Potato Soup for the Soul:

I’ve come to think of cooking as an art that is part gift and part skillful practice. My mother was a very gifted cook. She could make a dish that was perfect and filled with love. One recipe that fed my soul as well as my stomach was her potato soup. I’ve since added some things and made some changes, but deep down, it is still her recipe and wonderful for these last chilly days in “April—or when your soul is a little tender. This recipe is cheap and inexpensive. My mother was a child during the Depression and a young woman in WWII—a time in which many of my books are set.

Ingredients:

3-4 potatoes

2 stalks of celery

1 onion

3 shallots

2 teaspoons salt

2 teaspoons pepper

2 teaspoons parsley

3-4 cups of milk

1. Boil potatoes and peel.

2. Sauté shallots, celery, and onion.

3. Place in with Potatoes.

4. Mash potatoes with the ingredients.

5. Add milk.

6. Season with salt, pepper, and parsley

–My mother knew how to make me happy after a hard day. I miss her and her great cooking.

Writing Through Stress…Hello Spring!

All I can say is… it’s about time! What a long dark that was!

As you’re reading this, I’m likely sitting on a beach with a fishing pole in hand! That Man and I are on a “just us” trip to our favorite beach! We’ve been looking forward this since… well, since the last time we’ve had a “just us” trip and it’s probably been about 3 years.

It’s the calm before the storm. When we return it’ll be one obligation after another for pretty much the entire summer and fall. It’s all good–most of it is fun stuff–but it’s nice to have the moment to recharge before diving in.

Currently, it’s the final countdown before we depart. And this is the time where there’s a metric crapton of anxiety… We’re still dealing with pop us issues with the new vehicle and at this point, we’ve taken every precaution and are prepared for anything that could happen, but yikes. Our animals and house will be well cared for by the best house-sitter in the world. But our puppers is an old lady and we worry about her. And you know… every other thing you worry about before going on a trip.

Oh! This happened after my last post, but during the last snowstorm we had here, we wrecked my beloved Jeep. It was pretty awful. We were uninjured (a few bruises from the seat belt and sore muscles), but my Jeep was not. She’s in pretty bad shape, but she’ll be back. Once we return from our trip, the dismantling and procurement of needed parts will begin. I am super sad though.

In other news, I’m working on a new book and I’m over halfway through. I’m kind of stuck right now but I’m working through it in my head. I just feel like something should else should be happening, but I’m not sure what. But I’m plugging along and I do really like the premise and the characters.

And that’s it! Enjoy the sunshine!

Behave!

A Poem with an Intriguing Backstory

April is National Poetry Month, a month set aside to honor poetry and its vital place in our society. First celebrated in 1996 by the Academy of American Poets, this event has grown into a national movement that inspires millions, from the youngest children to the oldest readers. All forms of poetry from sonnets and romantic ballads to haiku and limericks to free verse are shared throughout the month.

Today, I am sharing one of my favorite poems, “Comes the Dawn.” I recall first seeing this poem in the early 1970s. At the time, the poet was Unknown. Since then, I have learned that several poets have been credited with creating this inspiring poem.

It is most often attributed to “Veronica A. Shoffstall” (1952 – 2024), a woman who served with distinction at the Baha’i International Community’s United Nations Office and Office of Public Information in New York. It appeared in her college yearbook in 1971.

Other backstories have emerged. A popular one attributes the poem to Jorge Luis Borges (1899 – 1986). It is the first half of a longer poem entitled “Aprendiendo.” Regarded as a key figure in Spanish-language and international literature, Borges was an Argentine short-story writer, essayist, poet, and translator.

The poem has been shared with other titles, among them “After A While,” “You Learn,” and “Despues de Un Tiempo.” The layout of the poem also varies from a series of two-line verses to various free-verse structures.

On a whim, I turned to ChatGPT and received the following response to my query:

“Comes the Dawn” is a beautiful poem that is often attributed to Veronica A. Shoffstall, although there is some debate about its origin. The poem speaks to the idea of resilience, growth, and moving forward after experiencing challenges or hardships.

The poem resonates with many people because it captures the essence of personal growth and empowerment through life’s trials and tribulations. It encourages self-reliance, resilience, and the understanding that endings can also be opportunities for new beginnings. While the specific backstory behind the poem’s creation remains somewhat elusive, its message has touched countless hearts over the years.

