Karen Kay

KAREN KAY aka GEN BAILEY is the multi-published author of American Indian Historical Romances. She has written for such prestigious publishers as AVON/HarperCollins, Berkley/Penguin/Putnam and Samhain Publishing. KAREN KAY’S great grandmother was Choctaw Indian and Kay is honored to be able to write about the American Indian Culture.

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Favorite Kiss — Day Five

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Howdy!
Well, this is the final day of our excerpts of our favorite kiss. Let’s have a look first, however, at yesterday’s excerpts. The first excerpt, which was not only inspiring, but so well written that it brought a smile to my face — “that can never happen again…” Yeah, right… Okay, did you guess Mary Connelly? If so you are very, very right.

 

 

And for the next favorite kiss excerpt. Did you guess Charlene Sands? Ah, you are doing so very, very well. Charlene is one of those author’s whose word useage is a little like poetry, isn’t it? Okay now it may seem apparent that Pam Crooks and Pat Potter are the only two fillies left to share their favorite kissing scenes with you. And while this is true, you still have to guess which one is theirs. Are you ready? Here’s the next filly favorite kiss.

“Bathe with me, Elena,” he whispered. He sucked gently against the curve of her neck. “Then make love to me.”

Her breath caught at his bold proposition, and she trembled again. “I can’t.”

“I want you.” He dragged his teeth slowly along her jaw. Licked and tasted her wet skin. “You have any idea how much?”

“Jeb.” She’d kept her arms between them, but now, they unfolded and moved to his chest, her palms tentative against him, as if she wanted to snake her arms around his neck but held back before she did. “Please.”

“Please what? Please make love to me, Jeb? Please strip me naked and get in the water with me, Jeb?” he taunted in a husky whisper.

She pressed her lips together. But her eyes closed, and she angled her head, giving him freedom to nuzzle her some more.

“What do you want, Elena?” Persistent, his hands rubbed down her spine, spread to cup her buttocks in his palms. He pressed her against him, let her feel how hard he was for her. “Tell me.”

A sound of distress escaped her, and her arms lifted hesitantly to his shoulders. Still, she held back, and he marveled at her self-control when his own was disintegrating like smoke in the wind. He dragged hot kisses over her cheek, her cheekbone, the corner of her eye.

He tasted the salt of a single tear snared in her lashes, and he knew, then, he was moving too fast. Ramon de la Vega had tromped upon her womanly needs with his violence and buried them so deep he made her afraid to feel them again.

Afraid.

Jeb swore inwardly and reined in tight his own needs. Elena had been through hell. He had to remember that. He had to give her the time she needed to heal.

Damn it, he intended to see that she did. A beautiful, vibrant woman like Elena needed a man to pleasure her senseless until she felt so utterly female she would forget that horrible hell she once lived.

Jeb took her mouth with his in a gentle but persistent assault of kisses. They would be the beginning, his kisses. To break through the barriers of apprehension and resistance until she couldn’t deny she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

His hands slid back up her spine and circled her tight. She rose up on tiptoe, letting him hold her, kiss her over and over. She molded to him, her lips moving, seeking. Wet.

His blood burned hotter. He didn’t know how long he could keep his restraints in place with all she made him feel. He groaned, low and not a little frustrated, then pulled back, fisting his hand into the soap-clean tangles of her hair. ”

Isn’t that wonderfully hot? I think I might need a cold shower. I’m away from home right now, and…

And now for our final filly favorite kiss.

Okay, did you guess? Try to guess before I post the answer, okay?

And here’s our last, but not least, famous kiss: ###

I had a problem here. My favorite kiss runs ten pages.
It comes from “Notorious.” The hero and heroine are both in their forties and both misfits. He’s a cynical gunfighter who wins a saloon in San Francisco and sees it as a chance for redemption. She’s a former child prostitute who owns the saloon next door and has no intention sharing the clientele. They declare war, including her having him shanghaied.
Here’s the beginning of their first kiss:
“Their voices had lowered into little more than husky whispers. The air in the closed carriage was sparking, hissing, cracking. Threatening to ignite. His hand moved to her arm, his fingers running up and down it in slow, caressingly sensuous trails.
“The heat surrounding them was as intense as that in the heart of a volcano. Intense and violent. She wondered very briefly if this was a version of hell. She had just decided it was when he bent toward her, his lips brushing over hers.
” And heaven and hell collided. . .
“The kiss had been as inevitable as day following night.
“Marsh had known it from the moment he saw her in the Glory Hole.
“The only way in hell to get her out of his system was this, and he was deadly determined to accomplish it. He’d hoped that the fireworks which constantly surrounded them would prove to be nothing more than a brief flurry of sound and fury. He hoped Shakespeare would forgive him for his literary liberties, but the diversion helped in reestablishing some kind of equilibrium.
“Until his lips touched hers.
“He hadn’t really known what to expect. Ice that would cool the damned heat burning him inside out? Emptiness that would swallow his unexpected and disturbing need?
“But there was no ice, No emptiness.
“She was as unwilling a participant as he in the damnable attraction, the veritable hurricane of desire that engulfed them. It was explosive, filled with the hot expectancy of a pending lethal storm. Her lips, at first reluctant, wary, suddenly yielded, yet he knew she wasn’t surrendering. Instead, he suspected, their mutual astonishment stunned her into a certain acceptance. He wanted to explore, to taste, to test. Even savor the currents of hot pleasure that surged through him.
“He felt her arms go around him, just as his had wrapped her tightly against him. Gingerly at first. Even reluctantly, but inevitably, as if some force propelled her against her will. He felt every movement in her body, every quiver, every stiffening awareness as his own arousal pressed into her. How long had it been since he’d felt this alive? Had he ever felt like this before . . . even before war, and hate and revenge had robbed him of feeling??”
“A low moan rumbled through his body as, unaccountably, his mouth gentled in a way it hadn’t since long, long ago. It was new, so new, so enticing, this very odd tenderness. He didn’t understand where it came from, where it had been lurking to emerge at this damnably inconvenient time. Still, it was . . . pleasant. More than pleasant as their lips explored this strange new sensation.
“Her mouth opened hesitantly under his lips, greeting him with an unexpected longing that he felt straight through to his core, and his tongue ran knowingly over the sensitive crevices of her mouth. He lifted his head slightly, his gaze moving to her eyes, and he was almost lost in the smoldering green of them, even as he sensed the hostility that was still there.”

