way to support her.) Also, I want to gift one of you with a e-book copy of Astoria Rumors. What you need to do is comment below. Comment with an answer to the question: Why do you think soup is a great comfort food?

TUSCAN SOUP by Marilyn Evans

Saute in olive oil:

3/4 onion

2 garlic cloves

Take casing off 1 kielbasa sausage, cut in 1/2 “ pieces, sauté in onions

Add:

#14 can crushed Italian tomatoes

1 C sliced carrots

6 Cups of beef broth

1/8 C Italian seasoning

(see below about ravioli)

Simmer 30 minutes.

Add: 2 sliced zucchinis

small bag of spinach

Simmer additional 30 minutes.

1 hour before serving, add: 1 bag ravioli.

About the Novel Homeless, broke, and broken, Eaven Alexander resurrects her career, but with an innovative twist. Her degrees in historical architecture and antiques attract a lucrative but questionable job offer to locate an important document for the mysterious Greg Sault.

The hunt takes her inside a decaying mansion and into conflict with Clayton Mercer, a town heavyweight and Greg’s enemy. Too late, she realizes that something insidious is lurking beneath Astoria’s idyllic façade. And that no one is who they claim to be.

About the Author From the Author I love to travel. I also love being home with family and friends, authentic conversations, the gifts of faith and writing, and people who are passionate about life. I invite my readers to stunning locations where they meet mysterious strangers and encounter unexpected danger. My suspense stories are inspired by history and museum finds from the places I visit. You’ll be kept guessing what is fact and what is fiction. And whodunnit.

Leave a Comment About Soup and Get in the Fun for a Chance to Win a Copy of an E-book

This is your chance to get an e-copy of Cheryl's Astoria Rumors (The Get Eaven Series Book 1). You can read it on your Kindle or other e-reader. All you have to do is leave a comment about soup--how it is comforting and even include a bit about your favorite soup. Everyone who leaves a comment will be entered into the drawing. I'll place the names on pieces of paper and have my husband pull one out of the hat. The winner will be announced here in two weeks.

Get a copy here on Amazon.

Wednesday, September 30, 2020

An Image of Prayer

They say to write what you know, but I will add write what you want to know.

As a child, I saw the old man, a bowl of gruel, a thick book, a knife, glasses I'd never want to wear, and a loaf of bread.

The framed painting was a fixture over my aunt Mollie’s desk. The gray-haired and bearded man sat with hands folded, eyes closed. I sure wouldn’t want to have to live like that man with an unappetizing loaf on the tabletop were my thoughts at the time. What was he praying? Had he asked for his daily needs and opened the pantry to find the bread? Was he pausing to thank God for it? He seemed to have little and his demeanor was as bland as his surroundings as though his favorite color was drab brown. Later in life, as a teen, I’d view the picture as a symbol that signified only the old and destitute spent time praying at a lifeless table.

I thought about prayer often after my four-year-old son Daniel died. In church services and at women’s Bible studies, people talked about the power of prayer and we all joined hands and prayed together. I had felt close to God whenever I'd prayed, but after Daniel's death, I felt betrayed and removed. Getting back to prayer took time and trust.

I came across the familiar photo again, a smaller reproduction of it, on my friend Allyson’s fridge. Allyson told me it was one of her favorites. When I went home I did some research to learn more about the picture. And that's where the write about what you want to know came in handy.

Apparently the artist, Eric Endstrom, took this photo of a man named Charles Wilden during the era of the Spanish Flu, somewhere between 1918 and 1920. Charles came to his studio and posed, even signing a waiver of some sort that the book on the table was a Bible. The book is certainly thick enough, but the truth is, it's not a Bible. It’s a Swedish-English dictionary. According to a man named Harris Burkhalter, Charles came to Eric’s studio in Bovey, Minnesota, and “. . . by highlighting Wilden’s devout posture and humble surroundings, he aimed to evoke the spirit of religious faith, thankfulness, and humility he associated with many of the newly-arrived European immigrants to Minnesota.”

“There was something about the old gentleman’s face that immediately impressed me," said Eric Enstrom. "I saw that he had a kind face . . . there weren’t any harsh lines in it."

The townsfolk testified that Charles Widlen was a man who drank more than he prayed. But Eric didn’t seem to mind. He must have been a smart businessman, knowing people would like this photo and buy reprints of it. Eric’s daughter added some oil paints to the original black and white photograph and that’s why some of the reprints show additional colors. In 2002, this photo known as Grace, became the state photograph of Minnesota.

The picture speaks as it hangs in homes and churches. To some, it coveys thankfulness, deep gratitude, reverence. Wanting to make others think the dictionary is a Bible, and that Charles was not a man of growing faith, doesn’t take away any of the sentiments the photo has for me. In fact, it tells me about human nature----we often want to appear more pious or holy than we really are.

I grew up with this image of prayer and have come to love the simplicity of it. Now, because of curiosity, I know more about it. Thanks to the wealth of knowledge on the Internet, I have the story of how this famous piece came to life, and for that, I'm both amused and grateful.

Monday, August 31, 2020

Healing Ink: Writing into Your Grief


Another birthday without Daniel has come and gone. I recall those first years when special days without him (and all the ordinary ones in between) suffocated me. Now I live the days in gratitude for the time I had with him, and I also live with sadness. There will always be that tinge of sadness. Some days it is light; other seasons it hits hard and it seems like it was only days ago that he left us.

One of the things that helped me was writing. I don't mean exceptional prose or great insights. I mean just taking out a familar pen and unleashing my heartache onto the lined journal page. I learned during those early years that the paper can hold sorrow and struggle and even regret.

Here's an article that will hopefully help you as you journey the long path of grief and loss. It's from my cookbook of memories, Down the Cereal Aisle that was published in 2003, six years into my life as a bereaved mom.

Healing Ink: Writing Into Your Grief

A weeping willow tree, one flowery journal, two pens (in case one ran out of ink), and a box of Puffs tissues. Those objects stayed close beside me. In my early confusion over the loss of my son, these items never ignored my grief or told me to “get over it.”

