Lost in America (Somewhere in Texas) by Alicia Dean

(If you are looking for the lovely Brenda Whiteside, she was kind enough to trade days with me, so I'm posting today in her place. She posted in my place on the 19th)

Leah’s story reminded me of a trip from Hell that I embarked on with some friends right after high school. (We weren’t really lost geographically, but boy, were we lost in every other sense of the word.)

After graduation, I shared a one-bedroom apartment with some girlfriends (at any given time there were 2 to 5 of us living there, and believe me, there are plenty of stories I could tell just about that, but this is about the trip). One of the Roomies—we’ll call her Liz (because that’s her name)—had a mother who lived in Odessa, Texas. As it turns out, country singer Mickey Gilley was appearing in Midland, Texas. My family and I had met and become chummy with Mickey a few years earlier, and when we went to his shows, we always hung out with them on the bus, and at hotels, etc . I thought it would be cool to introduce my friends to him.

So, Liz and I decided that we’d take a trip to see her mother and Mickey Gilley. Liz’s brother, Tom, and his best friend who was also our friend, Terry (who would end up being my husband, now ex-husband, which is, again, a whole ‘nother bunch of stories) decided to go too. They would ride in Terry’s little Chevy S-10 and me, Liz, Robin, and Kathy (I think Kathy went along. My memory sucks, and I can’t remember for sure) would ride in Robin’s car. So, we set out on the nearly 500 mile trip. For part of the drive, we remained in fairly close proximity of Terry and Tom on the highway. However, at some point, we lost contact. In that day, we did not have cell phones so we had no way of reaching them. Not that it mattered all that much, since we were all going to end up at the same place.

Sometime during the wee hours, on a dark, deserted stretch of highway, Robin’s car started making a funny noise (Not funny ‘haha,’ funny ‘concerning’) and in moments, it chugged to a stop and we pulled off on the side of the highway. Here we were, four 18 year old girls in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night with no phone and a disabled car. At that point, we realized that we did indeed need to stay in close proximity with Terry and Tom, because we were now stranded.

For a period of time (I can’t recall how long, but it seemed like an eternity) we cried and cursed and tried to figure out what to do. (although, if I recall correctly, at some point, Robin settled down to sleep, which infuriated me. How could she sleep at a time like this????) Anyway, hardly any vehicles passed, and the few that did didn’t bother to stop and help. Until, finally, a vehicle’s red taillights glowed and it started backing up and off to where we waited on the side of the road. We were at once elated and frightened. Perhaps help had arrived, or perhaps we would all be raped and murdered. We waited in anticipation/dread for the good Samaritans/psychotic killers to reach us. Then, to our disbelief, we recognized the vehicle and its occupants. Yes, you guessed it, Terry and Tom. I still have no idea how, after all those hours of being separated, they were the ones who found us.  At the time, we didn’t know if they were behind us or ahead of us. Thankfully, they ended up being behind us.  If memory serves, they had stopped somewhere to eat or get gas or something and ended up meeting some random girls and hanging out/partying with them for a bit. We didn’t know whether to kiss them or kill them.

So…the six of us piled into the S-10 and drove the remainder of the way to Odessa/Midland. (Yes, six. Some of us were in the back and it was October and freezing with the wind whipping around us as we sped down the highway.) I don’t remember that much about our stay there, except if I recall, I did get to introduce my friends to Mickey Gilley, only briefly. And, it seems that Robin’s dad ended up coming to get her and the five of us ended up traveling the 500 miles back to OKC in that tiny truck. 

We did figure out why Terry and Tom were so far behind us. Terry was known as being somewhat of a tightwad. And, even on a 10 hour drive, each time he stopped for gas, he refused to put more than $5 worth in the tank. I remember at some point screaming at him, “Are you kidding me???? Are you afraid you’re going to DIE before you use up the gas and you would have wasted the money????”