And it goes on.

###
Did you guess Pam Crooks for the first kiss? If so, you are very, very clever.

And did you guess Pat Potter for the second filly favorite kiss? You did? I applaude you!

And now, in case you didn’t catch it from my first post, there will be a prize awarded for one lucky person who tried guessing at our exciting scenes of passionate kissing. However, instead of having to have guessed correctly each and every time, I am going to place all you who have participated every day into a hat and draw out the lucky winner.

I want to thank each and every one of you for participating in our favorite kisses. More later after we’ve had the drawing. In the meantime, I wish you passionate, soul-stirring kisses.

Favorite Kiss — Day Four

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Howdy to all you Western Romance Lovers!

 

Well, here we are on day four of our author’s favorite kiss.  Let’s go over yesterday’s post first, though, shall we?  

 

Did you guess me, Karen Kay, for the first favorite kiss?  If so, you are entirely right.  This kiss was inspired by the first kiss I received from my husband-to-be, way back in 1996.  We were married shortly after that kiss.  : )  It was soul stirring and had me “waking up,” wondering, “who is this man?”  Needless to say we’ve been married now for 12 years.

          


And the second favorite kiss?  Did you guess Cheryl St. John?  If you did, you are entirely correct.  A more intensely written, suck-you-in, gotta-read-more kiss you may not find. 

 

And now for today’s excerpts.  We have some more soul-wrenching, hot, hot scenes for you today!  So cuddle up and read on.

 

 

 

            Grant heaved a sigh of despair. “They’ll never leave my family alone.” He turned to face Hannah. “They were this mad after yesterday and yesterday there was no trouble. Just wait until one of your students goes home crying because Sadie beat him in a spelling bee. That bunch will be back.”

            Grant noticed Hannah’s hands were trembling as she crossed her arms.

“I can’t believe they let me off as easily as they did. I thought I was done for from the minute they showed up because I was going to quit before I let them drive your children out of the school.”

            “Don’t sacrifice your job, Hannah.” Grant put his hat on with a rough jerk of the brim and turned to go. “I don’t expect you to do that for me.”

            “I wouldn’t cross the street for you, you idiot.” She grabbed his arm and spun him around.

She only managed to manhandle him because he was turning back toward her anyway in surprise. Grant had one split second after she exploded, to marvel at how well she’d kept her cool with that posse of orphan haters. Then she attacked.

            “If you think I’d side with that mean-spirited, selfish bunch of vigilantes over your children. You don’t—”

            Grant held up both hands to ward her off. “Look, Hannah, I didn’t mean—”

            Hannah grabbed the lapels of his flannel shirt. “—have any idea who I am. Why, if you think—”

            “It’s not that. I didn’t say—” Grant backed up a step.  

Hannah followed him all the way to the wall. “—I’ll stand by and let Sadie get thrown out of school because of the color of her skin—”

            “I’m sorry. Really, Hannah. I wasn’t suggesting—” Grant, caught her hands where they were shaking his collar. She seemed determined to strangle him to death.

            She tightened her grip. “—or slam the door in the face—”

            Grant stopped trying to placate her and leaned over her, “Listen, I didn’t mean to imply you had anything against orphans. If you’ll—”

            “—of any child—”

            All his tension uncoiled like a striking rattler. “—just shut up for a second—” He pulled her hands off his throat.

            She yanked away from his grip. “—orphan or not—”

            “I’ve got a lot more to lose here than you.” He just needed her to shut up for a minute so he could tell her how much he appreciated her standing by him, and how sorry he was she had to face down a mob, and how annoying she was, and how pretty, and sweet.

“—who wants to learn—”

He turned her around and trapped her. “—and let me apologize, I’ll—”

            She turned her face up, her eyes flashed with fire and spirit, her cheeks flushed. “—then you’re the most insulting man I’ve ever—”

He couldn’t think of any other way to close her yapping mouth.

He kissed her.

            It worked.

She shut up.

            He jumped back so fast he tripped over a desk. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

            “You shouldn’t have done that.” Hannah covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide, watching him like he’d grown rattles and fangs and attacked her.

            Grant shook his head and felt his brain rattle, so maybe he was close to growing the fangs and he was very much afraid he might attack her again.

            Hannah ran her tongue over her lips as if she wanted to wash the taste of him away. Or just taste him. “That can’t ever happen again!”

            “That can never happen again.” Grant couldn’t back farther because of the desk. That’s the only possible reason he went forward instead. And kissed her again.

 

#

 

I love this scene.  And now for the next favorite kiss: 

He held her carefully, without menace or threat, and she went willingly to him, allowing him the liberty of brushing her body to his, finding his gentle strength thrilling.

 

A half smile on his lips brought her attention to his mouth, and when she looked at him, he searched her face for a moment, their eyes locking. Hidden against the dark side of the barn, where moonlight seemed to have vanished, Clint dropped his hands lower, his fingers splaying wide, making circles on the small of her back, sending magnificent shivers spiraling through her body.

 

 “You like the feel of that, honey?”

 

His voice flowed out like smooth silk. Tess swallowed and stood still, wanting his touch but fearing it, too. He moved his hands farther down, to the very tips of her derriere, stirring her senses and creating havoc inside. Her breaths came rapidly and her emotions rocked out of control. “You know what I want to do.”

 

Silk again, smooth and edged with promise. “Clint,” she said, meant as a warning, but his name came out a breathless whisper.

 

He smiled right before he cupped her head with one hand and drew her lips to his.  Their mouths mated and she reeled from the initial contact. Every nerve ending tingled with pleasure. Sure and confidently, he moved his mouth over hers but with enough gentleness to assure her freedom. It was her decision to make, but ultimately it was not.

 

She couldn’t deny the impact of his kiss or the flutters inside from being claimed by this man. He stroked her lips with the tip of his tongue, outlining their shape, then plunged deeper into her mouth, until small pleasured sounds escaped her throat. Their tongues mated, causing rapid-fire heat to shoot through to her woman’s center.  A tiny ache built between her legs, and she felt unfulfilled and needy, a sensation altogether new to Tess.