Without any further ado…Here’s the poem:

Comes the Dawn

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open,

With the grace of a woman,
Not the grief of a child

And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

And you learn that you really can endure…
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth,
and you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn.

You can listen to the Spanish version here.

Do you have a favorite poem? Please share in the comments.

Where to find Joanne Guidoccio…

Website | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest | Facebook | LinkedIn | Amazon

Friends Deserve Page Time as Secondary Characters

Do you write loyal, trusted, helpful friends or cheating, conniving, dastardly two-faced friends? Choose wisely and your protagonist succeeds or bleeds accordingly. 

“What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.” Aristotle.

Oh, the lucky person who finds such a confidant in real life. In fiction, friendships create a backdrop for perfect and imperfect relationships outside of the main character struggling against the antagonist. How your protagonist reacts and supports their friends provides insight to your readers, so when I write, I develop BFF’s with intent.

I’ve published the first three books in a romantic suspense series, Love Thrives in Emma Springs. In The Hitman’s Mistake my heroine, Miranda, relies on her best friend, Corrin, in order to vanish. The second book, Torn by Vengeance, is Corrin’s story and the two friends work together to thwart her stalker. A third female friend is introduced in Vengeance, and voila, the main character in the next story, The Targeted Pawn, gained an audience.

The male heroes in my books remain front and center, but creating engaging female secondary characters pays off. After reading Hitman, my dental hygienist insisted she needed to read Corrin’s story. Oops. I shelved the two other books I’d written for the series, slapped my forehead, and honored her request. In another series I’ve started, Book 1 features the popular friends-to-lovers troupe. Shared childhood memories create a window into their adult emotions.

Common interests, past history, and awkward encounters invite logical ties. I’m personally not a fan of backstabbing woman in fiction, so I carefully balance personality conflicts and disagreements between friends while maintaining underlying love and support for one another. I prefer to portray my villains as trusting the wrong friend and paying the consequences. An excerpt from Torn by Vengeance highlighting the power of friendship is below. Happy trails, Sally

The airplane swooped down from the angry sky, bounced twice on the runway, and taxied to the terminal.

A wave of jitters hit. Miranda would be shocked to see her in Montana. The last time they’d talked, they’d planned to meet in Seattle, prior to her testimony.

“Spontaneous and Corrin Patten never grace the same sentence,” her BFF frequently joked. Well, today she’d refute Miranda’s statement. She shoved legal files into her bag on the floor and checked outside. Beyond the tarmac-and-boondocks version of an airport, Montana stretched in a wide expanse of snow-dusted, midday tranquility. Cows stood in a field off to one side, ignoring the buzz of the planes.

All those years ago, buzzing, waspish tongues in Ebony Cove hadn’t affected her either, until she’d lost her childlike naiveté on that horrible afternoon.

Suppressed images of those falsely smiling lips whispering insults dotted her memory again like the cow pies dotting the nearby pasture. Queasiness rolled through her stomach. She wasn’t the ragtag kid anymore, wondering if she’d scrape together dinner for her siblings—wondering if the neighbor’s steers would trample her as she collected fallen, unwanted apples from the orchard where they grazed.

If her sister-of-the-soul, Miranda, hadn’t frantically called, she’d never have flown here to offer moral support and informal legal coaching.

The Hitman’s Mistake:

Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07DM795GP

Torn by Vengeance:

Amazon Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07P1D33K1

The Targeted Pawn

Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B085F2Q85M

Are You Ready for Big Magic?

By Jeanine Englert

I am a firm believer that timing is everything and that time (along with dogs) can heal well almost anything. I also believe that books find me when I need them. Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert was the book I needed recently, and listening to it has saved the creator and maker in me.

Do I sound overdramatic? Yes. Am I still serious. Yes. To say that I was in burnout with my writing seems an understatement, especially now that I have finally peeked out of the well I had fallen into. And let me tell you, I denied it for a long while before I named it. Then, even when I named it, I just sat and eyed it suspiciously as if we were having a staring contest. I didn’t know what to do with it. I suppose I just carried it around a while and pretended we were old friends.

We weren’t.

How did I get there? I think the answer when I think about it is simple. I published 6 books over the last 3 years and I have another one coming out in October. For someone who took 9 years to finish their first book (which will never emerge from its shoebox), this pace of output was and is too much for me. I’m a pantster, so the percolating and amount of time my mind needs to create is simply more than what I had contractually allowed myself.