When it grew too dark to see underneath the stringy weeping willow, I carried my pen and journal inside a house that seemed too empty, and wrote some more. At night, I woke to grapple with turmoil, with the noises in my head, the flashbacks of the cancer ward, the cries of my son. I wrote the ugly words “why?” and “how come?” before I could sleep again.

I scribbled through myths and cliches. I unleashed resentment and longing. I addressed prayers to God.

And, surprisingly, I discovered. Some of the confusion slid away, some of the guilt abandoned me. There was nothing I could have done to save my four-year-old’s life. Even my love had not been strong enough to destroy that infection that flared inside his tiny body. I was human and really not as in control as I wanted to believe. I would have to live with that.

I began to understand the new me. She was a tower of strength and compassion; she was tender and vulnerable, realistic, with just the right touch of cynicism. She needed protection from too many plastic smiles; she could not go long without a hug or sharing a story about a blue-eyed boy with an infectious laugh.


My written words healed me. And I jumped at the opportunity to tell others. I’d found comfort and clarity. I smiled at my husband and three young children, and at last, I didn’t want to run my van over the cliff; I wanted to smell the peonies and taste the salt from the ocean on my skin.

The beauty about grief-writing is that no one has to read it. You don’t have to worry about a teacher correcting your spelling or grammar. There’s no grade, no pass or fail. No one cares if your letters are sloppy. It’s written by you and for you. And, yes, it works.

Find a secluded place to write where you can think clearly without distraction.

* Write, at first, for your eyes only. It doesn’t have to be shared with anyone.

* Write to chart progress for you to read years down the road.

* Write with the feeling, “I will survive this.”

* Write to identify your emotions and feelings.

* Write to help solve some of the new situations you must now face.

* Think of your journal as a friend who never judges and who can never hurt you.

* Write your spiritual struggles.

* Write to rebuild your self-esteem and your self-confidence.

(From Down the Cereal Aisle: a basket of recipes and remembrances by Alice J. Wisler)

Wednesday, July 29, 2020

A Lesson From Geese



It's a slow process but quitting won't speed it up.


The first time I stood over my son Daniel's gravestone I wished it wasn't so small. Sadness, coupled with regret, wove a shroud around me. “Don’t worry, baby," I said in the way a mama talks to her child's grave. "I’ll make things right. I’ll tell the world about who you were as my boy.”

As the March wind rustled over the last of the dead leaves from autumn, I made my promise. I would atone for not spending more money on a lavish marker---one larger than life---as he had been to me. I was a writer; I would write a book in his memory. Not just any book, it would be the kind that sparkles against a deep starry night. It would be brilliant and bold, honest and filled with the things he loved.

I wrote poetry about his soul being in Heaven, stories about the way he lived and the things he had enjoyed---watermelon slices, trips to the beach and mountains, watching Toy Story over and over again. Some of the poems were published. Articles I labored over about losing a child after cancer treatments ended up in bereavement magazines. I wrote some novels too and made sure each one had a character who had experienced a significant loss. I compiled three cookbooks in memory of children gone too soon. More time passed; my three living children grew up and left the house.

But the book I had vowed to write was still a long way from being completed.

The cemetery provided spring mornings for sitting and writing. The aroma of mowed grass and the songs of the birds that nestled in the oak by Daniel's grave all became part of my healing. But there was life on the other side of the cemetery that called me and took my time. My husband and I had a wood-working business and there were orders to fill, sanding, and staining to do. When I made time to write, the words that I typed felt bulky and weighted. Writing a memoir was more difficult than writing a novel. I wanted to get the facts right and poured over articles by memoirists about emotional truth.

When I woke during dark mornings at two, I thought about how I could tailor the book and make it shine. But it didn't shine, it didn't even glow. My inner critic told me to give up writing a book about Daniel. One day I was so fed up with it all I decided to listen to her. I went into the garage and found some wires and jump rings and things that I'd stored in a box from previous years when I made some very sad looking earrings. I looked online on how to make necklaces with beads. And one afternoon when business was slow I made a necklace. And then I made another. I ended up making three necklaces. They were pretty and I wore them. But they were not my heart. They were just a detour to keep me occupied until I could figure out what I really needed to do to get my book into shape.



On an autumn day under a gray sky, I learned a lesson that would transform me. God used a gaggle of geese to show me the art of persistence.

When I arrived at the cemetery on that particular morning, across from the circular drive where I always park my Jeep, I saw a new sight, something I'd never seen before or since then at that location. Canadian Geese greeted me. A few walked in circles on the pavement. Others walked away from me as I approached with my camera. There was one who darted over to a grave. The overall consensus was clear to me. These creatures were confused, and as my aunt Mollie would say, discombobulated. None of them were in cahoots but all were cackling, wobbling, vocal. I took some more pictures and then decided it was time to get my pen and pad from my Jeep and sit on a towel by Daniel's grave and do what I came to do. I walked away from the noisy encounter and the screeching conversations I did not understand.

When I got to the Jeep, I opened the door and that's when I heard the most air-shattering sound. The ruckus made the entire cemetery come alive. I looked overhead because that was where the sound was the loudest. That's when I saw it. In a V-format, flying through the sky, were those discombobulated geese. I grabbed my camera and took a picture, but by then, the geese were far into the sky and just little specks dotting the gray.

When the cemetery returned to calm, I asked, "How?" How had those geese, who had been so confused just minutes before, were now flying in sync together in harmony with purpose and direction? Which one of them had given the sign that it was time to be responsible? Had one of them lifted a foot indicating that it was the moment to leave? A wink? Can geese wink? How had such a motley crew taken off in such a glorious formation?

I spread Daniel's Thomas the Tank Engine towel, and sat with legs stretched out by the tiny grave that I had struggled with all these years.

I picked up my pen. I wrote a few words.

I had begun. Again.

One more time.

My inner critic had even been transformed; she was now my cheerleader. "One day," she told me in that way that critics speak to us, "if you do not give up, it will resemble a gaggle of geese who have found their place after a morning of confusion."

