Victorian Flower Pressing




Karen Witemeyer






 If you were to walk into a Victorian-era home, one of the dominant decorating themes you would see is flowers. They were everywhere—woven into the rugs, stitched into the upholstery, painted on the wallpaper, even carved into the furniture. Given this trend, it’s no wonder that in the 1800s one of the most popular hobbies among women was flower pressing.

In my latest release, To Win Her Heart, I have a heroine who is passionate about this pastime. Eden adores flowers and loves to preserve them by pressing them and then turning them into framed works of art. However, she is cursed with a black thumb—she kills every domesticated plant she tries to grow. Therefore, her only recourse is to collect clippings from the wildflowers that bloom naturally throughout the spring and summer near her home in Spencer, Texas.

Some women pressed flowers for sentimental reasons. If a beau gave them a blossom, they might press it between the pages of a favorite novel or volume of poetry. If a young boy gave his mother a daisy, she might slip it between the pages of the family Bible. The color from the petals would often bleed onto the book’s pages leaving an imprint even if the flower was removed. Today, if you shop for antique books, you might come across a volume with these markings or even the flower itself still pressed between the pages.

The serious Victorian hobbyist, however, would harvest her flowers with a field press in hand, so she could press them immediately. This helped preserve the vibrancy of the colors. She would go out late enough in the day to ensure the dew had dried, since moisture in the petals could create unattractive dark spots or worse, mold in the press. Flat, simple flowers work best. If the flower was too thick, it wouldn’t press properly. Pansies, daisies, bluebells, and violets worked exceptionally well with their single-layer petals. Ferns, leaves, and interesting grasses were often pressed as well and used as texturing in the artwork.

The flower press was usually made of wood, and the young lady would layer blotting paper beneath and above her flowers to absorb all the moisture. Some presses would have an iron top that could be tightened with a crank-like handle. Others, though, would be held together with leather straps. Eden used the strap variety.

After the flowers had been pressed, they could be stored in paper packets for later use. Once enough had been collected and dried, the flowers could be arranged on silk, lace, velvet, or other background fabric and then framed under glass for a keepsake that could be proudly displayed on a parlor or bedroom wall.

You can find some incredible modern examples here:










So have any of you preserved flowers in a book or a press? Have you ever found a pressed flower in an old book and wondered about the story behind it?

~Karen Witemeyer, who recently took her daughter on a wildflower hunt for a science project and pressed some purple verbena and tiny Blackfoot daisies in a dictionary. This wildflower excursion happened to take place on the same day she found out that her debut novel, A Tailor-Made Bride, was named a RITA finalist in the Best First Book category. A great day all around!

  Leave a comment and you might win a copy of

To Win Her Heart!


A blacksmith with a criminal past. A librarian with pacifist ideals. Do they have a fighting chance at finding love?

Having completed his sentence for the unintentional crime that derailed his youthful plans for fame and fortune, Levi Grant looks to start over in the town of Spencer, Texas. Spencer needs a blacksmith, a trade he learned at his father’s knee, and he needs a place where no one knows his past. But small towns leave little room for secrets. . . .
Eden Spencer has sworn off men, choosing instead to devote her time to the lending library she runs. When a mountain-sized stranger walks through her door and asks to borrow a book, she steels herself against the attraction he provokes. His halting speech and hesitant manner leave her doubting his intelligence. Yet as the mysteries of the town’s new blacksmith unfold, Eden discovers hidden depths in him that tempt her heart.
Levi’s renewed commitment to his faith leads Eden to believe she’s finally found a man of honor and integrity, a man worthy of her love. But when the truth about his prodigal past comes to light, can this tarnished hero find a way to win back the librarian’s affections?

Jim Bowie & the Most Famous Blade in Texas

Jim Bowie–a name synonymous with Texas. Most of us know he died defending the Alamo, and that he wielded a big knife that now carries his name. But Jim Bowie was quite an interesting character.

Born in Kentucky in the spring of 1796, he moved with his parents and nine siblings west to the Red River, then Missouri and finally to Spanish Louisiana and Opelousas in 1812. Fluent in Spanish and French, Bowie was also proficient with pistol, rifle and knife. Bowie and his elder brother, Rezin, enlisted for the War of 1812, though they arrived too late for the fighting.

