INTRODUCING UNFORGETTABLE CHARACTERS–WITH FLAIR!

Hi everyone.  I know we’ve talked before about where our writing ideas come from:  Dreams, historical events, poetry or movies, or even from our own life experiences, to name a few.  As writers, we look at how our characters can be drawn from people we’ve known in our lives, whether we admire or despise them.

Have you ever gotten one of your characters from unusual places–such as song lyrics, or based them on historical figures of the past?  Characters can be born in our own imaginations completely–not based upon any actual person we ever knew or studied in a history book.  If you write futuristic stories, your alien creatures must be created entirely within your own flights of fancy.  If paranormal writing is your bailiwick, you must create your otherworldly characters from legends, lore, and once again, your own imaginings.

But let’s take a  look at what makes up a character’s basic framework, beginning with the external elements.  These will include all the components that have made our character who he or she is, from the most elementary choices of physical appearance to the limits of cultural and societal dictates that have been imposed upon the character.

One tried and true option that I figure most of us have used at one time or another is to design your own “character chart” for each character, assigning basics such as hair and eye color, and delving into as much detail as you want.  Age, birthday, even astrological signs can be included.  Did your character lose a parent?  Is he an only child, or the eldest of ten children?  Every detail you can assign is like the stroke of a paintbrush.  We are  artists, creating the picture of this person for our readers.  If we don’t allow the reader to see the details of the character, she can’t know them “deep down.”  The reader must learn through your description, your inference, or through the observations of your other characters.

This leads us to the internal process of your characters’ lives.  Again, as in the physical description, as writers we must delve into the characters’ minds and decide what we can allow  readers to know, and when to reveal it.  Our characters’ emotions, reactions, yearnings, and thoughts are all an integral part of developing them into people we are going to remember.  Will we like them?  Empathize with them?  Root against the villain?  Most importantly, will we care–one way or the other?

Defining your characters’ motives and feelings must be detailed, leaving nothing to assumption.  This is a key element in creating believability.

But physical and emotional character creation is only a part of the whole “ball of wax.”  Our characters have to have a world to live in–a plot to carry out. These components include the conflict (what makes the story exciting and why do we care?) and the point of view.  Point of view is extremely important, because this is the character who will be telling the story.  The setting can be a huge factor as well, at times, becoming a character in its own right.

How do you introduce your characters with enough flair to make them interesting, and to make your reader emotionally invested in them?

What books have you read with memorable character introductions?  Can anyone forget their first glimpse of fiery Scarlett O’Hara?  Or of the handsome scoundrel, Rhett Butler?  Grab a copy of “Gone With the Wind” and study the way Margaret Mitchell introduces her characters.  Her physical descriptions are matchless.  Interestingly enough, she doesn’t delve into deep point of view as much as she lets us learn things about the characters through their dialogue and what others say/think about them.

Another example of an unforgettable character entrance is Jack Schaeffer’s “Shane.”  Written in the late 1940’s, it remains a classic today.  This is an example of how very important the viewpoint character can be.  Though the story is about Shane, a mystery man who shows up and helps the homesteaders out of a jam against the most powerful landowner in the valley, seeing it through the eyes of young Bobby Starett gives us a poignant understanding of the other characters–Shane in particular.  Telling the story through Bobby lets the tension build to a climax that would be unattainable through any other character’s “voice.”

Another way of introducing a character is through dialogue.  Giving the reader a titillating bit of conversation that leads us to

a) the storyline, or

b) discovery about the character’s personality or circumstances

is a sure-fire way to garner interest in the character who delivers the line.

Circumstances can also be the means to provide the introduction of a character who is unforgettable.  In Thomas Eidson’s “St. Agnes’ Stand”, the main character, Nat Swanson, is in a dire predicament.  He’s been shot, and is being pursued by two men whose friend he killed in avenging a woman’s honor–a woman he barely knew.  He just wants to be left alone, to make it to California where a ranch he won with the turn of a card awaits–along with a new life.  However, he comes upon a group of orphans and nuns who are sure to be captured and killed by a band of Apaches if he doesn’t intervene–and he can’t walk away.  Again, he steps in to do the right thing–and it may be the death of him.

This is just my take on some of the different ways we are able to introduce unforgettable characters–with flair! What are some of your favorite characters?  Those characters that just won’t leave you alone to have their stories read–or told?

Sharpshooter in Petticoats – A Chance to Win!

Sharpshooter in Petticoats by Mary ConnealySharpshooter in Petticoats released January 1st.

It’s in bookstores NOW!

 

Today, to celebrate, I’m doing a giveaway of a signed copy of Sharpshooter in Petticoats. 
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First a little bit about the book.
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Sharpshooter in Petticoats is book #3 in the Sophie’s Daughters series.To find out all about Sophie and her daughters you’ll need to read the Lassoed in Texas Trilogy.

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Sharpshooter in Petticoats is my favorite one of the three, not because the others aren’t good, but because I’ve been building to a wild, chaotic, runaway, mayhem soaked conclusion for three books, and in a way…for NINE books. characters from Lassoed in Texas Trilogy and the Montana Marriages Series are in this final book.

