Banished Love

Today I'm hosting author, Ramona Fightner on her tour with her new book, Banished Love. I'm already intrigued by the peek I've seen of this book.  But not only is Ramona offering a great read, there are prizes throughout the tour, so comment here or at other stops and be entered to win a $50 Amazon/BN gift card.

Welcome Ramona!

Ramona Fightner is a native of Missoula, Montana.  After graduating from Tufts University with a B.A. in Spanish, she earned a Master's degree in Spanish Literature from the University of Montana.  Her Master's thesis, Chilean Testimonial Literature:  the collective suffering of a people, highlighted her continued interest in the stories of those who were at risk of being forgotten or silenced.

She studied nursing at the University of Pennsylvania and graduated with a Master's in Nursing as a Family Nurse Practitioner.  She has worked for ten years as a family nurse practitioner providing care to the poor and under insured at two community health centers, first in Wilmington, Delaware and now in Boston, Massachusetts.

An avid reader, she began writing three years ago.  She enjoys the demands of research and relishes the small discoveries that give historical details to her books.

Ramona is an avid flyfisher and hiker who enjoys nothing better than spending a day on a remote Montana river, far from a city.  She enjoys research, travel, storytelling, learning about new cultures and discovering new ways of looking at the world.  Though she resides in Boston, Massachusetts, Ramona remains a Montanan at heart.

Her dreams are to see the plains of East Africa, marvel at the wonder of Petra, Jordan, soak in the seas of the South Pacific, and to continue to spend as much time as possible with her family.

Banished Love is her first novel and is the first in the forthcoming Banished Saga.

Free-Spirited...

Clarissa Sullivan dreams for more from life than sipping tepid in stifling parlors in Victorian Boston.  She defies her family's wishes, continuing to teach poor immigrant children in Boston's West End, finding a much-needed purpose to her life.

Radical...

As a suffragette, Clarissa is considered a firebrand radical no man would desire.  For why should

women want the vote when men have sheltered women from the distasteful aspects of politics and law?

Determined...

When love blossoms between Clarissa and Gabriel McLeod, a struggling cabinetmaker, her family objects.  Clarissa's love and determination will be tested as she faces class prejudices, manipulative family members and social convention in order to live the life she desires with the man she loves.

Will she succeed?  Or will she yield to expectations?

BANISHED LOVE follows Clarissa Sullivan on her journey of self-discovery as she learns what she cannot live without.

Banished Love (An Excerpt):

"You've known my beliefs for some time,"  I croaked out.

"A schoolgirl's idealism," she snapped.  "Nothing to be acted on.

Mrs. Chickering cleared her throat, as though to remind Mrs. Smythe she remained present.  "I think it takes a tremendous strength of character to have beliefs and then actually act on them," she said with her own fervor.  "I would hate for women to to lock away their desires for a better world once they leave school or marry.  They, as women, have lives, have hopes and dreams for the future, independent of what a man might want."

"How dare you come into my house and tell me that what I have is not sufficient?"  Mrs. Smythe gasped.

"I am saying no such thing, Mrs. Sullivan," Mrs. Chickering replied.  "I believe you need to understand that your stepdaughter has beliefs and aspirations that are different from your yours."

"Aspirations that include the vote?"  Mrs. Smythe scoffed.  "Men have voted in the past, they will continue to vote, and I have no desire of it.  I feel as my husband does on all things to do with politics, so it would only be giving the same politician two votes rather than one.  There's no purpose to women having the vote."  Her eyes flashed, true enmity in their depths as she glared at Mrs. Chickering.  "And didn't we women of Massachusetts show you suffragettes we didn't want the vote in '95?  No one voted for women to become enfranchised then, and they won't now."  She sighed loudly, as though trying to calm herself.

"An aspiration for independence?" Mrs. Smythe continued, unable to stop speaking.  "Are you telling me that someday it should be lauded, hoped for, that young women become independent and have no need for marriage?  No need for children?  How could that ever be a hoped-for future?  You and your group want too much for women.  Women should focus on their home, on creating a moral, upstanding environment in which to raise children.  She will want for nothing if she has such a home," Mrs. Smythe argued.

"So I suppose women should remain tied to the kitchen stove with children at their ankles, and a husband who might, or might not, come home with a paycheck as their only recourse?"  Mrs. Chickering countered.  "Relying on the benevolence of men to write the laws and enforce them without women having any involvement in the legislative process?  Sitting at home knitting, hoping that men will ensure that our rights are protected?  That is all you envision for women?  Nothing more?"

"It has been enough for generations.  I do not know why it should need to change now," Mrs. Smythe snapped, banging down her teacup with such force I thought she might crack it.

