When I was growing up, outside of Christmas, the other holiday I could hardly wait for was Halloween. It meant candy, sacks of it. Since I have the biggest sweet tooth known to man, trick-or-treating meant fun, foolish abandon, and sugary treats. I didn’t care what kind of candy it was, I liked it all. My younger sister and I would run wild, racing from house to house like a pair of hyped-up hyenas. I’m just glad that we grew up in an innocent time when no one had to worry much about child abductions or candy poisonings. Kids sure can’t be that carefree today.

As Halloween approached this year I was curious about the early beginnings of it and did some research.  The name originated from All Hallows Eve that the Celts celebrated on October 31^st to mark their new year. The Irish Celts believed spirits wandered the earth looking for bodies to possess on that night. Lacking knowledge of science or the rotation of the earth and different seasons, Celtic Culture sought a reason for the shorter, colder days and longer nights. They mistakenly thought the sun was losing its power and the dead were to blame. To prevent the spirits from stealing their bodies on Hallows Eve, they extinguished every fire in their homes, made themselves physically undesirable by making their faces grotesque, and wore all manner of strange clothing. The Celts believed that magical powers were at their strongest on October 31^st. 

When European immigrants came to America, they brought their customs and beliefs with them. Children gathered and played games. Bobbing for apples was played most frequently. 

Other games were played, including one called “Clap-in, Clap-out.” The young men left the room, while the young girls each declared who they’d chosen for a partner. Then as the young men entered, he had to sit beside the girl he thought had chosen him. The girl clapped if he sat in the wrong seat. Then he had to go back out and wait for another chance to try again. The game lasted until every girl had a partner.  Another game, played in Ireland was a form of Blindfold. A blindfolded player was seated in front of a table on which sat several saucers. The saucers were shuffled and the player chose one. The contents of the saucer determined the player’s life for the following year. The saucer containing earth meant someone known to the person would die during the coming months. Water foretold travel. A coin meant new wealth. A bean meant poverty. And so on. In 19^th century Ireland, young women placed slugs in saucers and sprinkled flour over them. They believed the patterns left behind after the slug wriggled in it would reveal the face of their future husband. Boy, they must’ve been desperate! But, I should talk. I used to play with a Ouija board quite a bit, trying to find out who I was going to marry. Strange what we do to try to see into the future. I’m also thinking some of this might be useful in a story sometime.

 A traditional food eaten in Ireland on All Hallows Eve was called barnbrack. It was a type of fruitcake that had a muslin-wrapped treat baked inside. The person who got the piece holding the treat learned his future for the coming year. Some of treats were a ring (meant a marriage,) a coin (prosperity,) a thimble (will be an old maid,) and a button spoke of forlorn sweethearts. 

Over the years, Halloween has evolved into what we have today with many religions speaking out against the practice. Regardless, most kids still try to get as much candy as possible, no matter if it’s at Halloween parties or trick-or-treating. It’s their night to howl.  Whatever your beliefs, you can still use this time to take stock, count your blessings, and prepare for the short winter nights. I love fall. The gorgeous color of the trees, the crisp night air, beautiful pumpkins, and luscious apples. Oh, and of course, the candy! I’m holding out my bag. 

What do you associate with Halloween? Or maybe you have a favorite memory or tradition you’d like to share.

With this being the end of the month and the start of a new one, we’re having an off-schedule week, so y’all might notice a different pattern of blogging.

On Monday, Linda will be here.

Tuesday, Cheryl.

Wednesday is Halloween, and we have some spook-tacular posts coming for you.

Our very own Mary Connealy will take the reins and guest blog on Thursday.

Karen will be on Friday.

Janette Kenny will wrap the week up for us as our special guest blogger.

Enjoy!

Where have all the cowboys gone?

I was raised on Westerns. Bonanza, Rawhide, High Chaparral, The Virginian, The Big Valley and Lancer just to name a few. For me as a child, the Wild West was as close as my TV and my imagination. My favorite toys were my Johnny West, Jane West, Chief Cherokee and their horses, Thunderbolt, Thundercolt and Flame. I even had the cardboard bunkhouse and all the accessories. It’s really too bad a basement flood destroyed all that.

My fantasies were about Heath Barkley, Little Joe and oh my gosh, Johnny Lancer. Does anyone remember the scene were he jumped his palomino over the fence when the opening credits came on? My heart broke when the actor, whose name escapes me at the moment, lost his arm and leg in a motorcycle accident.