And the other brutal and painful truth is that I did it to myself. I didn’t have to sign contracts and have such close pub dates. I knew when I signed them that I had a full-time job, husband, pups, and the rest of what is a life to lead. I knew there were only so many hours in a day, but I kept saying yes.

I just didn’t know I was saying yes to the wrong things.

Until I listened to Big Magic. I listened to it on the way to work and on the way home from work, and slowly I felt the black gloom of burnout ease back enough to let some creative light back in. So, now I say yes to curiosity, my creative self, and allowing my creativity to breathe. I stilled and listened to the quiet until I could hear and feel that “big magic” within me coming back to life with the slow fluttering of its little butterfly wings.

While I don’t know if you are in, near, or burnout adjacent, please take a moment to breathe and to let your craft and creativity breathe. Sit quiet with it for a while and make sure you pause and celebrate the art of whatever you have made or are making. Nurture your big magic. . . and above all else, if you haven’t given yourself the gift of listening to or reading Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert, do so. The creator within you will thank you.

Jeanine Englert’s love affair with mysteries and romance began with Nancy Drew, Murder She Wrote, and her Grandmother’s bookshelves full of romance novels. She is a VIVIAN® and Golden Heart® Finalist as well as a Silver Falchion, Maggie, and Daphne du Maurier Award Winner in historical romance and mystery.

Her Scottish Highland historical and historical romantic suspense novels revolve around characters seeking self-acceptance and redemption. When she isn’t wrangling with her characters on the page, she can be found trying to convince her husband to watch her latest Masterpiece or BBC show obsession. She loves to talk about books, writing, her beloved rescue pups, as well as mysteries and romance with other readers. Visit her website at www.jeaninewrites.com.

Social Media Links –

FB: http://www.facebook.com/JeanineWrites

Website: https://www.jeaninewrites.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46222432-lovely-digits

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jeanine-englert?list=abouthttps://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46222432-lovely-digits

The Write Word with Wareeze

The middle of the book

Hello again friends and readers,

If this is your first time to read a Soul Mate Publishing blog post, allow me to introduce myself. I write historical romance novels with a dash of suspense under my pen name, Wareeze Woodson. Seven of my books are published by Soul Mate and have been released on Amazon. Conduct Unbecoming of a Gentleman, An Enduring Love, A Lady’s Vanishing Choices, Captured by the Viscount, The Earl’s Scandalous Wager along with a historical romance western: Bittersweep. The title of my latest release is The Earl, Her Reluctant Guardian, also available on Amazon.

I have a self-published one as well. After She Became a Lady. Self-publishing is not for me, however.

Today I would like to discuss the middle of the book. There must be a starting point, written and presented plus the all satisfying ending. Start with an idea for the book and write the beginning scene. Is it strong enough to draw the reader into the story? The author must know the ending as well. Now for the middle. The author must not allow the story to sag in the middle with uninteresting information, no action, and no emotion.

The reader has been introduced to the heroine, the hero, and supporting characters. Perhaps the villain as well. At this point in the story, the beginning, perhaps not the villain yet.

Now we come to the middle. There are two story lines in each of my books, The love story…most important part, and the mystery. To handle the situation properly, the author must present clues throughout the book. This holds true to the beginning. There should be a whiff of romance.

Write the beginning. Jot down the end (happy-ever-after) in my book.

Now for the rest. The author has written the first scene. Write the next scene. Very important, what had to happen to arrive at that scene? Keep moving forward with your eye on the moment the reader closes the book. What must happen to arrive at that happy ending moment? Each movement forward must aimed for that ending with clues sprinkled throughout the manuscript to keep things happening until the end. Actions followed by reactions. Do not leave out the important emotional impact of the story as well.

For example, in my work in progress (Valerie) for now, the reader meets the heroine. Clues letting the reader know something is about the happen between Valerie and Lord Alton. The love story begins.

Valerie:

Valerie quaked in her slippers. She wanted to run, to leave this curst burden far behind but instead she twisted the handle and pushed into the room. Valerie barely observed the cheerful fire in the fireplace. The coziness of the chamber did nothing to warm her chilled hands or her frozen heart. Her stomach sank to her toes. The room was empty. He wasn’t coming. Now, what could she do?

