Friday, July 10, 2020

The countdown continues -- Excerpt #3, Tom and Jenny actually meet

As I continue to celebrate next week's release of What Frees the Heart, here's the third excerpt, a nice long one where Tom and Jenny actually meet.

Reminder: you can preorder the Kindle edition here, and the paperback here (Amazon) and here (B&N).

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How many times had Tom walked by the tall building with the bright red trim and the red lanterns, wondering what it was like inside? The first time must have been before he learned just what went on in there, when all he noted was how fancy it looked. But over the years, he went from a confused “something naughty” notion, to puzzlement over why anyone would want to see half-naked ladies, to understanding and feeling the same.
It was growing dusk, and the lanterns glowed. His heart beat pretty fast as he finally, finally touched the doorknob and pulled it open.
The first thing he noticed was the piano music coming from the bar. But next second, he saw the women, sitting and standing all around, in fancy dresses with short sleeves and cut low to show bosoms, and lacy petticoats underneath.
His head could’ve been mounted on a swivel as he looked from one to another. But it stopped short when he saw a girl he thought he’d seen before, on the street that day he’d come to town with Pa. But hadn’t that girl had yellow hair? This girl’s hair was red, a pretty bright-copper color that made him think of firelight.
No, it was the same girl, he could swear it, however she’d managed to change her hair. The same pretty face and fetching shape, and a sort of freshness to her. She caught him looking and smiled at him, friendly but kind of bold — no wonder, given where she was. What she was. No wonder he’d never seen her at a church social.
Then movement caught his eye from the wide staircase with the shiny banister. A woman was sweeping downstairs, graceful but quick. He didn’t know as he’d ever seen Madam Mamie before, but it had to be her. She was older than the other women, and her dress wasn’t cut so low or so bright-colored, but more than that, you could tell just looking at her that she was in charge and wouldn’t take no guff from nobody.
Sure enough, she held out a dainty hand with painted nails and said smiling, “I’m Mamie. Welcome to my place. Your first time here, isn’t it?”
Her eyes scanned him from head to foot, just barely slowing down when she got to where the wooden leg peeked out of his trousers, and then up again. “I have just the girl for you — Amanda Jane over there. Mandy! Come meet this fine young fellow.”
A woman who might be in her middle twenties stood up. She had a lot of paint on her cheeks and eyes and lips — well, they all did, but more than some — and thin eyebrows with kind of a funny shape to them. She came toward Tom with a business-like kind of walk and a smile he had the notion she’d smiled hundreds of times before, exactly the same every time.
Tom took a step back before he could stop himself. His cheeks hot, he stammered, “Thank you kindly, ma’am. But . . . I wonder if I might . . . spend my time with that other girl instead? The red-headed one?”
Mamie blinked, but she held her hand out toward the painted-up woman. “Never mind, Mandy. Young man — what’s your name?”
“Tom.” He hoped a first name was enough, here.
“Well, Tom, we aim to please! You have a seat at the bar and ask for whatever you’d like to drink. I’ll just talk to Jenny for a minute.”
Jenny — the name suited her — had started talking to another girl by then, but she heard her name and looked over. She tilted her head, quizzical-like, as Mamie moved off in her direction. Tom hustled to the bar and asked for a tall glass of whatever beer was most handy. When it came, he took such a big gulp that he like to choked.

* * * * *

Mamie took Jenny by the elbow and tugged her over to the corner furthest from the bar. “That young man should’ve gone with Amanda Jane, but he wants you. Makes sense — he’s got farm boy written all over him, and you’re as close to a farm girl as I have just now, not to mention near his age. But he’s got a wooden leg, and you need to learn what to do.”
He might have farm boy written all over him, but poor as she was at reading, she’d have added fine-looking. And maybe nice fella along with it.
Mamie was talking so fast and quiet it was hard for Jenny to follow. “This may be his first time with a woman, which’d be good so he won’t be comparing things to how they were when he was whole. From how he looked walking in, I’d guess he still has his knee. That’d make things a lot easier. He could lie atop you, but he might not balance real well. You’d best hold him tight enough that he can’t topple. He won’t think anything of it. If I’m wrong and he has less leg than that, you’ll need him lying on his side or on his back. You can make lying on his back sound good by saying you’re dying to play cowgirl and ride him.”
Mamie looked over at the bar, probably to make sure the boy hadn’t run off. “Leave it up to him whether to leave the wooden leg on. Either way, make sure you don’t bump up against the leg or the stump, whichever, or it could hurt him and shut everything down.”
Jenny took a deep breath. This was going to be different, but not all in a bad way. At least she wouldn’t have to remember all the not-to-dos she had to keep in mind for the older, richer, snootier customers.
And she probably shouldn’t sing to him. Young as he was, he might take it as singing him a lullaby.