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If you’ve read books #1 and #2 in the series, Doctor in Petticoats and Wrangler in Petticoats, then you’ll know I’ve been getting the oldest sister in the McClellen clan into deeper and deeper trouble in those earlier books. Finally it’s time for Mandy to have her happy ending.

And if there wasn’t a feuding family of backshooting murderers gunning for her, it’d be no problem because her no-account husband is dead and the hero has been around the edges of her life for years. Her being married to another man is quite an avalanche blocking the trail to true love, though.

But I won’t even beat around the bush here, Mandy’s husband, Sidney Grey,  is dead and gone. Shot by the men who are now harassing Mandy.

I know a lot of people wanted to WATCH Sidney die. And they wanted to watch him die slowly, maybe stake him to a fire ant hill or have him be nibbled to death by small predators. Better yet, have Mandy beat him to death for insulting her for the LAST TIME.

But nope. I needed him dead to start with so I just shot him between the end of book #2 and the beginning of book #3.  Being a writer is kind of fun. You get to solve all the world’s problems in your books. Of course I created the problems. And in real life, the people who are messing up your world usually just stay right there and keep making things hard.

But for a writer, it’s so clean, even though you have to abuse people you love to begin with to make everyone loathe the villain.

But I digress.

Here’s a little bit about Sharpshooter in Petticoats:

Mandy McClellen Grey, has become the focus of a feud thanks to her husband, who made this mess and then died. Far from home, Mandy, the best little rifle woman in the west, has resigned herself to a lonely life under siege rather than call for help and endanger her family.

Tom Linscott is fed up with waiting for Mandy who should have had the sense to come to him as soon as she finished burying her worthless husband. In fact he’d’ve come fast enough to dig the hole if she’d’ve sent for him. He goes to round up his little woman and buys into a heap of trouble from a whole clan of outlaws.

Between Mandy’s deadly skill with her rifle, her determination to not bring trouble down on someone she loves, and an ever growing crowd of varmints who want to bury everyone named Grey—and anyone who sides with them, Tom may not survive getting himself hitched.

And here is an excerpt from Sharpshooter in Petticoats:
 

“She stole my horse?” Tom’s voice rose to such a high pitch it hurt his ears

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“I don’t think a woman can rightly steal a horse from her own husband.” Red shrugged.
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“And now you can’t find her?” Tom clenched his fists and stormed straight toward Red and the worthless man Abby had married..
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“I think she took out after the men who were shooting at us.” Wade stepped in front of Red. It was his brother-in-law’s way to draw a fist to his own face to protect someone else. He Doctor in Petticoats by Mary Connealymight even have thoughts of Tom’s soul, not wanting Tom to slug a parson.
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“She can’t have gone far.” Red came up to Wade’s side. Calm, strong, wise, a hard man to thrash for a lot of reasons, confound it. “We just realized she was gone a few minutes ago. 

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“She took enough bullets with her to start a war,” Abby added.
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The whole lot of them had realized Mandy was gone and gathered outside by the time Tom came riding into the ranch yard.
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“She left her children behind?” Tom couldn’t believe a woman would do such a thing.

“I reckon they’re your children now, too, Tom.” Red lifted his shoulders as he stated the obvious. “Just like your horse is hers.”“So we’re married for sure?” Later, Tom intended to beat the tar out of both Red and Wade for losing Mandy. But right now he had a missing wife to track down. 

“You oughtta sign it, too.” Red handed Tom a piece of paper with a neatly written record of the marriage, signed by Red, Abby, and Mandy, all three. “But even if you don’t, you’re still married.”

Red said that as if he expected Tom to argue, but being married to Mandy, the little horse thief, suited him right down to the ground. Tom grabbed the paper and scrawled his name with a pen that barely scratched a line in nearly-dried ink. He thrust it toward Red.“It’s yours.” Red refused to take it.

Tom folded it roughly and jammed it into one pocket.

“Abby, tell me what went on around here. Sawyer, pack me some grub.”

Abby talked while Tom led his stallion to the barn.

When his sister paused to take a breath, Tom jerked his chin at the stallion. “Will you take care of him? Everyone else on this ranch is scared to get near him.”

Abby agreed and kept talking, letting him know all that had unfolded. She made a point of talking about the way Mandy handled her rifle. Tom had heard a similar story years ago from Belle Harden, who had met Mandy when she was a new bride.He’d asked too much of the black. He strode toward the corral where Tom’s second favorite horse was held. The most perfect colt to ever come out of his stallion, and that was saying something because his stallion bred true.

Tom stumbled to a halt when he reached the corral. A dozen horses grazed in the pen, none of them the one he wanted. “She stole my best horse?” Though it was no time for such a thing, Tom laughed. He had married himself one beauty of a woman.

Wrangler in Petticoats by Mary Connealy“Borrowed, Tom. Not stole.” Red had tagged along to the corral.
Tom remembered well his plan to beat Red within an inch of his life. Right now time was too tight. “Which way did she go?”