At that very moment, the door opened, and a tall gentleman, with broad shoulders and narrow hips strode into the parlor with a decisive stride. Her entire attention was captured by the handsome face, with a strong jawline denoting an inflexible will, or so she imagined. His raven dark hair brushed the collar of his cut away coat. His eyes should have been a warm brown, but the cold, piercing quality dissuaded her of such a conjecture. A gentleman of means no doubt, noted by his confident stance and apparel, stood before her studying her from the top of her head to her toes. She could tell nothing by his blank expression.

The beginning of a love story you say, absurd. Still, she does view much to admire about the man. His handsome face as well as his well-formed frame. First clue for romance and this is only the beginning.

The mystery element follows. Valerie:

“The harridan smiled at me with a smirk on her face when father made his wishes known. Lady Alton thinks she has covered every possible way to force her vengeance on me.” John’s laughter was hollow with bitterness. “She’ll soon be the dowager countess. She thinks I will marry her to meet the requirement.” John elevated his chin a full, stubborn inch. “My father thought he knew me well and this is his last desperate attempt to control me even beyond the grave.”

The root of the mystery explained. Whatever happens next? In the middle? Well not entirely in the middle. Lord Alton and Valerie must be together. Not miles and miles apart for a romance to flourish.

Valerie:

He didn’t try to soften his tone for the chit holding onto the door. She deserved his wrath peeking at him as if he were a dangerous villain. “I wish to speak to Lady Alton at once.” Lady Alton indeed. She was nothing without him, a mere miss, no lady at all. He held back a vulgar snort at the thought. “I am Lord Alton, her husband. Inform her of my arrival.”

The chit gasped and after a second shut the panel in his face. Running footsteps receded into the interior of the house. Affronted and stunned at such a reception, he seethed with resentment. Valerie had better understand her position-his wife, his to direct, his to protect as well. Protect, hmm. He grimaced at that thought. He didn’t intend to protect her from himself.

The fire begins as a flicker before bursting into flame. Least the middle sags, there is a ghost? Or is there? Unexpected and unwelcome guests arrive at Thornton Court. A murder, real and disturbing occurs. The plot thickens. Do Valerie and John grow closer as the mystery deepens or farther apart? What happens and keeps happening to reach that happy ending? Read more about Valerie and Lord Alton on my website as the story progresses.

I hope this has been a bit helpful when you as the author get stuck in the middle. Keep writing and at the end of the scene ask yourself what must happen to move toward the end. What happened to arrive at this scene is always a helpful question in retrospect? Mull it over and keep writing.

Farewell until we meet again. Thank you for sharing you time with me and reading my post.

Respectfully,

Wareeze Woodson

Website: www.wareezewoodson.com

Face book: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Wareeze-Woodson/523727757689755

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/wareeze

Twitter: http://twitter.com/wareeze

Literary Holidays To Connect Readers and Authors

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Gwendolyn the time travelling hedgehog

I asked last blog about what readers would like to read. The offer still stands – comment with some story prompts or suggest a character name. Or a topic- the past, the future, the present. Or even ask about my writing, books etc.

In honour of Susan Berger commenting (check out her time travel books at https://www.amazon.com/stores/Susan-B.-James/author/B00I4DG022?)  I created the following story. It is set in the world of Druid’s Portal and fits neatly into the next book in the series – Boudicca. In this part the young Druid Phelan used the Arwen Pendant in an ill-fated trip that plunges himself, his family, and the future in great danger.

The small prickly brown creature snuffled along the forest path, looking for more of the tasty grubs that lived only under the oak trees. It had no concept of oak but a scent, no concept of searching except for a gnawing hunger in its belly. Instinct drove her for she was bearing young. A new litter to be born in the spring when the land warmed and leaves were fresh and juicy. She snapped up a grasshopper and munched it, snorting happily as she followed the path deeper into the forest.

Vibrations up ahead, regular. She paused, backing slowly into the grass. It could be anything, but it sounded like one of the tall two-legged creatures. She shrank back further, remembering the loss of her mate to one of them. She remained still, only her bright brown eyes flicking indicated her fear.

The noise stopped and she was lifted into the air.

“I won’t hurt you, hedgepig,” a noise boomed. She curled around herself, seeking to protect her babies from harm. The man was dressed in a brown robe, the hem stained with mud. A few oak leaves and twigs were matted in his hair. Scars of battle ran down his damaged face, but his brown eyes – so like hers – looked at her kindly.

“I have a task tonight, hedgepig.” He carried her along the path, his voice soft in song. A soothing chant that reminded her of the forest, of the wind in the grass.