 

She cupped Clint’s face now, responding to his passion and stroking him the way he did her returning his kisses with equal enthusiasm. He held her firmly and she arched her back allowing him access to her throat. He drizzled kisses there, wetting her skin and catching the coolness of the outside air. Her senses spiraling out of control, she barely felt the sash to her robe coming undone. It hung now from her shoulders exposing her chemise.  “I’ve seen you without this robe, Tess. I want to see you again.”

 

#

 

Hot!  Hot!  And a beautiful useage of words, I think.  It’s a little like hot poetry, don’t you think?  Do you know who wrote it?  Well, come on in and let’s talk about it.

Favorite Kiss — Day Three

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Good Morning!

Are you ready for some more of those sizzling hot kissing scenes?  Let’s have a look at our scenes from yesterday.  Quote #1, which was very, very beautiful.  Did you guess Linda Broday?  If you did you are so very, very right.

And how about the second scene.  Wasn’t that hot?  Did you guess Kate Bridges?  Again, if you did, you are very right.

And not for our next kissing scene.  Are you ready?  Here we go:

#

“She should back away.  She tried to make herself do it; she couldn’t.  His head gradually descended toward her.  And her reaction?  She leaned in closer.

Then it happened.  His head came fully down to hers.  She didn’t even have a chance to think before all at once his lips crushed down on hers, and in that moment Genevieve thought her world might surely end.

It was a savage kiss…and yet it wasn’t.

Her stomach twisted in response to him; her limbs refused to move, and she couldn’t think to question why this man would be kissing her.

In truth, there were a thousand things she should have done, a hundred things she should have uttered.  She neither said nor did any of them.  Instead, she stepped in closer toward him, and if anything, he leaned farther down.

The kiss deepened, going from savage to sensual, and Genevieve became unable to think of anything else but those lips on her own, their feel, their warmth, ther…arrousal.  She responded in an odd way, too, as though she had known this man all her life, as though he were some titled gent, as though this man belonged to her and she had every right to–

He broke off the kiss, and Lady Genevieve stood still for a moment, not able to move, not able to produce one coherent thought.

She noted that somehow her hands had found their way onto his chest, that somehow she had drawn in even closer to him, that–

“You see,” he broke into her thoughts.  “I was right.  You are a woman of no honor.”

She could only stare at him for several moments, and it was a long time before she could speak, and then only uttering, “Oh!”

She backed up then, but her gaze never left him, and she wondered what she should do. She felt suddenly as though she should return the insult with cutting words of her own or, faililng that, at least shove him away.  But she did neither.

Glancing down, Lady Genevieve lifted the hem of her dressing gown.  Taking one step back, she pivoted away, fleeing the cabin in a fluidity of motion that would have rivaled the swift descent of a hawk, the swish of her dressing gown the only echo of her distress.

But one thought kept coming back to haunt her as she fled down the steamship’s corridor.  She had never been more excited in her life.”

#

Do you know who wrote this scene?  Is it?…

a)  Karen Kay

b)  Pam Crooks

c)  Charlene Sands

And here’s the second kiss scene.  Can you guess who authored this?

“You don’t know me and you don’t know about my life.”

            “I know something about self-denial and sacrifice,” he told her.

            She could only look at him.  Wonder what he spoke of.  Wonder why he cared what she did with her life.  He didn’t know anything about her or the things that had shaped her into the woman that stood before him.  His touch on her wrist radiated warmth along her arm and sparked an awakening fire that humiliated her.

            This time the look in his eyes was not amusement or curiosity.  He was looking at her with sensual awareness, with restless heat and keen longing that ripped the air from her lungs as though she’d been struck.

            She lost track of any coherent words she might have thought to say.  Her attention focused on his lips, parted now and shaped with a fascinating bow in the upper and tempting fullness in the lower.  Her heart chugged like a freight train climbing the Rockies, and her breath caught.

            In the seconds that followed, she wasn’t quite sure how she came to be standing in the circle of his arms or when he’d released her wrist and wrapped that arm around her shoulder to draw her close against him, but the next thing she knew they were locked in an embrace and she was kissing him back with all the longing and passion she’d buried for a lifetime.

            The kiss wasn’t wise, but it was real.  This feeling that exploded and took over her senses didn’t listen to caution, but blazed ahead and turned her bones to jelly.

            He was beautiful, this man.  Strong arms and hard chest, lips that delighted and aroused, and at that instant she would have given everything to cast the rest of the world aside and know only this man and this moment and never let go.

            Everything that had been asleep in her woke up at his bidding and pushed aside the tears she’d cried and the promises she’d made herself.  She’d made all the mistakes she was going to.  Wisdom was her ruling trait now.

            Seth kissed her as though he couldn’t get enough of her, as though he didn’t need air as much as he needed to taste her.  At the velvety touch of his tongue against hers, she sighed and collapsed against him, but he easily absorbed her weight and held her fast.

            He threaded his fingers into her hair and she reached to grasp his jaw.  His rough chin and cheek were an exotic texture she explored until her palm tingled.

            From the outer room the grandfather clock chimed the hour in deep resonating tones, and the sound filtered into Marvel’s senses, awakening her to reality.  Time wasn’t her friend.

 Who is the author? Is it:

1) Karen Kay

2) Cheryl St. John

3) Pat Potter

Come on in and enter your opinion and let’s debate, shall we?

 

 

Favorite Kiss — Day Two

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Good Morning!

Are you ready for the results from yesterday’s post?  Okay, kissing scene #1.  Did you guess Elizabeth Lane?  If you did, you are so very, very right.  What a spellbinding scene.

 
And the hot, hot post #2.  If you guessed Stacey Kayne, again you are right!  After reading that scene, I needed to call my husband home.  : )

Okay, here is kissing scene number three:

 

A jagged flash revealed her ashen face. He’d already lost what he spent his whole life looking for. Sucking in what little air remained, he gathered her into his arms. Then she tilted her face. If anyone had said looking at someone through tears could form halos around their head, he’d have called them crazy fools. He kissed the sightless, stone-washed eyes. Then the tip of her nose. Despite his intent to stop there, he could not. A groan rumbled in his throat. Trembling under her spell, he teased the curved mouth with tiny flutters of his tongue before he feasted fully on the bounty.