Now that they were out in the world, the Bowie brothers tried many things to make a living. In order to raise the money needed to take advantage of the rising land prices in Louisiana, they smuggled in slaves, making three trips to buy slaves from the pirate Jean LaFitte and selling them in Louisiana. Of course, they’d worked a deal where they bought the very slaves they’d smuggled in and got back half the price he paid.

In 1825, three of the Bowie boys bought a plantation and established the first steam mill used to grind sugar cane in Louisiana. When they sold out, they used their profits to move on to another plantation in Arkansas.

“The adult Bowie was described by his brother John as “a stout, rather raw-boned man, of six feet height, weighed 180 pounds.” He had light-colored hair, keen grey eyes “rather deep set in his head,” a fair complexion, and high cheek-bones. Bowie had an “open, frank disposition,” but when aroused by an insult, his anger was terrible.”

Always rather fearless, Bowie cut a path for himself all the way to Mexico. As early as 1819, he was working to liberate Texas from Spanish rule. In 1830, he moved to Texas, took the oath of allegiance to Mexico and settled in Saltillo, where he learned of an old law that allowed a Mexican citizen could purchase eleven-league grants in Texas for $100 to $250 each. Bowie urged Mexicans to apply for the eleven-league grants, which he purchased from them. When Jim Bowie left Saltillo a few months later, he owned fifteen or sixteen of these grants. At 4,428.4 acres per grant, Bowie was becoming a rather wealthy man.

Bowie, now age thirty-four, was at his prime. He was well traveled, convivial, loved music, and was generous. He also was ambitious and scheming, played cards for money, and lived in constant state of debt.

When he arrived in San Antonio, he posed as a man of wealth and attached himself to the wealthy Veramendi family. In the autumn of 1830, he accompanied the family back to Saltillo, and on October 5 officially became a Mexican citizen. The citizenship, however, was contingent on his establishing wool and cotton mills in Coahuila, so, through a friend back in Natchez, Bowie purchased a textile mill for $20,000.

On April 25, 1831, Bowie married Ursula de Veramendi, the daughter of a Mexican Governor. But marriage didn’t settle his lust for adventure. He led a fruitless search for the “lost” Los Almagres Mine, somewhere west of San Antonio, and was given the title of “Colonel” when he led twenty-six citizen “rangers” to scout the head of the Colorado River for hostile Indians. He came back empty-handed that time, too.

After the death of his wife and two young children of cholera in 1833, Bowie became a land commissioner for the Texas-Coahuila government, promoting land settlement in Texas. In May of 1835, Mexican President and General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna abolished that government and ordered the arrest of all Texans doing business in the new capital. In response, Bowie led a small group of Texas “militia” to San Antonio in July and seized a stack of muskets in the Mexican armory there.

On October 3, 1835, Santa Anna abolished all state legislatures in Mexico. Former Empresario to Mexico Stephen F. Austin, newly elected to command the volunteer army of Texas, issued a call to arms and placed Jim Bowie on his staff as a colonel. William B. Travis also joined the new army. Bowie led forays south of Bexar and successfully commanded his troops at the battle of Concepción, but he had little interest in formal command, and tried repeatedly to resign from his position.

Sounds to me like General Sam Houston foundthe best way to use Bowie when he asked himto organize a guerilla force to harass the Mexican army in December of 1835.

From here, Bowie’s fate is set in motion. In January, 1836, Bowie returned to Bexar with an order from Houston to demolish the fortifications. After seeing the situation, he recommended that they hold Bexar instead, because of its strategic position. William Travis, now a lieutenant colonel, arrived with thirty men on February 3; David Crockett rode in with twelve men on the eighth. The garrison at the Alamo now had nearly 190 men.

On February 11, Lt. Colonel Travis took command of the garrison. On the 12th, the volunteers elected Bowie to command. On February 13, Bowie and Travis worked out a compromise giving Travis command of the regulars, Bowie command of the volunteers, and both men joint authority over garrison orders and correspondence.

Before dawn on March 6, 1836, while Bowie was confined to a cot with what is believed to be advanced tuberculosis, the Mexican Army under Santa Anna attacked and killed all 188 defenders of the Alamo.

“During Bowie’s lifetime, he had been described as ” a clever, polite gentleman…attentive to the ladies on all occasions…a true, constant, and generous friend…a foe no one dared to undervalue and many feared.” Slave trader, gambler, land speculator, dreamer, and hero, James Bowie in death became immortal in the annals of Texas history.”

