Saturday, March 29, 2014

Saturday Sample - March 29, 2014

Welcome back to my Saturday Sample! Today's brief scene from Spinster's Folly takes place after Marie Owen has taken matters into her own hands and run away with a man who seems to love her.
~~~


Within an hour, Marie was thirsty, and leaned over the pommel to retrieve her canteen. Not knowing how long Mr. Thorne had it in mind to travel that night, she took only a shallow sip of water. That served to refresh her though, and she continued to follow the man ahead of her on the moonlit road.

Finding herself yawning, Marie closed her eyes for a moment and let Bess follow the other horse. The gentle gait of her mount soon had her fighting to stay awake.

She must have slept, because the next time she opened her eyes, the moon had risen higher in the sky than it had been before. The flat landscape, broken by the occasional stream bed and butte, glistened here and there where minerals lay exposed on the earth. Marie gave herself a little shake as she endeavored to awaken, but soon, she was nodding in concert with the horse’s easy movement.

Bill Henry soon joined her, in a dream so vivid that she might have said his name in her surprise. He talked of her Pa’s heavy-handed ways, and Marie could only nod vigorously, given the recent events that had caused her such grief. He lifted his hat and raked back his hair, and then reseated the head gear. Suddenly, she was rebuking him for calling her foolish. The light in his eyes faded and his expression grew guarded. His grave voice echoed in her mind, “I didn’t mean you, I didn’t mean you, I didn’t mean you.”

The next thing she knew, Marie opened her eyes to find Mr. Thorne standing beside her stirrup, shaking her shoulder and muttering her name.

“Come on, wake up. I don’t have all night to stand here.”

Marie pulled away at the frank irritation in her lover’s voice, straightening her torso from her sleepy crouch. Guilt at dreaming of another man at the very onset of her elopement made her cautious, and she replied tersely, “I’m awake. Are we camping here?” Did I speak his name aloud? Did Mr. Thorne hear? Did I upset him?

“No. We’ll rest the horses for a spell, then travel along for a while longer.” The irritation had left his voice, and he smiled at Marie. “I apologize for being short with you. I fear I’m not at my best tonight. It must be nerves from the anticipation of having trouble getting away.” He helped her dismount, then continued. “I must say, I’m vastly relieved that no one was about to stop us from leaving.”

Marie nodded, feeling a release of her anxiety, and smiled back. “I reckon I’m a bit unsettled myself. It was quite unnerving riding between the camps. I feared a dog would bark and set up an alarm.”

“We’ve had luck on our side tonight. That is sure.” He kissed her on the brow, gently, tenderly, briefly.

Marie yearned for a further expression of affection from the man, but Mr. Thorne took himself away to tend to the horses. She found a suitable place on the ground to sit and rest, a hummock of earth crowned by a sparse grassy growth, and lowered herself onto it. She reminded herself that she must bridle her passions, as the Bible counseled, until she was a married woman. When that moment came, she could enjoy all the expressions of affection with which Mr. Thorne chose to favor her.

~~~
Buy Spinster's Folly here:
Print: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Why do you think Marie would elope with a man she had known for only a short time? What kind of marriage relationship is Marie likely to find with Mr. Thorne? When humans feel unloved, what kinds of misadventures might they get themselves into?

I hope you enjoyed this tidbit from Spinster's Folly. Thank you for visiting. I love to read your comments, so if anything in the sample compels you to speak up, rest assured that I eventually read what you write and will reply, if needed. Questions? I'm open to them, too.

Please come back next Saturday for another sample. Thank you!