To the untrained eye, the photo I took of the geese in flight doesn't look like geese. Some might mistake it for a crow, a drone, or a smudge on the print. But to me, it is one of the tangible items I view to show me not to give up. Persistence is what we have to put on every day, if we want to pursue what is ours to do.




Monday, July 27, 2020

Cooking With Author Jennifer Delamere



Today we welcome novelist Jennifer Delamere to the Patchwork Quilt Blog for my Cooking With Authors segment. She has a recipe for us and a new novel.

Take it away, Jennifer!


Crowd-Pleasing Quiche

Pastry for 1 deep-dish pie crust (never having mastered crust-making, I like the pre-made kind you can unroll, which is found in the refrigerator section)
1 1/2 cups (6 oz) grated cheddar cheese
3-4 oz diced ham (the more finely cut, the better)
3 eggs
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon powdered mustard
1/4 teaspoon black pepper (or more, according to taste)
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper (or dash of hot sauce)
1/8 teaspoon salt (optional) (I like Lowry’s seasoned salt)

Arrange pastry in a 9-inch, deep-dish pie pan. (I like to use a glass pan.) Spread the cubed ham evenly over the bottom. Spread the shredded cheese evenly over the ham.

Gently beat eggs together. Blend in cream, milk, and seasonings. Pour over the cheese.

Bake at 375 degrees for 45 minutes. Remove from oven and let sit for 15 minutes before eating. (Waiting is the hard part! But it gives the quiche time to settle and firm up.)

Cut into wedges and serve warm. Enjoy a larger serving as a main course, or cut the quiche into smaller pieces to serve at parties. (For parties, I cut the pie into 12 slices. It’s always the first item gone at the potluck!)

Variations: For a vegetarian quiche, replace ham with gently cooked broccoli or other veggie, enough to cover the bottom of the pie dish. I have also used vegetarian sausage. Try varying the cheese for a change of flavor. This recipe is endlessly adaptable!




About the book

Since she was young, Alice McNeil has seen success as a telegrapher as the best use for her keen and curious mind. Years later, she has yet to regret her freedom and foregoing love and marriage, especially when she acquires a coveted position at an important trading firm. But when the company’s ambitious junior director returns to London, things begin to change in ways Alice could never have imagined.

For Douglas Shaw, years of hard work and ingenuity enabled him to escape a life of grinding poverty. He’s also determined to marry into high society—a step that will ensure he never returns to the conditions of his past. He immediately earns Alice’s respect by judging her based on her skills and not her gender, and a fast camaraderie forms.

However, when Alice accidentally angers a jealous coworker and his revenge threatens both their reputations, Alice and Douglas are forced to confront what is truly important in their lives. Will their growing bond give them the courage to see the future in a different light?


About the Author

Jennifer Delamere’s novels have won many accolades, including Romance Writers of America RITA® award finalist, a starred review from Publishers Weekly, and the Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award for Excellence. Jennifer earned a B.A. in English from McGill University in Montreal, Canada, where she became fluent in French and developed an abiding passion for winter sports. She’s been an editor of nonfiction and educational materials for over two decades. She loves reading classics and histories, which she mines for the vivid details to bring to life the people and places in her books.


Connect with Jennifer.


Get a copy of her novel at Amazon or wherever books are sold.

Wednesday, July 22, 2020

Cooking With Author Angela Caudle



Today I welcome Angela Caudle to the Patchwork Quilt Blog for another Cooking With Authors segment. She has a new book out and a recipe for us.

Take it away, Angela!

Angela: Cheesy Chicken Enchiladas is a family favorite meal in my house and gives our family a sense of comfort. My daughter is in the U.S. Air Force and she asks for this meal when we visit each other. The recipe is easy as 1,2,3!

Cheesy Chicken Enchiladas

Ingredients:
Chicken Breast
1 can of tomato sauce (8oz)
Salt
Pepper
Sugar
1 Package of McCormick Enchilada seasoning
Mexican Shredded Cheese
Flour Tortilla Shells
Olive Oil

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Cook chicken breast thoroughly with olive oil, salt and pepper in a pan. Add tomato sauce, the package of McCormick Enchilada seasoning, a teaspoon of sugar (optional), 1/2 teaspoon of salt and pepper (optional) in a medium-size saucepan. Whisk over medium or low heat until sauce is not lumpy for about 5 minutes. Pour tomato sauce over cooked chicken and stir over medium heat for about 3 to 5 min. Add chicken and sauce mixture to flour tortilla shells and wrap. Place in a baking dish, cover with Mexican shredded cheese, bake for about 10 minutes. Serve with sour cream and Mexican rice. Enjoy!




About the Book
This book is a collection of parables that will connect God’s word to everyday life experiences through five expressions; praise, position, perception, patience, and protection.

Our ability to make connections can involve deeply rooted experiences that help guide us through our life’s journey. Although not all experiences are good, the world is filled with expressions of God’s elegance, beauty, strength, power, and wrath. In the Bible, God used fire, water, wind, war, peace, and above all, love to express His love for us.

The Essence of His Expression is a collection of my private, personal and public experiences that the Holy Spirit cultivated over the course of many years with a desire to help others see and hear God in their own experiences.

About the Author
Angela Caudle is a graduate from North Carolina Wesleyan College with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Sociology. She received her Master of Education degree from Strayer University with a concentration in Educational Management. As a Special Education teacher for over fifteen years, she is committed to ensuring student growth through data-driven strategies and interventions. Writing is her passion and inspiring others is her commitment. She has contributed to community-based writing projects and enjoys blogging. She has gifted her gift to others through her very first book entitled: The Essence of His Expression.

Get a copy of The Essence of His Expression
Visit Angela’s website for more information and to purchase your copy.

Be part of Angela's upcoming book launch! I'll be there. Find out more at her website.