She’d seen plenty of men leer at her, or stare at her chest, as she went to take them upstairs, but she couldn’t recall seeing a fellow’s face light up like Christmas morning and a brand new sled.
When she grabbed his hand to lead him, he gripped it almost tight enough to hurt. Excited and nervous both, she figured. It made her feel kind of excited and nervous herself. A nice change from bored or worse. But also strange. It was almost like she was at home and entertaining a gentleman caller in the ordinary way. Except she’d never lived anywhere with two stories and a staircase between them, not to mention rugs and chandeliers and fancy wallpaper and such.
Speaking of which, Tom — Mamie had introduced them downstairs — kept looking around like he’d never seen the like. Growing up nearby, he’d probably been wondering about this place for years. She took her time on the stairs to let him get his fill of gawking.
At least, gawking at the place. When she led him into her room and let go of his hand, he did his looking straight at her, his face saying he couldn’t hardly believe his eyes.
She gave him a big smile. He was easy to smile at — young and good-looking, and he seemed a friendly sort. And not drooling or eying her like a big thick steak.
She was about ready to invite him to sit on the bed when he talked first. “You’re so pretty.”
Was that a blush heating up her cheeks? She hadn’t blushed since she couldn’t remember when. Maybe the day Mamie interviewed her and went through all the things she’d best be prepared to do. “Why, thank you!”
“And, and you’ve got such nice teeth.”
She hadn’t heard that one before. He probably wasn’t used to being around folks who cleaned their teeth regular, like Mamie insisted on.
Time to move things along. Mamie had her notions of how long the girls took with any one customer, unless she knew they’d pay extra for longer. “How about you sit down and get comfy? And I’ll do the same, all right?”
She could see his breathing speed up as soon as she sat on the little chair and took off her shoes. She got up and turned her back to him, standing right up against his knees. She could feel two of them — Mamie’d been right about that. And somehow she’d managed to forget about the fellow’s wooden leg for a minute. She’d better keep it in mind. “How about you undo my laces?” She had ways of shedding the dress without such help, but it’d get him started touching her, which he seemed a little shy of.
His fingers weren’t as clumsy as she’d thought they might be, nor soft like some of the customers who spent their days at some desk, nor yet as rough as cowboys’. As soon as he’d unlaced her far enough, she turned back toward him and shimmied out of the dress, making sure to bend over and give him a nice view. His jaw actually fell down, which she wanted to chuckle at but didn’t. Seeing as he liked the front of her so well, she reached around and undid her corset herself, then did the same to unfasten her petticoats. That left her standing there in nothing but stockings and garters and a smile.
Tom probably didn’t know he was panting. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he managed to ask, “Do I need to take off . . . .” That was as far as he got.
From his not wanting to say more, he probably meant his wooden leg, but to cover all points, she just said, “You don’t have to take off anything, cowboy.”
When he flinched and glowered, she realized she’d took a wrong step. It didn’t need him growling at her, “I’m no cowboy.” Maybe he’d thought of being, before.
She took his hand and said, “I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean that. Cowboys don’t clean up as good as you.”
That took him off stride enough to lighten up a little. She kept going. “Anyhow, you take off just what you want to. I’ll admit, though, I’d surely like to see more of you.”
He studied her face like he was trying to read lie or truth, and stood up slow. He tugged his shirt out of his trousers, fumbled at the buttons, and got it off, tossing it onto the floor. He might like the look of Jenny’s chest, but she liked his better — some light-colored hair but not bear-thick, and plenty of muscle. She let her face show him how she was admiring him, and waited to see if he’d keep going. It wasn’t any big surprise that he didn’t, much — just unbuttoned his fly and let his maypole jump out, all ready to get to work.
Now for the tricky part. Except she couldn’t let him know it was tricky. She’d best decide, right now, which of those positions Mamie listed would be least likely to go wrong. Him on his back would be easiest on the both of them. And of the two conditions, being shy part of a leg and being grass green, her guess was he was more prickly about the first. So — “Now, then. There’s different things we can do, but seeing as I’ve done this a lot, and you, I’d guess, not so often, I can show you something you maybe hadn’t thought of, that’d also make things easy. How about you lie back on my nice big bed, and —” Mamie notwithstanding, she’d better not mention cowgirls, not after that misstep before. “— And I’ll give you a fine old time while having plenty of fun myself. Let’s get started, can we?”


By the time she’d made him happy, and he’d got his pants buttoned up and his shirt back on, she was feeling pretty pleased with herself. Which didn’t exactly explain why, as he was set to leave, she pulled him back toward her and gave him a soft warm kiss. She couldn’t recall having done that before, ever, not once she was a lady of the line.
And he tasted sweet.


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Tune in tomorrow for the first glimpse of Tom's artistic gift!

Thursday, July 09, 2020

Counting down the days with excerpts -- here's #2

Six days and counting until What Frees the Heart comes out! I'm posting an excerpt each of those days, along with the pre-order links for the Kindle and paperback editions. (I'll put the links at the end this time.)

So here's Excerpt Number 2, the first scene in Chapter 2.

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Jenny climbed the stairs trying to look carefree, in case any of the other girls was watching. Not much point to it — they all knew. It was never good news if Madam Mamie called you up to her office. If she was pleased with you, she’d come and find you and give you a kind word or a side-hug or maybe a cash bonus. The office was for scolding a girl, or even warning her that she’d come to her last chance and might be out on her ear soon.
Jenny had a pretty good idea what the trouble was. It wore a fancy frock coat, smoked cigars too smelly for what they cost, and had looked down his nose at her when he left that afternoon.
Mamie’s door was open, but as soon as Jenny showed up, Mamie waved her in, stood up, and closed it. Jenny’s belly went cold. Would Mamie kick her out, just because one client didn’t find her as much to his taste as he’d reckoned? Where could she go? The sheriff would never let her walk the street for customers, even if she could stand to do it.
Mamie grabbed Jenny’s shoulder and steered her into the chair close to Mamie’s desk. “Sit down, girl. And don’t look so petrified. You’re not in that much trouble. You just need reminding of some things.” Mamie sat back down at the desk, thumped her elbows on it, and leaned forward. “In fact, I bet you can tell me what those things are.”
Jenny knew she must have a sour-looking pout on her face as she recited, “Make the gentleman feel welcome. Follow his lead, unless he don’t know what he’s doing. Make him feel special. Laugh at his jokes —”
“Which is not the same as telling jokes of your own, now, is it? It is especially important to avoid coarse humor. Our patrons do not consider themselves to be coarse individuals. And you should have learned better than to use slang expressions to our more refined gentlemen.”
Jenny stuck out her lip. “Why’d he pick me if I’m so common, then?”
Mamie got her I shouldn’t have to explain this look. “Probably because he knew that all my girls are supposed to have some class. You didn’t just leave a customer dissatisfied —”
Jenny tossed her hair. “Oh, he sounded satisfied enough to me. He bellowed like a hog!”
Mamie stood up behind her desk, leaned over it, picked up the nearest bit of Jenny’s hair, and gave it a sharp tug. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. You didn’t just leave a customer dissatisfied with the quality of our service, you damaged my reputation by doing it.” She did a double take, looking at the hair. “Right here, this is part of the problem. That color looks cheap. You’d have done better leaving it brown.” She turned the strands of hair this way and that. “On the other hand, now that it’s lighter, you could . . . how’d you like to go red? Plenty of men consider red hair exotic, and even believe red-haired women are more passionate by nature.”
Jenny tried to remember what she’d heard about turning hair red. “Do you mean henna? Won’t it rub off or nothing?”
Mamie let go of Jenny’s hair, sat back down, and tapped her long fancy fingernail on the desk. “No henna for my girls. We’d use the latest dye, that I ordered a while back from a factory in Massachusetts.” Prob’ly like what Mamie used herself. Jenny had to admit Mamie’s hair was a prettier blonde than Jenny had managed. “I figured I’d be wanting a redhead sooner or later, if one didn’t wander in. Of course, dye like that is expensive. You’d have to share the cost.”
That would mean a smaller payment for every customer until she paid off however much Mamie wanted out of her. But what choice did she have? After she’d gone and ticked off that stuffy old coot, she had better do whatever would make sure Mamie gave her another chance. “All right. I’d like that fine.”
Mamie finally smiled. “And fine is just how you’ll look. Meanwhile, you need to spend more time with some of our best-mannered girls. Listen to them, try to talk more like them, watch how they handle men. Girls like Lucette and Penny, they could almost skip bedding the customers and still send them out happy.”
I’d sure like to skip bedding some of them as come in here. She knew not to say anything of the kind. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Have them teach you some songs. You’ve a pretty voice, if you learn what to do with it.”
Jenny winced before she could catch herself. Her brother would laugh himself sick. He’d had plenty of names for her singing. Squealing like a slaughtered hog again? Honkin’ louder’n the goose, you are! But she’d give it a try, and then Mamie would see.
“Back to work, now. And no more telling jokes, not until you learn some better ones and when to tell ‘em. Stick to smiling and flattering. And of course, act like they’re the best lover you’ve had all year.”
Were any of the customers fool enough to believe it when a whore said that? Well, she should know by now how big a man’s ego could get.