—I’m saving the part about the knife for next time.

Karen Witemeyer Returns to the Junction


Hello Darlings,

Miss Karen Witemeyer has boarded the stage and will arrive in the Junction on Saturday. This will make her third time to visit.

The dear lady has plenty of reason to celebrate. Her first book is a finalist in Romance of America’s prestigious RITA contest. Yep, Miss Karen is walking on air. This go ’round she’ll talk about the old art of flower pressing. I’m sure you’ll all want to weigh in on the subject.

Miss Karen is toting a copy of her new book TO WIN HER HEART to give away. You’ll want to get your name in the hat for sure.

So strap on your spurs and saddle up.

The Junction is the place and Saturday’s the day. Don’t forget now!

Who Introduced You To The Joys of Reading?

 I’ll never forget a particular trip to the library. My mom heard about the summer reading program and off we went.  It was quite the adventure!  The Granada Hills Branch of the Los Angeles Public Library had just opened, and it was right next to Petit Park, another brand new facility. I walked out of the building (which at the time seemed huge) with my own library card and a stack of books that included Carolina’s Courage by Elizabeth Yates.

Carolina’s Courage is about a young girl who leaves her New Hampshire home to travel west with her family.  They’re part of a wagon train, and Carolina’s most beloved possession is her china doll. Somewhere in the story she reluctantly trades it with a little Indian girl, and it’s that trade that leads to peace and safe passage for the entire wagon train.

Carolina’s Courage was the first “western” I ever read.  I’m so glad my mom took me to the library that summer. At summer’s end I’d read 25 books, each noted in my little-girl block printing and acknowledged with a stick-on gold star. That first summer reading program led to many others, and I will be forever grateful to the librarians who made it such fun. I discovered Laura Ingalls Wilder at the library.  Same with Jack London . . . Later I moved on to Willa Cather’s My Antonia and O Pioneers.

Both of my grandmothers also encouraged my love of books.  I was about ten years old when Nana Bylin bought me my first Black Stallion book.  I read it fast, and then I read it again.  Every week for the next few months, she had a new book waiting for me.  When we finished the Black Stallion series, we launched into Nancy Drew. That was good for a year of reading! 

My other grandmother played a different role in my love for books. She was a writer at heart.  She never ventured into fiction, but she wrote wonderful letters. She lived about 400 miles away when I was in middle school, and we wrote weekly.  I wish now she’d written her memories in a journal. I don’t have the details, but she and her family traveled to New Braunfels, Texas in a covered wagon. 

The other individuals who encouraged me to read were elementary school teachers.  My fifth grade teacher put Caddie Woodlawn  into my hands and I loved it.  Every week when we went to the school library, I found something new and intriguing. For a while, I was hooked on biographies. I discovered Sacajawea  on the biography shelf and read it many times.

Has this blog jogged your memory?  What books do you remember reading as a child?  Do you remember the very first chapter book you ever read?  Books have always been magical to me. They still are!

Congratulations to Miss Linda!


Hey y’all, git out the party hats and noise makers for our very own


Linda Broday!


Her novella, UNDERTAKING TEXAS, from the “Give Me A Texas Ranger” anthology, is a finalist in the National Readers Choice Awards!


Now, you may not ‘a heard of it, but trust me, this is one important contest! And we’re just bustin’ our buttons for her. So please join all the Fillies in a great big YEE-HAW for Miss Linda!!!


  Today I have something kind of “unwestern-y” to blog about–it’s a short story of mine called TO MAKE THE MAGIC LAST.  It first appeared in an anthology put out by VICTORY TALES PRESS last summer called A SUMMER COLLECTION. All the stories in the collection took place in the summer, but they could have been during any time period. Mine, I decided, would take place in a contemporary setting. 
In Oklahoma where I live is part of the area known as “tornado alley.”  The story opens with a newly divorced police officer starting down the stairs of his apartment building with the tornado sirens wailing in the distance.  All in a day’s work for a police officer in Oklahoma City, but the excitement is only just beginning on this very unusual day. Who would ever expect to find love in the middle of Latino gang warfare and a tornado? 
I was so pleased that my story was included in one of the very first anthologies that VICTORY TALES PRESS put out, and I can’t say enough good things about Rebecca Vickery and her up-and-coming publishing company. TO MAKE THE MAGIC LAST also appears now as a “stand alone” short story in one of the VTP imprint companies. 
One thing that is very exciting to me about this story is that my daughter created the cover for the e-book stand alone version. I have several new releases heading your way over this summer, and wanted to start by showcasing this short story, the only non-western one of the bunch!
I will be giving away 2 copies of TO MAKE THE MAGIC LAST–all you have to do is leave a comment.  Please check back later on this evening to see who the winners are!  I hope you enjoy!
The set up: 