Then came a more modern western. Alias Smith and Jones. Both guys were hot and some fancy camera work made Kid Curry the fastest gun in the west. Yummy. And I was so in love with Pete Duel who tragically killed himself.

John Wayne movies could always be counted on for a great mud-slinging, name calling fight, usually with Maureen O’Hara winding up in the mud. And one movie was so good they made it twice, the Rio movies, one with a young hot James Caan and the other with a young hot Ricky Nelson.

Then suddenly westerns disappeared. Occasionally, you could catch one on a Saturday matinee on some random cable channel but they were hard to find until the Hallmark channel came along.

Thank goodness for Silverado. And while I’m not a big fan of Lawrence Kasdan’s screenwriting abilities, the cast was awesome. Brian Dennehy, who was so good, Scott Glenn, a young, hot Kevin Costner, Jeff Fahey as bad guy personified and James Gammon as the leader of the outlaws who had the best line in the movie. “I think there’s only a couple of guys up there and this asshole is one of them.” Loved it!

Young Riders. Young Riders fulfilled my Western needs. With a cast full of hunky guys who knew how to shoot and ride I was hooked. It also got me to thinking about my childhood western fantasies. The one about a girl named Jenny and her brother…

And Chase The Wind became a story. A six book series about cowboys and Indians and the joys and desperations of living and building a nation. I was inspired by Cowboys.

But inspiration is hard to find these days. Open Range was pretty good. I loved the scene were Kevin Costner didn’t waste any time and just killed the bad guy.

Outsider. Tim Daly. Enough said. Nope. Sigh…….Was he great in that movie or what? And somehow my copy is missing. I’ll just have to buy a new one.

And just recently, 3:10 to Yuma. If anything revived the Western, this movie was it. Everything you could want. Well it would have been nice if Christian Bale lived but still, a great, great film. I haven’t seen the new Brad Pitt movie with the impossibly long name but hey, it’s a western and Brad Pitt is in it so it’s got to be good.

In my books I have several cowboys. Jamie, Chase, Ty, Caleb, Jake and Zane. These guys are based on some real life heroes. My sons and their friends. If we lived a hundred and twenty years ago, I’m pretty sure this is how they’d act.

Cowboys. You just gotta love them. I’m pretty sure there’s still several of them around. I even know a few, which is kind of strange considering I live in North Carolina.

Now if I could just find my copy of Outsider….

Cindy Holby author of
Chase The Wind
Wind Of The Wolf
Crosswinds
Windfall
Forgive The Wind
Whirlwind

And her newest release, Rising Wind, which is not about cowboys but frontiersmen who have their own stories to tell.

Dear Friends,

Thanks for a wonderful day blogging. Aside from the horrible fires in California (thankfully not in my valley this time), it’s been an incredibly sad week with health issues for my closest friends and family.  You  all made my day a happy one. I really enjoy spending time with you on the blog. I hope you come back often to see all the Petticoats.

Now for the fun part. I get to give away my western to:

ALISSA

You’ve won the random drawing! Please contact me at charlenesands@hotmail.com with your address.

Be sure to stop by tomorrow for our Guest Blogger, Cindy Holby!

Everyone has their own way to cope with stress. I know that a good way is to exercise. It really let’s off steam and mellows a person out.  Not only does it provide a good release, but it’s great for your heart and tissues and other parts of your body.  I’m not one of those people. I exercise because I have to, not because I want to.  I do feel good about exercising, but when the chips are down, I don’t think, “Gee, I’ll lift weights and that will make me feel better.”

For some people, they love a good soak in the tub.  My daughter is a “soaker”.  Ever since she was a tot, she’s loved a good hot bubble bath. As she grew a little older she began putting candles around the tub and softening the lights to take a nice long relaxing bath.  I’m not one of those people either.

When some people get tired of city living and need a change from the grind, fast pace and parking lot traffic, they head to a remote natural setting to unwind.  Sounds great doesn’t it?    I admit, sometimes it’s nice to get away, but if I’m upset or trying to cope, all that idle time only hinders me and makes me think more. 

So what’s the answer?  For me, the best form of relaxation therapy has always been writing.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a paper I needed to write for a class, a project for the PTA (in my younger days), a eulogy for a dear loved one, or a book on a hard and fast deadline.

 Writing has and will probably always be my best kind of stress-buster.   It helps me cope. Doesn’t matter what the situation, once I’m deep into a story, I can totally detach from the daily grind, from disheartening news and unpleasant things I’d rather not think about – like the thousands of people displaced by the fires nearby today and the amount of homes being lost.   When my father died, the only thing that helped me was pouring my heart and soul into a story.  I remember thanking God that he gave me the gift of writing, because for those few hours each day when I sat at my computer, I coped. I forgot. I slipped into the fantasy world I had created and I could be happy. 