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Pre-order the Kindle edition here; the paperback, from Amazon, here; and the paperback from Barnes & Noble, here.

Tomorrow: Tom and Jenny actually meet!

Wednesday, July 08, 2020

First of several excerpts from upcoming release WHAT FREES THE HEART

My Western historical romance What Frees the Heart comes out in a week! It can be read as a stand-alone, but is actually Book 2 in the Cowbird Creek series, following What Heals the Heart. (Seeing a pattern here? . . .)

So I'll be posting one excerpt a day until Release Day, July 15th. Here's the first -- appropriately, the first scene in the novel. It is the most downbeat of the excerpts, reflecting the mindset of young Tom Barlow as the book begins. Not to worry -- he'll be in better shape before too long. Indeed, this scene shows the start of that process, as he sees Jenny for the first time. (Her last name is Hayes, but neither she nor anyone else has much occasion to use it.)

You can preorder the Kindle edition here. To pre-order the paperback, you've got options -- Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

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Tom Barlow leaned against the fence for support and tossed the last sack of fall potatoes into the wagon. He could still load a wagon, at least. Not the first time he tried, or the second — and the way he fell the second time, landing on his arm, had made him even more useless for the next week. But he’d got the hang of it now.
Pa came out of the house, putting on his hat as he walked to the wagon. “Coming with me, son?”
That was a puzzle with no good answer. Tom could use the rail of the fence and a handy stump to climb into the wagon without Pa’s help, but getting back down was more of a trick. He could try it, and maybe fall down for folks to laugh about, or stay perched up on the wagon like a cigar store Indian for passersby to stare at.
“I’ll come.” At least, whatever happened, he’d get to see something different for a change, if only the little bit of difference between the farm and town. It was bad enough being stuck around here before, when he could at least sneak off with one of the horses between chores and ride around a bit.
Sometimes, he could hardly believe he couldn’t just hop onto a horse — or a wagon — the way he used to. Other days, he could hardly believe he’d ever done it at all.

After they dropped off the sacks at the train station, Pa drove to the square and parked in a shady spot near the dry goods store, within reach of the water trough. “Keep an eye on the horse and wagon for me, will you, while I go in?” Pa had been thinking along the same lines as Tom, seemingly. And maybe he didn’t much fancy having the people in town see his son stumbling around like a barely-born colt.
Tom gave Pa a short nod just a hair shy of rude. Pa paused, his eyebrows going lower like he was thinking of fetching a strap, before he shook his head a little and headed toward the general store.
Now Tom had nothing to do but feel conspicuous and look around him. The first thing he noticed was a cardinal, landing in the nearest tree with a twig in its beak, bright red against the bare branches. That bird could fly most anywhere, but here it was in Cowbird Creek. It must feel a whole lot different than he did these days.
Tom saw himself working into an even worse mood, and tried to steer another way. It was sunny, at least, and sunshine always boosted his spirits some. And that tree with the cardinal might be bare still, but right under it was a forsythia bush well along in its blooming, the first of many to come.
Then something moving caught his eye from down the street. He turned to see a girl walking up — no, walking didn’t do justice to it. She sort of bounced along, stepping out strong and lively, her yellow hair bouncing too, bright in the sun under a little nothing of a hat. There was plenty of her, all put together just right, and a pretty face to finish off with — not what you’d call refined, but a straight-ahead honest sort of good-looking.
Why hadn’t he seen her before, at a dance or a church social? Or had she been some little stick of a kid and just lately blossomed out?
He’d already got a nice long look at the front of her, and now she headed into the store and let him enjoy the view from behind. He sighed to see her pass through the door and out of sight.
Coming into town did beat sitting at home watching cows, at that.
Another woman came walking past, older, with a little boy skipping alongside her. Skipping, like any child did, like Tom had often enough. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to ease. But before he got to opening them, he heard the boy’s voice. “Why’s that man got a wooden leg? Was he a soldier, like Uncle Jake?”
Tom ground his teeth, cussing in his head. What with the way he was growing out of his trousers, and sitting high up on the wagon, anyone could see the wood between his trouser leg and his boot.
Meanwhile, the woman was saying, “No, Johnny. He’s too young. He’d have been maybe your age when the war ended.”
“Then what happened to him, Ma?”
The woman glanced up at Tom, looking embarrassed and sorry, as she grabbed her son’s hand and pulled him along, saying something Tom couldn’t hear. But right behind came two men, the barber and some other fellow, who acted like they’d heard it. Because the barber said to the other man, not troubling to be quiet, as if Tom was deaf along with crippled: “Poor lad. At least a soldier who lost his leg gets a pension, and knows he’s a hero. And an old man with a game leg was a young man with two good legs once.”
And all Tom could do was sit there on the wagon like a log, thinking how the barber was right. No honorable war wound for him, no life full of memories. One clumsy moment, and his life was more or less over before he’d done much of anything with it.
And there, finally, came Pa carrying a big sack of provisions, smiling like someone just told him a joke, taking big steps. But when he reached the wagon and got a look at Tom’s face, he all of a sudden seemed to shrink shorter.
They didn’t talk on the ride home.

