Category: Weather

Every Little Bit Helps

11/11/2013

Dear readers,

I was going to post a bit of my WIP North Pole: Confidential, but that can wait because there is a need in the world that you might be able to help.

The damage in the Philippines from Super Typhoon Haiyan is unbelievable and catastrophic. The death toll at this point is just guessing and will undoubtedly be horrific. Power may not be restored for months. People are without homes, without food, without water and basic clothing.

In honor of a friend who has family there, I am posting some links for anyone who wishes to donate to the relief efforts. I know things are tough right now, and it seems like everyone wants a donation for something these days, but please consider how you would feel if it was your mother, your brother, your niece, or grandson with no food and no place to go. Even the smallest bit counts. If you can spare $1.00, that can help someone. And if you cannot spare even that, please give your thoughts and prayers, which are more powerful than you may know.

The Philippines Red Cross accepts PayPal donations in Pesos (43 Pesos = $1.00 US)
World Food Programme

Save the Children

Catholic Relief Services

British Red Cross Haiyan Appeal

These are the links from my friend Tessa. They are the ones she chose. Please donate if you can.

Thank you.

Kate

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An excerpt!

9/28/2013

5 Comments

Dear readers and anyone who stumbles onto this site by accident,

Life has been decidedly difficult lately. It's a blustery, gray, rainy day, and my headaches have been an absolute plague in recent days. So I've decided the best thing to do to break out of the doldrums is to share something with others. That's right, a peek at the still-unfinished first draft of The DeFord Chronicles, Part II (preliminary cover image by Elizabeth Layne at left, isn't it awesome?).

Without further ado I shall go to my trusty random scrolling method and give you a scene from Chapter *drumroll* 15! The scene: our hero, Chauncy DeFord is concerned about Lady Eleanor Boyd who has been recently widowed. Her husband had been a close friend of Chauncy's. The setting: Eilding Castle, home of Lord and Lady Ralston.   Lady Ralston is the former Elizabeth Brighton, a girl who means more to our hero than he is comfortable with.