I love every aspect of writing. I love the beginning and middle and end of the book. I love editing, re-reading for pacing and continuity and making the story better.  I love the sound of the keys as I type when my story comes easily and the words fly onto the page.   I love knowing that my hard work will be rewarded with a cover and a back blurb and that someday soon, someone will read my book and smile or laugh or cry. 

Writing is my therapy.  It’s what’s makes me the happiest.  It’s what I look forward to in the morning and what drives me during the day.  It’s better than a glass of wine or a pill or a long drive on a spring day.   What’s your ”hammock on the beach?”  What helps you cope? Do you have a writing/book related form of therapy too?

Let me know and I’ll pick a random winner from your posts to receive an advanced copy of my November release Bodine’s Bounty.

Enter our Big Fall Bonanza contest and my WIN IN WINTER contest too. 

Happy Trails and Happy Reading!

October 13-28 I plan to be in Peru.  As you read this, I’ll likely be rafting the Urubamba or trekking the heights of Macchu Picchu.  Since I won’t be present to respond to your comments, I hope you’ll get a chuckle out of this list of Western slang phrases.  The list is adapted from THE WRITER’S GUIDE TO EVERYDAY LIFE IN THE 1800s, by Marc McCutcheon (Writer’s Digest Books, 1993). 

I tried and tried to format these into a neat single-column list.  The program wouldn’t cooperate.  Made me as mad as a peeled rattler!

all horns and rattles:  very angry 

as blind as a post hole:  very blind 

barkin’ at a knot:  doing something useless 

colder’n a witch’s tit:  very cold

could follow a woodtick on solid rock:  expert at tracking 

dead as a can of corned beef:  dead

doesn’t use up all his kindlin’ to make a fire:  doesn’t waste words on small talk 

don’t go wakin’ snakes:  don’t make waves 

grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a yellowjacket:  happy or embarrassed 

harder than tyin’ down a bobcat with a piece of string:  difficult 

hot enough to wither a fence post:  very hot 

mad as a peeled rattler:  very mad 

mad enough to swallow a horn-toad backwards:  very mad 

only a fool argues with a skunk, a mule or a cook:  self explanatory

short as a tall hold on a bear:  very short

you can’t hitch a horse with a coyote:  referring to opposites who marry

How about you?  Do you know any fun Western slang you can add to this list? 

I was thrilled yesterday to learn to that my latest release, Just Wicked Enough, is included in a LifetimeTV.com feature about fate and romance novels. You can view the piece here.

While I had written something else to share with you today, it can keep. It just seems that in light of the above that today I should talk about Fate and my journey to writing romance novels.

Unlike most writers, I was never a reader. Growing up, I read a couple of Nancy Drews. (I think my sister read them all.) I read a few books where the main character was a horse or a dog. Sometimes, I’d rewrite a portion of the book. (Somewhere in my memento box I have a rewritten Billy and Blaze.) I loved to write. I just didn’t like to read.

I wrote in a diary. I wrote loooonnng letters to any relative who was kind enough to give me an address. I wrote, I wrote, I wrote.

In high school, I had a wonderful English teacher. Mrs. Meyers took me aside one day and said, “You have a talent for writing. You need to take journalism next year.” And so I did. I loved it. Writing, writing, writing. My senior year I had a conflict and, much to my disappointment, I couldn’t take journalism and work on the newsletter staff. So I took Yearbook and was co-editor with one of my best friends. Not as much writing, but enough to keep my happy.

I went off to the University of Texas with plans to major in journalism. When I finally had the prerequisites out of the way, I signed up for my first real journalism class. Imagine my dismay when the professor held up the Daily Texan, the university’s newspaper, and announced that we had to read it every day, front to back. I enjoyed reading the features. I liked reading the comics. But the sports page? The actual news pages? Business? World Events? State Events? Every day? Read, read, read? Just so I could write, write, write?

I dropped the class. Changed my major to psychology. I’m not someone who believes in looking back with regrets, but I will admit that decision was one that I often look back on and wonder about.