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Check back tomorrow for another excerpt!

Monday, July 06, 2020

Another author interview, on the occasion of Cowbird Creek Book 2


Here's an author interview -- with myself, as I wrote the questions as well as the answers. The focus is on my upcoming novel What Frees the Heart, Book 2 in the Cowbird Creek series, and on romance series (plural) in general, but I also explain National Novel Writing Month and my history with it, and go on a short detour about my picture book manuscripts.

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Q. Did you plan from the start to write a historical romance series?

A. No. I barely had the nerve to write historical romance at all! I’ve read historical fiction for many years, and had thought of attempting it, but the necessary research intimidated me. Within the last few years, I started reading both historical and contemporary romance, but felt even less prepared to tackle that. And yet, as November 2018 loomed and I asked myself what book to write during National Novel Writing Month, I somehow headed in the historical romance direction. The result, after some initial changes in character and backstory, and a significant course correction once my beta readers weighed in, was What Heals the Heart, Book 1 in the Cowbird Creek series.

I was greatly relieved at how well the book was received – and in particular, that readers thought I’d managed to convey the time and place in a convincing manner. That emboldened me to return to Cowbird Creek for another book, and to start planning Book 3 for November 2020.


Q. How does a romance series work? Where do you go from Happily Ever After?

A. You move on to another couple from the same setting and give them a HEA of their own! Some romance series go from one to another member of a family, while others, like the Cowbird Creek series, feature different people in the same town.


Q. Who are the main characters in What Frees the Heart? Did they show up in the first book? And will we get to see any other residents of Cowbird Creek this time around?

A. Caution: the answer to this question includes spoilers for Book 1, What Heals the Heart!

Readers of What Heals the Heart have already met Tom and Jenny. Tom is the farm lad whose leg Joshua had to amputate. Jenny is the young prostitute whose arm Joshua bandages, and who reminisces about rolling bandages for soldiers when she was a child.

Joshua and Clara appear frequently in What Frees the Heart, both (especially Joshua) playing a role in the plot. Silas Finch, the cordwainer who married Dolly, is a significant secondary character. We naturally see a good deal more of Madam Mamie, Jenny’s employer. And even though Freida and Jedidiah have left town, they do turn up and play their part in the HEA. (If I’d planned a series from the get-go, I might have found a way to keep them around, as Freida is a favorite of many readers and close to my heart as well.)


Q. What was the most challenging aspect of writing What Frees the Heart?

A. There were a few challenges! I had to deal with prostitution without either glamorizing it, or so thoroughly depressing the reader as to overwhelm the romance plot. I had to show Tom’s life as an amputee as realistically as I could, while also showing the spirit that helped him cope with that disability. But the most daunting challenge had to do with character voice. Joshua Gibbs was a well-read scion of an upper-crust Philadelphia family. Tom and Jenny had to think and speak in a very different way. I’d never tackled anything like their points of view before.


Q. What’s next in the series?

A. I’d like to keep the key details to myself for a bit longer. One of the reasons: I have an author newsletter, and I try to give my subscribers the first look at covers, excerpts, and other details about upcoming books. The signup link for the newsletter (also accessible from my author website’s home page ), is here. I send one newsletter a month, except during release months when I may send two – and I make it easy to unsubscribe.

I will drop this hint: readers already know a fair amount about one of the two main characters. The other character probably doesn’t live in Cowbird Creek full time. And the tentative title is What Shows the Heart.


Q. What’s National Novel Writing Month?

A. Pardon me while I tear up – because National Novel Writing Month (also called NaNoWriMo or NaNo) gave me, or gave me back, my writing career.

It was my childhood ambition to be a novelist. In fact, at age 10, I wrote a 200-page novel for which the kindest words would be “disjointed” and “derivative.” (My mother, praised be she, typed up all 200 penciled pages and bound the result so I could feel “published.”) I tried again at age 14 and gave up after 40 pages. And while I wrote poetry in high school and took a disastrous short story seminar in college, I gave up on writing novels, or any fiction longer than a picture book, for several decades.

Then, my oldest daughter tried NaNoWriMo in 2009,during her senior year in high school, and “won” by completing a 50,000 word rough draft – all while visiting colleges and finishing high school. When she told me she was doing NaNo again the following year, I decided to give it a try, figuring I’d probably drop out in a day or two. And here I am, almost ten years later, about to publish my tenth novel.

But to actually answer the question J, NaNoWriMo is a group endeavor, organized online, for anyone who wants to write a novel. Each November, people from all over the world sign up and undertake to write at least 50,000 words of a new novel, entirely within that month. The idea is to bull on through, at an average pace of 1,667 words per day, without stopping to self-edit. The goal is a very rough draft, which the writer can then revise and edit to their heart’s content. One can update one’s word count online, track one’s progress, find “buddies” with whom to compete or commiserate, and visit various forums. In the forums, one can ask research questions (which can get very arcane and bizarre), find writing prompts, and vent about the writing process.