Red pointed to a trail in the distance Tom could only see because he knew his land so well. “She asked me where I saw the men riding, the ones who shot up your house.”

“And you told her? Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”
Red shoved his face right up into Tom’s, which reminded Tom that Red wasn’t just a sky pilot—he was also a rancher who’d come out here and tamed a mighty mean stretch of a land. “I told her because it never occurred to me that a woman would abandon three children and a man she’d just married to go hunting a pack of killers. What kind of woman did you marry anyway? She’s acting crazy.”

Tom shrugged. He couldn’t really argue Red’s point, though arguing came real easy. “I married me the sharpest shooting woman in the West, I reckon.”

“That you did, Tom. I saw her in action.” Abby bridled Tom’s second choice for a horse while he saddled.

“I saw her, too.” Red shook his head in wonder. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that. Why do you want a woman who appears to have a taste for killing? What are you thinking to pick a woman like that?” Tom looked past Red and saw Red’s wife, sweet little Cassie Dawson, quietly tending all six children, both the Dawsons’ and Mandy’s—Tom caught that thought. They were his children now, too.

Tom’s temper would have crushed Cassie like a bug the first week of their marriage. Shrugging, Tom felt a little sheepish, but this was a man of God. It’d be wrong to lie.

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“Honest, Red, that’s what I like most about her.”

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http://www.maryconnealy.com/

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Leave a comment to get your name in the drawing for a signed copy of Sharpshooter in Petticoats.

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Or click on the tiny cover above to buy from Amazon.

CHRISTMAS–A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES

 

Christmas has always been a miraculous time for me. It still is. When I was younger, it was because of the presents, and the anticipation that came with the season. My parents were not wealthy, but we had the necessities and a few of the luxuries. My mom was a great manager. She could make the smallest thing seem of the greatest value. She could transform our house into a marvelous Christmas haven with her decorations, wonderful cooking and a few well-wrapped packages. When I became an adult, the torch was passed, but the anticipation merely shifted. The excitement I felt was not for myself, but for my children–the joy I could bring to them.

Once I had written A Night for Miracles, I began to think about my heroine, Angela Bentley, and how I might have reacted had I been in her place. I would like to think that I would have done what she did–transformed her small cabin into a memorable Christmas castle that none of the children would ever forget, simply through a good meal, a warm fire, and a gift. But it was all of these things that made Angela’s “gift” — the gift of her heart — special. She put herself out on a limb, having been emotionally wounded before.

I thought about the old legend–that Christmas Eve is a “night for miracles” to happen. Angela was not a rich person by any means, but she gave what she had, freely. She took in the stranger and the three children from the cold, gave them warm beds and fed them. But then she went even further. She gave her heart to them, although it was a huge risk. She comes through with physical gifts, but the true giving was in her spirit. And that leads to a miracle.

A Night For Miracles is one of those short stories that I didn’t want to end. I love a happy ending, and this is one of the happiest of all, for everyone in the story.

Blurb for A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES by CHERYL PIERSON

Legend says that miracles happen on Christmas Eve. Can a chance encounter between a gunfighter and a lonely widow herald a new beginning for them both? On this special night, they take a gamble that anything is possible–if they only believe! Available now with THE WILD ROSE PRESS!

EXCERPT FROM A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES:

Angela placed the whiskey-damp cloth against the jagged wound. The man flinched, but held himself hard against the pain. Finally, he opened his eyes. She looked into his sun-bronzed face, his deep blue gaze burning with a startling, compelling intensity as he watched her. He moistened his lips, reminding Angela that she should give him a drink. She laid the cloth in a bowl and turned to pour the water into the cup she’d brought.

He spoke first. “What…what’s your name?” His voice was raspy with pain, but held an underlying tone of gentleness. As if he were apologizing for putting her to this trouble, she thought. The sound of it comforted her. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t want to think about it. He’d be leaving soon.

“Angela.” She lifted his head and gently pressed the metal cup to his lips. “Angela Bentley.”

He took two deep swallows of the water. “Angel,” he said, as she drew the cup away and set it on the nightstand. “It fits.”

She looked down, unsure of the compliment and suddenly nervous. She walked to the low oak chest to retrieve the bandaging and dishpan. “And you are…”

“Nick Dalton, ma’am.” His eyes slid shut as she whirled to face him. A cynical smile touched his lips. “I see…you’ve heard of me.”

A killer. A gunfighter. A ruthless mercenary. What was he doing with these children? She’d heard of him, all right, bits and pieces, whispers at the back fence. Gossip, mainly. And the stories consisted of such variation there was no telling what was true and what wasn’t.

She’d heard. She just hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. Hadn’t expected to see kindness in his eyes. Hadn’t expected to have him show up on her doorstep carrying a piece of lead in him, and with three children in tow. She forced herself to respond through stiff lips. “Heard of you? Who hasn’t?”

He met her challenging stare. “I mean you no harm.”

She remained silent, and he closed his eyes once more. His hands rested on the edge of the sheet, and Angela noticed the traces of blood on his left thumb and index finger. He’d tried to stem the blood flow from his right side as he rode. “I’m only human, it seems, after all,” he muttered huskily. “Not a legend tonight. Just a man.”