This is a beautiful scene. Can you guess who wrote it? Is it…
a) Karen Kay

b) Cheryl St. John

c) Linda Broday

And here’s kissing scene #4:

 

 

“Keep the coat. There’s just one more thing.”

At the low timbre of his voice, her stomach dropped to her toes. He slid an arm behind her back and crushed her body to his, then his lips thundered down on hers.

He kissed as though he’d been caged for a year. Hungry and primal. He slid his large hand behind her duster and up the back of her blouse, resting it just above the waistband where every fiber in her body seemed to connect with his heat. With his other hand, he cupped her face, so tantalizing, such a soft caress in contrast to the firm embrace of her body.

She kissed him back. Perhaps it was she who’d been caged for a year. 

#

Another hot, hot scene. Can you guess who wrote it?1) Cheryl St. John

1) Cheryl St. John

2) Pam Crooks

3) Kate Bridges 

Hope you are enjoying these wonderful, wonderful scenes.  If you have your own favorite kissing scene to tell us about, please come on in and tell us about it.

 

Favorite Kiss — Fillies sharing their favorite kiss

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And now for another Anniversary special — our own filly’s favorite kissing scene, taken from one of their books:  Can you guess which author wrote this?    Now this will be part of a contest.  However, since the writers of each scene will be listed each day, the way the contest will run is that each participant’s name will be put into a hat (or similar object) and the name drawn at random.  Okay?  So here we go!

Here’s the first one:

She whirled away from him and started for the door that led back into the hallway. Let him stay there. Let him crawl back to bed by himself or shout for help. She wasn’t putting up with his self-righteous arrogance another second!

She had almost reached the door when he caught her. His hand seized her shoulder with the strength of an iron vise and he whipped her back toward him. “Don’t tell me what I don’t know!” he muttered, jerking her hard against his chest.

His kiss arched her backward over his arm. Alex struggled against his strong hands and brutally seeking lips. Then suddenly, incredibly, she felt herself responding. A ripple of fevered excitement coursed through her as she softened against him and felt the hard contours of his aroused body through the thin silk. Her lips went molten beneath his. Her fingers dug into his flesh, clinging, demanding. Madness. It was running away with her and she couldn’t stop it—didn’t want to stop it.

No! Something in her was still fighting him, still struggling for control. This was insanity. He had no right!

He released her, and she spun away from him. They stood a pace apart, both of them breathing heavily. As Alex stared at him, she felt panic welling up in her body. She’d wanted a life in which there was no question of her being in control. Now, suddenly, she felt threatened. Rafe Garrick was all the things she despised in a man, all the things she had spent her life protecting herself from. And he had just violated her safe, well-ordered world.

Rage and fear exploded in her. Her hand came up and she struck him with all her strength across the face.

Dramatic!  Spellbinding!  Is the author of this:

a)  Charlene Sands

b) Elizabeth Lane

c) Pam Crooks

 And here’s another:

Lord, save me. She can even charm snakes.

Having unraveled her braids, her long hair rippled across her back and into the tall grass. The light afternoon breeze tugged at the wispy red ends. Her dress blended well with the blades of lush green, bonding her to the earth. She looked to be just as he’d named her, a little forest sprite, finding mischief and delight in the nature surrounding her.           
Jed shook off his trance-like state, released Sage and continued toward her. “Did they teach you to speak reptile at that fancy school back east?” he asked as he sat beside her.

“Jed!” Startled by the sound of his voice, Rachell nearly dropped the snake on her lap. “How do you creep about like that?”

“I’d be happy to show you, if you’d be willing to give me a lesson in reptile talk?”

She released the snake then glanced up at him with those pure green eyes. “What do you mean?”

Jed’s gaze settled on her succulent lips. He craved to press his lips to her sweet mouth, the way a drowning man craves air. Before he found the sense to stop himself, his lips were moving over hers in a light caress. She didn’t back away as he would have expected, nor did she show any sign of resistance when he lifted her hands from her lap and wrapped them around his neck.

His body surged with heat as she trembled in his arms while he traced the rim of her mouth with his tongue.

“I’m waiting for that flecking tongue,” he whispered.

Rachell’s eyes popped wide at the sound of Jed’s husky voice. Gracious! How had her fingers become entwined in his hair?

She’d been too caught up in the shivering bursts of heat rippling though her body and the caress of his lips to notice anything else. Her eyes drifted shut as his incredibly gentle hands continued to stroke her back. His mouth nibbled tenderly at her lips. She pushed her fingers deeper into his smooth, black hair, and was sure he liked it when he groaned, pulling her closer.

“Imp?”

She shivered as his tongue skimmed across the seam of her lips. Did he truly want her to stick out her tongue? Parting her lips, she discovered that was exactly what he wanted. His tongue didn’t wait, however, but came seeking, into her mouth.

Rachell was jolted by surprise and an unexpected rush of pleasure as Jed molded his mouth to hers. His scent, taste and texture surrounded her, consuming her. She gave herself to his kiss, swept up in the sweet intimacy and sheer wonder of the wild sensations coursing through her.

Belatedly, she felt the cool grass against her back, her sole focus on the rhythmic probing of Jed’s velvety tongue, encouraging her to take part in the delicious dance taking place inside their joined mouths. His restless hands carried fire across her body, caressing her shoulders, her sides, her hips.

Hot, Hot, Hot! Is the author of this:

a) Stacey Kayne

b) Pat Potter

c) Cheryl St. John

Tune in tomorrow for the answer, as well as more hot, hot kissing scenes.

 

The Old Medicine Men — Who were they? What could they do?

by

Howdy!

Although I’ve been talking recently about survival methods and preparedness and other things like this, I thought we might take a break to go over another topic that is dear to my heart.  The medicine man.  Next blog I’ll get back on topic of survival, okay?

Medicine men, who were they?  What could they do?  What were they expected to do?  As you might suppose, the medicine man was of necessity connected (more than any other member of the tribe) to the spiritual side of life.  If a boy showed promise, he would be taken under the wing of the current medicine and and trained rigorously.  His training would consist of scouting skills, where he would be required to be able to trace the paths of ants and other small, as well as large life.  He would be expected to be able to walk amongst the enemy without detection.  This helped to develop the mind of the boy, who was also taught as a scout to be able to detect in the wild when there was another and foreign presence.  Some of these scouts could tell you from the changes in air currents, when there was a foreign presence entered into the landscape and when there wasn’t.  He was also expected to survive with what he might consider luxury in any environment — going into it with nothing but the shirt on his back.