Q. What was that about picture books?

A. I started writing picture book manuscripts when I was pregnant with my older daughter, the one who later led me to NaNoWriMo. I even had an agent for a while, who never did succeed in snagging the interest of any publishers. Now that self-publishing has evolved to the point where it’s feasible to self-publish a picture book, I’d like to find an illustrator whose vision for one or more of these books matches my own, and who’s interested in collaborating. The titles include Mommy Calls Me “Acorn”; Catching Mommy’s Shadow; Where Do Fireflies Sleep; When It’s Winter; and You Can’t Kiss a Bubble.

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Here's the preorder link for What Frees the Heart.

Friday, June 19, 2020

back after long hiatus, with another book coming

Hello, all! That assumes there's any "all" remaining, after something like nine months of my neglecting this blog.

If it matters, life has been distracting. My mother died the month after my previous posting, at the age of 95. Along with everything else that meant, I had a good deal to do as the trustee of two family trusts. While grieving the loss of an amazing, inimitable woman, I am deeply grateful that she missed the horrors of being ill, hospitalized, and (briefly) in a nursing home during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Mom died last November, when I was already writing another rough draft by participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I managed to keep going and finish it on schedule. After much editing, beta reader feedback, and more editing, that book -- What Frees the Heart, Book 2 in the Cowbird Creek historical romance series -- is approaching its release date of July 15, 2020. I'll be posting excerpts once it's available for preorder (Kindle edition only, I'm afraid).

For now, here's the cover! Cover designer Kelly Martin of KAM Design is once again responsible. I may like this cover even more than the cover of Book 1 (What Heals the Heart) because its colors are brighter and lift my spirits.

Oh, and here are the tag line and book description, subject to my usual obsessive tweaking.

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Can they set each other free?

Cowbird Creek has its share of troubled souls. For Tom, a farmer’s son, losing his leg felt like losing his future. Jenny, a young prostitute at Madam Mamie’s parlor house, has never thought she had much future to lose.

But the job Tom is able to get leads him to rediscover a long neglected talent. And both Tom and Jenny have a knack for hitting on new possibilities. Can they, together, find a better path?


This novel, second in a series, returns to the small town of Cowbird Creek, Nebraska, in early 1876, a few months after the conclusion of What Heals the Heart. Several favorite characters from Book 1 make return appearances.

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Early reviews are encouraging, always a boost to an author's morale. If anyone reading this post would like a review copy, please let me know ASAP -- after I hit "submit" on the preorder, late on June 21st or early on June 22nd, I'll no longer be allowed to distribute ebook ARCs. (I'll still be able to send out PDFs of the paperback edition.) If you want to get ready and haven't yet read Book 1, What Heals the Heart is available on Kindle Unlimited ($2.99 for the Kindle edition otherwise) and now includes a preview of the upcoming book.

Signing off for now. Happy weekend, everyone!



Sunday, October 27, 2019

What reviews are telling me about my latest book

I wrote eight science fiction novels and one afterlife fantasy/family drama before I ventured into the new territory -- or, to be more accurate, the two new territories -- of historical romance. I've enjoyed reading historical fiction for years, admiring the diligent research necessary to make the past come alive and doubting I could pull off such a feat. More recently, I've been reading both historical and contemporary romance, and wondering whether romance was among the kind of stories I could tell.

Last November, the doubting and wondering gave way to the headlong dive into storytelling known as National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo or NaNo). I wrote the rough draft of what became What Heals the Heart, a historical romance (caveats to follow) set in 1874-1875 Nebraska.

The book came out October 15, 2019, and has accumulated 12 reviews on Amazon and 17 on Goodreads, with average ratings of 4.6 stars and 4.16 stars respectively. (You may, if you like, consider that the two sites have different descriptions of what their various star rankings mean, with Goodreads the more demanding of the two.) Some of these reviews, as well as others on neither site, also appeared on various blogs.

Here's what I've learned from the reviews so far.

First: I seem to have succeeded in writing historical fiction. Despite having done my research from my computer rather than by traveling to distant archives and sneezing on decades' worth of dust, reviewer after reviewer has commented on the immersive quality of the historical detail.

Second: whether I've written an "exquisite" or "grand" or "fresh" historical romance or, instead, a story that isn't exactly historical romance depends on what the reviewer expects historical romance to be. Reviewers that equate historical romance with "bodice-rippers," or whose picture of Western historical romance in particular involves "heaving bosoms, rough and tumble cowboys, [and] hard-scrabble living," were not so sure the book was a romance -- though these reviewers still, on the whole, found it a satisfying read. On a related note, those who expect romance novels to focus almost exclusively on the central couple are less likely to classify this book as a romance.

Third: at least according to the few reviewers who commented on this point, I managed to deal with psychological trauma -- specifically PTSD, sometimes called "soldier's heart" during and after the Civil War -- in a sufficiently sensitive and effective way. Those reviews came as quite a relief.

Fourth, and no surprise: you can't please everybody. This doesn't particularly trouble me, as I did not expect to be the first author in literary history to do so.

On the whole, I've been gratified and touched by how this book has been received.

Saturday, October 19, 2019

What Heals the Heart is now available in ebook and paperback! [please insert trumpets]

I'm delighted to report that my historical romance What Heals the Heart (Cowbird Creek 1) is now available in ebook and paperback editions. The preorder link I've been putting at the end of all those excerpts is now the Kindle purchase link. You can easily get to the paperback page from the Kindle page, but here's the direct link for the paperback as well. The paperback has also made it to Barnes & Noble.

I haven't yet published any ebook editions outside Amazon. I'm starting the book out in Amazon's Kindle Select program, which lets Amazon Prime subscribers read some number of books for no additional charge via Kindle Unlimited. I'll assess the results as the initial ninety-day term nears its end. Please weigh in via comments if you would want to purchase an ebook copy elsewhere.

I've gotten some lovely reviews, most or all of which you can see on the book's Goodreads page. It's taking longer for the reviews to show up on Amazon, but there are four so far. I've also included some favorite bits from blog reviews in the "Editorial Reviews" section.