He was too badly injured to be a threat, and somehow, looking into his face, shefound herself trusting him despite his fearsome reputation. She kept her expression blank and approached the bed with the dishpan and the bandaging tucked beneath her arm. She fought off the wave of compassion that threatened to engulf her. It was too dangerous. When she spoke, her tone was curt. “A soldier of fortune, from what I hear.”

He gave a faint smile. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Miss Bentley.”

Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas and that it is a time for miracles for each and every one. 

A Night For Miracles is available here:

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/sweet-danger-paperback-p-4267.html

Welcome Audra Harders & Her ‘Rocky Mountain Hero’

Ever have one of those lifetimes where opportunities tend to turn south just as the golden ring is in sight? That’s the story of Melanie Hunter’s life. Not that she’s complaining. She always seems to come out on top, it just takes a bit longer and she dodges and maneuvers around more curves in her road than the average everyday single mom. Still, she takes setbacks on the chin and continues to pray for a better life for her and her son.

Take for instance, this job opening Melanie has applied for with a research lab in a mountain community in Colorado. It’s perfect. More money, less hours for her; small town, great outdoor adventures for her son. Win-win. Until she takes a detour to avoid highway construction on her way to the interview, which ends in a collision with a large rock resulting in pricey auto repairs…

You get the picture. It’s times like this Melanie wonders what in the world God is thinking??

Excerpt from Rocky Mountain Hero, January 2011, Steeple Hill Books.

“Gabe, look up ahead.”
            Gabe Davidson glanced up from his clipboard. His cousin pointed at a pick up truck along side the road. From where Gabe sat, he’d say the truck wasn’t going anywhere soon. “Don’t recognize it.”
            “Can’t say the truck or the kid or the blonde are from around here.” Hank down shifted and slowed.

            “Fishtailed right into the rock.” Grooved tracks left ruts inches deep. “The boys from county won’t be happy when they have to come up and fix this.”
            The boy waved his arms at them. Hank pulled over and cut the engine.
Gabe checked his watch. The vet closed in half an hour. He fingered the list he’d scribbled on the scrap piece of paper. If he waited until tomorrow, he’d have to take a chance the vet stocked the medication he needed since no one at the animal clinic was answering their phone, or double back and drive into Gunnison.
He glanced at the boy, the angle of the truck and the woman wedged part way under the running board. He ground his jaw as uncomplimentary thoughts of Nick and Zac swirled through his head. Times like this, he really wished his brothers were around to help. Propping the clipboard with his list on top of the dash, Gabe shoved at his door. “Let’s go pull ‘em out.”
            “Hey mister,” the boy called as he jumped. “I think my mom’s stuck.”
            “Are you okay?” Hank took off toward the boy while Gabe headed for the woman. The rock, the crushed front-end of the pick up and the entire backend of the vehicle sat perched at an angle. No telling what the truck would do.
            “Need help?” Mud covered her from head to toe. Gabe stared into blue eyes the color of mountain columbines in full bloom and lashes as thick as the foxtails that grew around them. Blonde hair played across her cheek. 
            “No, I’ve got it.” The palm of her hand sank up to her wrist.
            He bent over and grasped her shoulders, her muscles firm within his palms. A spear of awareness shot through him as he found a grip and began to pull. The mud packed around her like a wallow sucking her hostage. As she began to slide free, she kicked her feet against the embankment.
            The road base shifted beneath his feet. His hold tightened. “Be still.”
            Her last kick must have hit a rock. She pushed up relieving the tension in his pull. Momentarily. The rock worked loose beneath her foot and she sank back into place.
Gabe fought for balance as he teetered on the edge. No use. He tucked his shoulders as he rolled into the mud bog with her. His elbow trenched a rut behind her and she slammed up against his chest.
            Spitting mud out of her mouth, she smeared her face with her hand. “Oh goodness.” She squirmed to the side. “You okay?”  
            His hat lay inverted between them, the crown crushed against her ribs. He followed the line of her muddy T-shirt sleeve to her mud-matted ponytail. Her eyes sparkled wide as he drew close. “I told you to stop moving.”
            “I could’ve gotten out by myself.” Her breathless voice warmed his cheek.
            He swiped his hand down his face as much to wipe away mud as to break his stare. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
            She shimmied up the bank using the top of his boot as a foothold. “The road is in lousy condition.”
            “Yeah, well.” Her smooth arm pressed against his chest making simple thought difficult. “The Gunnison County road crew won’t be happy about this either.”
            She stiffened beside him. “This road is a disaster.”
            “Not if your speed is appropriate for the road condition.”
            She looked at him as if he’d grown another head. “What’s the speed limit for horrendous?”

 I hope you enjoyed the quick meet and greet. Gabe has his agenda, Melanie has hers and the two don’t seem to have a common patch of ground between them. By the time The End rolls around, they find out exactly what the good Lord had in mind.

 My debut novel is set to hit the shelves January 1! I’m so excited. Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Rocky Mountain Hero as my Christmas present to you.