Many are the stories of medicine men who went out alone into some of the most hostile (yet beautiful) environments, where he was expected to “make it go right” and to survive and survive well.  Once mastered, the boy went on to train his body, and he was expected to train his body hard.  He joined in with games, he ran distances that would stagger us even by today’s standards — he was expected to be able to run all day with nothing but water to refresh him, and to arrive calmly and not even be out of breath.  The theory was that one had to have control over not only one’s mind, but be in the most excellent physical condition, if he were to be able to connect with the spiritual realm.  Both mind and body could hold the spirit back, thus the emphasis on training.

As you might expect, this training might take many years.  But once the boy had a master over his mind, as well as his body, he was ready to develop the other side his nature, the spiritual side.  Some call it the realm of the soul, some say spirit.  It was not the same as what we now have come to think of as a spiritualist.  Rather, the boy was expected to go out into the world and to observe it, to pray, to fast, to commune with the Creator and all life.  He was carefully watched and trained by the medicine man, but he was often sent out to remote places, there to find out who he was in relation to the world at large.

I have read some interesting tales of some of these medicine men, and their near escapes from death before they were at last able to trust to their environment and to the Creator.  I know of no tragedies.  I have read of some strife before the boy was able to become into possession of the spiritual side of life.

But what could a medicine man do?  What were his strengths?  What was expected of him?

All tribes were different, so let’s examine one tribe that I have studied somewhat — I don’t profess to know all there is to know about this subject.  Heaven forbid!  In the Lakota tribes (the Sioux), it was believed that the medicine men had lived amongst those supernaturals beings or lore, the Thunders, before his birth.   Thus, boys were watched for by the medicine man who would show signs that would point to his being able to become a medicine man.  Within the Sioux tribe (as well as the Blackfeet tribe) the medicine man was expected to be able to cure the sick, to foretell events that were important to the tribe and/or to a war party, good or bad.

Visions were extremely important, and a medicine man was often called upon to “interpret” dreams.  He was also expected to know (and his training did encompass) a thorough knowledge of herbs.  For instance, one of my best friends from the Blackfeet tribe told me that her medicine man told her that there are no poisonous berries, etc, that taste sweet.  Therefore, if you taste a berry and it is sweet, chances are that it might be okay to eat.  Now don’t try this and hold me responsible for it — I’m just relaying information.  But I know that my friend used to go around LA tasting all kinds of things, until I kinda took her aside and told her how worried I was about her doing this.  But you know something, she was never harmed by going around in the wild and tasting these fruits.

Medicine men were often very handsome when they were young.  Imagine, they have been trained all their life into physical alertness, they have trained to act in the best interest of their tribe, they have schooled their mind so that they us their skills only for the good of the people, and not evil, and they kept their word of honor as though their life might depend upon it.    Ritual was highly important, because a ceremony done incorrectly was believed to bring bad luck.   A medicine man was also expected to do such things as set broken bones, take care of sprains or pulled muscles and he was expected to be able to attend to deep wounds.  This they did without flinching.  If you’re interested in learning more about the medicine man, I might refer you to a children’s book that you can check out at your local library called THE INDIAN MEDICINE MAN by Robert Hofsinde (Gray-Wolf).  It makes for easy, yet fascinating reading.  And for even more information, might I also suggest the book, GRANDFATHER, by…goodness I can’t recall his name right now.   I’ll try to get hold of it and post it on the comments.

So tell me, what observations have you had about these things — i.e., physcial fitness, strength of mind, spiritual awareness?  Have you made any observations about these things?  For instance, I workout almost everyday (about 6 days a week usually), and I notice little things, like my strength increasing, despite the tendency of the body to keep getting older every day.  At present I’m here in Florida at my church where I’m hoping to attain better awareness of myself as a spiritual being, etc.  What about you?  Do you have any experiences that you’d like to share with me and others?  I’d love to hear what you have to say about this.  Oh, and while I’m at it, isn’t Adam Beach dreamy?

So come on in and let’s talk.  I’d love to hear from you.  And don’t forget, if you haven’t already done so, to purchase a copy of THE LAST WARRIOR today.  Just click on the link below.

Survival — Native American Style

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Good Morning!

I hope that you had a wonderful holiday weekend.  It was a beautiful weekend here — although I must admit that I am away from home at present and am here in Florida doing a course that is the equivalent of a year of college.  And so I spent my entire weekend inside and studying.

But how about you?  Did any of you do any camping?  You know, I listen to talk radio and it seems to me that with the instability of our marketplace right now and with food prices on a steady up trend, perhaps this isn’t such a bad subject to be talking about right now.  Now, I was going to talk about the 3rd most important thing when it comes to survival, having already discussed food and shelter — and that is clothing, but instead of that, since our economy seems unstable right now, and since food prices are ever rising, I thought we might take a moment to talk about another sort of survival tactic — one that might be more appropro to today’s situation in the world — prepareness.

Thought I might as well get this picture shown right from the start and get it out of the way, since I love it so much.  I never get tired of looking at it.  Deep sigh…

Okay, in the old days, the Indians lived off the land and rarely starved.  It wasn’t until reservation days that starvation became a real threat.  Before that time, the Indians knew what plants to look for and where to look, what animals to kill, how to kill them for food, how to jerky the meat and how to survive and live off the land.  In truth, before the last World War, most Americas were living on farms and so the Depression (I never call it the Great Depression, as I think of Great things as good things) — but the collaspe of the economy during the Depression — bad as it was, wasn’t as bad as it might be in our future because most people still lived on farms back then and knew how to grow their own food.  So, as I used to learn in the Girl Scouts, let me ask you this.  How prepared are you for a collapse are you?

Heaven forbid it ever happen.  But as my mother used to say, “You prepare for the worst and enjoy those things you stored when it doesn’t happen.”  So let’s go over a few things that might come in handy to have, just in case, okay?