And given all the angst (on both sides) and patience (on Kelly's side) that went into making the cover, I'm very pleased and grateful that the cover, designed by Kelly Martin of KAM Design, has been drawing rave reviews of its own. The book is on tour via Silver Dagger Tours, and one after another comment praises the cover. (I urge my readers to check out the tour stops, some of which feature portions of an extensive author Q & A I submitted to the tour organizer.)

So what's next? Well, my near-future WIP, Donor, has made some progress while I've been waiting for What Heals the Heart to come out -- but I've switched focus to getting ready for next month's National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo or NaNo). My NaNo project: the next book in the Cowbird Creek series!

Tuesday, October 08, 2019

Excerpt from What Heals the Heart -- a startling encounter with Clara

This will probably be the last excerpt I post before What Heals the Heart comes out on October 15, 2019. It comes considerably later than the excerpts I posted earlier, but contains no real spoilers (given that the blurb for What Heals the Heart describes Clara as enigmatic and bearing her own scars).

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Joshua had learned over the years to assume a calm and reassuring manner, whatever the condition in which a patient presented himself. Such a demeanor calmed the patient in turn, giving confidence that the doctor could cope with whatever mishap, or even calamity, had occurred; and a calm and confident patient would be easier to deal with.

But it took a positive effort of will to avoid any sign of alarm when Hawkins, of all people, banged at the door of Joshua’s office, pushed it open, and entered with Clara Brook leaning on his arm, shivering and pale.

Even as Joshua stared, Clara straightened up and looked about her in evident dismay. She muttered something under her breath; Joshua could not catch the words, but it had the rhythm of a curse.

Hawkins led her to a chair and pressed her into it before addressing Joshua. “I was passing by the town square when I noticed Miss Brook sitting on a bench nearby. I tipped my hat and said good morning, but she didn’t say nothing back to me. Well, that wasn’t like her, seeing as we’re acquainted, so I looked closer, and I saw she looked poorly, as you’ll have noticed when we come in. Well, I may know a thing or two —” Hawkins paused and thrust his chin up and his shoulders back, then slumped down again. “But I don’t rightly know what to do when a young lady gets the vapors. So I thought, may as well bring her over here and see what you could do for her. But looks as if she’s going to be just fine, without no special treatment.”

Indeed, as much color as Clara usually possessed, if not more, had returned to her face. A moment more, and she stood up, her posture almost aggressively straight. She took the barber’s hand. “Thank you for assisting me. I am only sorry to have caused you concern.”

“Weren’t no trouble, miss. And I’m right glad to see you looking better. I’ll be on my way.” He smiled at her before releasing her hand, nodding stiffly at Joshua, and taking his leave.

Clara shook her head as if dislodging unpleasant images. “I hope you will believe that I am not often afflicted with what Mr. Hawkins calls ‘the vapors.’” She paused and went on more quietly. “Or at least, not for such causes as are traditionally attributed to delicate females.”

Joshua would have very much liked to inquire as to other likely causes for her symptoms, now or in the past, but her manner made all too clear that any such question would be unwelcome. He could not force his diagnostic efforts on her. “Are you feeling quite well again?”

Clara lifted her chin in a gesture echoing Hawkins’ defiant posture. “Perfectly. You’ll have no need to rummage for smelling salts or other such remedies.” She forced a smile, an expression that sat poorly on her face and troubled him more than a frown would have done. Then some thought evidently crossed her mind and gave rise to a look of more genuine amusement, or even mischief. “And I defy you to hold so firmly to your low opinion of Mr. Hawkins, after he has demonstrated such gallantry.”

As more than once before, she left him stammering for a reply. She awaited none, but turned and fairly marched out the door.

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And of course, here's the preorder link. You can also see some early reviews (ten at last count) on the book's Goodreads page.

Monday, September 30, 2019

The most gratifying aspect of some recent reviews

I'm gradually accumulating pre-release reviews of What Heals the Heart, my first historical romance (also first romance and first historical fiction). They've been quite favorable, which is a delight and a relief. But what I find most gratifying is one common thread.

I have read historical fiction for many years, and historical romance for maybe four or five. Since I started (or if one counts juvenilia, restarted) writing fiction, I've been both intrigued and intimidated by the thought of writing historical fiction. To be sure, I did research for my various science fiction novels, but that somehow seemed less challenging, despite my limited scientific background and knowledge.

So I'm especially gratified that reviews have praised the book's attention to historical detail and the accuracy of same. Somehow, I appear to have pulled it off! Phew!

Now I have to manage as well with the second book in the Cowbird Creek series, which I intend to start writing during this November's National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo). One area I already know I'd like to research: the attitudes of the farmers and townspeople in 1875-1876 Nebraska toward cowbirds. I didn't realize, when writing What Heals the Heart, how negatively many birders and others view cowbirds. Cowbirds lay all their eggs in other birds' nests, to the detriment of the enlisted bird species. I suspect this would matter less to my characters, but I hope to find out if that assumption is correct.

Here's the preorder link, where you can see excerpts from some of those reviews.

Monday, September 23, 2019

Excerpt from What Heals the Heart: the course of true love takes a detour

I don't believe it's a spoiler, in a romance (historical or otherwise), to make clear who ends up with whom. In What Heals the Heart, Joshua and Clara eventually come together. But recall (if you've seen the blurb) that self-proclaimed matchmaker Freida Blum doesn't care for Clara. Here, about a third of the way through the book, one of Freida's attempts seems more successful than those that came before.

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Well, that was a first. Freida had come bearing gifts, generally edible, and she had come to him or asked him to come to her when she felt poorly, but never had she asked him for an actual favor. “One of my customers, a widow, so sad, still so young. She’s been so eager for her new dresses, hers are worn to rags, but the neighbor who was going to bring her into town, he got too busy, I hate to make her wait. Would it be too much trouble, you could take me there tomorrow morning, maybe you have a patient to see on the way?”