What do you do with a psychology degree? Well, I went to work for the government. The Treasury Dept. Oh, all right, it was actually the IRS, which is part of the Treasury Dept. But Treasury Dept. has a much nicer ring to it, don’t you think? More mysterious? Ten years into what would be a 24-year career with the government, I found myself working in the training department, writing coursebooks and computer-based training courses. I loved it! I was writing again. And I wanted to excel at my job so, on my own time, I signed up for a Technical Writing Class at the local college.

The first night of class—as an icebreaker—the instructor wanted us to introduce ourselves by telling the class what we would do if money was no object, if we could do anything in the world. As fate would have it, she called on me first and I said that if money was no object, I would buy a house in the hill country. I would have an office on the second floor that was one wall of windows looking out on the hills and I would write novels. Everyone in the class looked at me dumbfounded. Write when you don’t have to? Are you insane? They were all heading for the Bahamas.

On the drive home, I had an epiphany. In reality, the teacher had asked each of us to reveal our dream. I hadn’t had to think about my answer. My dream was to write.

So I went home and typed out three pages of a story, using an old electric typewriter. Three pages of what I thought probably needed to be a thousand. How many pages was a novel anyway? Too many. So I wrote a few children’s books. Received some very nice rejections letters. Wrote some first person pieces for Parents—the only magazine I read because I had children and was interested in advice. Received nice rejections.

Then in 1990, I had to go to Chicago on business. I was traveling alone and I decided I needed to take a book to read. Now I did occasionally read books—1 or 2 a year. Sidney Sheldon. Ken Follett. But no way would I ever read a romance novel. I saw the covers. I knew what went on in those books. I wanted something with substance.

So I went to the bookstore, which had a lovely section where they displayed New York Times bestsellers. I figured if it was a New York Times bestseller, it had to be good. A book with flowers on the cover caught my eye. The blurb sounded interesting. I bought it. Started reading it as I was waiting at the airport. On the way to Chicago, as I got more involved in the story, a startling thought occurred to me. Was I reading a romance novel? The book was Morning Glory by LaVyrle Spencer.

I loved it! The characters, the emotion, the conflict, the prose. Read it three times before I got home from my trip. Went to the bookstore. Searched the fiction section for another book by Ms. Spencer. Nothing. So I went to the clerk to see if I could order one of her books. He directed me to the romance section. Apparently, I had misjudged the substance of romance novels. They had everything I could possibly want in a story.

By the end of the month, I’d read everything LaVyrle Spencer had written up to that point. And I moved on to other authors: Jude Devereaux, Judith McNaught, and more. I was obsessed with reading romances. I, who read 1 or 2 books a year, was now reading 3 or 4 a week. I loved romance! And not only did I want to read it. I wanted to write it. I wanted to bring as much reading pleasure to others as these authors had brought to me.

And so my journey into writing romance novels began and I can’t help but believe that Fate had a hand in it.

So share with me: If you could do anything in the world, anything at all, money was no object, what would you do? And if you’re already doing it, what was the defining moment that made you reach for that dream?

Thank you to all of you who shared some of your life’s stories with us today.  I enjoyed every single  post and read with interest about all our wonderful critters that so enrich our lives.  My thanks go especially to Taryn, Mary Connealy, Joy, Joanne, Chelley, Lynn/Elsandra, Jennifer Y, Jane Squires Terry Storm and Estella.  And thanks to my fellow Western Romance Authors, Lorraine, Stacy, Linda and Charlene.  Have a wonderful evening, and be sure to check in tomorrow.

Good Morning Everyone!

This morning I’d thought I’d share some pictures and insights on those wonderful animals who share our lives.  And of course, I would like to hear about your animals.  How many you have, what kind — does anyone have an unusual pet?  Like a skunk or something like that?  By the way, I’ve heard that they make great pets.

 Let’s start with Princess Sierra.  This was a recent picture taken earlier this year — in June — notice that there is a tiarra hanging over her head.  We did not touch up the picture or put it there and in all the pictures that we took of her, there is is, right there.  At first I didn’t know what it was, but when I showed it to my brother-in-law, he of course, said — it’s a tiarra, of course.  Princess Sierra is not only a calico, she was originally my daughter’s cat, who grew to love going outside so much that my daughter had to leave her with us — because my daughter can have only indoor pets.  She is, indeed, a princess and we appropriately treat her as such.  Sierra was also one of my characters in a back book, THE PRINCESS AND THE WOLF.

This is Sammy, our black and white kitty.  Sammy got bit about 6-7 years ago and developed feline aids and so he is our kitty who tends to be a little sick.  Though he no longer has feline aids, he does have a condition of the mouth called stomititis that we are finding just doesn’t seem to go away.  However, he is doing well and has become one of our most wonderful house cats.