To Make the Magic Last 

Police officer, Steve Cooper, heads out for work one morning just as the city’s tornado sirens blast a warning. In the stairwell he runs into a different situation—a gang war in his apartment building. Shots ring out and Steve catches a bullet. Seriously injured, he pushes the beautiful woman who has come through the door behind him back toward safety.

Christy Reed, his enchanting new neighbor, pulls him into her apartment and attempts to stop the bleeding. Recently arrived from Mississippi, Christy has no idea what the sirens and gunfire mean, but she knows enough to be terrified.

The phone lines aren’t working and the storm is bearing down. They take refuge in the bathroom as the sound of a freight train roars over the building. Through the pain, Steve finds himself drawn to Christy. There’s some sort of magic about her. Christy feels the same about Steve. He’s the man she’s always dreamed of meeting.

When the building collapses around them and they meet the gunmen once more, will Steve and Christy have what it takes to help each other through this? Can they make the magic last?

The wind was roaring outside, deafening even in the small bathroom.  They were practically yelling to be heard above the storm.

Hesitantly, Christy crawled over the side of the tub, careful of where she placed her hands.    Finally, his good arm came around her in a strong embrace, pulling her down flush with his body until she lay on top of him.  She tried to hold herself away from his shoulder, but he drew her down, tucking her head beneath his chin, and she reached to pull the comforter around them.

Steve could feel her shaking as she lay down.  She was more afraid of the storm than the gunmen, it seemed.  But as soon as he thought it, she asked, “Do you think they were after you, or just anyone who came down the stairwell?”

Her breath was warm against his neck, the comforter enveloping them in a cocoon of false security.  The wind roared outside, deafening in the small bathroom.  There was a high-pitched sound of rending metal, the heavy clunking noise of tearing wood, and Steve knew the roof of the building was gone.

Christy gasped, pressing closer into his chest.  He patted her awkwardly, his arm at an odd angle.  After a moment, he answered her question.  “Neither.  They were after each other.” They’d been yelling at each other in Spanish, he remembered.  He had just happened to walk into the middle of rival Latino gang warfare, ongoing in this neighborhood, day and night.  What was a girl like Christy doing in this area?  “Right now, this storm is more of a threat.”

She had stopped shaking despite the fact the storm still blew with wild strength outside.  She seemed to have forgotten it, lying so close to him.  But he knew they were still in terrible danger, and he might not get the chance to tell her what he needed to say if he waited.

A long moment of silence hung between them, the only sound the worsening storm outside.  “Christy.” He touched her arm again, and she glanced up.  “Thanks for trying to . . . help me.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Her voice sounded muffled, he thought.  Like she was crying, and trying to hide it.  “Sure you did.”  The comforter was soft. The bleeding was stopped.  And, Steve decided, he loved the feel of Christy Reed’s body on his, warm and curvy, and more comforting than that damn piece of down-filled material ever could be.

Her fingers slowly curled into the folds of his once-starched uniform, then settled against the soft cotton tee shirt.

“You’re doing it . . . even now, sweetheart.”

Slowly, she lifted her head and met his eyes in the dark haven they’d made.  “Steve—” she broke off, raking her teeth over her bottom lip quickly, nervously. 

He smiled at that habit of hers, thinking how he’d like to kiss her; how he wished he knew her better; how it would seem to her if he even  . . . 

Hell with it.  He pulled her to him slowly, her lips coming across his, warm and sweet and soft as the brush of butterfly wings.  Uncertainly, she tasted his mouth, and he opened for her, letting her explore him.  Her right hand moved to his jawline, her thumb skimming his cheekbone before her fingers found their way to thread through his hair.

“What’s happening to us?” she murmured, drawing back slowly to look at him. 

Her voice was quiet and low, and Steve realized that they must be in the eye of the storm.  There was no sound but the rain now, and far away in the distance, the wail of a siren somewhere. “Magic,” he whispered, believing it himself.  He’d never felt so protective of any other woman—even Lacey.  Christy needed him, but she was a giver, too.