I’d love to have you visit me at:

 www.audraharders.com

or drop by:

 www.seekerville.blogspot.com and say hi!

 Thank you to Mary Connealy and the fillies for inviting me here today!

Click on the cover to buy on Amazon

“A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION” ANTHOLOGIES

I am so excited to share with you that I just had three holiday short stories released through Victory Tales Press last week!  As you all know, I normally write historical western romance, and two of these stories are just that. The third is a contemporary story, and I would like to tell you a bit about all of them.

HOMECOMING is a story I had written about a year ago.  I knew it was very odd, and probably had no chance of “making it” in the romance market, especially with the larger houses.  I don’t want to give anything away, so I will just have to be content to say that it has a very odd twist to it, a bit of the paranormal, and is a very different kind of story.  It appears in the Sweet edition of A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION.  Darn it, I wish I could tell you more because this is one of my favorite stories, but I’m afraid I’ll say too much!   I’m in this collection with four other wonderful authors.  Here’s the blurb for HOMECOMING, a story of forgiveness and faith at Christmas:

A holiday skirmish sends Union officer Jack Durham on an unlikely mission for a dying Confederate soldier–his enemy.  While thinking of the losses he’s suffered, can Jack remember what it means to be fully human?  Will the miracle of Christmas be able to heal his heart in the face of what awaits him?

My story in the Sensual edition of A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION is called SCARLET RIBBONS.  For as long as I can remember, the song of the same title has been part of my life.  I grew up in the 60’s/70’s and folk music was a staple in my home.  This poignant song, made popular by Harry Belafonte, tells the story of a man who hears his child praying for Scarlet Ribbons for her hair. It’s late, and the streets are empty, with no place to get the Scarlet Ribbons. During the night, the father anguishes over not being able to get such a simple gift for his daughter.  In the morning, just before dawn, he goes into her bedroom and there on the bed are two beautiful scarlet ribbons for her hair. If you have never heard the song, it’s well worth a listen or ten–I promise it will touch your heart (I can never listen to it without crying like a big third grader.)

My story of SCARLET RIBBONS is about a half-breed gunslinger who comes back to Mexico after many years to several surprises.  There is, again, a hint of the paranormal in this story.  I was so happy to be able to place it with Victory Tales Press, as it is quite different.  But this was a story I had had in mind for a long time.  Here’s the blurb:

Miguel Rivera is known as El Diablo, The Devil.  Men avoid meeting his eyes in fear of his gun.  Persuaded by a street vendor, he makes a foolish holiday purchase–two scarlet ribbons.  Can a meeting with a mysterious priest, and the miracle of the scarlet ribbons set Miguel on a new path and restore the love he lost before? 

My contemporary story, WHITE CHRISTMAS, appears in the Spicy edition of A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION along with three other wonderful authors.  I think my idea for this story stemmed from the many hospital visits I have made with my sister this year, and talking with so many wonderful ER nurses and doctors. What happens with their holidays? And what about first responders–fire fighters and police officers?  In my story, I took a lonely divorced ER nurse who hasn’t had a proper Christmas in many years, and a long-single fire fighter who has lost everything dear to him and threw them together for Christmas.  Here’s the blurb for WHITE CHRISTMAS:

Since her divorce, busy ER nurse, Carlie Thomas, is happy to spend Christmas on duty.  Fire fighter Derek Pierce needs special care after being injured on the job.  But Derek’s wounds are more than skin deep.  Will they spend the holidays haunted by the ghosts of the past, or could this Christmas spark a beautiful friendship–or even something more?

If you love holiday stories, this is a treasure-trove!  There are four books in all in the A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION set: sweet, sensual, stimulating and spicy.  The stories are grouped according to “heat” level so there are no surprises.  These are great for gift-giving for this reason.

To order, or for more information, here’s the link. http://victorytalespress.yolasite.com/online-store.php

I’d love to hear from y’all.  What is your favorite holiday story? Is it one of your own, or someone else’s?  I love holiday stories and I’m always looking for new ones.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!

 

GERONIMO–THE LAST APACHE HOLDOUT

 It’s been one hundred years since he died—and the mystique still surrounds Geronimo.

 Who was he, really?  Even now, historians can’t be completely sure of the facts.  Some biographers list his birth date as June of 1829.  Others say he was born somewhere between 1823-1825.  He was the fourth child in a family of four boys and four girls, but even his birth name is disputed.  Some say he was called “The One Who Yawns,” his name being “Goyathlay.”  Others spell it differently:  “Goyahkla.”  But by the time he was in his mid-twenties, he was called by the name we remember:  Geronimo

 In 1850, because his mother, his young wife, (Alope) and his three children were murdered in a raid on their village by Mexican troops, Geronimo pledged that he would avenge their deaths.  He received “the Power”—the life force of the universe that gave him supernatural abilities.  These included being able to see into the future, walk without leaving tracks, and hold off the dawn.  In a vision, he was told that no bullet would ever bring him down in battle, a prophecy that proved true.