"Was that enough for you in your first marriage, Mrs. Sullivan?" Mrs. Chickering asked pinning her with an intense gaze.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e43459/">Enter to win a $50 Amazon/BN gift certificate--a Rafflecopter

More on this book and the author can be found at:

At her website:      www.ramonaflightner.com

On twitter:             twitter.com/ramonaflightner

On facebook:        www.facebook.com/authorramonaflightner

At Pininterest:      www.pininterest.com/ramonauthor

Expect the Unexpected

My first novel, From The Dust, is a historical romance set in Depression Era Saskatchewan.  As part of my research I interviewed a few people that had lived through the thirties.  Unfortunately, one of those I interviewed, my husband's uncle, recently passed away.   I've re-posted below, the blog post that was the result of that interview.

Here's to you, Uncle Jim.

A Whole Lot of Nothing In Saskatchewan

"No one had any money," the tall, handsome senior tells me. He was a teenager through much of the thirties. The thirties, not the depression, that's how many of the seniors I talk to refer to the depression, only as the thirties.

"What did you do for fun?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"No dances?" I prod.

"I played the fiddle my Dad bought."

"You didn't have any money," I remind him.

"We bought it before the thirties, when we still had some money."

"Did you play at dances?" I ask again.

"Wasn't that good," he says in his cryptic manner. "The neighour taught me. We had musicals at different homes. I played at them sometimes."


"And dances?" So give me credit - I'm persistent!

"Yeah. I played at a few. But usually we had a real orchestra come out."

"Orchestra?" Now I'm puzzled. What about the no money thing?

"Yeah, my cousin played banjo, his wife played fiddle and a friend played saxaphone. They came out every Saturday night."

Nothing is sure becoming an interesting term. There's a whole lot of nothing going on. But I press on.

"From the city?" I ask.

"No, from the farm." He looks puzzled at the question. "They came into town."

"So you danced every weekend?"

"When we didn't have money. Sometimes we had money you know."
He eyes me like everyone should know this fact and continues,"then we went to Disley and bought beer."
"Beer?"

"Yeah. But we got rid of the empties."
"So you returned the empties?" I ask assuming poverty stricken as they were they would want the cash on a bottle return.
"Oh no." He shakes his head. "That would mean we'd have to take the bottles home with us. We threw them away so our mothers wouldn't find out we'd been drinking beer!"

***

After "From the Dust" was published, I received this feedback from Uncle Jim:

 "I read your book," he said with his cane perched across his long legs.  He paused as if for effect.  "I liked it."

I let out a relieved breath.

"Except for one thing."

Silence resonated as I held my breath, almost afraid to think what might have been wrong.  It's a love story there were probably places where a man of his age might have wished I'd glossed over.  Yes, that must have been it.

He repositioned his cane, obviously loving the drama.  Then he looked at me with a smile and said, "Not enough sex."

 Uncle Jim

1917 - 2014

Life is Unexpected - Safe travels
Ryshia
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Blue Monday

Today is officially the most depressing day of the year.  No, this is not something I made up.  I make up a lot of things but this one is official.  Documented even. 

But the good news, why I'm smiling, if this is the valley of winter, or it's deepest point, then soon we'll be coming out the other side.  So enjoy your day for tomorrow we will be climbing the hill to the other side, to warm weather and sun huts, barbeques and margaritas. 

Soon.

Meantime, exercise is walking the dog with fifty pounds of winter gear and shoveling snow off the drive.  But that's not a reason to be blue.  The snow and cold is actually rather refreshing.  No worries about sunburn or spending money on bug spray.  Winter does have its benefits.

Although that does lead to the question, do people in warmer parts of the world today get to participate in Blue Monday or is that just the privilege of those parts now covered in snow?

Geography aside, if you're feeling a little blue today, no worries, apparently it's normal. 

Meantime all this cold is good for one thing - upping that word count.  So it's back to Mulu, Malaysia and see how my characters are faring.

Ryshia
www.ryshiakennie.com
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Work And I Love It!

It's the first Wednesday of the month and following the tradition that Alex Cavanaugh has began, here it is, the Insecure Writer's post:

Tonight's post was the proverbial pulling teeth.  I almost shoved the computer away and said that's it - I cave. 

But I didn't.

Sometimes writing is like that.  Every morning I set my alarm early - before the lights in other houses are on, even here far away from home,  I'm in front of my computer beginning the word count for the day.  Although word count, that's probably, no is, a misnomer.  I don't go for word count.  I learned a long time ago, that for me that's not an effective way to write.  It means extensive revisions that can spin a story out long after I write the end. 

Sometimes it's tough.  There are few people that understand what you're doing, why you are doing it or why your "little hobby" should be called anything but that, never mind work.  But you have to swim through all of that and just keep writing.  It's the only way to eventually make it in this business.