          Chauncy watched Eleanor carefully. He had noted the change in her immediately upon seeing her. She was pale and thin and the light seemed to have gone out of her. She spoke when spoken to, but rarely initiated conversation. She was at her most animated with young Jocelyn, and she had been genuinely glad to see Chauncy and James but she was a far cry from her usual merry self. She had no appetite and took little pleasure even in the performance of the minstrels in attendance.
           There was little Chauncy could think to do. If he was to learn anything more than the very little Eleanor had said he would have to speak with either Her Royal Highness, Princess Sophie, or with Lady Ralston. It would be far easier for him to approach Lady Ralston, yet he was loath to do so. He had thought he was prepared to see her mistress of Eilding, but he could not have been more mistaken. The sight of her sweeping toward them to bid them welcome had been like a blow to the stomach. When had he become so enamored of Elizabeth? When had he begun thinking of her as Elizabeth? Perhaps before she had wed Edward Ralston. He should have abandoned that practice after he had learned of their marriage, but he did not care to think of her as Ralston’s wife. The man did not deserve her.
          Something was amiss in this household. He could not put his finger on it, but there was a tension in the air that was not entirely owing to his own presence. Remarkable how his name alone had the power to make life difficult even for others. Well he would be leaving in the morning with the prince, who was trying to catch his eye from across the great hall. He casually worked his way to his highness’s circle and joined them, which caused Ralston to withdraw.
           “Pray excuse me gentlemen,” His Royal Highness said. “I have matters that need my attention.” Turning to Chauncy he continued. “Lord DeFord, would you accompany me?”
          “I am at your service, my lord prince.” Chauncy acquiesced.
          Prince Nicholas waited until they were a goodly distance from the great hall, on the way to his chambers to speak. “It is glad I am to see you. And so is Sophie. I do hope you enjoyed your visit with your cousin.”
          “I did indeed, your highness.” Chauncy instinctively knew that they were not to discuss anything of import until they reached the prince’s chambers. “Jacqueline is ever the same.”
          “What is she like, your cousin?”
          Chauncy thought for a moment how best to describe her. “She is merry and clever, sweet and strong. Hers is a difficult position.” At a questioning glance from the prince, he continued. “Widow of the only son, mother of the sole heir. She has what could be considered a position of honor within the Baricaud family, yet she is also dependent upon their good will. They could not turn her out, but they could make her life very unpleasant.”
          Lines of disapproval formed at the corners of Nicholas’s mouth.
“Yes, I imagine they could.”
          “Fortunately, her son worships her. And as long as he does she is safe.” Chauncy added.
          They had now reached their destination. Nicholas conferred briefly with his personal attendants before sending them out. He crossed to a cruet on a crystal tray. “Wine?”
          “No, thank you, your highness.” Chauncy glanced around the room at the gaudy display of wealth. Gold was on every item possible and some that he had not known could be covered in it. Silks from the orient had been used for the upholstery. Everywhere he looked he saw the trappings of one to whom status was all and taste was in short supply.
           Nicholas noted Chauncy’s disapproval. “Not to my taste either. The room positively reeks of Ralston, does it not?”
          Chauncy should not have been surprised. It was customary for visiting royalty and higher ranking noblemen to be given the best sleeping quarters available and those were always the master’s rooms. He could not picture Elizabeth in the room without feeling faintly ill, so he turned his attention to the prince. He had not long to wait.
          “I imagine you are curious as to why I brought you here.” Nicholas began.
          “Indeed I am, your highness.” Chauncy replied.
          “Please dispense with the formality and call me by my name.” The prince insisted.
          Chauncy demurred. “I could not, your highness.”
          “Yes, well, you may not always be of that mind.” He paused to sip is wine. “You know about Andrew Boyd.” It was not really a question, and as such did not require an answer. “And you also know that arrow was meant for me. I would give anything to have been the one in his place.”
          “You must not say such things, your highness.” Chauncy objected.
          Nicholas did not reply. He knew what Chauncy would say next, what everyone said. Think of the kingdom, of his family, his bride. He had not asked to be born a prince, and while he enjoyed the privileges of his rank, he hated that another had died in his stead—a man he respected, a man with a wife and child, a man among men who would have gone on to greatness if not for the fact that someone wanted the Crown Prince of Frandia dead.
          Just at the moment when the prince’s thoughts were darkest, his princess arrived. His mood lightened at the sight of her, and improved still more as she embraced their guest.
          “Lord DeFord, how pleased I am to see you again.” She smiled brightly at him. “I am sorry that I did not say so before.”
          Chauncy bowed over her proffered hand. “You are too kind, your highness. I am certain you were occupied with far greater matters.”
           “I should have made time for you.” She disagreed, but said nothing more about the matter. She went to sit by her husband and waited for him to speak.
          Nicholas leaned toward Chauncy. “Do you know why I have brought you here? No, I can see that you do not. When Quinly arrived, was there anything in the message that seemed odd to you?”
          Chauncy nodded. “The word ‘cousin’ caught my attention. I thought he must have heard incorrectly.”
          “He did not.” Nicholas paused before adding “You and I share the same blood.”

And that is where the chapter ends. How do you think Chauncy will react to learning that he is somehow related to the royal family? And if someone wants members of the royal family dead, does that mean someone will want him dead too?

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I'm back!

5/8/2013

4 Comments

April was a long month. During this early session of Camp NaNoWriMo I wrote almost every day, managed to add more than 50,000 words to my WIP, and did not finish the darn thing. But I am much, much closer to the end than I was on March 31st. NaNoWriMo events are great motivators for me.

In the last week my spring headache rush has come. They always get bad this time of year. Could be allergies, or a reaction to the warmer weather, or perhaps merely the stress of anticipating the coming summer.

I was about ready to post and do some work on sprucing up the blog when the internet went out. Obviously not the entire internet, but mine certainly went down. Apparently people in twenty states were affected. Let me tell you, I am far more dependent on my internet connection than I realized. Oh sure, most of my social life is on here. And of course, my business is run 99% online. But I was a bit surprised at how very much I missed the internet. It's certainly a good thing that I didn't have to go longer than two days without service. And I did get more housework done than usual. :o)

Anyway, I thought I should give you all a taste of what has been keeping me from you. I'd ask how you managed to bear the deprivation of my company but I suspect most of the world didn't even notice I was gone. For those of you who did...a sneak peek at the raw and unedited (and disappointingly still unfinished) The DeFord Chronicles, Part II.