Marsha Ward is the award-winning author of the acclaimed novel series featuring the Owen family. Her latest book, Spinster's Folly, won the 2013 USA Best Book Award for Western Fiction. A former journalist, Ward has published over 900 articles, columns, poems and short stories. She is the founder of American Night Writers Association aka ANWA.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Saturday Sample - March 22, 2014

Welcome back to my Saturday Sample! Today's brief scene from Spinster's Folly takes place after Marie Owen's father has made arrangements for her to marry a neighbor youth, Tom, after which she discovers that Tom has little interest in her as a life partner. His comments made her believe he agreed to the match for the intimate benefits.
~~~

Pa selected a campsite along the river, in a spot that lay between two fields of Mr. Morgan’s corn.

Marie didn’t particularly want to speak to anyone while the bitter memory of Tom’s behavior sat in the front parlor of her mind. She busied herself with the camp chores, building a fire, cooking a meal, and preparing a pot of beans for their dinner on the journey home.


She thought work was enough of a barrier to keep her family from talking to her, but Pa sat himself beside her while she cleaned the dishes.


“Daughter,” he began. “Did you and young Tom get your plans laid out?” He ran his hand through his beard for a moment, then added, “You were gone a long spell, so I went to seek you out. I found only the boy down at the river, chucking stones into the water.”


She swiped the tin plate in her hand with her dishrag, watching it go around and around, until she almost felt dizzy. Words had abandoned her. What could she dare tell Pa about Tom’s actions and words, his impious suggestions? Although Pa was her father, he was also a man. From the nighttime giggles she’d heard coming from below the loft, she guessed that he and Ma still had carnal relations, even though it was unlikely they wanted more children.


When she realized her father’s gaze upon her had lingered long enough to turn into an inspection, she swallowed a couple of times to raise a bit of moisture in her dry throat, but her voice still sounded like a strangled cat when she said, “We had some talk, then I went to tend to Bess.”


“Tom was a mite closemouthed. You and he didn’t flaunt the conventions, did you?”


“No!” she denied, a bit more sharply than she would have wished. “I’m a proper girl.”


Pa looked at her a long time, his gray eyes seeming to read her soul. Then he nodded and got to his feet. “I reckon your ma brought you up right.” He reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “Get to sleep. We have a long trip home.”
~~~


Buy Spinster's Folly here:
Print: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Why do you think Marie is so upset by Tom's view of her as an object to be enjoyed? She goaded her father to make her a match. Is she bound to accept the one he arranged if it doesn't meet her expectations for a happy union? Should she "settle" merely to avoid spinsterhood?

I hope you enjoyed this tidbit from Spinster's Folly. Thank you for visiting. I love to read your comments, so if anything in the sample compels you to speak up, rest assured that I eventually read what you write and will reply, if needed. Questions? I'm open to them, too.

Please come back next Saturday for another sample. Thank you!


Marsha Ward is the award-winning author of the acclaimed novel series featuring the Owen family. Her latest book, Spinster's Folly, won the 2013 USA Best Book Award for Western Fiction. A former journalist, Ward has published over 900 articles, columns, poems and short stories. She is the founder of American Night Writers Association aka ANWA.

Monday, March 17, 2014

I have the Monday Blues, and here's why

I got a phone call this morning telling me my primary care doctor has retired.

My first reaction? Abject terror.

I knew he was planning on making the move this year, after seriously thinking about it for the last two. I just hadn't expected it this month.

I have been going to this doctor for many of the years since 1982. The exception was a few years when my husband's job chose to go with a HMO and he wasn't in their system. As soon as I could, I went back. He is from a pioneer family in the community; his sister and I worked together in our church congregation. He and I went through medical contretemps ranging from various kids' ailments to thyroid issues to female problems to sleep apnea and beyond. You don't easily find the connection I've had with my doctor. He supported my writing ambitions, and bought every one of my books but the last, which I gifted him. I supported his musical composition and jewelry-making ambitions. We were sympático.

[Edited to add] This is NOT the doctor who misdiagnosed a condition and told me that I was going to die soon.

My terror stems from the thought of having to choose a new doctor, not to mention the minor inconvenience of reorganizing my schedule this week to make a 200-mile round trip to pick up my chart. It's going to be a stressful journey.



As I get online and check my medical provider's (hereafter MP) website to find a starting point in my doctor search, my terror turns to frustration.