He could in fact go see the old woman with a leg abscess, which shouldn’t take too long to drain and bandage. Her son’s place was considerably farther away than the young widow’s farm, but Joshua could deal with the abscess first, and then swing by to deliver the dresses on the way back to town.

Freida took her knitting along — “It’s a lovely day, I’ll be all right in the buggy, finally I’ll get some work done on this shawl” — and they set out, a well-rested Nellie-girl taking them quickly out of town. Freida hailed almost everyone they passed, calling out questions about their news and well-being even though those greeted had little time to answer before they were left behind. She did not, Joshua noticed, greet Clara Brook, apparently out for a walk on the outskirts of town; Joshua took it upon himself to wave instead, tipping his hat and receiving a grave nod in return.

Soon they were out in farm country and passing corn growing tall and green, with tassels stirring in the breeze, and here and there the vivid red flash of a Summer Tanager, all accompanied by the sweetly varied chirps of meadowlarks. Freida kept up a stream of chatter, with the rumbling buggy wheels as counterpoint. Quite a bit of it concerned the customer in such need of new clothing. Joshua’s vague sense that Freida was up to something soon yielded to the glum conviction that the whole errand was orchestrated to bring Joshua and the customer together. Joshua paid as little attention as he could manage, determined to form his own opinion.

The old woman’s leg was more swollen, the old bandages more saturated and odorous, than Joshua had hoped. She had probably ignored his instructions to stay off it as much as possible and keep it elevated. He repeated the orders she had already flouted, drained and cleaned the abscess again, bandaged the leg, and left with a dour sense of futility.

Back on the road, the fresh breeze and birdsong helped put him back in a tolerably good humor by the time they pulled up to a neat little farmhouse with flowering bushes lining the front. It did not look familiar. If the husband had taken ill after Joshua came to Cowbird Creek, it was possible they had called the doctor in Rushing for some reason, or that Joshua had been on one of his infrequent trips out of town.

Joshua helped Freida down and then retrieved the large linen-wrapped bundle that must contain the dresses. As they approached the door, Joshua could hear the murmur of a woman’s voice, the steady rhythm suggesting she was reading aloud. At Freida’s firm knock, the murmur ceased, and shortly afterward, the door opened to reveal a woman holding a little girl in her arms.

The woman was of less than medium height and seemed entirely composed of curves, from the loose curls allowed to escape and hang around her face, to her arm holding the child, to what he could see of her figure, to her gently welcoming smile. He must have seen her before, and probably more than once — in fact, she looked vaguely familiar, more than, say, Clara Brook had at first — but he had never noticed her face and figure. Perhaps he had encountered her only in winter, when she had been muffled in an overcoat.

She looked up at them, her round blue eyes lighting up as she stepped back to allow them inside. “Oh, thank you! I feared it might be days or even weeks before I could be decently dressed again.” Then she looked up at Joshua and said, “I’m Mrs. Arden. Thank you so much for bringing Mrs. Blum. Do come in.”


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As always, I make it easy to preorder the book by providing the link.

Monday, September 09, 2019

How can I not quote this lovely review?

I already posted the link to author Kathryn Blade's advance review of What Heals the Heart on Facebook and Twitter, but I can't resist highlighting some bits of it here. Getting a review like this ranks high among the joys of being an author.

After saying some nice thing about the book's handling of its time period, the setting, the characters, the love story, the plot, and the writing style, Blade goes on:

"My world felt right while reading this book, as if I’d found an old friend and sat for a while to drink coffee and chat about life or love.

"I give What Heals the Heart five out of five stars. It is one of the best modern historical romances I have read in recent years. . . .

Ms. Wyle, if you’re out there reading this, just know I’m a huge fan now."

I'm reading it. And I'm teary-eyed, and very grateful.

(P.S. Here's the preorder link.)

Monday, September 02, 2019

Another (longer) excerpt from What Heals the Heart -- a difficult childbirth

Today's excerpt from What Heals the Heart, my upcoming historical romance, comes about one-fifth of the way in. It shows Joshua at work once again, in a more dramatic context than the excerpt I posted earlier. It also shows another reason, besides haunting wartime memories, that Joshua might hesitate about seeking a wife.

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The farmer stood in Joshua’s doorway twisting his hat. “It’s been more than two days, and the baby’s not come yet. She’s had three before, and no trouble. She didn’t want to send for you, said it’s women’s business, but . . . I finally told her I was coming to fetch you.”

Joshua gulped down the cold coffee he always kept on hand. He would need all his wits about him this night. “You go on back to your wife and tell her I’m on my way.”

Heading to the livery stable for his horse, Joshua ruminated on the ironies of his practice where babies were concerned. Some families, generally the wealthier ones or those determined to show how modern they were, would call him in when the woman’s mother and sisters or a midwife could handle things perfectly well. Others, like this farmer’s wife, resisted the idea past the point of reason, sending for him only when things had become desperate.

He had delivered one dead baby. That had left him with a wholly different nightmare his brain could use to torture him. But so far, he hadn’t lost a mother.

The coffee had cleared his head enough for him to notice his surroundings. He led Nellie-girl out into the balmy spring night and imagined the farmer saying, years from now, to a little boy or girl, “It was a fine night like this one when you come into the world . . . .”

Nellie-girl hadn’t been out for three days, so she had energy to spare, frisking about and then cantering along at a good clip. They got to the farm only a few minutes after the farmer. An older woman waited in the yard as Joshua rode up, a shawl wrapped around her and her arms crossed tight on her chest. “My daughter’s upstairs. We’ve sent the young ‘uns to my sister’s. I think maybe the baby’s turned wrong way around.”

Joshua followed the woman so close that he almost tripped on her heels. “Did her water break?”

“This mornin’.”

Joshua cursed silently to himself. There was some chance of turning the baby, but it would have been a bigger chance if her water hadn’t broken. Whatever her mother had noticed that clued her in, it was a damn shame she hadn’t noticed it sooner.