Out of the many subplots in the novel I have chosen this excerpt regarding a young lady who is in love with one man, but sadly about to be betrothed to another. At her first offical court ball she determined to prove herself an unequal match for the duke of Langdon. Unfortunately her success was not well-received by her scheming uncle.

          That night as Gillian was readying for bed she thought over her performance at the ball. She had made a great fool of herself and embarrassed her uncle terribly. She had gone out of her way to prove that she would be a disaster as a duchess, using her inexperience and sheltered existence as the ultimate excuses for her behavior. It was true that she had not been to court before, and that a great many things had been kept from her in terms of knowledge of the world. That worked to her advantage. Since she had not attended any other balls, or events where the entire court was present, no one could say that she was not honestly unprepared for the night. Only she and a few others knew better.
          She was brushing her hair in front of the glass when she saw her uncle enter the room. Her hand froze mid-stroke. He was most certainly not pleased.
          “Out, all of you.” Everard commanded. “I would have words with my niece."
          Gillian turned an anxious face to the retreating servants. Not one of them gave her even a glance of sympathy. They would not risk their master’s displeasure and thus their own employment.
          He waited until the door was shut behind the last of them, then
stalked across the carpet and struck Gillian from behind with the back of his
hand, knocking her off of her chair.
           “You think you are clever, do you?” He kicked the chair away and circled her menacingly. “Playing the ignorant country lass. Get up. Get up!” He hauled her to her feet, fingers biting into the flesh of her upper arms, and backed her against the hard stone wall. “A fine performance my girl but it was all in vain. Look at me.” When she failed to comply he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked, forcing her head up until they were nose to nose, his wine-soaked breath as awful as his cruelty.
           “You will wed the duke. I care not for your opinion on this or any other matter. You will wed him and you will promote me at every opportunity or I will make you suffer as you have never dreamed you could suffer. Do you understand?”
          She nodded as best she could, eyes wide with fright, tears streaming down her face.
          Everard released her and walked away. “Pleasant dreams, dear niece.”
          Gillian heard the door close and slid to the floor, crying as quietly as she could. Her arms hurt and her head too where it had felt as if he would pull her hair right out. She loosened the bodice on her gown and pushed it down to look at her arms, purple streaks were already forming in the shape of fingers.
          She had never loved her uncle. Now she hated him and wanted to see him ruined and broken. She should confess these wicked thoughts, but she was enjoying them too much. The hatred would give her strength to do what she must.
          First she thought of sending a note, but none of her uncle’s servants could be trusted to deliver it. Gillian had no doubt he had ordered them to watch her carefully. The only reason he had not locked her in her chambers was that he knew she had nowhere to go. Who could she turn to for aid?
Duncan must not know. He would challenge her uncle, and much though she loved him, Gillian was not ready to believe him invincible, besides which Everard would not play fair. It would have to be a lady. Princess Therese might help her, but she did not wish to take advantage of their tentative alliance. And really, what could a girl of ten and seven do, even a princess?
          She could not go to the queen. She tried to remember if any of the ladies at court had been companions of her mother’s but her mother had died when she was very young and her father not long after. There was no one in particular she could remember as one on whose sympathy and assistance she could rely. Having been raised in the country she herself knew no one at court, and it would be dangerous to approach just anyone. It was impossible for her to know who might side with her uncle, probably all of them. They would likely think her mad to spurn the possibility of becoming a duchess. She wished desperately for Duncan, but he more than anyone must be kept in the dark, for his own safety even more than for hers.
          Suddenly she saw it. The only possible solution: a lady who was known for her tender heart and goodness, who was close to the queen, and whose husband and father were powerful men. She would go at once while the marks were still fresh. The hour was not too late, and as she was still dressed no one would pay any attention to her.