“I’ll take you to the clearing, I know your kind are always rootling around oak trees for beetles and such. It will save you a walk in the rain.”

Her nose twitched as the first drops fell, but he covered her with a sleeve, and she nestled into him. He smelled of the forest, of soil rich with tasty bugs, of leaves that rotted into mulch, of all the growing things that had no names.

The man reached a clearing, for she could see the sky, the dawn light breaking. He put her down and dug carefully around at a tree root. She snuffled close by, looking out for worms. He dug a shiny thing from the soil, sitting down with it in his lap. She looked at him, nose twitching.

A wind rose up in the glade as the man’s voice raised in a chant. She dug her claws into the ground, but a darkness fell around them, darkness with the light of stars within. A gnawing and gnashing of teeth surrounded her. There was danger here. She shrank into herself, rolling into a ball. The man cried out and she saw him no more.

A grey mist surrounded her, gradually warming into sunshine. Birds called, and there was a very good smell in the air. Unfamiliar, but it tasted of honey and of berries warmed in the sun.

“What do we have here?” A soft voice, much softer than the man. Like a breeze in the forest, the softness of a moth landing on a flower.

“An innocent one drawn into my domain by chance.” The Goddess Arwen bent to pick her up, and she gazed into the silver glow of a goddess. The goddess of the Druids, worshipped by the man of the forest. The protector of the creatures that lived there.

A soft hand stroked her nose.

Concepts blazed within her, words appeared in her mind, chased by thoughts she had never had. The past and her lost mate all rolled into one emotion of pain and then vanished as the gentle hand soothed her. The future opened up, a future of black roads and the death of her kind. So many. She sniffed and gazed at the goddess with sadness in her heart.

“I know little one. But if you choose, one small creature such as yourself can help.”

“Help?” A strange new idea.

“Yes. But you need a name. “Gwendolyn the White.”

“But I am not white, I am brown like all my kind,” she whispered.

“Will you help your kindred far into the future?” Arwen asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you are Gwendolyn the White, saviour of the small creatures due to be lost before their time.”

A silver mist surrounded her, soaking into her quills, her feet, and inside, till she felt her babies squirm and wriggle. They too were part of this new magic. She opened her eyes and understood many things.

“I will go now, I have a job to do.”

Arwen nodded, smiling. “It soothes my heart that such blessings are still within my power. By such actions may my deeds be forgiven.” She faded into the silver mist, leaving a small dark burrow behind.

Gwendolyn sniffed it hesitantly. The dark hole smell of asphalt, of concrete, and the air was rank with car fumes. Many things had changed at the other end of this burrow.

A small squeak alerted her, and she dived into the burrow. Darkness carried her forward, the stars were the only light. But she had not lost any of her senses, and she navigated the time portal as easily as if it were a forest path bright with moonlight.

“Come,” she grunted. A small family of hedgehogs clustered by the road, noses whiffling as the cars sped past. There would be no chance for them if they crossed. They gazed at her as she glowed white, her eyes pearly with wisdom.

As they followed her into the burrow, she thought about home and the grubs under the oak trees.

Ahead was the oak tree of home. She nosed the place where the druid had been sitting, but she knew he was gone into that place of danger. She glanced up at the night sky and wished him well.

Around her grunted the new family, already rootling up grubs and worms for the babies.

She snorted happily at them and returned to the burrow.

There were many more creatures that needed her help.

About Cindy

I write in a few different genres including romance, science fiction and fantasy. My SMP series Druid’s Portal is a time travel action adventure romance series set in Roman Britain. The third exciting novel in the series is now in the editing stage – Boudicca. Roman Britain at its most bloody, and yet love will be found in the darkest and most dangerous of times. Hit me up if you would like to get a copy before publication and review it, or review copies of the first two in the series.

Check out my books and short story collections on Amazon. Many are free, and all of them are page turners guaranteed to help you escape the everyday.

Contact Cindy on

Website: https://www.cindytomamichel.com/  

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CindyTomamichelAuthor/

Twitter/X: https://twitter.com/CindyTomamichel

Amazon: https://amazon.com/author/cindytomamichel

Newsletter: https://tinyurl.com/AdventureNews

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/cindy-tomamichel

Substack blog Travels in Time: https://substack.com/@cindytomamichel

Time travel author? Be interviewed by filling out this form:  https://forms.gle/zMkQSgYjJNhA4Y258

Getting My Extrovert On!