A hoarse cry, like a grunt but louder and longer and higher, came from down the hall as they reached the second floor. A woman in labor, if she made noise at all, could sound like nothing else Joshua had heard or imagined. It sent prickles down his spine. And if he didn’t school his imagination, he would be picturing women he knew, girls at Mamie’s or shopkeeper’s wives or the usually self-contained Miss Brook, in the throes of such suffering.

Just before he entered the room, the older woman clutched his wrist and faced him, with all the fear she must have been hiding from her daughter writ plain on her face. “Can you save my baby? Can you bring her baby into the world?”

Maybe, by the time he’d been a doctor for twenty years, he’d have a better feel for whether to lie. He could hardly say, “I have no idea.” Even “I hope to God I can” was probably not enough. So he said, “That’s what I’m here to do.”

If he failed to do it, she could curse him later. He moved around her and headed for his patient. His patients.

He plunked his bag on the floor and pulled out his smock, shrugging it on. Even an easy birth was a messy business. Then he approached the bed. The laboring woman seemed oblivious to his presence until he bent to take her hand. “I’m Doc Gibbs. I’m here to help.”

She lay there pale and sweaty, the bedclothes under and around her all rucked up from her thrashing about. She squeezed his hand so tight he thought another contraction was starting, but her face showed only exhaustion and worry, no pain. She said hoarsely, “Ma thinks the baby’s coming out wrong. Is it?”

“I’ll find out.” He gently moved the bedclothes away from her. “I’m going to be touching your belly now.” She nodded weakly.

He ran his hands over her, pressed lightly here and there. “Your ma appears to be right.” He hesitated. “I’d like to take a look down where the baby’s coming, to see how far along you are in opening the way. And I may need to touch you there, to be sure.”

She turned away, her face contorted in protest — or in pain. Another contraction was starting. The pillows muffled her words, but he could hear. “Must you?”

“I should. I really should. I need to know how much time we have to get this baby turned around.”

She gritted her teeth and nodded. A moan, almost a wail, escaped her as he squatted down and examined the birth canal. She was almost fully dilated. Not much time, then.

He stood back up and bent over the woman. “I’m going to be pressing on your belly where the baby is, to get it head down.” He had been concentrating too hard to notice who else was near, but now he looked around and found the woman’s mother hovering in the doorway. “Do you have any wine or spirits? It would relax her and help me with what I need to do.”

The mother turned and called an order to some unseen member of the household. While he waited, Joshua told his patient, “It’ll probably take a few minutes. And it may hurt some of that time. I’m sorry about that.”

The woman actually chuckled. “Well, won’t that be a change. This has just been a picnic so far.”

He smiled back as best he could. Just then a boy came up to the woman’s mother with a glass of dark red wine. Joshua retreated while the mother brought the glass to the bed, helping her daughter sit up enough to drink. “Take it slow, now,” Joshua cautioned her. It’d do no good for her to vomit it up again.

She got most of it down before another contraction started. He waited while she moaned and panted. When she finally relaxed against the pillows, he stepped forward and got started, feeling for the hard smoothness of the head and the narrower bump of the buttocks. It was hard to make himself push firmly enough, knowing it was hurting her, but there was no way around it.

She let out a cry and then grabbed a handful of blanket and stuffed it in her mouth. Joshua pressed steadily with both hands, trying to push exactly as hard with both.

“There we go!” He could feel the baby starting to change position. But damn! There came another contraction. If the cord was in the wrong place during it, the contraction could squeeze it shut . . . .

The seconds might have dragged even more slowly for Joshua than for the moaning woman in the bed. When the abdominal muscles finally relaxed, he got to work again, pushing harder, terrified of the next contraction.

Slowly, slowly . . . and then a little faster . . . the baby yielded to his efforts. As it turned more crossways, the woman let out a shriek. But in a moment more, the baby was moving toward vertical again, this time with the head down where it should be.

Now he had to see whether the baby would stay in position. This process didn’t always take. Sometimes, for whatever reason, maybe the same reason the baby had been breech in the first place, the baby turned butt-down again. But that was the one good thing about this happening so late, with contractions coming every couple of minutes. The baby wouldn’t have much room or time to maneuver itself back into danger.

And twenty minutes later, Joshua got to see a purple head with just a wisp of hair appear, and recede again, and finally crown.



Downstairs again, Joshua collapsed in a kitchen chair while the older woman fixed him a sandwich. He had already removed his smock and rolled it up tight, clean side out. He’d rinse it as best he could once he got home, then take it to Li Chang later in the morning.

The new mother was weak from her ordeal, and her vital signs could have been more reassuring. The baby had been quick to cry and pink up, but its movements were on the sluggish side. He couldn’t say either patient was out of the woods just yet, but all he said to the family was to come get him right away if the mother started bleeding much or either of them came down with fever. He’d come back tomorrow evening, after all concerned had gotten some sleep, to see how things were going.

There were still a few stars overhead when he pulled himself back aboard Nellie-girl and turned her toward home. All over, for now, until the next time. . . . A thought struck him so sudden that he pulled up on Nellie-girl’s reins, startling a neigh out of her. He patted her neck in apology and loosened the reins again. The next time, if Mrs. Blum’s schemes actually came to anything, it might be his own wife lying in a bed, moaning and screaming and tossing around, trying her hardest to bring their baby into the world.

Did every husband, every father-to-be, wonder if it was worth the risk?

Would he be even more terrified than he had been on the battlefield, or assisting the doctors afterward, trying to keep yet one more soldier from dying?

And if the worst happened, would he ever forgive himself for putting the woman he loved in that fatal danger?

When he finally stumbled up the stairs to his rooms, he no longer cared enough to bother with the smock and planned to fall straight into bed. But instead, he found himself looking for the letter he’d gotten from his mother the week before, and reading it over, and kissing her signature.

She had been through all that, or at least something like it, for his sake. And he’d never thought to thank her for it. If he had had the strength to hold a pen and produce recognizable words, he would have written her right now. Instead, he laid the letter on the table where he ate his breakfasts, so he couldn’t possibly forget.

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Reminder: the book comes out on October 15, 2019, and may be preordered at this (worldwide) link.