 Geronimo fought so savagely, so fiercely, that the Mexican troops began to call to Saint Jerome for deliverance from him.  Thus, their cries for help became the name he was known by: Geronimo.

 In addition to fighting the Mexicans, Geronimo found himself and his Chiracahua Apache tribe at odds with the U.S. Government.  By the early 1870s, the federal government’s newly-instituted policy of placing the traditionally nomadic Apaches on reservations was the cause of regular uprisings.  Geronimo fought for his peoples’ hereditary land for years.

 In 1885, he led a group of more than 100 men, women and children in an escape from the reservation, to the mountains of Mexico.  During this time, his band was pursued by more than 5,000 white soldiers, and over 500 Indian auxiliaries were employed to achieve Geronimo’s capture.  It took over five months to track Geronimo to his camp in Mexico’s Sonora Mountains—over 1,645 miles away.

 On March 27, 1886, exhausted and hopelessly outnumbered, Geronimo surrendered.  His band consisted of only a few warriors, women and children.  Also found was a young captive, a white boy, name Jimmy “Santiago” McKinn who had been kidnapped six months earlier.  The boy had become so assimilated to the Apache way of life that he cried when he was forced to return to his parents.

 As the group began the trek back to Fort Bowie, Arizona, Geronimo and some of the warriors, women and boys escaped once more, making their way back into the Sierra Madre.

 On September 4, 1886, Geronimo surrendered for the last time to General Nelson A. Miles at Skeleton Canyon in southern Arizona.  He was sent to Florida in a boxcar, a prisoner of war.  It was May of 1887 before he was reunited with his family, and they were once again moved; this time, to Mount Vernon Barracks near Mobile, Alabama.

 In 1894, Geronimo was again moved with other Apaches to Fort Sill, Oklahoma.  He attempted to try and fit in, farming and joining the Dutch Reformed Church.  He was expelled from the church for his penchant for gambling. 

 The federal government made many empty promises to Geronimo and his people, but they allowed him to keep the money he made from selling buttons from his clothing or posing for pictures at numerous fairs and exhibitions such as the Omaha Exposition in Omaha, NE (1898), the Pan American Exposition in Buffalo, NY (1901), and the St. Louis World’s Fair in St. Louis, MO (1904).

 In 1905, Geronimo rode in President Theodore Roosevelt’s inaugural parade.  It was also during this year that he told the story of his life to S. M. Barrett, who wrote “Geronimo: His Own Story”, which was published in 1906.

 In 1909, Geronimo was riding home after drinking too much.  He fell off of his horse and lay, wet and freezing, beside the road until he was discovered several hours later.  Never having seen his beloved Arizona homeland again, he died of pneumonia on February 17, 1909.

 Geronimo is buried at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, in an Apache POW cemetery.  There is a simple stone monument at his gravesite where people still bring icons and offerings and leave them.  Baggies of sage, seashells, scraps of paper—homage to the greatest warrior who ever lived.

 Geronimo was not a chief.  He was not a medicine man.  He was a leader of men—a fighter whose battle tactics are studied still in military institutions.  In the quiet of the cemetery, his children, warriors, relatives and wives buried nearby, he is still a leader, respected and recognized all over the world. 

 Did you know:  “Apache” is a word for “street thug” in France?

Did you know:  There is a rumor that some of Geronimo’s warriors “disappeared” mysteriously from the boxcar as they were being transported to Florida?

 Did you know:  Signers of the Medicine Lodge Treaty were given burial rights in the main post cemetery at Fort Sill?  (Quanah Parker and others are buried with white soldiers in the regular base cemetery.)

 Did you know:  The custom of paratroopers yelling, “Geronimo!” is attributed to Aubrey Ebenhart, a member of the U.S. Army’s test platoon at Ft. Benning, Georgia.  He told his friends he would “yell Geronimo loud as hell when I go out that door tomorrow!” Which he did!

 In my novel, Fire Eyes, Kaed Turner was abducted by the Apaches as a young boy, just as Jimmy McKinn was kidnapped by Geronimo’s band.  Kaed and his younger siblings were traded to the Choctaw, where they were assimilated into the tribe.

  This excerpt is a remembrance between Kaed and Chief Standing Bear, the man who raised him.  I hope you enjoy it.

 Cheryl

EXCERPT FROM FIRE EYES

Standing Bear dismounted and came forward to stand beside Kaed, and Kaed turned his full attention to the warrior, waiting for the older man to speak.

It was as it had been all those years ago, when Kaed had come to live with the Choctaw people. The Apache had killed his mother and father, then taken Kaed and his younger brother and sister into captivity. The Choctaws had bartered with the Apaches for the youngsters, so they’d been raised in the Choctaw way.

The healing bruises Kaed wore today were reminiscent of the ones he’d been marked with when he first met Standing Bear, close to twenty years earlier.

 “Seems we’ve stood this way before, Chief.”

“Yes, Wolf. You were marked as you are today. But still strong enough to wear defiance in your eyes. Strong enough to stand, and fight.”

Kaed gave him a fleeting grin, remembering how, as a nine-year-old boy faced with being traded away, he had rammed his head into Standing Bear’s rock-hard belly, catching him off guard, nearly knocking him to the ground in front of the Apaches and Standing Bear’s own warriors.