1)  Food — do you have a minimum of a 1 year supply for all members of your family on hand.  These are storeable items like grains, dried fruits, canned organic veggies, nuts, baking soda, fish-liver oil, baking powder, and anything else that you can thing of to store — meat, etc.  Get them for long storage — again that’s minimum 1 year supply for every member of your family and any member of your family that in a catastrophe might come home.  : )

2)  Medical supplies.  You can’t have enough medical supplies.  Bandages, bandaids, aspirin, alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, and any other medicine that you need.  For me, because I don’t take drugs, this means a year’s supply minimum of vitamins and minerals, as well as any herbs needed for medical emergencies.  And remember this is a 1 year supply for every member of your family — and those who might join you later on.

3)  Seeds — organic seeds, if you please.  The reason for heirloom, organic seeds is that the new Monsanto seeds and evern the more common hybrid seeds don’t produce seeds for replanting — and keeping seeds from year to year is vital.  Even is you live in the city, you can start a garden of some kind.  My husband and I live in the city and instead of growing a lawn, we are now growing a garden.  We are learning also that one needs to LEARN how to garden and how to keep out pests.  So far squirrels and rabbits are benefitting from our new garden.  : )

4)  An herb garden is pretty essential.  From an herb garden you can obtain many medicinal plants — like  Echinacea and Goldenseal, as well as Oregano, sage and other herbs.  And again, even if you live on the city, you can probably start a garden on the roof or on a window seal.  You might even be able to make friends with local farmers who might be able to help you through a tough time, but I would advise you to plant as much as you can for yourself and for your family.

 

5)  Protection.

Now, while it might be fun to have these two men riding protection for you, probably it is a good idea to have a rifle or a gun of some kind as a form of self and family protection.  Personally, I think our Founding Fathers were right in guaranteeing us the right to bear arms.  Criminals and vandals will always find a way to get guns, while the honest citizen is left unprotected and defenseless.  My huband and I belong to Frontsight, a shooting organization that teaches you not only self-protection and makes sure that you know how to place a good shot, but teaches you when to make that shot and when not to.  But not only is protection important in emergencies — to protect the lives of your family and yourself — guns are important in keeping pests like rabbits and squirrels away from your garden — guns can also bring in fresh game in case of a food shortage.  If you don’t like guns and will absolutely not have one in your household, then I would advise you to learn self-defense — hand-to-hand — and to learn to use a bow and arrow for hunting.

Okay, let’s see.  What have I left out?  There’s something that’s important that I’m not thinking of here.

Oh, yes, a subject that is dear to the pocketbook:

6)  Some sort of cash.  Now what do I mean by cash?  Some say silver or gold with lead to protect that silver or gold.  : )  Some say to invest in the Euro — just in case the dollar falls.  I will say right here and right now that this is not an area that I know much about.  And if there is some kind of castastrophe — heaven forbid — or martial law — double heaven forbid — what might people use as money?  Barter?  Gold?  Silver?  Your guess is as good as mine.  All I know is that you might want to have something on hand to barter with.

Well, now that’s all I can think of right now.  You might be able to think of other things that one might to do be prepared.  In the old days — the days of my grandparents, all families had either a full year’s supply of food on hand and/or a victory garden.  When I was growing up, almost all of my neighbors  had gardens of one kind or another — chicken coops, etc.

How about you?  Can you think of something I’ve forgotten here in order to be prepared for any sort of economical or other kind of emergency?  Do you remember the victory gardens?  Families with supplies of food on hand, just in case?  Or were you a Girl Scout and taught to always be prepared?

I’m not wishing for  this — I hope a cause for this never happens — but just in case…

And don’t forget, please visit Amazon books where you can buy my latest book, THE LAST WARRIOR. 

So come on in and let’s talk about survival.

    Click on picture to buy the book.

Survivalists — Native American Style

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Good Day!

Isn’t this the best site?  So much talent from my fellow fillies and so much terrific information.  I’m always amazed at the learned quality of the posts.  Aren’t you?

After quite a break from the Native Style survival stories, I hope you’re ready to continue.  Just to recap, so far we’ve discussed the quest for food.  What kinds of food you might find in different regions of the country, how to find it and the necessary means of transportation to find food.  One more comment I’d like to make before we head into shelters and how easy they are to make:  I think TV has given people the wrong idea of survival.  On TV you see people competing one with the other to “win.”  It’s a tooth-and-claw type of survival.  Now this kind of “survival” to the Native American is pure folly.  None survive well alone.  It is a team activity.  Or one might say a family or a tribe activity.  And survival doesn’t mean bare minimum.  Optimum survival means food aplenty, a good warm place to put up one’s feet, the warmth of companionship, soft clothes that look good and feel good (or lack of clothes depending upon your environment), and happiness.  That’s real survival.  Not this struggle that one commonly sees on TV nowadays.

So, that said, let’s have a look at shelters.  The most important things if one were to suddenly find himself lost from civilization — or in the event of some catastrophe, are food, clothing and shelter.  Without these, man cannot live.  Therefore, they are the barest minimum.  And shelters — nice, wonderful, homey shelters aren’t that hard to build and set up.  Do you remember your camping days and how cozy and warm were your tents?

Well, suppose you didn’t have time to grab your tent.  What then?  Well, here are some suggestions straight from Native America.  The first important thing is…?  Location, location, location.  A good Real Estate maxim. 

Now, it’s a good idea to find a dry and protected spot, one that is close to a supply of water and fuel (wood or something else to burn).  And if one is being hunted by another or other’s or if one is simply alone, another feature you might consider would be to find a place that is secluded, one that is hard for the casual eye to see.  Such things as a hollowed-out tree, a cave, a rock that allows only a casual view.  As Charles A Eastman put it in his book, INDIAN SCOUT CRAFT AND LORE:

“…The first essentials are water and fuel; next comes sanitation and drainage, protection from the elements and from ready discovery by possible fores; finally, beauty of situation.

If you are in the woods, the shelter you will probably want to construct is a lean-to.  Here’s yet another section from Charles A. Eastman’s book, INDIAN SCOUT CRAFT AND LORE. 