                                             ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

          “My lady there is a maiden at the door who wishes to speak with
you urgently.”
          Isabelle removed her rings and sat. “Who is she, do you know?”
          “No my lady but she looks as if she has had an awful fright. She said you are her only hope.” The servant repeated exactly what Gillian had told her to say. The weight of the gold coin the girl had given her was a pleasure to feel in her pocket.
          “Show her in.” Isabelle took off her bracelets and necklace then turned to receive her unexpected guest.
           “Lady St. Robert. Please help me!”
          Isabelle was moved by the plea, which she took to be heartfelt, but the falling at her feet and grasping her skirt was a bit much. She recognized the petitioner at once. Carlisle’s niece, who was to wed the duke of Langdon. “Calm yourself, child. Tell me, what manner of trouble are you in?” She hoped in her heart that she could help for the girl looked quite wild.
          “I must escape my uncle. I cannot wed the duke and he will kill me if I do not!”
          “Lady Gillian, you exaggerate. Surely your uncle only wishes what is best for you. Lady Gillian, what are you doing?” Isabelle stared as the girl pushed her bodice down. She stared still when she saw the marks, but her eyes had turned from shock to outrage. She touched one arm gingerly. “Who did this to you?”
          Tears filled Gillian’s eyes. “My uncle.”
          Isabelle looked into the girl’s eyes and knew at once that it was true. Dramatic she might be, but not dishonest. “Why have you come to me?”
          “I have no friend at court. I do not know who to trust.” Gillian confided as a tear streaked down her left cheek. She brushed at it unhappily. “I have heard of your kindness. And I…”
          “Go on.” Isabelle urged.
          “I heard that your family is not on friendly terms with my uncle. I could not risk seeking help from anyone who is allied with him.”
          Isabelle nodded. That was a very valid point. “From whom did you hear that we are not on good terms with Carlisle?”
          “From your son Duncan.” Gillian’s eyes turned frantic. “He must not know about this, that my uncle hurt and threatened me!”
          Oh dear lord! Isabelle thought. So that was the way of things. She had noticed a change in her eldest son. He was more thoughtful, seemed to have some purpose, was actually being responsible. Did the girl return his feelings? Yes, or she would not have been so adamant that he not know of what had occurred. Isabelle of all people knew her son’s impulsive nature. No, it would be best if he did not know of the incident.
           Isabelle latched onto the later part of Gillian’s exclamation. “How did he threaten you? Come, sit over here.” She guided the girl to a bench closer to the light so she could get a better look at the bruises forming. The dark purple was a stark contrast to Gillian’s fair skin. These were deep bruises. Only a man intent on injuring could have made those marks. This was not the result of a rare fit of temper from a man who did not know his strength.
          “He, he said…” Gillian paused to take a deep breath, fighting back the hysteria that wanted to surface. “That if I refused to wed His Grace the duke of Langdon that he would make me suffer as I have never imagined suffering before. He did not say how, yet I know he meant it. I can still see his eyes. He is evil, and he hates me. He will kill me, I know it!” She dissolved into tears and let Lady St. Robert soothe her as her own mother might have, had she lived.
          “Hush dear. I will help you as much as I am able. I cannot promise anything now. But I will try.” Isabelle was not certain she believed Carlisle would actually murder his niece, but it was clear that he was not above inflicting pain. The poor girl clung to her and wept her heart out. When the tears had ceased, Isabelle stroked Gillian’s head and patted her hand. “Now, you must go back to your chambers. You must act as if nothing has happened. Can you do that?”
          Gillian nodded. “I can do anything for Duncan.” She covered her mouth with her free hand.
          “You need not be alarmed,” Isabelle smiled. “I had guessed it already.
You do not make things easy on yourself in choosing my son over a duke. Still, if you have the strength to fight, you shall never take for granted what you gain.” Gillian made to leave. “A moment, please.” Isabelle went to a large chest and rummaged through until she found a good sized brown pot filled with what seemed to be an aromatic goo. “I shall see to those marks before you go. This will take some of the pain away, and lessen the swelling.” She carefully smeared the salve on Gillian’s arms, talking to her all the while. She could sense a deep need for mothering in the girl. She knew that Eustace and Annora Carlisle had died when Gillian was quite young.
          When the treatment was finished and Gillian’s bodice back in place, she hugged Lady St. Robert fiercely and then fled the chambers. Isabelle smiled. She liked this Lady Gillian who had stolen her son’s heart. It would be a delicate business untangling Everard’s web, but she would try. “Oh Duncan,” she sighed, “you never make things easy.”