I really excited to get out of my writing cave this spring and get a chance to connect with readers and authors in person. I’m thrilled to have three events planned in the up-coming months, two in the Chicago area in April and one in Portland on May 31st.

A romance extravaganza is happening April 12th through April 14th at Embassy Suites by Hilton Chicago Lombard Oak Brook. Even if you have a limited book budget, Cuffed in Chicago is sure to be lots of fun with a canvas swag bag for authors to sign, scavenger hunts and goodies available during the signing, and a special VIP cocktail party in the evening. Complete a weekend of fun by snagging breakfast with your favorite authors Sunday morning. I’m really looking forward to a great chance to connect with readers, and hope to see lots of Chicago folks there!

The following weekend, I’ll still be in the Windy City, this time for a writer’s conference. I’m looking forward to connecting with other authors and brushing up on some of my craft and business skills with the engaging workshops at the Spring Fling Writers Conference. The weekend culminates with a totally free bookfair host by Loves Sweet Arrow, and featuring romance greats Beverly Jenkins and Kate Clayborn. Join us on Saturday April 20th from 3 to 5 p.m. at the Renaissance Chicago O’Hare. I’ll be signing along with a ton of other romance authors, and would love to see you there!

While I’m really excited planning my Midwest adventure, I’m also thrilled to be a part of a reader event closer to home. This will be my first Oregon event since the pandemic, so I’m really thrilled to be a part of it. On Friday May 31st, I’ll be a Hidden Gem at the Hot & Steamy in Portland cocktail party, at the Hilton Portland Downtown. From 6pm – 9pm there is a reader/author meet and greet and book signing, followed by even more authors signing on Saturday. I hope lots of Pacific Northwest peeps can make it!

I love in-person events, and would love to do even more of them, especially if I can drive to them. Have you ever been to an in-person author event? What did you like about it? Do you have any you recommend I attend?

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Jaycee Jarvis has been an avid romance reader since devouring all the Sweet Dreams books her middle school library had to offer. Also a fantasy fan from an early age, she often wished those wondrous stories had just a bit more kissing. Now she writes stories with a romantic heart set against a magical backdrop, creating the kind of book she most likes to read.

When not lost in worlds of her own creation, she resides in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, three children and a menagerie of pets.

Jaycee is a Golden Heart® finalist and author of the Hands of Destin series. The award winning first book in that series, Taxing Courtship, released in June 2018. The final book in that series, Crowning Courtship, came out in May 2021.

Learn more about her around the web:

• Website: www.jayceejarvis.com
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJayceeJarvis
• Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18092674.Jaycee_Jarvis
• BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jaycee-jarvis

The Grit of the Irish:

The Grit of the Irish:

My hubby and I celebrated St. Patrick’s Day in grand style. Well, the day before I rode in the St. Joseph Italian Parade, but I always show my Irish on March 17.  I don’t care that St. Patrick was actually born in England; he became one of us. Through the years, I’ve created many Irish characters. Grainne O’Malley, a real Irish pirate woman, ruled the seas in Buccaneer Beauty. Grainne, or Grace, was a real pirate. I loved her strength and determination. She manipulated the British as well as rival clans. She was the indispensable partner to two chieftains who controlled her own fleets. Reputedly, she commandeered her ships until the age of seventy-seven.

In From Ice Wagon to Club House and The Progeny, the Mooney family forged their way in their adopted homeland but they often found refuge in the motherland in times of trouble. Jude Mooney, the son of immigrants, drives an ice wagon in New Orleans, works in a Storyville brothel, and then takes ship to Ireland to escape the wrath of his pious parents. Seeking solace with his family, he fights in WWI and then in the Easter Uprising. Eventually, he makes his way home to New Orleans with his sultry Irish wife, becomes a bootlegger, and then a horse trainer. He achieves success but has to send his beloved sons away when they are caught in a web of betrayal and murder. In The Progeny, Jude’s sons fight against Nazis and spy for the allies but not before fighting in the Irish quest for unity. 

This March 17, the hubby and I attended a concert by an Irish singer named Danny O’Flaherty. Danny is a native Irishman who came to this country as a young man. He frequently leads trips back to his homeland. We sang songs of rebellion, love, and legend with others celebrating the saint and the people he converted. Later that night, we attended mass while Fr. Murphy, an Irish native of Chicago, proudly boasted of his heritage. We Irish are a determined and proud group.