Sunday, July 12, 2020

Always Keep Good Tissues Around



The other day I was optimist as I worked on a different slant to my memoir, deciding instead of making it so Daniel-and-me-centered, I could make it more God-centered. I even thought that after twenty-three years, I could make the portion about intense grieving less fierce, because, after all, twenty-three years since Daniel's death has gone by. I wasn't that once-upon-a-time young mother who couldn't help but get nostalgic and cry over a grilled cheese sandwich or a little yellow raincoat with a frog on the pocket. I was not that mama who kept asking God "WHY?" I had adjusted.

And then today came along. This afternoon I spent time online looking for a mountain getaway for Carl, the boxer-dog Levi, and me. Church friends seemed to all be taking trips to the mountains and then when a neighbor walked by (keeping over 6-feet apart) telling us her plans for a family trip away, I thought it was time to convince Carl of my intentions. I'd been tinkering with the idea that Carl and I could head up to the North Carolina mountains and have a break from our home business. I could write the great American memoir and Carl could play with his new drone. Levi could gnaw on a bone.

Most of the listings on VRBO had their COVID-19 deep cleaning statements. There were paragraphs about how they adhered to the CDC guidelines on cleaning, using an EPA-approved disinfectant between customers. That sounded super safe to me.

Carl's never been to Asheville, and while the Biltmore isn't open, I figured that we could venture around that artsy city. I dived into looking at rental cabins, at their porches that overlooked mountain views, the nearby streams, even photos of black bears. And that was when the nice little planning of a getaway went into full flash-back. I was surprised that it took no effort at all. It was October 1996: I was in a rustic bungalow in the Banner Elk region with three of my kids and their father. Four-year-old bald-headed Daniel, in a blue T-shirt that covered the catheter in his back, was with Rachel by a stream. They were laughing together, enjoying the water running over their toes. With that scene in my mind, I was no longer excited about a mountain adventure; sadness swept over me.


The churning in my stomach went up towards my heart. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I didn't have to think about if I were in a movie what music would be playing. As tears hit my eyes, the Jazz playlist I had on played an instrumental version of Eric Clapton's Tears in Heaven. As if it knew what I was going through and what that song does to me. I closed all the browser windows. Goodbye to the cute cabins with crisp mountain ranges surrounding them. So long to imaging myself on a porch swing with a morning cup of Earl Grey.

I thought I could be normal. I thought I could plan like my friends and neighbor do. I called myself a fool for thinking that I could slip into suddenly being unbereaved, especially at this time of year. Daniel's birthday is next month. I always say you could be on a deserted island without a tangible calendar and yet feel that pang in your heart and throat as your child's birth date approached. There's no hiding from it. We mothers know these things.

So for those who wonder how we mamas go from happy to sad in the click of a mouse, this is one way it can happen. We are bee-bopping along, content, going to plan something or do something like normal folk do. And then, that trigger --- a song, a word, a memory --- reminds us that ever since our child died, we lost the ability to be considered normal. We function at a different level and the truth is that it often brings tears, loneliness, and isolation. We might be in a room filled with merry people and we might even have a smile on our face, and then, as quick as a lightning bug flutters across a summer lawn, we are no longer one of the merry.

Eventually Tears In Heaven reached its end. A happier song filled the room. But my heart and mind had not caught up to a mellow-Sunday-afternoon feeling again.

What saved me is knowing that I could write the scenario I had just experienced and post it here on my blog. I could share what had happened to me via social media and others would read and go, "Ah, yeah. I know." And that would suffice. Knowing that I am not alone and that many mothers can relate to this breach of normalcy somehow makes me feel less lonely.

I will get back to searching for a mountain place to rent. But first let me understand who I am and never be surprised at how even after twenty-three years I can still be caught off guard by tears. Parental bereavement with all its hidden characteristics never goes away. We just learn how to adapt to living with it.

Perhaps that's why my motto is: Always keep good tissues around.



Friday, June 26, 2020

The Simple Quiet: Finding Sanctuary in a Broken World




“God doesn’t want something from us, He simply wants us.” - C.S. Lewis


In a noisy world it’s easy to become overwhelmed.

The clamor of the opinions of others consumed me. I read a variety of thoughts and views on current political, racial, and Covid-19 events and I couldn’t seem to stop. Determined to learn and understand, I opened newspapers and listened to YouTube videos. I felt like a soda bottle about to split at the seams. Something in my spirit, perhaps it was the Holy Spirit, let me know that I needed help. God’s voice was what I craved, but other opinions were louder.

Yesterday I got in my Jeep and drove. I didn’t stop for coffee at the little convenience store along the way. I was eager to get to Markham Memorial Gardens, a cemetery on the corner of Durham and Orange counties. I knew that physically going to this location would bring peace to my soul.

However, when my four-year-old son Daniel first died, the cemetery held no peace. It was my valley of anguish. I hated standing at his small gravestone because that stone meant Daniel was gone from life with us. Having Daniel's name, birth, and death dates etched on the marker gave me a reason to have to be there. And I didn't want a reason to have to stand with tears sliding off my chin and a hole in my heart.

Somewhere in the early months of grief, I wrote a poem at the cemetery. It would win no awards, but it was about how I knew that Daniel was alive in Heaven with Jesus. That truth rejuvenated me. It made me smile.


As my family and I continued to come to the cemetery, which we named Daniel’s Place, a strange thing happened. I felt at home among the epitaphs and plastic bouquets. We went to the cemetery and celebrated Daniel’s birthdays by lifting helium balloons with love notes into the August sky. We ate watermelon slices because watermelon had been his favorite. We brought decorative pinwheels to place at his marker. We spread blankets and towels and devoured sandwiches. We shared Daniel stories. My children have grown up with me as we have made our pilgrimages to the cemetery to honor the memory of a boy who loved Toy Story, Cocoa Puffs, and stickers from nurses at the hospital.

If the cemetery had a growth chart you could see how I’ve grown from a newly-bereaved mom of thirty-six to a seasoned veteran of fifty-nine. The cemetery has played a large role in both my grief and my faith walk. While there, I pray, I sing, I read the psalms. I listen to the chatter of birds and watch the clouds. Sometimes I sit on Daniel's Thomas the Tank Engine towel under the massive oak by his grave, sip coffee, and write my own psalms. Some days my words are filled with woe, and other days, they are sentiments of happy praise.