It's a nightmare wading through my MP's website to find an actual list of doctors so I can stab a list and select someone into whose hands I must place my life and trust. Here's an account of my experience to this minute.

To even get to a list, first I must come up with a medical specialty, and second, SOME medical provider's name so the app will begin to work. If I had a name, I wouldn't NEED the list, right? To the phone book.

Once I get a listing to appear for the doctor I picked out of the phone book, to get a list of all doctors, I have to ask for a new search. Now I can ask for doctors in my zip code. A list appears, 10 entities to a web page, and it has useful information, BUT some of those listed have incorrect information (according to the local paper, one doctor has retired; I know for a fact another has moved to a different location, and that another specialty group--why was it on this list?--has closed its doors) or are corporate names (which are duplicated several times). I don't want a clinic listing, I want a doctor listing.

I decided to see if requesting an emailed pdf of the list would make things simpler.

Why, no. Surprised? Instead of an actual attached pdf, I get a link back to the website where I have to download the pdf list. Okay. Done. I find that the pdf list does not have the extensive information that the website offers. Inexplicably, it contains a handful of doctors not in this community and not in this zip code.

The other option I have for preserving information for a visual/tactile checklist is printing the list. Aha! I click the link. This gives all six pages of the actual website information. Peachy. I printed the list in black-and-white, which means the green arrows alongside vital info like "accepting new patients" doesn't show up. I have to go through the online list to find out if any of the arrows are red or another color indicating they are NOT accepting new patients.

Oh wait! That six-page printout only contains the information from one page of the six on the website that gives the 51 medical entities. I am not going to print 30 more pages! On this batch, I recognize two of the four actual doctors listed. Hmm, isn't Mountain View Family Medicine essentially the same place as Mountain View Family Medicine PLC? Why does it rate two listings?

Have I picked a doctor yet? No. Have I spent a couple of hours getting this far? Yes.

Do you understand why I am so frustrated? Once I do get that list, I still have to make a selection. What do I base it on? The doctor has to like authors and their books? It's like throwing a dart and hoping I will like the random choice. What if I'm wrong? Will Medicare let me change? If so, can I change more than once if the second doctor is a clunker?

I visited such a clunker once when I needed care locally. Based on an ad, I went to an unknown. The entire 15 minutes the doctor was in the room, he was silent. So was I, having given my information to the nurse. Doctor played with an electronic pad (the ad had boasted about the paperless office), then got up without a word and left the room. Certainly not a people person. Mystified, I sat there until the nurse returned with a prescription for a difficult-to-obtain and expensive medicine, which saved my life, once I got a hold of it (it took a week).

On the bright side, I WAS able to keep my very nice, caring, and supportive doctor until he retired. I opted to pay cash for office visits because he wasn't on my approved list of providers. I thought. Two years into my Medicare adventure, I was informed that, no, he WAS on the list.

Good grief.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Saturday Sample - March 15, 2014

Welcome back to my Saturday Sample! Today I'm giving you a tidbit from Chapter 2 of Spinster's Folly, my latest published novel from the Owen Family Saga. Bill Henry realizes why he has become reluctant to leave Colorado and return to his ranch in Texas.
~~

He’s gone and done it, Bill Henry thought as he saddled a horse the next morning. Defied his pa and gone off. He’s got more gumption than I thought he did.

Bill swung into the saddle, gathered the reins, and clucked to his mount, a frisky dun mustang, one of the horses Mr. Owen had bought in Texas. The animal frog-jumped and bucked for a few minutes, but Bill stuck tight and waited out the horse’s temper tantrum. The dun would settle down soon and carry him through the morning without further complaint.


Yes, James Owen had sand, he had to give him that. Who else around here was willing to go toe-to-toe and have it out with the fearsome Rod Owen? Nobody else he could name, including himself.


The dun gave a final crow-hop, then stood quiet, waiting for guidance. Bill crossed his wrists, rested them on the saddle horn, and gave himself up to a moment of reverie.