That's all for now. I look forward to getting back in touch with the world, and resuming my participation in Weekend Writing Warriors.   See you around the web.

Kate

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Profound Apologies

6/10/2012

14 Comments

To my lovely readers and the wonderful people who run and participate in Six Sentence Sunday, I wish to apologize.
I have in the past signed up and posted, and I have posted after forgetting to sign up. Today marks the first time I have signed up but forgotten to post.

What can I say? In summer the days all blend together and Sunday looks a lot like Wednesday. The last week has been particularly hectic as our youngest son (the 3rd of our 4 children) has not taken well to school being over. It was the first full week of summer vacation and it was a rough one.

We're trying to find a day program for him, in addition to respite care once a week. No luck so far. I may have to forgo Six Sunday for the summer and choose respite day to share a bit of my work. Haven't made a decision but I'll be doing some definite thinking about it.

Today has been a day of running interference as everyone seems to be getting on each other's nerves. I'm hoping the afternoon will be just too hot for squabbling, and that a little ice cream will soothe the savage beasts.

Wish me luck, and have a great Sunday.

Kate

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Six Sentence Sunday 5/6/2012

5/6/2012

27 Comments

Here we are at Sunday again. I'm beginning to see a pattern in this. Thanks to all who read and commented last week, and the weeks before.

We are still in Chapter 8 of Bridging The Gaps and Henry, who was just leaving anyway, is taking a phone call at the host's desk. But not before saying goodbye to Ellen.

   "Ellen, nice to see you again.”
   She smiled, and said “Good to see you too.”
   “You always did have a great smile.” He turned and followed the man with the phone message.
    Rita studied Ellen as she stared after Henry. This situation was rife with possibilities, but she’d have to tread carefully.


Did I mention that Rita has plans for these two? Tune in again next week for more information from Rita, and more of Ellen's thoughts about Henry. And while you're online, check out the fabulous excerpts from the other Six Sentence Sunday participants. It will take me a while to make the rounds due to the dratted storms we're supposed to get all day long.

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Parental Behavior

3/1/2012

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Here I am, posting late again. But it's not entirely my fault. My internet was out for most of yesterday, as were my phones. And while some people possess the ability to blog from their cell phones, I do not. My phone makes calls, sends texts, and has two games. That's it. No camera. No internet. No apps. Not even the ability to download cool ringtones (admittedly this last one bothers me a bit). The lack of landline phone service was ok but I really missed my internet connection.

Anyhow...today is a day where I have no choice but to act like a grown-up. I usually do that anyway but I'm feeling especially like a parent this afternoon. Just got home from taking the youngest for some shots. I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach all the way to the clinic and I didn't tell her about the shots until we were back in the exam room. Yes, I am a total chicken. I didn't want her to panic and I can't stand the thought of my baby girl in pain, psychological or physical. She actually did better than I did; wasn't happy, but the only time she came close to crying was when the nurse didn't get back in a timely fashion with her sticker.

In less than an hour's time I will be on my way to Parent-Teacher conferences at the middle school for our oldest. We don't have to panic as he's doing well in his classes, but we aren't looking forward to standing in line in the buffet style set-up they use. I learned my lesson on the last round and will be taking a book with me to pass the time.

Got my taxes done and nothing else is looming just yet, so I anticipate getting a lot more writing done in March, which curiously did not come in like a lion unless it was confused by Leap Year and thought it was supposed to be here yesterday, in which case it roared quite well and gave us the first snow day of the year.

Until we meet again,
Kate

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What is it about spring?

2/22/2012

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The sun is shining, there's a small yellow crocus blooming on the south side of my house, and it's almost warm today. Of course there's a snowstorm coming in tomorrow, but the accumulation thereof will probably melt within a week. The birds are slowly returning from their vacations. The trees and lilacs are budding. Soon the world will take on that unique sent of earth ready for growing. In a few weeks that local farmer will get his tractor stuck in the mud in his field by the highway. Ah, spring!

This time of year has an enlivening effect on me. I don't know why. I'm still sleep-deprived, but now I'm feeling optimistic. I actually managed to do some writing yesterday, which felt great. I never realize just how much I've missed it until I start again.