Standing Bear smiled and put his hand to his stomach. “This recovered before my pride did.” He nodded at Kaed’s arm. “I hope it is not so with you, Wolf. You did all you could, yet I see you still hold some blame in your heart for yourself.”

Kaed had to admit it was true, and he didn’t understand it. When he went over it logically in his mind, as he had done a thousand times, he knew he wasn’t to blame, that he’d done everything he could have. But he’d never expected White Deer to do what she had done, and he understood the parallel Standing Bear was drawing. The chief had never expected the young boy Kaed had been to lower his head and run at him, either.

Standing Bear spoke in his native tongue. “Have you thought upon my words concerning Fire Eyes? Or will she go to one of my warriors?”

      “She is my woman now,” Kaed said in the same language, “and will belong to no other man.”

 

Vickie McDonough: Mail Order Brides—Matrimonial Mayhem?

“Wanted: A girl who will love, honest, true not sour; a nice little cooing dove and willing to work in flour.”

“I am 33 years of age, and as regards looks can average with most men. I am looking for a lady to make her my wife, as I am heartily tired of bachelor life. I desire a lady not over 28 or 30 years of age, not ugly, well educated and musical. Nationality makes no difference, only I prefer not to have a lady of Irish birth. She must have at least $20,000.” (Yeah, good luck with that, Mister)

Mail order brides have been a part of American history since 1619, when the first white women arrived in Jamestown. The Virginia Company of London sent several shipments of mail-order brides to America, in exchange for tobacco, so it’s no surprise these ladies became known as tobacco brides.

With the westward expansion of the U.S. frontier, the popularity of mail-order brides exploded. Men traveled west for adventure, to get free land, and to find gold, but once they settled and the lust for adventure wore off, they realized something vital was missing—decent women—the kind a man wanted to raise his children.

At the same time war, disease, and the lack of quality medicine, left many woman widowed, fatherless, or spinsters. With little means of support and few jobs available for women, these desperate gals often became mail-order brides. Marrying a stranger and having a home and children to tend seemed a far better alternative to working twelve hours a day in a sweat shop, or even worse, being forced to become a kept woman or a prostitute.

Even though readers love mail-order bride stories, which usually have a happy ending, in truth, many of these marriages failed. But it wasn’t always the woman who was disappointed, sometimes the man was the unhappy one. Here’s an eye-opening advertisement warning men to be cautious and women to be truthful:

NOTICE: Due to the influx of Eastern “mail-order brides” into our community & the hasty marriages that follow, several complaints have been lodged by no longer happy grooms.

Therefore:
Let it be known that any marriage into which a man is seduced by the use of:
False hair
Cosmetic paints
Artificial bosoms (they actually had those back then?)
Bolstered hips (and why would you want these?)
Padded limbs (uh…no thanks)
without the man’s knowledge, shall stand null & void if he so desires.

-Judge John H. Arbuckle
Dated April 3, 1873

DO NOT BE DECEIVED

(Note: This warning first appeared in several issues of Matrimonial News. It was reprinted in Hearts West: True Stories of Mail-order Brides by Chris Enss, as were the two advertisements at the beginning of this article)

Hmm…I’m guessing that men must have liked fuller women back then. Can’t you imagine the surprise of some farmer as his new wife undressed on their wedding night and removed her big dress, false hair, fake bosoms, and hip and limb pads. She went from stout to scrawny. J

Needless to say, we still have mail-order brides today, but you hear about few happy endings. For a romance though, a happy ending is crucial. This was my year of writing mail-order brides stories, and I guaranteed you a HEA.

Second Chance Brides is book two in my Texas Boardinghouse Brides series. Here’s a short blurb: Shannon O’Neil and Leah Bennett, are stranded in Lookout, Texas, without husbands or future plans. Thankfully, the marshal has ordered the rascally Corbett brothers to pay for the women’s lodging at the boardinghouse, but will the brothers’ idea of hosting Saturday socials really bring these women the kind of loves they long for? Will Shannon choose to marry just for security? Will Leah reject love when the challenges mount?

Ride the transcontinental railroad as marriage arrives by mail-order—and just in time for Christmas. Annika arrives in Wyoming to discover her intended is missing. Jolie’s journey to Nevada is derailed by disaster. Elizabeth carries a load of secrets to Nebraska. And Amelia travels to California to wrap up her final attempts at matchmaking. Will the holiday season be the ticket to spark love in unexpected ways?

So, do you have a favorite mail-order bride book that you’ve read—or do you have an interesting mail-order bride story in your family heritage? Leave a comment to get your name in the drawing for a copy of Christmas Mail Order Brides.
Thanks for inviting me to be a guest again on Petticoats & Pistols. I love this website and always enjoy my time here.

 

Click covers to buy on Amazon
Vickie McDonough
www.vickiemcdonough.com

MJ Fredrick ~ Time Travel and Romance

If I could have any superpower, I’d want the power of time travel. I wouldn’t care about going into the future—I’d prefer not to know. But I would LOVE to go into the past. I drive by buildings and wonder what they were like in their heyday. I live in an old city, so there are a lot of old buildings. Depending on my mood, there are different eras I want to visit.