He was no coward, but he had no reason to butt heads with the Old Man, because he didn’t hanker to leave Colorado Territory at this time. He’d given his word that he’d teach the Owen men the cattle business. Even though he was without kin in this place, it suited him fine to light here a while, there being no work for him in Texas.


Besides, if I head back now, I’ll never see Miss Marie again.


There it was, finally, the hitherto unspoken reason for staying. He smoothed his moustache as he contemplated his situation. The Owen boys had caught on to every cattle-handling trick he’d taught them much faster than he’d supposed they would. Nothing kept him here beyond that obligation. Except . . . I don’t want to leave her.


Bill exhaled. Now the big bear had been flushed into the open, so to speak, and he had to face it or turn tail and run. He’d not ever admitted to himself that in the few short weeks since he’d arrived in Colorado Territory, he had grown mighty fond of the pretty, dark-haired daughter of his boss. Now he let himself acknowledge that he had grown serious feelings for the sprightly miss. Truth was, he’d taken to being on hand when she rode out each morning to exercise her horse. That way he had a glimpse of her to carry in his thoughts throughout the long hours he spent dealing with slab-sided cattle.


No point in avoiding reality. Marie Owen was the reason he was willing to stay on in this unnaturally green land beneath the mountain.


He whispered her name and smiled so broadly that his moustache tickled his cheeks. The very sound, Marie, had a sort of music in it.

~~


What makes a man fall in love? Women have pondered that question through all the generations of time. Let's ask the menfolk: What attracted you to your special lady? Was it the way she walked? The slow smile, the air of wistfulness, or the gumption she showed? Let us know which traits did that number on you.

I hope you enjoyed this tidbit from Spinster's Folly. Thank you for visiting. I love to read your comments, so if anything in the sample compels you to speak up, rest assured that I eventually read what you write and will reply, if needed. Questions? I'm open to them, too.

Please come back next Saturday for another sample. Thank you!


Marsha Ward is the award-winning author of the acclaimed novel series featuring the Owen family. Her latest book, Spinster's Folly, won the 2013 USA Best Book Award for Western Fiction. A former journalist, Ward has published over 900 articles, columns, poems and short stories. She is the founder of American Night Writers Association aka ANWA.


Friday, March 14, 2014

Fabulous Friends and Fans...and Stumblers upon the Scene

Because I have been negligent to a group of people who I have designated as my Fabulous Friends & Fans─and some of them are very much Super Fans─I am extending the olive branch below, an advance reveal of the cover of a forthcoming novel. It's not the next novel, but the cover is complete and exceedingly awesome, and I don't know how I have kept it hidden all the time that I have.

For those of you who happened to stumble upon this site, this is your lucky day.




The designer is the fabulous Linda Boulanger of Tell~Tale Cover Designs. This is the book I am going to a retreat in June to finish, so it won't be out really soon. Maybe by the end of the year--maybe early in 2015. We'll see how it goes. I get all tickled inside when I realize how perfectly the cover reflects a scene from the novel. I am so blessed!

Okay, what do you think?

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Mark Coker's 10 Reasons Indie Authors Will Capture Half of the Ebook Market by 2020