As I walk the grounds and say hello to graves belonging to people I have never met, Daniel's Place reminds me of the brevity of life on earth. Our days are numbered and only God knows when our last breath will be. The cemetery makes me think about what is important and how I want to live the rest of my days.

When I turned into Markham Memorial Gardens yesterday, immediate emotion swept over me. The tears that blinded my vision were unexpected. I’m no stranger to tears; I’ve cried at the sloping grassy knolls surrounded by oaks plenty of times. I’ve even been known to wail. But I had never felt tears like these. I analyzed them. (Yes, I do label my tears!) The tears that morning stemmed from a pilgrimage that began twenty-three years ago when I wanted nothing to do with this burial spot — to the past decade — when I choose to come because I'd discovered a sanctuary of holy calm. The cemetery encourages me to recite the first verse of Psalm 61: “O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory. Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you.”




Your place of simple quiet might not be a cemetery. Perhaps it's at a park bench or a chair in your back yard. Maybe you are one of those who has a beautiful garden. Wherever you find that space where you go for the purpose of seeking God, go there. Sit down. Stretch your legs. Close your eyes. Breathe in. Take care of you. Take care of the precious life you have been given. Sometimes it's necessary to physically travel to a spot — like a park bench or river bank — where you can connect with God. When you arrive there, you know that pulling yourself out of your usual day-to-day surroundings is life-giving.

In a world vying for our attention, we need to make time to pause. Remember who God is and who we are. Our minds are confused, but God is peace. Our hearts are heavy, but he promises to ease the burden. In the sanctuary of the cemetery I walk among the graves barefoot because like Moses, I feel God’s holiness. I come with brokenness and pain, a fragile creature. He feeds me with forgiveness, hope, and healing, as only he can do.

When I left Daniel’s Place yesterday, I was aware of the need I have in a noisy world to cling to the righteous hand of God. "So do not fear,” God says, “for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." (Isaiah 41:10)



Thursday, June 11, 2020

Cooking With Author Carole Brown




Today we welcome Carole Brown to our Cooking with Authors segment. Carole has a new novel out. She also has a recipe for us.

Hello, Carole! Tell us about your recipe, then about your new novel Caleb's Destiny, and about you.


Carole: Mr. Michael in Caleb's Destiny makes a mean egg omelet that Destiny really enjoys. If you love omelets, give this one a try!

Egg Omelet Supreme Recipe

Ingredients for one person (or maybe two if you're light eaters):
2 fresh eggs
1-2 tablespoons of Almond Silk sweet milk
Vegetables: your choice
Meat: sausage, bacon, or steak: your choice
Cheese: (your choice)
Seasonings: (salt, pepper, onion powder, or whatever you like). Feel free to add a drop of Worcestershire sauce or steak sauce, if that is to your taste.

cooking spray oil/butter
real butter




How to make this omelet for one person:

1. Cook your chosen meat until done. Crumble bacon or sausage. Cut steak into small pieces.
2. Chop vegetables into bite size, or smaller, pieces. (I like a few peppers, a touch of green onion, greens like broccoli, spinach, etc or whatever you like).
3. Whisk seasoned fresh eggs and approximately 2-4 tablespoons of Almond Silk sweet milk together. Stir in your vegetables and meat.
4. Spray iron skillet with butter-flavored spray, or use real butter, my preference, and heat between a low to medium fire (I like to take it slow so the skillet won't get too hot, causing the eggs to get too brown.) Turn down the temperature if it seems too hot.
5. Pour mixture into skillet. Keep a close eye on the eggs and when they seem done enough to flip, then do so.
6. Sprinkle cheese on top. When done to suit your taste, turn off heat, fold into halves and slide onto your plate.

Serve with real buttered toast (your choice of bread) fried hash browns, and fruit. Feel free to adjust the recipe. Add salsa or other condiments of your choice.

Enjoy!


Caleb's Destiny

Mr. Michael, Destiny Rose McCulloch, and Hunter have a mysterious history. Why were three fathers, all business partners, murdered under suspicious circumstances while on their quest to find gold?

Hunter is determined to protect his boss and the precocious young lady who he suspects holds a key answer to his questions.

Mr. Michael wants only to be left alone to attend to his property, but what can he do when Destiny refuses to leave and captures the heart of every one of his employees?

Destiny almost forgets her quest when she falls in love with Mr. Michael's ranch and all the people there. And then Mr. Michael is much too alluring to ignore. The preacher man back east where she took her schooling tried to claim her heart, but the longer she stays the less she can remember him. She only came west to find a little boy she knew years ago. A little boy all grown up by now...unless, of course, he's dead.

Three children, connected through tragedy and separated by time, are fated to reunite and re-right some powerful wrongs.


Get a copy of Caleb's Destiny on Amazon.


About Carole

Besides being a member and active participant of many writing groups, Carole enjoys mentoring beginning writers. She loves to weave suspense and tough topics into her books, along with a touch of romance and whimsy, and is always on the lookout for outstanding titles and catchy ideas. She and her husband have ministered and counseled across the country. Together, they enjoy their grandsons, traveling, gardening, good food, the simple life, and did she mention their grandsons?

Connect with Carole
Her blog
Facebook
Twitter

Tuesday, May 19, 2020

During Coronavirus Embrace Now


My son Daniel stands at the shore of the Atlantic Ocean with his arms spread behind his back and smiles into the June sun.

With beaches closed due to the Coronavirus, this is not a recent event. It was over two decades ago when we went to the beach as a family and I took the photo that I have since placed into a burnt-maroon frame. When I kiss his face though the acrylic, I know that many see the photo as a three-year-old boy enjoying a day at the beach. But it symbolizes more for me. It’s a reminder to live every day as though it is all you have.