Somehow, we made it back. And, in case you’re wondering, you read the above correctly about Terry ending up being my husband. Yep, I actually married him. (We were together for twelve and a half years and have three amazing kids together and we are still friends, so I would say it was worth it. But, I do have to question my sanity at the time).  

Because I don't have a pic from the trip, I thought I'd share this. My ex and my son, Presley, from a few years back on Presley’s prom night:

 

 

Lost In America, Now How Can That Possibly Be? by Margo Hoornstra

Don't know a thing about the movie. Heard about it. Never saw it. That being said, the first thought that comes to mind is, well, 'Lost In America, now how can that possibly be?' Go anywhere in our great country. From northern Maine to southern California, northern Alaska to the Florida Keys. We're all basically the same.

Especially if you're a student in high school. We've all been there and, I'd venture to say, have all had similar experiences. Those years are pretty universal, ones we consider the greatest times of our life and the very worst. Making impulsive, peer driven, possibly incorrect choices. Trying to have a good time and be yourself and feeling that the self you are is totally inadequate and wishing you were more like someone else. Being in the enviable position of having a shiny bright future in front of you, then as the years go by, some of those sterling promises may have become tarnished over time. The life we actually lived may not have unfolded exactly as we planned. I thought about that a lot a few years ago as I worked on three novellas originally published for the Class of 85 series.

When those books didn't seem to go anywhere, in collusion with Jannine I got my rights back, reworked them somewhat, and ultimately turned them into my latest release, Saturday In Serendipity. "Three stories of love rediscovered."

Saturday In Serendipity revolves around a twenty year high school reunion. Instead of being Lost in America, these characters are eventually found, in the fictional town of Serendipity, Vermont. A beautiful place on the shores of Lake Champlain.

Here's a sample of what's in store.

A twenty year high school reunion changes the lives of former classmates and leads them to unexpected futures. Three couples set out to revisit their pasts only to find their happily ever afters.

Three Strikes Thursday Barry Carlson, a pro baseball success, could have any woman he wanted. Except one. Twenty years before, Barry won Amanda Marsh’s love, only to crush her heart. He’s returned to Serendipity, determined to win her back. Recently divorced, Amanda is happy—until Barry slides back into her life. Can they put aside old wounds and new misunderstandings to find a forever love?

Two On Tuesday Blane Weston’s construction company needs the venture capital Matt Durand has. With his reputation for hostile takeovers, she wants no part of him. Mixing business with pleasure, she’s off to Serendipity  to hook up with a former flame. Not used to being denied, Matt follows. How can Blane enjoy a journey to her past when Matt is determined to dictate her future?

One Fateful Friday His high school reunion in Serendipity over, hospital CEO Jake Holbrook regrets his single state. When a special woman from his past tumbles back into his life—and his bed—he’s determined to keep her there. Family practitioner Bethany Thomas avoids an entanglement with her new boss, but unknowingly betrays him. As the holidays approach, can they overcome a lack of trust to find their Christmas miracle?

Jannine and I had great fun redoing these books, crossing characters and such, especially when we wrote dialogue between her heroine and mine with different Points of View.

 

Both books, my Saturday In Serendipity and Jannine's Road To Serendipity are available now. Check them out, you won't be disappointed.

 

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and my stories, please visit my WEBSITE

Lost on a train in America!

By Leah St. James

This is a true story. I will use it in fiction some day. Until then, I couldn’t think of a better story to share for this month’s topic.

It happened about 20-something years ago when I was a young mother and my sons were ages 8 and 4. My best, oldest, dearest friend had up and moved from New Jersey to Iowa with her husband and kids the year before, leaving me bereft.  The thought of her moving was bad enough, but Iowa?! What Jersey Girl moved to Iowa?! :)

Still, my nomadic and lonely heart yearned to visit, so a trip west was planned. Hubby couldn’t take time from work, so it was me and the kids.  Thanks to a case of benign positional (something) vertigo that has me doing very UNpleasant things on airplanes, I don’t fly, so I decided to drive. It was a thought that shot waves of terror through hubby’s heart—his wife and two beloved children, driving a thousand-something miles, including an overnight stay, without his protection. Wasn't going to happen.