“…Find two trees the right distance apart and connect them by poles laid upon the forks of each at a height of about eight feet.  This forms the support of your lean-to.  Against this horizontal bar place small poles close together, driving their ends in the ground, and forming an angle with about the slant of an ordinary roof.  You can close in both sides, or not, as you choose.  If you leave one open, build your fire opposite the entrance, thus making a cheerful and airy ‘open-face camp.’  Thatch from the ground up with overlapping rows of flat and thick evergreen boughs, and spread several layers of the same for a springy and fragrant bed.”

Note that this requires very few tools save perhaps a hatchet or a strong knive to make the poles.

The coziness of the tepee was often commented upon by travelers in the old west.  The structures were clean, warm, hospitable, with plenty of room for family and possessions.  But more of that in another post.  For now, let’s look at another kind of shelter, the dome-shapped ‘wickiup.’  Again from Charles A. Eastman, INDIAN SCOUT CRAFT AND LORE:

“…The dome-shaped wigwam or ‘wickiup’ is made in a few minutes almost anywhere by sticking into the ground in a circle a sufficient number of limber poles, such as willow wands, to make it the size you need.  Each pair of opposites is bent forward until they meet, and the ends interlocked and tied firmly.  Use any convenient material for the covering; an extra blanket will do.” 

Again, you would cover it with whatever was available in the area you are in.

Okay you knew I was going to slip this photo in here somwhere, didn’t you?  How could I resist?  Are you, like me, sighing?…  Well, continuing on, let’s touch on the traditional tepee.  If you ever have the chance to go to a pow-wow in Indian Country, you might be able to catch the tepee raising race at the rodeo.  Amazingly, these people set up tepees in a matter of a few minutes — quite spectacular to see.  But here are the basics.  Again, from Charles A. Eastman, INDIAN SCOUT CRAFT AND LORE:

“The skeleton of the conical teepee is made by tying three poles together near the top, and, when raised, separating them to form a tripod.  Against this place in a circle as many poles as you think necessary to support your outer covering of cloth or thatch, usually twelve to fifteen.  If of canvas, the covering is tied to a pole and then raised and wrapped about the framework and secured with wooden pins to within about three feet of the ground.  This space is left for the entrance and covered by a movable door, which may be merely a small blanket.  If you have nothing better, a quantity of dry grass will make you a warm bed.”

Finally, although we may have covered this already when we were discussing fires, small fires are best.  Again, from Charles A. Eastman, “It is best in camping to build small fires.  This rule is observed by all Indians.  Smoke may be seen at a great distance, especially on a clear day, and may be scented by the ordinary Indian (or other person) a long way off, if the wind is right.  Only in cold weather or for special purposes does the Indian indulge in a huge fire, and in no case does he ever leave it without seeing that it is entirely extinguished.”

Well, that’s it for today’s Native American lesson.  What about you?  Do you have a favorite camping story?  Campfire tales?  Cozy-warm tents that you remember?  For me, I remember camping in Vermont.  We had forgotten how important it was to set up camp so that one was protected from water.  We awoke to find water all over the floor of our tent, once the rain had really settled in.

That was that.  There we were in the middle of the night, digging trenches around our tent.  Do you have a story?  If so, I’d love to hear from you today.  So come on in and let’s chat.

The Last Warrior & Black Eagle

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Howdy!  This just in.  Just received the new blurb for my next book, BLACK EAGLE, from my publisher.  The book, which is due out in May of 2009, is in production with my publisher.  So since this is just in, I  thought I might take a break this week from the survivalists lessons to do some unashamed promotion.  Please bear with me.  So without further ado, here’s a little of what’s going on in my writing life.  First I thought we’d take a look at the book that I have out on the stands right now, THE LAST WARRIOR  — and then have a look at the blurb for the book due out next year, BLACK EAGLE.

Many centuries ago, a village killed the children of the Thunder God.  For their crime, the Creature bannished them to live a half existence in the land of mists, neither dead nor alive.”

 
But once in a generation, a brave is given the opportunity to save his clan.

In 1892, that warrior is Black Lion

There was only one way for Black Lion to melt the Thunder God’s anger; listen for a sacred white-man’s song — and sing it perfectly with the one who introduced him to it. He joins Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show and travels to London, where he encounters the daughter of two opera singers — the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. However, Suzette Joselyn is already engaged to another man…

But the two are destined to meet again when Suzette shows up in America, pregnant and abandoned by her fiance. Reunited with Black Lion she finds it impossible to turn down his offer of marriage to save her child from life as a bastard. But she doesn’t realize that her brave new husband is consumed with a mission that may force him to choose between his people and the woman he loves…

Praise for Karen Kay’s books:

“Enchanting…will capture your attention quickly and never let go!” — Huntress Reviews

“A tour de force Native American romance.” — Romantic Times

“Mesmerizing…(Karen Kay’s stories) sooth the soul, mend the heart, make us sing. Savor every word.” — The Old Book Barn Gazette

“You won’t forget this book, and you won’t forget this love.” — Ivy Quill Reviews

“Karen Kay has a beautiful way of thrusting the world wide open to your senses.” — The Literary Times

“Karen Kay goes ‘beyond the typical Indian romance.’ It’s depth is immensely gratifying.” — Romance Times

“Her words so deeply touch the heart…Unbelieveably beautiful.” — Fresh Fiction

And now here’s the blurb for the next book:

Black Eagle

A Warriors of the Iroquois Novel

 

Karen Kay

Author of The Last Warrior

 

“Karen Kay’s passion for Native American lore shines through.”—Publishers Weekly

 

 

With the English and French at each other’s throats for control of the North American Continent, the battle lines have been drawn, changing forever the fate of one Mohawk warrior and a desperate woman on the run.

 

After Marisa Rathburn overhears her uncle’s plot to destroy a Dutch town for his own gain, she threatens to expose him—forcing her to run for her life. Braving the war outside rather than the more dangerous one at home, she accepts an invitation north to visit a friend.

 

Mesmerized by her beauty, a Mohawk warrior named Black Eagle volunteers to act as her eyes through the wild forests of New England—only he soon senses an unexpected danger, and that Marisa may not be all that she appears.

 

Caught in the crossfire of war, and with a deadly assassin hot on their trails, Marisa and Black Eagle discover that trusting each other is the only way to outrun the enemy—and that love may be the only way to survive.