I've been an admirer of Mark Coker—who founded Smashwords.com in 2008—ever since I became a Smashwords user and content provider in 2009. His business is author-centric, and he is a stalwart supporter of indie authors and their issues.
Recently he did a blog post about the reasons, as he sees them, why indie authors are headed toward taking a larger share of the ebook market. This upward surge is in the nature of a revolution beneficial to independently publishing writers and authors. I share those with ten points with you here.
  1. Print will continue to decline as a book-reading format as more readers transition to screens. The transition to screens will be driven by the low prices, selection, exceptional discoverability and instant reading pleasure delivered by ebooks.
  2. Brick and mortar bookstores will continue their march into the sunset with more store closures. I'm not happy about this, but I don't see the trend reversing unless bookstores start serving wine and pot brownies in their cafes.
  3. The perceived value of publishers will decline in the eyes of writers as the importance of print distribution declines. Print distribution is an important glue that holds many writers to their traditional publishers. When publisher stickiness decreases, writers will be tempted to explore the indie author camp.
  4. Indie authors have learned to publish like professionals, which means self publishing will lead to more better books, and more diversity of better books. The professionalism and sophistication of indie authors has increased dramatically in the six years since we launched Smashwords, and this professionalism will increase in the future as indies pioneer tomorrow's best practices. These authors are publishing books that are quality-competitive with traditionally published books, but priced dramatically lower. As a result, these authors have the ability to under-price, outsell and out-compete the ebooks from traditional publishers. It means indie authors will have platform-building advantages over traditionally published authors.
  5. The number of self-published ebooks will explode, and these ebooks will continue to enjoy democratized access to professional publishing and distribution tools such as Smashwords, and democratized access to global online retail distribution (every major ebook store wants to carry self-published ebooks). Every author - even indie authors - will face increased competition from the glut of high quality works that never go out of print.
  6. The most successful indie authors are mentoring the next generation of authors. Indie authors act like a vast publishing collective of writers helping writers.
  7. The stigma once associated with self publishing is melting away at the same time the stigma of traditional publishing is on the rise. Indie authors are in the cool kids club now. They know they can publish with pride and professionalism, and they're developing teflon skin that deflects the once ego-bruising criticism levied by self publishing naysayers. If you haven't been to a writers conference lately, go to one. A few years ago, writers would leave conferences depressed in the knowledge that their dream agent only accepts one in 10,000 queries. Today, writers attend conferences and learn to self publish like a pro. They leave the conference upbeat in the knowledge that one way or another, they'll publish their book their way.
  8. Writers are discovering the joy of self publishing. If publishers are from Mars, authors are from Venus. They speak different languages and hold different values. The rewards of self publishing transcend the conventional and myopic commercial metric value systems of publishers. Indie authors are enjoying total creative control, faster time to market, ownership over their publishing future, and the flexibility to innovate and evolve their immortal ebooks which will never go out of print. Indie authors enjoy the freedom to serve their fans as they want to serve them. Icing on the indie author's cake: Indie ebook authors earn royalty rates 4-5 times higher than they'd earn from traditional publishers.
  9. Readers don't care about the publisher name on the ebook's virtual spine. The brand they care about is the author brand. Indie authors are learning to build their own brands.
  10. The growing rift between writers and publishers will cause the next generation of writers to avoid shopping their books to publishers, and will undermine the goodwill of writers who until now have been loyal to their traditional publishers. Writers are angry. After centuries of living on the bottom rung of the publishing ladder, they're feeling their oats and relishing their new-found power and respect.

Thank you, Mark Coker, for your foresight and willingness to create a business that is helping to bring an Indie Author Revolution to pass.