I vow here and now to make the most of the time left between now and the last day of school. I will attempt to write every day. I will continue to blog every week, sometimes maybe even twice a week. I will start playing the guitar again. I'd say I'm going to learn piano, but I don't want to push it. I WILL finish The DeFord Chronicles, Part II and get Bridging The Gaps out for mass consumption before the year is out. I am strong. I am invincible. I am caffeinated. (you thought I was going to say "I am woman" didn't you?)

I call on all of my readers to encourage me, hold me accountable, nag me if necessary to keep me writing. The support of my fans is the greatest motivator there is. I don't write for fame. I don't write for fortune. I write for you.

Kate

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Happy Celebrations of your choice.

12/20/2011

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It's getting close now. There are only two days left of school this year. Christmas Eve is Saturday. Christmas Day (also my oldest son's birthday) is Sunday. I've got my holiday YouTube playlist nearly ready to go--test running in the background as I type. No presents wrapped as yet. No cookies made.

The ugly plastic tree is going up tonight. I console myself with the fact that it will look ok from way back in the kitchen and that my husband let me buy new decorations. He also bought me books. He's getting into it this year.

So far only one child has requested cookies for a school party. The same one who is praying for snow because he doesn't want a green/brown Christmas (which I have pointed out to him was what we had the year he was born).

The kids are all helping set up the tree. This should be interesting. One asked if it's supposed to be a fake pine or spruce. I don't know. Soon begins the vigil of keeping the youngest two and the puppy from knocking it over or chewing on the lower branches and ornaments. Admittedly, the puppy is more likely to try eating the tree.

My next post will be post-Christmas so I'm going to wish you all a wonderful holiday, whether you celebrate it or not. Enjoy the time off, and have some fun.

Kate

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Traditions

12/7/2011

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Now that NaNoWriMo is over, I find myself a little sad. The boards are becoming more desolate, the frantic energy that kept me writing has disappeared, and the weather has turned cold. Normally the weather would have already been cold. It's been an odd fall.

I still have the novel to finish. 52,000 odd words wasn't the whole story. But I'm exhausted. Things have been nuts at my house. We have a puppy, who is adorable, but takes plenty of supervision to assure he does not chew the house down. The kids have various projects coming up for school. The holidays are coming up.

We don't have a lot of traditions. There have been some I've tried to start that didn't work out--more about that later. We have our fake tree (not my first choice, I can tell you) and some decorations we put up around the house. We have ornaments that hang from the light fixtures in our kitchen year round actually. I like to bake a few different kinds of cookies and treats to share. I give a plate to our mail lady, and to the kids' bus drivers.

We also have a birthday on Christmas Day so we used to celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve but our son who has that birthday has requested that we merge the two. There are a few movies we watch leading up to the big day.

A question for my readers...what are your favorite holiday traditions? Do you put up a tree? Light the menorah? Watch special films or read certain stories? Do you put up stockings or leave cookies and milk out for a certain man in a red suit? Is there a particular ornament or song that means a lot to you? Please share your stories.

Kate

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Halfway there.

7/28/2011

1 Comment

Technically I should have written this post about two weeks ago, but the way my life goes, this is practically on time.

The summer is now more than half over and I can see the light that is the first day of school getting closer. With the beginning of the school year comes my reacquaintance with writing, and more to the point, editing. My newest book is begging to be finished and as long as the chaos of summer reigns, it will remain lacking in polish. Ordered a proof copy though and I'm very pleased with the cover design (more about that, including a picture and info about my designer, in a later post).

As I immerse myself in back to school nights and back to school shopping I can almost hear my manuscript calling to me. I will get my computer back. I will have some time each day to edit. I will eat chocolate. Ok, that last one doesn't hinge on the start of school, but really can you blame me?

All practical considerations aside, I'm looking forward to autumn. It's my favorite time of year. I love the cool, crisp air and the approach of the holidays, the colors of the leaves, the tang of woodsmoke in the air. It's refreshing to me after a steaming summer.

So readers, what's your favorite time of year, and why?

Kate

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Kate Warren

fiction with humor and heart

Every Little Bit Helps

An excerpt!

I'm back!

Profound Apologies

Six Sentence Sunday 5/6/2012

Parental Behavior

What is it about spring?

Happy Celebrations of your choice.

Traditions

Halfway there.

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