And here we have Kali, whom I call our California bound kitty.  Originally I found her in Florida, and when I discovered that she had been abandoned by her family, I brought her home with me.  Unfortunately for both her and Sierra, it seems to be best to have only one calico per household.  To this day, they still play games (not so great games) with each other.  Maybe in another few years…

Here’s another picture of Sierra, who once accompanied my husband and I on a tour — here she is being our fearless driver.

And here’s Midnight Thunder — named after another book, NIGHT THUNDER’S BRIDE.  He was found by my brother-in-law while my husband and I were on tour — and he was found at night — at the time I was touring with the book, NIGHT THUNDER’S BRIDE and so we named him in honor of that book.  Midnight is quite a lady’s man — visiting the neighborhood women one by one each day.  He is one of the most popular cats in our neighborhood.  He and Kali, however, are official boyfriend and girlfriend.

We have many other pets, Puffin — our kitchen cat (she is pure white and stays in the kitchen most of the time).  Squeeky, who is my husband’s cat (she is all black) — they (my husband and Squeeky) were together when my husband and I first met each other.  And then there’s Bear, who was named because he so resembles a bear.  Bear is our only full-time outside cat.  He was my brother-in-law’s cat, who now lives with us.  Bear is also a black and white kitty, although he has long hair.

 In addition we also have three dogs, Bandit, who is 14, going on 15.  And two new pups, Prancing Wolf and Yoda — both of whom we adopted having met them on the Blackfeet reservation this past July.  We also seem to have acquired a few opossums.

So now comes the time when I would like to invite you to tell me about your pets, what they mean to you and how much they enhance your life (as I’m sure they do).

I would leave you, however, with this beautiful shot from one of our earlier trips to the Blackfeet reservation in Montana.  The horses are not ours, but rather a friend’s whose father kept and raised horses. 

Looking forward to hearing from you today.

I have to make a confession. It’s my turn to blog and I have absolutely no idea what to write about.

I think I’ve used up all my creativity on my current work-in-progress. It’s due way too soon and I’m working feverishly for more hours than is healthy. This is what I get for slacking off early in the process. Nevertheless, I think the well must be dry.

So, this week’s blog is Romance industry name-dropping random thoughts. I’ll try not to bore you…but no promises. <g>

At my very first RWA conference publisher booksigning I sat beside Nora Roberts. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I also met our own Patricia Potter that year and she was so gracious and kind to a newbie who’d taken her first ever cab ride to get to the Bantam party in Chicago. (Yes, I was country come to town.)

I’ve been serving on the RWA Board of Directors with Linda Howard. I’ve tried soooo hard to be a professional and not to be a Fan Girl, but upon occasion I’ve slipped. I think SON OF THE MORNING is the best book ever written. One night when Paranoid Author grabbed hold of me and I Googled my name and current release title, I ran across a review of NEVER SAY NEVER at http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art53282.asp that says “This one reminds me a lot of Linda Howard’s style, the humor, the steam, the suspense, and makes me happy to have something so good to look forward to in the long months between Howard romances.” I decided I have reached the pinnacle and can retire from writing.

After having dinner with George and Laura Bush at the Texas Book Festival, Christina Dodd and I somehow ended up having our pictures taken in an Austin culvert. By our husbands. My guy has used the photo for blackmail purposes a number of times since.

Lisa Kleypas is extremely beautiful, fabulously successful, and just the sort of person a girl can hate on general principle. Unfortunately, she’s just about the nicest, most generous person ever so you just have to love her instead. I HATE that.

Jayne Ann Krentz’s home has one of the most beautiful views in America.

Carla Neggars and I rode in a Duck-Mobile together one time.

I used to live in the same neighborhood where Sandra Brown grew up. Locals who learned what I do for a living used to say “There’s another girl from here who writes. Have you ever heard of Sandra Brown?” Uh duh. You won’t believe the things they said after she gave her house to Walker, Texas Ranger to blow up.

Sherrilyn Kenyon told me she loved my THE BAD LUCK WEDDING DRESS.

Okay, I’m going to stop now. I’m starting to think of people and events that have no business being posted on the internet.

Man, I’ve been in this business a long time…

You’re wondering about the pictures, perhaps? I am a baseball fan, too, you know–I took these at a game last year. I posted them to add some interest to my blog and because my friend, author Nicole Burnham, just emailed me on her IPhone from Game 7 of the American League playoffs…Go Boston…That’s for you, Nic.

Randomly,