Possible Possibilities? Always an Open Door

By Jena Galifany -

How is your year going so far? Mine has been quite busy but it's a good kind of busy. I enjoy the chaos of too much to do. I must because every time I get it under control, I feel like I'm not doing enough and have to add a few more projects. I'm always looking for new possibilities.

While I'm in the midst of editing Day Labor, I'm finishing my 2012 NaNoWriMo project, Rhoades Through a Storm. I've let it sit for almost four months and have two short pieces left to finish it. I'm touching it up in between other things and it is coming along nicely. It's possible I will have another manuscript to submit in the next month or so.

Opus Owl

I've borrowed a T-shirt Press and began applying transfers to shirts for my children's clothing store. It's fun and easy. I get to put Jen's expertise in graphic design into practice. I've added our first creation that was designed by my son's lady friend, Caitlin Thompson. His name is Opus Owl and I love him.
 
My son drew a portrait of Jen's favorite zebra, Zag, wearing glasses. I hope to have him ready for the press soon. These little fellows add originality to the clothing. I'm looking for new and unusual transfer subjects to make my shirts stand out. It is possible that we will be increasing our sales by adding these originals.

My answering service is growing and doing well. I am in the process of training to be an operator. I know that sounds crazy. Everyone knows how to answer a phone. That part is easy. It's the computer program that we use to take the messages and send a text, fax, or page to the client that has me intimidated. I know I'll get it after a short time. My hands-on training begins on Tuesday. I believe that since it is my business I really should know how to do the work. Of course, there is the possibility I will tear my hair out in frustration.

I make crochet items for a store that is in the same mini mall as my clothing store and my book store. Did I mention I have a book store across the hall from the clothing store as well? I make purses, blankets, ponchos, and other "specialty" items for her store. I also make children's sized purses, blankets and ponchos for my store. I want to get my sewing machine out and make a few sets of culottes and some skirts for the store. I made them for Jen when she was younger and I think they will do well.

I see possibilities every where I look. I need to be three or four people in order to do everything I'd like to do. I know that is not possible so I hope to get all of these businesses established, hand them off to family members to run and be able to collect a little from each one every month. Then I can sit at home with a steady income in place and spend my time writing! Oh, what a happy day that will be! It will be possible for me to actually finish writing all of the dozen stories that I have waiting in my computer and in my head. It's always possible!

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What were the possibilities of a half-blood man being free to love a white woman in 1880s Oregon Territory? Not very good but it didn't stop Cole Jackson from falling for Shyanne Bennett.

Shyanne's Secret

Cole Jackson promised to take care of Shyanne Bennett, to keep her secret. It was a promise he intended to keep—and then her father lynched him. It might take time, but he’d find a way.
Shyanne Bennett loved Cole Jackson, that sassy half-blood. She lost her mind when he died to keep her secret. Cole promised to take care of her but how could he once Harvey Bennett hung him? Maybe her heart might find solace in becoming the wife of his look-alike cousin, Will Marshall. And then again, maybe the heartache will only begin again. 

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 Dex kicked the foreleg of Cole's horse. The wagon lurched as the horse cried out. Cole leapt to the ground, his boots accenting his landing with a plume of dust. He stood face to face with Dex.
    Dex grinned.  "Well, I finally got through to him.  You can take your eyes off the girl.  If anyone gets that one, it'll be me."
"We'll see," Cole challenged, his glare drilled into Dex's eyes.  They stood equal in height but Dex had quite a few pounds over Cole.
    "He can talk.  I didn't think he spoke English."  The cronies laughed.  Dex's grin melted to a smug frown.  "There's nothing to see."
Cole glanced past Dex at the girl.  She stood on the raised sidewalk now, and watched the exchange along with a few other people.  Cole could toss this fool to the ground but it would only get him reprimanded by Sheriff Olsen. That would either impress Shyanne or she'd never speak to him because of it.  Dexter Heims wasn't worth the trouble.
    "Right."  Cole tried to step around Dex with the intent of loading the rest of his supplies.  Dex grabbed a handful of Cole's jacket, and shoved his back against the buckboard.
    "I didn't tell you to go yet." As the fool stepped back, his cronies fanned out beside him. Dex turned his back to Cole for a moment, taking something from one of the others.
    "What ever."  Cole hooked his thumbs in his back pockets, cocked his head in annoyance, eyes on the building across the side street. A few others had gathered behind the idiots. Great.  Cole smirked as he waited.
    Dex turned back to Cole. "You remember General Custer? That run in they had up in Montana territory?"
    Cole glared at Dex.  "Last year. What about it?"
    "Did it look like this?"  In a synchronized attack, all four of the boys pelted Cole with balls of mud.  Cole didn't flinch as the globs thudded against the wagon and the stacked supplies, startling the horse, and splattering him.  He didn't take his eyes from the grin on Dex's face.
    Cole smirked. "If you had half a brain, you'd remember that the other blonde horse's ass lost that battle. The Indians won."  Cole headed toward the supplies, undeterred by the show of stupidity.  "But you're not long on brains, are you."
    Dex puzzled for a moment.  He glanced around and laughed, the others following his lead, as usual. Cole continued his task as Dex and his band moved off down the street.  Cole worked, his head held high as he turned his back to the laughter.  As he hefted another bag of seed, he chanced a glance into Shyanne's kind blue eyes as she strolled past him into the mercantile.  At least she wasn't laughing.  Another memory he could keep.

