Sunday, August 7, 2011

For The Love Of A Pond



Henry Thoreau said of Walden Pond,”A lake is the landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.”
Thoreau lived in a small cabin at Walden Pond for two years where he did some of his best writing and learned the essentials of life.
“Henry wanted to write, and needed a quieter place than the Thoreau household to do this. And he did write both A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers and an early draft of Walden in his two years at the pond. But in Walden’s ”Where I Lived, & What I Lived for,” he describes an additional motive. '
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
In conclusion, Thoreau said, “I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.”
*Image of Walden Pond and a replica of Thoreau’s cabin
Thoreau isn’t the only one who loved a pond.  I’m deeply fond of ours. Although Walden Pond is rather larger than our farm pond, more of a lake really, and heavily wooded.  Grassy meadows and corn fields surround our pond, but wooded hills rise above the fields, and beyond these, on a clear day, you can see the Alleghenies.
I could not write all that I have without this marvelous  ever-changing scene around me.   And the pond plays host to many birds and waterfowl.  Overhead, swifts, swallows, and purple martins skim and dive in pursuit of the insects we are very glad for them to devour.  The swifts gathered in mass and departed early in the fall two years ago when we had a bad winter.  Which I predicted from this event.
But back to the water, most interesting to me is that you never know what waterfowl might be swimming on it.  Migrating ducks of all sorts have stopped by, and I do love ducks.  The most common, of course, are the mallards.  Wood ducks nest in the tangle of trees growing along the edge of the meadow in a dry creek bed that runs with water when the heavy rains come.  Each spring finds the wood duck mammas on the pond with their babies darting over the water like little bumblebees.
Our barn yard geese make daily treks down to the water.  And flocks of Canadian geese are not uncommon.  The great blue heron can be seen in the early morning mist fishing along the banks.  Sandy brown killdeer dart around the edges of the pond on their long legs, sounding that wild funny cry peculiar to them.   On one snowy day a flock of swans took respite from their journey.   Snow geese wintered with us one year.  Our most unusual visitor was a pink flamingo, though his rosy color had faded from lack of the shell fish that generally make up a flamingo’s diet and gives them that brilliant hue.  I suppose if you fed them lots of carrots they’d turn orange.
An excerpt from my nonfiction book, Shenandoah Watercolors:
Dozens of swallows skim over the pond as the sun sinks below the Alleghenies. If I were standing on a distant ridge, would it sink behind me, or the ridge beyond that one?
The water is calm now but was awash with waves during the storm that hit a short time ago. The grassy hill and maple tree are reflected on the surface, silvery and streaked with rose from the western sky. All is peaceful as a soft twilight settles over the valley. Utterly idyllic, until I pause to consider what all of those swallows are after. There must be clouds of mosquitoes.
Here’s another thought, where do all the birds spend the night? Are the woods up on the hill lined with birds perched wing to wing jostling for space on the branches? I’ll bet they make room for the big red-tailed hawk. He gets the whole tree––as many as he wants. It’s good to be king.~
*Images of our pond by my mom and daughter Elise

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Sweet Excerpt from Gothic/Light Paranormal Romance



EXCERPT from SOMEWHERE MY LOVE:
~Will blew the layer of dust from an ornate wooden box inlaid with ivory and lifted the lid. Inside were brass workings like the mechanism of a clock.  He wound a small gold key in the back until it would wind no more, and released it. The wheels and cogs turned and wonderful music flowed forth, the beautiful strains of a Viennese waltz, The Blue Danube.
Julia clapped her hands. “A music box.”
He bowed. “May I have this dance, sweet Julia?”
She gazed up into his velvet brown eyes, and he gazed back. She managed a nod and he drew her into his arms.
Around the attic he waltzed with her secure in his lead.  Everything fell away except this moment while the haunting melody played on, taking her back to that faintly remembered place. She didn’t even stumble, not once.  It was as if some inner memory guided her in the steps, even though ballroom dancing hadn’t been a part of her lessons.
The music picked up and he swung her around and around. Her dress swirled as he circled. With each turn, he was Will—then Cole, Will—then Cole, both men in rapid succession, separate and yet the same. Her heart pounded from far more than the whirling dance.

The music faded and Will slowly stopped revolving. They stood, his arms circled at her back and waist, eyes locked on each other. His brow furrowed. “Julia, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “You may be the ghost.”
He tightened his mouth in an impatient line. “Don’t try to make me into Cole again.”
“Will, listen to me. I know it sounds crazy, but I think somehow you already are.”
He dropped his hands, turning away. “Only because you insist I am.”
She grabbed his arm. “No. It’s what I saw while we danced. You must believe me.”
“Believing doesn’t make it any easier,” he said flatly.
“That’s because you think I’m misled.”
He swiveled his head at her. Exasperation flared in his eyes. “There’s a simple reason for my laboring under that assumption. You are.”
“Don’t be angry. I hate that I’ve spoiled such a lovely moment.”
“You’ve a talent for that.” He turned and strode across the floor. His footsteps echoed on the boards with a hollow sound, just as her heart would beat if he left.
She ran behind him and reached out, catching his plush shoulder. “Consider me balmy, if you must, but don’t walk away. Please Will.”
He stayed as he was. “What do you want me to do, Julia?”
“I don’t know.” She wasn’t strong enough to turn him and dashed in front instead, grasping his upper arms and twisting the fabric in her fingers. “Something—anything.”
He smiled faintly. “Never say those words to a man.”
Cupping her face between his hands, he bent his head and closed his lips over hers in an all consuming kiss…so swiftly she hardly knew what had happened. Even if he hadn’t cupped her cheeks, she wouldn’t have moved. The compelling press of his mouth bound her in place. If possible, Julia’s heart thudded even faster than it had before. The surging pulse drummed through her entire being, reverberating in places she didn’t even know she had. From what she could remember of her dream with Cole, her feelings had been poignant but tender. The sensations coursing through her now weren’t entirely that. An exhilarating passion was sweeping her up in a shocking tide.
“Who am I now?” Will whispered against her mouth.
She loosened her grip on his jacket in speechless surprise, too breathless to tell him she didn’t care.~