Saturday, March 08, 2014

Saturday Sample, March 8, 2014

Welcome back to Saturday Samples! This week I'm giving you a scene from Ride to Raton, the second novel in the Owen Family Saga. James Owen has contracted a marriage of convenience with a Hispanic girl named Amparo, since the man she was sent to marry has died. James intends to return her to her home in Santa Fe. She has a different view on the subject. Winter is coming, but that's not the least of their troubles.
~~~

          It was late afternoon when James and Amparo neared Trinidad, one of the towns along the trail to Santa Fe. They crossed the Purgatory River beneath the looming height of stair‑stepped, flat‑topped Fisher’s Peak, then pulled their horses to a stop on Main Street in front of a store.
          Amparo craned her neck to one side to look down the street, then to the other side, and glanced back the way they had come. “Aquí estamos,” she said.
          James shrugged his shoulders at her words. “This is Trinidad. I hope the storekeeper has a good warm blanket he’ll sell me cheap.”
          After he got down and tied the horses and mules to a rail set into posts, he put up his arms to help Amparo to dismount.
          Behind him he heard a loud cackle, followed by a rude laugh. Then a slurred voice called out, “Looky here. A new boy in town. And he’s brought his own fancy girl.”
          James’s back stiffened as his body tensed, but he tried to keep his face clear so Amparo wouldn’t see there was a problem.
          “A dirty Mexican, at that,” rasped a second voice. “Hey girlie, guess what I got for you.” The voices joined in ugly laughter.
          James lowered Amparo to the ground. One part of his mind appreciated the lightness of her body, the swirl of her cape as her feet touched the street. Another part thought, I’m not minded to pick a fight today, but when a man takes on a duty, he has to protect his stewardship. He turned to face the challenge, keeping the girl behind him and to his left side as his right hand dangled handy to the gun he wore in his holster.
          Two men sat on barrels in front of the store, sharing a bottle of whiskey. They kept up their nasty talk, laughing and pointing at James and Amparo.
          “Excuse me, gents,” James began. His voice sounded mild in his ears, but he didn’t feel mild. He felt mean—mean and ruffled—for these men had said some harsh things about the girl at his side. “I like a good joke, but I reckon I missed yours. Tell it again so I can join the merriment.”
          “He can talk.” One man nudged the other. The two held their sides, laughing fit to bust a gut and rocking from side to side.
          “That’s a mighty fine greaser gal you got there,” the second man hooted. “She belong just to you, or do we get a sample?”
          As the man talked, Amparo caught a quick breath. She must have heard the word `greaser’ before, James thought. Her sandal slid in the gravel as she backed up a step.
          James took one step forward. “She’s a lady,” he said with a brittle edge on his voice.
          “Yeah. Sure she is,” the first man said, leering and winking at Amparo. “Ain’t you gonna share her?” He took a pull from the whiskey bottle.
          “We’ll be glad to pay you,” the second man said, then he fished a coin from his pocket and tossed it at James’s feet.
          The bright circle plumped into the dust, and James stared at it, feeling the nerves pinging in his tight jaw. He had to concentrate to keep his hand from pulling the gun.
          “She’s my wife,” James declared. He heard his words echoing off the front of the building back to him. They had a ring like a fine and shining quarter thrown on a marble countertop.
          “The devil you say,” the first man sneered, then giggled.
          “No white man needs to marry a Mexican,” tittered the second. “Not when he can get it free.” He collapsed from the barrel to the ground. The first man bent over to raise up his friend, and fell in a heap atop him.
          The trouble was over. These men are harmless enough, James reflected, although their words bit deep into his soul. He kicked the coin aside, took Amparo’s hand, and stepped past the men into the store.
          “Malditos. Bad mans,” she whispered, and her hand shook in his.
          When he looked at her to see if she was frightened, the angry set of her chin and the fire in her eyes cleared up his worry. His chest expanded as he drew in a breath of relief mixed with pride.
          “That’s a girl. They’re only drunks.” James smiled and watched the corners of Amparo’s mouth inch upward, then he squeezed her hand and led her deeper into the store.
          At the back counter stood a man with a large nose and a green visor over his eyes. He looked up and cleared his throat. “We don’t serve Mexicans,” he said, sniffing.
          “She goes where I go,” James answered.
          “Then take your business out of here. I don’t like greasers.”
          That fine, proud feeling left James, and he clenched his teeth to stifle a hot retort. He could feel muscles bunching along his jaw, down his neck, and through his chest to his belly. Despite the tightness of his body, an oath got through his teeth, and he grabbed Amparo’s hand and hurried her along as he stalked down the aisle.
          “This town must be full of Yankees,” James muttered. “You don’t deserve this kind of treatment.”
          As he stepped from the door, several gunshots brought him up short, and he moved sideways to shield Amparo behind him. He couldn’t see who had fired, due to the stinking gray cloud of smoke that drifted over to them, but there were no more shots, and soon he saw the results of the gunplay lying crumpled in the street.
          The drunks from the front of the store lurched to the edge of the boardwalk to stare down at the body, and James turned to block Amparo’s view. “This town is roaring,” he told her between his teeth. “There’s no safety for us here.”
          He helped Amparo to mount, then untied the animals, swung into his saddle, and gigged the sorrel to a trot.
~~~


Racial discrimination has always been an ugly issue. I'm proud of James for standing up for a woman who is essentially a stranger to him.