She shook her head and lay back down against his chest.  “Magic always fades away.”

Not this time, he wanted to say.  But he was too exhausted to form the words.  Instead, his hand drifted to her short curls, tangling gently there, finding comfort in the clean softness. She’d been hurt before, he knew; he could hear it in her voice.  He wanted to know who…and why.  But he couldn’t ask—not right now. He couldn’t keep himself awake.  “Christy, I’m . . . so tired.”

  There was a long pause.  He knew she was afraid, not only of the storm and the predators, but also of what was happening between them—the magic they’d made so suddenly, the fire that had kindled so unexpectedly between them.  He wouldn’t let it disappear, he thought fiercely.  She was something special—he could feel that already.  Something worth holding onto.“I know, darling,” she whispered finally.  “Just rest, okay?  I’ll be here when you wake up.”

We Have a Winner!

We have a winner!  Actually we have 3.  My husband, who pulled the names, pulled out two instead of one name.  Plus, Melinda, I hear you on your grief, and it seems only fair that I give you a book that might take you away for a time from the pain of losing a good friend.  Anyway, the winners are…drumroll…Becky Ward and Kirsten Arnold.  CONGRATULATIONS!

Okay, so Becky and Kirsten and Melinda, I need you to email me privately with your address so I can send the books out to you.  Also, if you already have some of my books, let me know so I can gift you with one that you haven’t read.  Again, congratulations!!

The Romance of the West

Good Morning or Afternoon!

Looking at picture after picture of the West, I’ve come to believe that part of the romance of the West was, indeed, the expanse of land, freedom from old World forces that sought to enslave one and the sheer awe and beauty of the land.

So today I thought I’d take you on a tour through the eyes of those who were there when the country was first discovered — and who had the talent to get that image onto canvas.  One of those people was Karl Bodmer. 

Karl Bodmer was a Swiss artist who accompanied Prince Maximilian of Wied on his journey into the Americas.  Bodmer was only 22 years old when the Prince asked him to come along with him on this memorable journey.  Interestingly, Bodmer toured the American West a mere years apart from another artist, George Catlin.

The two men (Maximilian & Bodmer) set off on their journey on May 7, 1832.  Their voyage across the Atlantic took only two months, when they reached Boston. They then made their way west by means of the steamboats of the day, and on foot.  The picture on the left by the way is Niagara Falls and the one off to the right here is Citadel Rock.

Their trip took them 28 months, and Karl painted hundreds of pictures — to my mind, the people of the West bring his work to life, but I also love his pictures of the land and the animals that were here at that time.  Off to the left here is a painting of buffalo and elk quietly grazing on the upper Missouri area.

To the right is a painting called the white walls in the upper Missouri area.  Bodmer originally was a landscape artist, but he more than met the task given him by giving us very real, very beautiful paintings of the people of the time.

And here to the left are the white castels, which are once again in the upper Missouri region.  Can’t you feel the atmosphere of the area?  Its time and place?  Doesn’t it impart in you a sense of freedom, a place where the soul can stretch out to the farthest reaches?  Beautiful!

Here’s another one, only this time the area is Indiana — at the mouth of the Fox River.  You can almost hear the gurgling of the water in the background, can’t you?  Of course, Indiana is pretty far away from the upper Missouri area, but at this time in our history, Indiana was also an untouched land.  Here the tribes of the Sacs and Fox roamed.

But I think, as I’ve mentioned before here on the blogs, the picture off to my right is my favorite of Bodmer’s work.  I have sat by the hour looking at this picture — for it inspired one of my favorite books, THE SPIRIT OF THE WOLF.  Although this replica is good, it’s nothing like the prints that I have in my books, because it doesn’t impart the height of this particular warrior.  This picture is of an Assiniboine brave, and a man thought of very  highly by others in his tribe.  In THE SPIRIT OF THE WOLF, the hero is also Assiniboine, and he looks of course very much like this picture.  Interestingly, this painting also inspired another aspect of that book…gambling…because the hero of that book wins the heroine.  Written around the time of the 200th year anniversary of the Lewis & Clark adventure, I thought I’d mimic the true story of Sacagewea.  This book is still for sale at Amazon, here:

I’ll be giving away a free book today to some lucky blogger.   Oh, and by the way, Connie — where are you, Connie?  You were the winner from 2 weeks ago — so please do email me.  But for everyone else, come on in an leave a comment.  Let’s talk.