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Shyanne's Secret is available from Whiskey Creek Press, Amazon, or Barnes and Noble.
For more from Jena Galifany, visit my WEBSITE.

Life is full of possibilities. Reach out and grab them before they get away!

Cheers!
Jena'

Creative Beginnings by Jena Galifany

What does it take to get an author started writing? Some times, it only takes a man with a sign. While driving home one day, I noticed a nice looking young man standing on the side of the road holding a cardboard sign that stated simply, "Day Labor". It got me thinking.

It takes me about ten minutes to drive from where I saw the man to my home and in that ten minutes, I'd mapped out the basic story. What would the man do? What was he willing to do? What if he looked like someone's husband? What if he looked enough like someone's husband that he could sire a child that the husband was unable to father? Yeah, I know. I'm warped that way. Work with me here. =) Day Labor began just like this.

I allowed the idea to roll around in my mind for about two years. Last year when I lost my day job on October 28th, I decided it was my chance to join in the fun of NaNoWriMo for the first time. Day Labor became my project for the month of November. From November 1st to November 29th, I worked each night on my project and finished up with a novel 50,448 words long.

I still need to polish it and get it out to a publisher, but at least I know I have one more novel finished. It's a good feeling.

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Unedited Excerpt of Day Labor by M.J. Conrad (Jena Galifany)

Chapter 1 – 2005

Mark Langston stood in the doorway to the Chief of Detectives, Grant Langston's office. Grant took his time in responding to Mark's knock. Obviously annoyed, he tossed down his pen and leaned back in his large leather chair as Mark entered and closed the door.

"What do you want?" As usual, Grant showed no pleasure at seeing Mark.

Mark pulled an envelope from his pocket. He held it up, and crossed the plush carpet in the large office. As he reached the mahogany monster of a desk, he tossed it onto the surface, and watched it slid to a stop at the edge of the blotter. "I want an explanation."

Grant didn't look at the envelope. His gaze locked instead on Mark, his jaw clenched and released before he spoke. "Now that you're married, I wanted you to know that you will receive nothing from my estate in case of my death. You have no part in my will. Just so you can let that new wife of yours know it."

"Why would Beth care? She has her own money. She doesn't care about yours." Mark burned with anger at the insinuation. Beth had more money than Grant Langston ever dreamed of having.

"So my name and my status didn't get you a bride? Congratulations." Grant commented in bored monotone.

Mark slammed his hand on the desk as he leaned toward his father. "I've done everything I could my entire life to please you. I've worked my ass off through school and college to be the son you'd be proud of. I've solved several cases that were beyond anything even you've ever handled. Now, after one of my greatest successes, I get this letter. What kind of a father are you that you’d expend so much energy hating your son?"

Grant carefully weighed his words before he let them spill from his lips. "The kind of father who only has a daughter." He smirked, and rocked back in his chair, his trained eyes watching Mark's face for a reaction.

Mark felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "What are you saying?" He knew damned well what was said but couldn't wrap his mind around the words, or believe them. Not after thirty-five years. Why wouldn't Grant, or at least his mother, have told him before?

"You’re the fancy detective. Figure it out." Grant leaned his forearms on his desk, and continued before Mark could respond. "Do you recall a local incident some thirty-six years ago. A criminal was shot during a home invasion. You probably read the case file when you studied local issues."

"The man was into pornography and drugs." Mark thought back to the case. "Rape, too, I believe."

Grant nodded and clapped his hands with sarcasm. "He gets the gold star."

"What? Rape?"

Grant folded his hands on the desk. "The man had taken a gun from the home office and attempted to shoot the homeowner when he walked in on him. It was a cut and dried case of self-defense."

"What's that got to do with rape?" Mark was confused. He saw by the look on Grant's face that the older man took pleasure in traveling the long road to where he was going.

"What the report didn't say – because it was covered up – was that the bastard raped the man's wife. That woman was your mother and that bastard that I took great pleasure in shooting was your father. I don't think he left you anything in his will either."

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I hope to get the chance to polish up "Day Labor" before much longer and get it out to the public. What does it take to get you started? What stirs your creative juices? Feeling that you need a new idea? Take a drive around town!

Cheers!

Jena'

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