What do you do when you encounter those who would consciously cause others pain? Have you yourself dealt with discrimination because of your race? Did anyone stick up for you?

I hope you enjoyed this scene from Ride to Raton. Some readers cite it among their favorite books. Thank you for visiting. I love to read your comments, so if anything in the sample compels you to speak up, rest assured that I eventually read what you write and will reply, if needed. Questions? I'm open to them, too.

Please come back next Saturday for another sample. Thank you!


Marsha Ward is the award-winning author of the acclaimed novel series featuring the Owen family. Her latest book, Spinster's Folly, won the 2013 USA Best Book Award for Western Fiction. A former journalist, Ward has published over 900 articles, columns, poems and short stories. She is the founder of American Night Writers Association aka ANWA.

Monday, March 03, 2014

Aaaaaaa! He's back!

James Owen, I mean. Here I haven't even finished the current novel, or the novella, or the short story, or the novel-not-from-this-series, and he's jumping in with both feet!

"¿No me amas?"

James Owen sat bolt upright and looked over at his sleeping wife, Jessie. She didn't, to his knowledge, speak in her sleep. Besides, the voice wasn't like hers. Not at all. He shivered in the July night air, heavy with heat.

Jessie's Spanish wasn't as fluid as that of the voice that had awakened him. He pondered a moment, rubbing the scar tissue in his side that sometimes pained him into wakefulness. Nothing hurt tonight. He looked at Jessie again, curled in a ball around her ripe belly.

A chill went down his spine. Six little beans! Amparo!

He slowly lay back, careful not to touch Jessie. "Not fair," he whispered, then repeated the thought in Spanish for his dead wife's benefit. "My livin' wife needs me now," he added.

"I live," she told him. "Solamente you cannot see me."

He let out a stuttering breath that seemed to come from his toes. "Te amo siempre." Afraid to wake Jessie, he moved the conversation back into his thoughts. I'll love you forever. You know that.

Here I am not your wife. I am soltera. Alone. Did you not make a promise to yourself? To me? To your God?


That's all I've got. Now leave me alone for a while, James. I have to sleep!

Sunday, March 02, 2014

Read an E-Book Week is Here!!!

At least, it will be at 12:01 Pacific Time.

This is the annual e-book sale you've been waiting for. All my novels are 50% off. Yes, that's right, each one costs less than a Sunday paper all week long. I'm talkin' one dollar and fifty cents each. 

$1.50!

Yes, you can own the entire Owen Family Saga (as it stands today) for the teensy weensy price of 

$6.00

Yes. You read that right. For less than the cost of a cartridge of ink, whoa, less than the cost of a movie ticket, you can have the entire library!
 
Use the coupon code REW50 at checkout over at Smashwords, where you can download every conceivable e-book format for one payment.

And lest you forget, you're looking for these books, to read in this order:

The Man From Shenandoah
Ride to Raton
Trail of Storms
Spinster's Folly

Enjoy! But hurry! This sale only runs through midnight, Saturday, March 8! After that, the whole Owen Family Saga will cost you, um, about the same as two movie tickets (at the small-town matinee, anyway).

Thank you for your patronage of my works of creative fiction. Enjoy the image of Richard Widmark, by the way. What's not to love about looking at Richard Widmark?

If you're curious, the location in the title of the second novel is pronounced "rah tóne". Just thought I'd add that bit of info, in case, yanno, you care to get it right.

Have a good week, people, and read an e-book!