When the photo was taken, our family was trying to do something familiar in a time when nothing felt normal. Less than two weeks earlier we’d been told the tumor in Daniel’s neck was malignant. My son went through tests, two surgeries—one to implant a double-lumen catheter— and a week of chemo. He lost his hair on the trip to the beach; it came out in clumps on the van’s back seat. “It’s sad, isn’t it?” his five-year-old sister said. “Isn’t it just so sad?”

Just the other day during the Coronavirus lockdown, we celebrated my youngest child’s 23rd birthday. Our family tradition is to go to Red Robin for birthday dinners. This week we had to adapt to something new. At a table in front of the restaurant, my husband, wearing a face mask, ordered our meals. We waited in our cars until the waitress signaled our food was ready. With meals in tow, my three kids and my eldest’s boyfriend, my husband and I, drove in our cars to a vacant parking lot in the shopping complex. I sat on a towel on the curb to eat my salad. The others sat and stood at socially-acceptable distances and consumed burgers and fries.

It was wonderful to see my adult children and hear their stories of how they are coping and adjusting to this season of strange. The restaurant where Ben worked closed, so he was laid off in March. The birthday daughter, Liz, teaches her high school students online. My daughter Rachel and her boyfriend have had an uptick in their home repair and remodeling business. “People are looking at the homes they’re in all day and see what needs to be improved,” the boyfriend said.

After we ate, we sang happy birthday. We played music on my husband’s phone and my daughters danced the Macarena. As the sun set and we said our good-byes, giving each other virtual hugs, I smiled. This was by no means an ideal dinner out, but it was all we had.

As we parted, I didn’t say, “Next year it will be better.” I did not add, “Next year we can be back inside Red Robin and enjoy a meal around a table with chairs.” I didn’t voice any of that because I do not know what next year will hold. Days before Christmas 1996, Daniel spiked a fever and we took him to the emergency room. We spent Christmas day in the hospital with him. “Next Christmas,” I said as we ate ham from the hospital cafeteria, “he’ll be finished with his protocol. We’ll all be home for Christmas then. We’ll be a normal family again.”

Daniel’s death crushed the hope that the following Christmas would be better. He contracted a staph infection at the end of January and died in February. His absence is a hole in our hearts.

In the photo at the beach, Daniel wears a cap to cover his bald head. His hands are full of sand and shells. He’s standing by the fierce waves but he looks the other way, in the direction of the sun, that smile on his face. My boy is not fearful. His expression shows that he’s happy to be at a place he loves with his family.

In the midst of lockdown we may think we want this isolation to end and for things to get back to normal. Yet the days in shelter-in-place hold value. We’ve traded a day of our lives for each one. For better or worse, nothing will be the same again. You might think things are difficult, but take a look at what you do have whether it is children, a spouse, friends, or parents. Maybe you are lucky enough to have them all, even if they are miles away.

Here and now, this is the time to stand with your arms spread out, your hands filled with life and smile into the sun.

Another bereaved parent said it best."Life is short, break the rules [but I bet he’d expect us to follow the COVID-19 regulations], forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile.” (Mark Twain)

Monday, May 11, 2020

What Do Mamas Really Need?




Don't ask me what I had for lunch Friday or when the last time was that I baked a chocolate cake, but ask me about that Mother's Day 1997 and I will recall specific details. Like much about the grieving life, we mothers remember significant dates and places as though they occurred yesterday.

Twenty-three years ago we were at my cousin Amy's for a family gathering to celebrate moms. I'd given birth twelve days before to my fourth child. I was sleep-deprived and adapting to my new daughter who enjoyed challenging me with her tears. To be fair, I'm sure that I challenged her with my bouts of crying too.

At the gathering were cousins, an aunt, and my grandma. My mother, who had flown in from mission work in Japan to help my husband and me, was among us. On a normal Mother's Day I would have relished the family time, but on that particular day I struggled with everything. Three months earlier I'd become something no mom wants to be----bereaved.

Six-year-old Rachel, my eldest, made a card with a lot of flower drawings and included all four of my children's names. From my relatives, I received tight hugs that made me tear up.

That first Mother's Day without Daniel, I needed for all my children to be acknowledged. Even though he was not physically with us, I wanted the assurance that Daniel had not and would not be forgotten by others. I was navigating a new journey named Bereavement and I had to find out how I would continue to carry the memories of him with me.

Mothers need all of their children to be acknowledged. Not just the one that is the smartest or the one who wins the awards in sports or that child who is talented at playing the trumpet. Teach me how to look at each of my children and treasure their inner beauty, vitality, and quirks. Ask about Daniel even though he is not seated around the table.

And then moms need to be acknowledged for who we are---sacrificial, loving, warriors for truth, fighters, expectant, hopeful, forgiving, and with that sixth sense that knows (usually) when we are being lied to by one of our offspring.

We mothers worry over our children's health and grades and futures. We hold onto guilt when we feel we could have prevented something from happening that caused our child pain or suffering. "Right there," my sister-in-law said as she was giving me a back massage years ago when my children were small. She ran her fingers over my shoulders and into that space between them. "This is where mothers carry the weight of the world."

What do mamas really want? It varies from expensive perfume to a strong cup of good tea. Time alone to catch our breath to wanting to know about our child's latest craze.

But besides the frilly stuff or the perfume, dinners out, flowers, handmade cards, and tea, what do mamas need most of all? Gratitude. A sincere thank you works well today. Actually, any day, really. Moms crave the reassurance that even in their inability to possess superpowers, they are doing their best.

Thank you, moms, young, old, bereaved----for being YOU.







Sunday, April 26, 2020

Write Through COVID-19---A Free Online Writing Workshop




Why don't you pick up your pen and write?

I'm a big believer in writing for healing, health, and hope. My online writing workshops, as well as the courses I offer at brick and mortar buildings, have those attributes.

During this season of unsettling circumstances, writing is needed. Expressive writing and journaling are what got me through each day after the death of my son. For the past 23 years since his death, I have been an advocate for writing through heartache. Writing out those muddled thoughts and feelings provides clarity and calm.