You have to understand that this was back when the most immediate method of reaching someone in an emergency was a pager. (For those of you of the younger set, this was an electronic gadget that flashed a message when someone wanted you to call. It was inbound only—no means to send a message out.) Back then we didn’t walk around with cellular communication devices implanted in our ears. Some rich people had car phones, but we weren’t rich.

Anyway….to ease his fears, he suggested that we take the train. Immediate visions of a carefree trek through the glorious vistas of American landscape filled my brain.

“That’ll be so much fun!” I remember exclaiming to the boys. “We’ll eat in the club car!” Even they got a sparkle in the eye at that thought.

The trip started easily enough. Hubby dropped us at the local train station that would get us to New York’s
Penn Station. From there we’d hop on a westbound train that would take us to our interim destination—Chicago. It all seemed so adventurous. Even with the constant hand tugging of two young boys.

We boarded the train, and I found three seats together, two on one side, and a vacant seat across the aisle. The boys took the two together, and I plopped myself in the vacant seat and reached my arm across the separation to make sure I could lay a hand on my progeny. Next to me, an elderly man wearing a tweed overcoat sat tucked as far into his corner as possible, his face turned to the window.  (The fact that he was clutching a bucket of friend chicken for some reason didn’t phase me at all.) In front of us was another young mother—she with two daughters. I was thrilled, thinking I’d found a simpatico traveling companion. We settled in and all was well.

Then the Johnson family boarded. (I’ve changed the name to protect me from charges of libel, slander…whatever it is.) They were headed west for a family reunion. I know this because the conductor announced it to the passengers: “We’d like to welcome the Johnson Family headed all the way to San Antonio, Texas, for their family reunion!”

What fun! I thought to myself. So adventurous! And what a great idea—an entire family getting on a train together! As they boarded, I watched, thinking what a LOT of Johnsons there were, young and old. What fun they’d have!


And they did, at the expense of the rest of the passengers. They treated that train car as if it were their personal playground. Kids ran up and down the aisle, shrieking and laughing. Parents made a half-hearted attempt to keep them calm, for about ten minutes. Then all bets were off, and even the adults got into the fun.

I remember walking with the boys past the restroom (on our way to the club car, I’m sure) only to find the door OPEN while a young woman took care of her business! Can you imagine?! Kids I could almost see committing a breach of etiquette of that magnitude. But this person looked to be in her early 20s! I quickly shielded the boys’ faces and hurried them toward the food car.

We couldn’t afford a sleeping compartment, so we were consigned to our seats for the entire 20-something-hour journey.  Trying to sleep was torturous as the Johnsons raised hades well into the night hours.

At some point the old man next to me started chomping on his chicken, and the stink of greasy/fried something wafted over me, making me hate the scent of friend chickenfor the first time in my life. (I can only assume the other fumes floating through the car corrupted the meat.)

The other young mother, turns out, had a back injury, and she claimed the entire length of her seat for herself, leaving her girls to SLEEP ON THE FLOOR OF THE TRAIN. I kid you not. I almost tripped on one of them during the night. (I still shudder thinking about the germs those girls must have ingested that night.)

Somehow we survived and made it, bleary-eyed, to the next leg of our journey. We stepped into the fresh, clean air of the Windy City where we’d hop on a bus to Iowa. As we trudged across town, I thanked God that my boys had survived the ordeal with relatively good humor, and that I’d been able to restrain myself from  throttling one (or more) of the Johnsons.

We had a wonderful  time with my friend and her family. It was peaceful and relaxing and fun—all the things a good vacation could be. Then it was time to go.

Rather than taking the bus back to Chicago, we all piled into my friend’s station wagon—

(Stop laughing! We all drove them back then!)