 

Praise for the novels of Karen Kay

 

“Captures the heart and soul of the American Indian.”—The Best Reviews

“A beautiful way of thrusting the world wide open to your senses.”—The Literary TimesPraise for THE LAST WARRIOR

 

“Kay creates an ideal finish to her fascinating series!”—Romantic Times

 

“The Last Warrior is a not to be missed story in the tales of the tribes living in the land of the mists. Karen Kay has penned another winner.”—Cata Romance

 

“Karen Kay has gifted us with a beautiful conclusion to an enchanting series. Every Karen Kay novel leaves me wanting more and The Last Warrior is no exception. Take this journey of the heart. You’ll be glad you did.”—Fresh Fiction

 

 

Praise for RED HAWK’S WOMAN

 

“I would love to be Red Hawk’s Woman…This is a great rainy weather book. Grab a cup of chocolate and cuddle up.”—Fallen Angel Reviews

 

“[Karen Kay] hooks readers with a paranormal element but also delivers a solid Native American romance that’s everything fans of the genre want.”—Romantic Times (4 Stars)

 

“Karen Kay has created a gripping story that reaches through time…Red Hawk’s Woman is Native American writing that will leave you wanting more.”—Cata Romance

 

“Red Hawk’s Woman is a tenderly told tale of adventure, of honor, of forgiveness. It’s also a story of love, survival, and peace. This heartfelt story is the latest gift from Karen Kay, who never disappoints her readers. It’s a treasure not to be missed.”—The Best Reviews

 

   

Praise for THE SPIRIT OF THE WOLF

 

“Kay blends legend and fact into a beautiful love story. Delving into Native American customs and mores with sensitivity, compassion and a true understanding of the people, she enhances a magical, passionate plot with historical detail and just a touch of magic.”—Romantic Times (4 Stars)

 

More praise for Karen Kay

 

 “An exciting historical romance.”—Midwest Book Review

 

“Kay blends legend and fact into a beautiful love story…She enhances a magical, passionate plot with historical detail and just a touch of magic.”—Romantic Times

 

“Enchanting…will capture your attention quickly and never let go!”—Huntress Reviews

 

 “Karen Kay writes with such strong passion that it hooks her readers.”—BookBrowser

 

“Her words so deeply touch the heart…Unbelievably beautiful.”—Fresh Fiction

 

“You won’t forget this book, and you won’t forget this love.”—Ivy Quill Reviews

 

“A treasure not to be missed.”—The Best Reviews

Don’t forget that I’ll be  blogging  two weeks from now —  Tuesday, as well, when I hope to continue Native American Survival Lessons.  And lest we forget, contrary to popular TV shows, Native American Survival is a group activity.  None survives alone.  Even the lowest life forms depend on other life for their existence.  To make it seem different is to make it all the more difficult for you to survive, and to survive well and flourish.  Well, that’s it for now.  Thank you for bearing with me.

I’d love to hear what you think of the new back blurb for BLACK EAGLE.  I didn’t write it, but I think it’s good.  What do you think?

So come on in and let’s chat, about this or other things, as well. 

Survivalists — Fire without Matches

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Good Morning!

In an ongoing series on survival, Native American style, I thought we would have another look at food.  As you know there are three things that are needed for basic survival.  Those are, food, clothing and shelter.

In my last few blogs, we’ve been discussing the first requirement of survival, food.  So far we’ve looked at where to find food, what kinds of food can you find and the fact that one needs to have freedom of movement in order to find food.  Today let’s have another look at another important part of food — fire.  Fire is needed for cooking of course, but as you know, in a survival situation, it is also needed for warmth.  Fire can also be a very needed element in keeping safe — i.e. fighting off animal like wolves.  I’m not so certain fires might keep bears away, but I loved this picture.

But how to make fire without matches.  Unless you are very well prepared, you might find yourself without matches.  I may not be able to teach you to start a fire in this article, but we can go over it a bit.  Now, most Indian tribes used the drill and twisted it by hand or with their bow, the string of the bow wrapped around the drill or wood made into a rod.

The rod would fit into a socket in a piece of wood.  Placed beneath this was some tinder that could easily catch fire.  The bow was held at right angles and was twisted, producing friction.  The motion also would pulverize the small particles of wood, which are there to catch fire.  The tinder would eventually begin to glow, meaning that it was ready to produce fire.  Of course there was a very human element involved in making fire.  If the bow wasn’t kept at an utter right angle with the wood, it would often slip, frustrating the person making the fire.  However, with practice, most Indians could start a fire within minutes.   You also have to understand that I have to get in this photo somewhere in my post.  Handsome, handsome Adam Beach.

Now once the wood was ready to ignite, it was important to add oxygen, thus one blew on the embers, putting dried grass or moss on the fire in order to get it to ignite.  Needless to say, the type of timber that one used was very important, also.  However, this isn’t the only way to make fire.

Late at night, one might not be able to find the exact tools needed to make a fire in the way mentioned above.  There was also the stone method.  This requires two needed things, which one should carry at all times:  1) flint — 2) lump or crystal with iron pyrites.  This kind of stone is available all over the US.  All that is needed to create fire with this method is striking the stones together.  Sparks will fly and one should have dried grass or dried moss available to catch those sparks, and by adding oxygen (blowing on the sparks) one can create fire.

OF course there are other ways of creating fire — one of the best is lightning.  But one doesn’t always have that available on a cold, snowy night.  It takes a great deal of practice, but it’s a skill that might become handy at some time or place.  The Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts used to teach this skill and perhaps they still do.  It’s a skill worth practicing — even if you don’t see the use of it right now.  As the boy scout motto goes:  “Be prepared.”

I should also note that the Indian kept his fires small and as smokeless as possible.  He also scattered his ashes the next morning so as to prevent others from seeing exactly where he had been and what he was doing.  It was a safety precaution. 

By the time this is posted, I will most likely be on the road, and so while I might not be able to join in the discussion, I’d love to hear your camping stories.  Has anyone ever had to make a fire by hand?  And if you have, how did you do it?  I’d also like to hear other camping stories.  There was a time when being without a hair dryer was “camping” for me.  So come on in and chat.  And if you haven’t already picked up a copy of THE LAST WARRIOR, I would like to invite you to do so.  It is on sale at bookstores everywhere.