The workshop I am offering now is tailored to meet your at-home needs. In other words, once you sign up for the course, you can start right away working on it at your own pace. Just make sure you have a trusty pen and paper. Sign up for the free Write Through COVID-19 Workshop by going to this link.

Yes, it's free!

Tuesday, April 14, 2020

Cooking With Author Susan Mathis





Alice: Today I welcome Susan Mathis, who has been a guest here before. So glad to have you back, Susan. I see that you have a new novel out and a recipe for us.

Susan: Want to know where that yummy orange condiment comes from? From the Thousand Islands, between the United States and Canada in the St. Lawrence River, where my novels are set. Here’s an excerpt from Devyn’s Dilemma, my newest novel, that explains:

“What is this sauce, Mother?” Marian smacked her lips as she savored the orange condiment.

“It’s called Thousand Islands Dressing, my dear. Isn’t it yummy?”

Marjorie chimed in. “Isn’t that just the loveliest idea, Mother?”

Howard took a hearty mouthful and nodded. “It’s quite good. Where did it come from?”

Mr. Bourne answered. “It’s a great story, really. Remember George Boldt, who built Boldt Castle on Heart Island near Alexandria Bay?”

Howard nodded. “Of course, Daddy. It nearly rivals The Towers. Nearly.”

The entire group chuckled, and Mr. Bourne continued. “Yes, well, as you know, he used to manage the prestigious Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City. His friend and the maitre d’hotel, an Oscar Tschirky, accompanied Mr. Boldt to the castle several times. Once, while on the Boldt’s yacht, Oscar found out the crew had left the salad dressing behind, so he concocted this one. Boldt liked it so well that he named it ‘Thousand Islands Dressing’ and began serving it in all his hotels. Since then, it’s become quite popular.”

Now, whenever you enjoy this dressing, you know—the rest of the story!

Thousand Island Dressing

1 cup mayonnaise
1/8 cup ketchup
1 hard-boiled egg, finely chopped
1 tbs onion, finely chopped
1 tbs green pepper, finely chopped
1 tbs red bell pepper, finely chopped
1 ts. parsley, finely chopped
1 ts. scallions, finely chopped

Mix all ingredients together and chill to blend flavors.


Check out Devyn’s Dilemma, Book 2 of the Thousand Islands Gilded Age series!

Devyn McKenna is forced to work in the Towers on Dark Island, one of the enchanting Thousand Islands. But when Devyn finds herself in service to the wealthy Frederick Bourne family, her life takes an unexpected turn.
Brice McBride is Mr. Bourne’s valet as well as the occasional tour guide and under butler. Brice tries to help the mysterious Devyn find peace and love in her new world, but she can’t seem to stay out of trouble—especially when she’s accused of stealing Bourne’s money for Vanderbilt’s NYC subway expansion.



About Susan:
Susan G Mathis is an award-winning, multi-published author of stories set in the beautiful Thousand Islands, her childhood stomping ground in upstate NY. Her first two books of The Thousand Islands Gilded Age series, Devyn’s Dilemma and Katelyn’s Choice are available now, and she’s working on book three. The Fabric of Hope: An Irish Family Legacy, Christmas Charity, and Sara’s Surprise are also available. Visit her website for more.

Susan is also a published author of two premarital books with her husband, Dale, two children's picture books, stories in a dozen compilations, and hundreds of published articles. Susan makes her home in Colorado Springs, enjoys traveling globally with her wonderful husband, Dale, and relishes each time she gets to see or Skype with her four granddaughters.

Where you can find Susan:
Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas
Amazon
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Instagram
Pinterest
Goodreads


Alice: Thanks, Susan! It was nice having you as our guest today on Cooking With Authors!


Saturday, April 11, 2020

10 Tips for Writing a Memoir that Resonates With Readers: Guest Post



These days, as COVID-19 sweeps the globe, our days seem to be melting into an undifferentiated fog of worry and waiting. Still, this season of fear can be the perfect time to think back on the stories that make us who we are.

It might seem strange, looking to the past to make sense of a disorienting present and an uncertain future. But it can help us remember our resilience and capacity for joy. In the end, it’s our old triumphs (and traumas) that have given us the resources to weather this new terror.

Dig deeply enough, and you might find yourself excavating a powerful story from the material in your memory, a narrative even you couldn’t discern before. Why not fashion that story into a memoir and share it with the world? Here are ten tips for writing a memoir that resonates with readers — because we could all use a nourishing dose of inspiration right now.
1. Start in the middle
A memoir isn’t an autobiography. You’re not beholden to the tyranny of chronology, so you shouldn’t feel obligated to start at the very beginning. The occasional memoir might open with an exhaustive account of the author’s birth. But most of our origin stories aren’t very gripping.

Feel free to skip ahead to the interesting parts, lest you lose your readers as they yawn their way through your earliest hours. Instead, start in the middle with a vivid scene that promises to stick in their memory. Speaking of which….
2. Write in scenes
You might be writing nonfiction, but the fruit of your labors will bear a striking resemblance to a novel. It may sound strange, but a strong memoir has more in common, stylistically and structurally, with an epic fantasy than with a history textbook.

Memoirs, like novels, are written in scenes — not inert streams of fact, but vivid set-pieces animated by concrete details and immediate action. Instead of telling your readers about what you experienced, show them your most powerful experiences in real time. Set the scene with description and bring the people involved on-stage as characters, with gestures to make and lines to speak.

3. Treat the people in your memoir as autonomous characters
Fiction writers invest a lot into making sure their heroes and villains read like real people, but memoirists aren’t exempt from the work of character development. Because the people populating your memoir have real-life analogues, you don’t have to craft their characterization out of whole cloth — you can rely on memory, observation, and even interviews to refine their physical descriptions and tease out their motives.