Anyway, my friend drove us back to a tiny little train depot just over the Iowa/Illinois line.

It was pretty and picturesque and just what I imagined a train station out in the middle of the country should be. This was going to be a fun trip home.

As we waited, breathing in the fresh country air, my older son tugged on my arm.

“Mommy,” he said, “it’s

them.”

“Who honey?” I looked where he was pointing but saw nothing to cause the tone of horror in his voice.

“That family. The Johnson family!”

Next time you hear the phrase someone’s “blood froze,” know that it’s real. I was paralyzed for about ten seconds. Then my better judgment kicked in. I laughed. “It can’t be, honey. They were coming from San Antonio. The odds are just too great.”

But he insisted that he saw what he saw, and we continued the debate until we were seated in the car and the train started rolling.

Then the conductor made an announcement: “I’d like to welcome the Johnson family on the train, just back from their family reunion in San Antonio, traveling all the way to New York City!”

Lightening does indeed strike twice.
.________________________

Okay, okay, here’s the postscript:

We were spared the Johnsons on that first leg, but when we boarded the next train taking us to New York, and I saw the family boarding behind us, I flagged the conductor. “I’m not riding with those people,” I said, pointing at the group of Johnsons who were already making themselves at home.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re boarded by destination. This is the train going to New York.”

“I don’t care where it’s going. I’m NOT riding with them. They’re horrible. We were stuck with them on the way west and I’m not doing it again. Get me and my kids on another car. Now.”

He must have heard something in my voice—maybe panic, certainly desperation—so after a big sigh, he escorted us to the car at our rear that was scheduled to unload in Philly. The kids and I sank into our new seats and grinned.

P.S.S. In about another hour, the Philly car curiously filled up with people heading to New York. I can only imagine how that conductor explained what happened to his seating arrangement.

______________________

Leah St. James writes stories about mystery and romance, good and evil, and the redeeming power of love. Learn more about Leah at LeahStJames.com

Books Helped the Rebel in Me by Brenda Whiteside

If you're looking for Alicia Dean today, well, you got me. We swapped days. Look for her post on the twenty-fourth.

We watched another segment of the series, The Sixties, tonight. We TEVO so not sure when it ran originally. Tonight's segment was on the "hippie generation" which leads right into our rebel theme. I learned some things. When the whole teen rebelling era began, I was a couple of years too young to know it had started. This was the thing I learned. The series claimed it started with the beat generation that transitioned into the hippie generation by Ken Kesey of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest fame. One of my all-time favorite books.

I came in about the time Janis Joplin and Bob Dylan took center stage. Music played a huge role in the sixties culture, and books played a big part in my life during the sixties. I came of age too and the books that attracted me were cutting edge (in my humble opinion). Here's a partial list of the ones that I enjoyed and made me feel like I was really delving deep into myself and the written word, in no particular order.

Franny and Zooey  JD Salinger
Portnoy's Complaint  Philip Roth
The Agony and The Ecstasy  Irving Stone
The Andromeda Strain  Michael Crichton
The Chosen  Chaim Potok
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest  Ken Kesey
The Group  Mary McCarthy
To Kill a Mockingbird  Harper Lee

Do you have a time when it seems you came of age with the books you read? Makes me want to go back and reread them to see if I'm still so impressed!

Brenda spends most of her time writing stories of discovery and love. After trying her hand at a couple of genres, she’s settled on romantic suspense. She’s found all good stories involve complicated human relationships. And if you add murder to the mix, the novel makes for good entertainment. She’s also found no matter a person’s age, a new discovery is right around every corner. Whether humorous or serious, straight contemporary or suspense, all her books revolve around those two facts.

Visit Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.