The OTHER Stars Of Bonanza

One of the great TV Westerns of the 60s, perhaps of all time, was Bonanza.  I remember it being a must-see at our house on Sunday evenings.  And my parents enjoyed it as much as me and my siblings.  I learned a lot over the years about the stars who played those larger-than-life Cartwright men, but it was only recently, when I stumbled across an article on the topic, that I learned about the other, less celebrated stars – namely the horses.  I thought I’d share some of what I learned with you all.

First of all, none of the actors owned their horses – at least not while the show was filming.  They weren’t owned by the studio either.  They were owned by Fat Jones Stables, an operation that had a long history – all the way back to 1912! –  of providing horses to movie and television productions.

Because Bonanza was the first TV Western to be filmed in color, the mounts for the Cartwright family were chosen with an eye to how they would stand out in this new medium.  But each actor also had considerable input into the selection of his horse.

Let’s take the horses in the order of their rider’s family position:

Ben Cartwright:  His horse was named Buck, logical since he was a Buckskin.  The horse was 12 years old at the start of the series, weighed in at about 1100 pounds and stood a little over 15 hands tall.   It was said that Lorne Greene did not care much for horses, but when the series ended its 14 year run, he purchased Buck from the stable because he was concerned with what might happen to the animal otherwise.  That same year, Lorne turned around and donated Buck to a therapeutic riding facility that worked with mentally and physically challenged children and youth.  Buck spent his remaining years there and by all accounts was a big hit.  Buck lived to the ripe old age of 45.

Adam Cartwright:  Adam’s horse in the show was named Scout.  But Scout was not the original horse selected for the role.  In fact the first two horses, Candy and Beauty, both proved to be fractious in front of the cameras and had to be sent back to the stables as not right for the part.  When Scout was brought in, he proved to be not only well behaved but a good match for actor Pernell Roberts.  Scout was a gelded 7/8 thoroughbred who weighed in at 1100 pounds.  Roberts rode Scout for three seasons.  Near the close of that third season, Scout and Dan Blocker’s horse  got mired in the mud during filming, causing an accident.  Whether related to the accident or not, within a month Scout was acting up, tossing his head around and generally refusing to behave during filming as he had before.  By the start of the fourth season, Scout had been sent back to the stables and replaced with a horse that was almost identical in appearance.  The only difference was that the new horse had four white socks as opposed to the three sported by the original Scout.

Hoss Cartwright:  I had trouble finding much information on Chub, the horse Dan Blocker rode.  Chub was a half quarter horse, half thoroughbred horse who was selected not only for his temperament but for his ability to carry a man of Dan Blocker’s imposing size.  Chub stood 15.3 hands tall and weighed a sturdy 1250 pounds.  The horse’s most distinctive feature was the crooked blaze down his face.   Chub remained with the series during its entire run and outlived Blocker.

Joe Cartwright:  Michael Landon selected a Paint named Tomahawk to be his mount on the show.  The horse’s ‘character name’ was Cochise.  Standing 15.3 hands tall and weighing in at 1150 pounds, it was second in size only to Hoss’s mount.  Tomahawk was with the show for more than five seasons.  During the sixth season tragedy struck in a truly terrible incident.  A demented intruder broke into the Fat Jones Stables and stabbed several of the horses, among them Tomahawk.  The vet was able to save some of the victims but several of the injured animals had to be euthanized, including Tomahawk.  Landon was both saddened and outraged by what happened and offered a sizable reward for the capture of the responsible party, but the perpetrator was never identified.  In subsequent episodes a number of Paints were used to play the role of Joe’s horse Cochise.


So there you have it – some trivia about the four horses who carried the Cartwrights.  Did any of this surprise you?  Do you have any particular memories of the show and did you have a favorite from among the animals?

Kelly Boyce’s Winner


Oh my goodness, what a wonderful time we had talking about westerns! Miss Kelly picked a great subject.

Now for the drawing……………..


I’m dancing a jig for you, Estella! To claim your prize, just drop Miss Kelly a note at kelly (at) kellyboyce (dot) com and let her know how to send you the e-copy of her book.

Miss Kelly thanks everyone who stopped by to make her visit so special. Keep visiting the Junction for more interesting things.