STAR-CROSSED LOVERS, FLASHBACKS TO EARLY 18TH CENTURY VIRGINIA, GHOSTLY, MURDER MYSTERY ROMANCE…

SOMEWHERE MY LOVE 

“As I read Somewhere My Love, I recalled the feelings I experienced the first time I read Daphne DuMaurier’s Rebecca.” ~Joysann, Publishers Weekly
*Available in print and digital download at: The Wild Rose Press, Amazon,Barnes & Noble and many other online booksellers.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Murder Mystery/Ghost Story/Time Travel Romance




“As I read Somewhere My Love, I recalled the feelings I experienced the first time I read Daphne DuMaurier’s Rebecca long ago.  
Using deliciously eerie elements similar to that gothic romance, Beth Trissel has captured the haunting dangers, thrilling suspense and innocent passions that evoke the same tingly anticipation and heartfelt romance I so enjoyed then, and still do now.”
Read and reviewed by:
~ Joysann, Publishers Weekly
It’s been five summers ago since I feverishly wrote my light paranormal romance novel, Somewhere My Love.  The next in my ‘Somewhere series’ will come out later this year as it’s a Christmas theme entitled Somewhere The Bells Ring.
Blurb for Somewhere My Love:
Star-crossed lovers have a rare chance to reclaim the love cruelly denied them in the past, but can they grasp this brief window in time before it is too late?
Newly arrived at Foxleigh, the gracious old Wentworth home in Virginia, British born Julia Morrow is excited at the prospect of a summer working as a guide in the stately house and herb garden. She quickly discovers the historic plantation holds far more. She becomes obsessed with the portrait of handsome Cole Wentworth, killed in a quarrel over the lovely English lady, Julia Maury, two hundred years ago. Then she meets his double, William, the only remaining Wentworth heir.
Somehow, Julia must persuade Will that their fates are entwined with those of Cole Wentworth and Julia Maury, and that the man who killed his ancestor has returned to enact the deadly cycle again, or she will lose him twice. The blade is about to fall~
First Line of the novel: ~His name sent a shiver pulsing through Julia Morrow like a ripple from the past.~
Inspiration for Somewhere My Love
I’ve read that Virginia has more ghost stories than any other state in the Union, not necessarily because we have a more fertile imagination, but sadly because the Old Dominion has seen more bloody battles over the centuries than any other. Think back, Jamestown (1607) was the site of the oldest successful English settlement and its history is a violent one. And on we go to the many heart-rending wars fought with the usurped Indians, a number of them waged on Virginia soil. March on to the Revolution; anyone heard of Yorktown, to name just one famous battle? 
And let’s not forget that horrific most uncivil of wars, much of it fought in, you guessed it, Virginia.
And yet, this multitude of hauntings doesn’t only feature soldiers caught in an endless fray who haven’t gotten word the war’s over, although there are legions of tales that do and entire companies of ghosts said to battle on. Many tales feature the myriad of people, great and small, who dwelt in our richly historic state. The old Virginia homes and plantations have accumulated a wealth of such stories.
Thus, it was while touring some of these English styled manor homes with my dear mother that I conceived the idea for my paranormal romance, Somewhere My Love. 
Added to this meld of vintage Virginia is my own heritage, a vast source of inspiration from my childhood. On my father’s side, I descend from old Southern gentry, now impoverished after the Civil War, Great Depression, and various other misfortunes, including the untimely death of my brilliant grandfather. But the gracious Georgian home his ancestor built (circa 1816) still stands outside the historic town of Staunton, Virginia.  Which, btw, is the oldest town in Augusta County and has some wonderful old buildings.  
As a child, I was ever determined the family home place was haunted and wove stories through my fevered mind, along with my continual search for Narnia which entailed frequent treks into the old wardrobe. 
But I digress. The magnificent ancestral portraits in my family and on display in other Virginia homes held me transfixed, wondering. And it was just such a portrait of a striking dark-haired gentleman who embedded himself in my thoughts. Who was he? Why did he die so young? That other painting of the fair young lady…did she love him?
Often, the guides at these old homes are brimming with tales. But other times we are left to wonder…and ask ourselves are these folk who’ve gone before us truly gone, or do some still have unfinished business in this realm? And what of the young lovers whose time was tragically cut short, do they somehow find a way? Love conquers all, so I answer ‘yes.’
*The old family home place, Chapel Hill, pictured above.
P&E Logo thing
*Somewhere My Love won the 2008 Preditors & Editors Readers Poll for Best Romance Novel and is available in Print and E-book from: my publisher  The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online booksellers.
*Ghostly image above isn’t from Virginia but Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery in Chicago.

Monday, July 4, 2011

“But he that dares not grasp the thorn Should never crave the rose.”~Anne Bronte



“The rose speaks of love silently, in a language known only to the heart.”
*Roses from my garden
“You are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose.” Antoine de Saint-Exupery
"I’d rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck."  ~Emma Goldman
"To be overcome by the fragrance of flowers is a delectable form of defeat."  ~Beverly Nichols
“A single rose can be my garden…a single friend, my world.”

“Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.”
 ~Heinrich Heine, The Hartz Journey

“Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk
undisturbed.”

“I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.”
“A profusion of pink roses bending ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.”  ~The Collected Later Poems of William Carlos Williams

‘”People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.”