Or on FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/brendawhitesid2

She blogs on the 9^th and 24^th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com

Road Trip Through America by Jannine Gallant

I'm going to shamelessly plug my new release using our "America" theme for the month. In case any of you missed my big announcement, Road To Serendipity is now available on Amazon. A little background to bring you up to speed. This is a three book anthology that originally started life as three separate stories for the Class of '85 series. After several years of dismal sales, I took matters into my own hands (and dragged Margo into my devious plot with me.) We took our rights back, edited, changed the reunion to 20 years to make our characters younger since I'm getting the feeling no one wants to read books about old ladies like us, and relocated the reunion from the shores of Lake Ontario in New York to the shores of Lake Champlain in Vermont. Yea! I've actually spent time in Vermont and thought it was absolutely gorgeous. If you saw Chris's post on the subject on the 14th, you'd have to agree. So, the town of Serendipity, Vermont was born.

Back to the Road Trip Through America my title promised. The first story in the Anthology, Lonely Road To You, takes readers from Seattle to Vermont on a cross country drive to the reunion. Kate crashes into Tyler in Montana (literally) and they continue the journey together, with stops in Yellowstone, Mount Rushmore and The Badlands along the way. You won't want to miss their trip!

In  Rough Road Ahead, Chantal leaves New York City for the backwoods of the Adirondack Mountains. Not by choice, mind you. Her cosmetics company is gobbled up in a hostile takeover, and the decrepit hunting cabin is all she has left. I promise you'll enjoy Chantal's transformation from a confirmed city dweller to a woman who learns to appreciate nature.

Finally, Winding Road Home features my hero, Adam, disappointed in Vermont at the reunion while the woman he wanted to see, Chloe, is in Hawaii getting booted off a reality dating show called Get Lei'd. Don't worry, they hook up at the Lake Tahoe Marathon where they're both hot and sweaty and gasping for breath... Moving on from Tahoe, the story wraps up at Chloe's home on the California coast. (Check Alison's post from the 15th for photos of this area!)

So, for a journey from coast to coast across America, you won't want to miss Road To Serendipity. You can also check out Margo's Serendipity stories by picking up a copy of Saturday In Serendipity. Hope you'll enjoy both books!

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Rebels, Causes and Dark Brooding Men

Unlike many of my fellow Roses, I've seen and liked the James Dean movie, Rebel Without a Cause. His dark brooding looks and bad boy attitude, so reminiscent of Elvis in his early years, brought women to the theater in droves. Okay, most came in cars, but cut me some slack.

Whether in East of Eden or Rebel, Dean delighted audiences because of his blatant sex appeal. Remember, this was in the middle of the fifties when there were three channels on television and no sitcom could show a bedroom unless there were double beds for married couples. The United States was barely out of a devastating world war, trying to find its center, not yet ready to rebel against much of anything. That had to wait at least another decade.

Why were Dean and Elvis so magnetic? More than the brooding stares, more that the slicked hair, was their sex appeal, which ran counter to the then-current cultural norms. Other actors who went on to lengthy careers were more handsome than Dean but didn't have that something, the magnetism, he showed in every glower and mumbled line of dialogue.

Other singers during Elvis's era either were copycats in looks or were so squeaky clean that they belonged in the fifties. Pat Boone should have stayed in the fifties and not the tattooed ick he morphed into in the "oughts." Ricky Nelson. As clean cut as his parents. A good talent and a physical representation of the era.

So why did we need these rebels? Maybe it was because young people needed a reason to be different from the parental generation. Maybe it was a precursor to what would come a decade after Dean's death at 24 in 1955. After all, mass media was in its infancy with those three television stations and movie theaters providing the only moving images of stars. The Ed Sullivan Show brought musical acts into our living rooms, all but Elvis's pelvis waggling at the girls who screamed.

After a generation of deprivation with the Depression and WWII, youth needed an outlet. Our bad boys gave it to them. They opened the door for the later rock acts, hippies and social unrest of the sixties. Long live the rebels who show us it is all right to be different.