The early 1960s, the era when my mom was young. It’s also the era of Mad Men, and it’s just fascinating to see how different mores were in those days. A lot of the buildings around my neighborhood were built in that era, with the flat roofs and the plate glass, and I would love to see them when they were new.

The 1950s, when my mom was a child. She talks about shopping downtown, and the buildings are still there. I can just imagine her traipsing down the street in her little dress, going to the soda fountain. My dad’s hometown was also thriving in the 1950s, and I would love to experience that small town in that time period. I’d also love to travel Route 66, and stay in those motels along the way.

The post-Civil War era, during western expansion, the time of Laura Ingalls. I devoured those books when I was young, and while I didn’t really care about visiting that time period at the time, now I wonder what it must be like to have experienced that wide-open feeling.

MAYBE I’d want to visit a trail drive. Just for a few hours.

And downtown San Antonio as it recovered after the battle of the Alamo. I’m not sure I’d like to visit the time period that my book, SUNRISE OVER TEXAS from Carina Press, is set, during the time Stephen Austin brought the first families to Texas, when it was still a part of Mexico. The Texas frontier was wild at the time, and the Mexican government wanted it settled. I don’t think I could ever do the things my heroine Kit has to endure.

Time travel would be a fun power to have, but I’d want to return to my own time period, of air conditioning and transportation and hamburgers.

Where would you want to time travel?

MJ will give away a $10 gift card to either Amazon or Barnes & Noble today to one lucky commenter. So get typing!

Colt 1848 “Baby Dragoon”: A Rather Big Baby

We’ve had such fun looking at pocket pistols and revolvers, I thought I’d share another I ran across: The Colt 1848 “Baby Dragoon.” Many consider this to be the first true hideout gun.

The Colt Model 1848 Baby Dragoon Revolver was manufactured in Hartford from circa l847 through to 1850 with a total of about 15,000 produced. A .31 caliber weapon, this baby held five shots in its cylinder.

In order to cut back on the weight of the gun, the loading lever was removed from under the barrel and the front sight was scaled down to a tiny bead. This also helped make the gun more “snag-free”, meaning it was less likely to catch in the lining of the pocket or purse when drawn. Rather important if you wanted to get the drop on a bad guy.

The one on the left has no loading lever; the one on the right does. See it, under the barrel?

The five-shot Baby Dragoon was a scaled down version of the large dragoon revolvers, and were manufactured with barrel lengths of 3″, 4″, 5″, and 6″ and a distinctive square-back trigger-guard.  The 3” and 4” are reasonable for a pocket revolver, but a 5 or 6” barrel, plus the cylinder and polished wood grip–not exactly a miniature weapon.

The “Baby Dragoon” pistol was more accurate and more powerful than earlier pocket guns, and their lighter weight made them the weapon of choice for Pony Express riders, and the Wells Fargo Company.

Want more info? Check out Colt’s Pocket ’49: Its Evolution, Including the Baby Dragoon & Wells Fargo by Robert M. Jordan & Darrow M. Watt. The book is out of print, but you might be able to find a copy through your local library.

What’s Western on your TBR?

I write contemporary western Romances but surprisingly, I don’t get the chance to read a lot of westerns for pleasure. My TBR is stupendously varied – books on writing craft, series Romance, Women’s Fiction, Classics, Regencies…

 So what’s western on my tbr?

 

McShannon’s Chance is one book I’ve had on my shelf too long and what I’m reading now.  It’s by Jennie Marsland, an RWA chapter mate and she’s got an independent spunky heroine and a Civil War vet – and it’s a mail order bride story.  Awesome! Her next book, McShannon’s Heart, is due out soon from Bluewood Publishing.  And I think Jennie might be guesting with us here at the Junction really soon.  You’re not going to want to miss that.  Jennie’s pretty talented – she writes, paints and sings.

 

 

 

Virgin River by Robyn Carr.  Would this strictly be called a western?  It’s set in small town California, but cabins, crystal clear rivers and small towns say western to me.  Perhaps y’all can enlighten me more?  I’m ashamed to say I haven’t read any of Robyn’s work yet, and when I bought Virgin River it was because I wanted to get the first book of the series.

And I know your jaw is going to drop when I admit I haven’t read anything by Linda Lael Miller either.  I know.  How can I possibly call myself a western writer? I seriously think I need to put a sign on my head that reads “So many awesome books, so little time.” McKettrick’s Luck is on my TBR too. Again – first in the series so if I fall in love I’ll probably glom up the rest of the series.

I’ve also got some Category Romance books on my e-reader waiting:  Crime Scene at Cardwell Ranch by BJ Daniels, Once A Cowboy by Linda Warren, and The Cowboy’s Christmas Miracle by Raeanne Thayne.

 I’ve also got a shopping list as long as my arm as my sister fillies keep writing such wonderful books!

What’s Western on your TBR?

Petticoats & Pistols