The key is to make sure the “characters” in your memoir are as finely drawn as any literary characters — that they behave like people instead of plot devices in your story. The reader should be able to imagine them living their lives off the page, not winking out of existence the second they leave your side.
4. Show emotional growth
Of course the most important character you’ll be developing is the protagonist — you. Most readers want their protagonists to emerge from the other side of the narrative somehow changed by their experiences. Whether they’re more confident and independent or more selfless and serene, that sense of evolution makes the reading experience feel worthwhile.

As you write your memoir, make sure you’ve sketched out an arc for your growth as a character. Can you pinpoint how you’ve changed — and link that transformation to the experiences you write about?
5. Show off your imperfections
Turning yourself into a compelling protagonist is an act of radical vulnerability. You’re allowing readers an unflinching glimpse into your character — warts and all.

Even the most self-aware memoirist can find themselves lapsing into PR mode, quietly shaping their account of events to justify a mistake or airbrush a character flaw. Watch out for those self-aggrandizing tendencies as you write, and remember: memoir readers don’t want to read about saints. Your imperfections will make them root for you all the more.
6. Arrange events according to a clear narrative arc
Shaping your characterization around an arc of emotional growth will give your memoir a crucial sense of dynamism. By the same token, the individual scenes you write should build on each other in a way that suggests the story you’re telling is going somewhere.

To put it differently, your memoir should have a plot. That means the scenes you write can’t just shine individually — they have to make sense together, bound by a clear causal logic and a sense of change over time.
7. Don’t let your message overshadow your story
As your memoir comes together, you’ll continue to grapple with what inspired you to tell your story in the first place. Your motivations might evolve over the writing process, as long-buried memories emerge, and once-insignificant pieces of your past take on a breathtaking new clarity. But maybe there’s an impetus you’ll carry with you from the beginning: a message you need to get across.

Let that message seep into your writing. But don’t allow it overtake the story you’re telling, replacing evocative detail with sloganeering. Say you want to demonstrate, for instance, that grief can’t be rushed. You don’t want to fill each chapter with too many point-blank statements to that effect. Instead, craft scenes that show what happened when you tried to “progress” through your grief according to a normative timeline rather than listening to your own needs.
8. Tell all the truth but tell it slant
You might remember James Frey, whose Oprah-touted memoir turned out to be, upon extensive fact-checking, a novel. The revelation that he fabricated his haunting account of addiction ignited a media firestorm. Memoirists have presumably been on their best behavior ever since.

Needless to say, pulling a Frey is a non-starter. But that doesn’t mean you need to sacrifice the emotional truth of your story on the altar of newsprint facticity. Take inspiration from the ever-wise Emily Dickinson, who spoke of telling the truth at a slant.

In practical terms, that means you can reconstruct dialogue you can’t remember word-for-word, and cut out details that bog down your narrative. Just don’t make up events with the freewheeling panache of a fantasist.
9. Fact-check yourself
This tip might sound like it contradicts the last point, but it’s crucial to ensuring that minor memory lapses don’t jolt your readers out of your story. Say you write about singing along to Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” on your iPod as you make nachos, your cat winding furry figure-eights around your feet and your TV humming in the background. You look up to check if your oven is preheated, but the TV screen catches your eye: you see smoke billowing off the Twin Towers as the news breaks on 9-11.

This could be a striking scene — ordinary domestic joys pierced by national tragedy. But some of your readers may remember that “Beautiful” came out a year after 9-11. Suddenly they’re closing your book to confirm their suspicions on Wikipedia.

To make sure you don’t lose your readers at a pivotal point, verify any of the details that can be verified. Memory plays tricks on us all, but you can outsmart it with some careful research.
10. Don’t try to sound like anyone else
We all know most celebrity memoirs are ghostwritten. But their outsourced tell-alls only work because the hired pens involved manage to capture this politician’s folksy charisma or that actress’s wry charm.

If you don’t opt for the red carpet route and instead write your own memoir, it’s important to hang onto your greatest asset: your inimitable literary voice. If you blindfold your best friend and read your memoir aloud through a voice changer, they should still recognize you.

Allow room for the expressions that naturally flavor your speech, and above all, don’t try to sound like someone you’re not. If you find yourself reaching for haute-literary language that feels unnatural, or dumbing down your prose to sound more accessible, give yourself permission to stop. No one else, after all, can tell your story. And it should sound like it’s coming from you.

~*~*~*~*

Lucia is a writer with Reedsy, a marketplace that connects self-publishing authors with the book world’s best editors, illustrators, and book marketers. In Lucia’s spare time, she enjoys drinking iced coffee and reading comedienne memoirs.

Thursday, March 26, 2020

Advice from a long-lost journal






There it was, a journal from years back when I had discovered the power of writing through turmoil. My son had died and I had bottled-up emotions, wild thoughts, and just enough anger to propel me into the pages of a notebook with flowers on the cover.

Later I shared the impact writing had on me for clarity and calm when I taught writing workshops:

“Just write. Just find a word and let it be the one to write about. Or find two and string them together.” That was what I told my classes, my students. “A word might come to you in a song or conversation. Take its hand and start. No one has to see what you write in your notebook. You don’t have to read your work. You don’t have to share it with anyone. It is not like the only cookie or the last cookie in the jar and you have to let those around the table have a nibble. This is your work. This belongs to you alone.

“It is your lifeline, your therapy. And it is cheap. It will comfort you, your own words will heal you. Just keep writing and don’t let go. Write until your hand cramps and if you haven’t finished getting it all out there, write with that cramp. Keep unloading, the paper can handle it. Your heart has been carrying the heavy ache for so long, share it with the pages. Nothing is too hard or heavy for a piece of paper to absorb.”




In this season of COVID-19 when your emotions might be flying around the rooms of your house as you practice social distancing and stay at home procedures, make friends with a journal and a pen. Just start with a word and keep going. As they say at Outback Steakhouse---No rules, just right!


What does journaling do for you?

*Gives you a safe place to write your thoughts
*Allows you to unleash your hurts, worries, and fears
*Teaches you about yourself
*Shows you how you handle your joys and woes
*Helps you solve many of your problems


For more inspiration, check out this writing video created for me. Turn up your speakers; this video is made to inspire.