###

Betsy Ashton is the author of Mad Max Unintended Consequences available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. The second book in the series, Uncharted Territory, will be released in June 2015. She lives for words and writing.

Rebel Without A Genre By Donna Michaels

Yep, you guessed it. I’m the rebel.

In the writing world, branding is a huge way to get recognized and to gain a following. I should know. It happened to me without even trying. See, I write romaginative fiction, romance mixed with comedy, contemporary, suspense, sci-fi, fantasy, paranormal, adventure, time travel. I love to read variety and write variety. My books range from short to epic, sweet to very hot, and I’ve even written a story in first person. Variety. It is the spice in my writing life.

But something happened almost two years ago. The Wild Rose Press released my contribution to their Honky Tonk Hearts Series, COWBOY-SEXY.

Amazon offered Finn for free for four days. This was all new to all of us. I made up promo, and advertised on Facebook and all social media I could think of, plus I handed out cards to anyone locally who would take one. lol The gals at the annual Vampire Diaries Party ( or as I like to call it-VD Party) were given special promo and, bless them, they all promised to download my free book and tell a friend. 

It worked. I had thousands of downloads. Who knew cowboys were so hot?

I do now. Those thousands of free downloads somehow got the book into Amazon emails and I actually sold a good chunk. Good enough to generate a royalty check that could pay for more than lunch. Yeehaw! It also generated fan mail and readers wanting more. This got me thinking. Cowboys sell. I love cowboys. I have more cowboys. I’m going to turn those cowboys in to a series and see if that makes the readers happy. It did, and does. My Harland County Series is an Amazon Best Seller. With four books out so far, I have plans for four more, and I already have another cowboy series talking in my head.

But I told them to simmer down, especially since the contemporary military series I put on hold to wrangle those Harland cowboys was starting to chant really loud. I was getting antsy. Variety. I needed to mix things up or I knew I’d start twitching. Probably develop an eye tick, too. So my cowboy heroes and military heroes starting talking and negotiating. Here’s what they came up with:

They’re sharing custody of me. ☺

I get to write a Harland County spinoff series that ties the National Guardsmen from PA to my Texas cowboys. There will be characters crossing over from both series. In fact, the hero and heroine in cowboy book #3 will be getting married in the first book in the Citizen Soldier Series.

Brilliant. I’m happy. They’re happy. Now, I just hope my readers will be happy. The PA Guardsman aren’t exactly the quintessential cowboys, but they are outdoorsman. They own a resort in the Pocono mountains, so there’s hiking, fishing, boating, white-water rafting, skiing, horseback riding. Those men are no slackers. And they have great bodies to prove it. They may not wear cowboy boots, but they do wear boots. Combat boots. 

As you've probably guessed, even though I write several genres, I’m mostly known for my cowboys. But that’s okay. I love writing them. I’m just not going to write them exclusively. That’s the rebel in me. Guess you could say the rebel made me do it. J

So, if you see me at a convention you’ll find two boots on my table, but they don’t match. One is a cowboy boot and the other is a combat boot. Too bad they didn’t make a suspense boot, or a sci-fi boot, or a paranormal boot…

What are your thoughts on branding and writing? I’d love to hear your input. Especially since my first book in the new series isn’t out until next month. I’ve no idea if it’ll bomb, or if my readers will embrace the change and go with the flow. I sure hope so. I really don’t want to twitch. And that eye tick thing doesn’t sound very fun.

My fourth Harland County book, Her Forever Cowboy is up for Book of the Month over at SSLY!

If you've read Kevin's story and would like to vote, I'd sure appreciate it. Click HERE. Thank you! I'll love you forever and back!

 

Pssst! Speaking of conventions, I’m in New Orleans right now...TODAY, this very minute! at the Author Reader Con at the Marriott. If you’re in the neighborhood, I hope you’ll stop by for the book fair today, it’s 2pm-6pm. You can’t miss me. Just look for the boots!

 

Visit me anytime at www.donnamichaelsauthor.com