Saturday, March 01, 2014

Saturday Sample - March 1, 2014

Welcome back to Saturday Samples! In this portion of a scene from my forthcoming novel, Gone for a Soldier, Julia is confronted with a crisis.
~~~


When Clay burst into the front room, screeching like he'd been attacked by a lion, Julia dropped the shirt she was patching.

"Ma! Mr. Bates rode through. The Yankees are coming down the pike." He rubbed his neck. "They're takin' the stock and burnin' the crops and harvests. Ma, they will surely burn the barn."


Sketch of Custer's troops burning the countryside by Alfred Waud
Julia stood. "Son. Quiet down. Let me think." She walked to the fireplace and put three fingers to her forehead. She tapped them, one at a time against skin and bone, thumping multiple times, the sound echoing like a horse crossing a bridge until her brain engaged and an idea came to her.

She took a breath and looked up. "Here's what to do. Get Albert and Marie." She looked at her youngest, who had followed Clay into the room. "Anna, you go with them. Clay, all y'all drag out the corn sacks. Mind you, tie them closed tight. Put as many sacks on the backs of the cattle as they will tolerate. Tie them on mighty secure. You don't want to spook them with shiftin' loads or they'll run off from you."

She laid a hand on his shoulder to steady his quaking frame. "When you finish up, take your brother and drive the cows up the mountain. Stay till the Yankees pass. I reckon you'll be there a few days, so I'll rustle up enough provisions for your stay." She squeezed his shoulder. "Go, you two. Get a wiggle on!"

Clay hesitated. "Mr. Bates said they're a mean bunch. They burned his house."

Julia set her jaw. That would not happen here. She shooed her son away and went to the kitchen. She fried the last of the pork skin to make cracklins, boiled eggs she'd been collecting from the last laying hen about the place, and wrapped corn pone in brown paper she had saved for stationery. No matter. Rod hadn't received but half of her letters. She would be spared the trouble of making ink from ground walnut hulls and stove soot. She never could achieve the proper fluid mixture to get it to flow smoothly from her nib anyhow.

She gathered the food and stuffed it into a carpetbag that would have to serve. She ran with it to the barn. Smoke wreathed above the windbreak trees to the south. The Yankees were coming.

The boys threw the dairy herd across the road and into the fields, riding after them on nearly the only horses left. Julia called after them, "Muffle that clatterin' bell or take it off." She and her daughters watched them go into the trees and down the creek bed, heading toward the Massanutten. She hoped her sons remembered the way to the hidden spot Rod used to take them to when hunting. It was their only hope for saving the herd and the corn.

She turned and stared down the pike. The smoke now billowed in black shafts in the distance. The Yankees were coming.

Julianna began to sob, tears coursing down cheeks smeared with corn silk and pollen from her labors.

"Stop that, child," Julia scolded, wiping the girl's face with her apron. "Show them your spirit, not your fear."

The three of them stood in the lane, waiting, watching as the Union soldiers advanced down the pike, marching unevenly as they came. Men broke out of the main body to torch the fields on each side. On they came. The Yankees were here.

~~~

Check your pulse. Is it racing? What would you do under such extreme circumstances?

The historical event in which my fictional Julia Owen finds herself and her family is still known in Virginia as "The Burning." I wonder if our relatively comfy life has robbed us of the ability to act coolly in times of crisis.

I hope you enjoyed this scene from Gone for a Soldier, my forthcoming novel set during the American Civil War. Thank you for visiting. I love to read your comments, so if anything in the sample compels you to speak up, rest assured that I eventually read what you write and will reply, if needed. Questions? I'm open to them, too.

Please come back next Saturday for another sample. Thank you!


Marsha Ward is the award-winning author of the acclaimed novel series featuring the Owen family. Her latest book, Spinster's Folly, won the 2013 USA Best Book Award for Western Fiction. A former journalist, Ward has published over 900 articles, columns, poems and short stories. She is the founder of American Night Writers Association aka ANWA.


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