Once I dreamed success would mean the publisher of my dreams would publish my book, market me and put me on every bookstore shelf.  Now times have changed and the dream, well it's there but it's adapted.  I still want that original dream but right now success means getting published by small presses and alternative publishing.  It means promoting myself and extra hours at the computer to do that.  Yes, the publishing industry has changed but the dream is the same - writing success.  And despite all the advise out there, it really only boils down to one word for success - readers.

But to find readers I must write well and then promote what I've written.  But even time to write is difficult in a world where success and what you  do is judged by how much money comes in.  Under a certain bar and it's not considered work.  Interesting term, work.  Because if you don't have work attached to what you do, quantifying it as a gainful means of employment, then what you're doing is a hobby and no one can figure out why you can't stop everything to answer the phone or go for coffee or take grandma to her church bazaar or whatever. And sometimes those interruptions are valid for I will admit that what my work is, is flexible.  But because of that flexibility, often, long after everyone has had supper and settled down for the nightly sitcom, I'm back at the computer for a few more hours.

Sorry everyone, it is work.  I am busy.  I'm writing a story.  It's work and I love it!

Now excuse me - after a good days work, I believe it's time to enjoy what's left of a cool desert evening.

Ryshia
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Fatal Intent on sale now for .99 cents at online book stores.

Stand Back - It's a Canuck

Been spending a few weeks south of the border, escaping at least part of the long winter I know is waiting for me.  Crossing one border usually isn't too much of a culture shock.  The States are similar to Canada in a large number of ways and in just as many, they're not.

So today I went to the UPS store to see if there was any way I could settle a mailing issue.  Note to self - you can't get mail if you don't have a mailbox.

Anyway, in the course of the discussion, one clerk looks at the other and says
"Well, that confirms it.  I knew the area code was somewhere in Canada but the accent, didn't you hear it?  Canuck."   She looks at the other clerk with satisfaction and then turns to smile at me.  I think I recoiled in horror, okay not quite but: 

A - no one has ever said I have an accent.  It's all of you I say - not me. 
And B - Canuck, no one has ever called me that either - ever. 

I was reminded that I'm a person of interest, a foreigner. I was one of those people, the ones I meet on planes, in other countries, in public transport - just everywhere.  People with stories that are different from mine.  They're fascinating and I'm their worst nightmare because I want to hear all about them. 

Now I'd become one of them.  One of the others - the one with the accent.  I mean it's easy to feel foreign when you're traveling in a country where your native tongue is not theirs and where the customs are radically different from yours.  But here the similarities run as close as the disparities.  So, no, I wanted to say - it's you, you have the funny little accent not me.  No, the look the clerk laid on me said it all - it was me.

Me?

A fraction of the price at home.

Sure I knew I was in a foreign country.  I'm reminded every day.  Retail shops alone are a good reminder.  Like the other day when I was gawking at the Canadian Whiskey disbelieving of the price.  Of course, I'm disbelieving of the price of any liquor south of the border but this one in particular.  Made in Canada, it sat here thousands of miles from its manufacture point marked at a price that can only be called extraordinarily cheap - possibly even giving it away, cheap.  And the day before that I scoured the dairy section looking for cream and only seeing artificial creamer.  At home, it's parked by the milk and it comes in a cardboard container, which I have since found it does here too but it's buried beneath a massive selection of creamers.  Anyway, maybe I should have taken those and any number of other clues that, not only was I foreign, but I just might just be the one with the accent.

So with that reality check I headed off down the road.  There we stumbled on the salsa lady, selling out of the back of her van by the side of the road.  Unemployed temporarily she said after greeting me with a cheery hello that she hurled at me long before we were in speaking distance.  After getting my salsa she offered her e-mail address in case I should like the salsa and she wasn't at her usual roadside haunt.  I did.  Will definitely be e-mailing her for more.  Fortunately, except for spelling issues - I think e-mail is relatively universal.  No accent there.  

So now it's off to the family selling tamales and fruit of all kinds at another roadside stand.  We left
with a bagful of fruit - 12 limes for a dollar!  Unheard of in Canada or at least the corner I'm from - not the limes, the price.  The tamales, well we'll be back for a roadside lunch one day soon.

It was a day of moments that would never have happened at home because, wait for it - I'd be shoveling snow and thinking of past trips and future stories.

And one last word on the accent thing - you will never, ever, hear me say that one dreaded word - eh.    Because well,  there was that classic Canadian throwback to the eighties, Bob and Doug McKenzie ... enough said.

Ryshia

 

Travel away to Borneo where murder and romance steam up the jungle - 

Fatal Intent on sale for .99 cents at most online retail book outlets.

 

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Intent to Kill - On Tour

I've been hunkering down these last few weeks, soaking up warmer weather before heading
back to the frozen North.  But that's another story and one I'll share soon.

I'm on another type of tour right now - a virtual one.  My latest romantic suspense, Intent to Kill is visiting some pretty sweet blogs and enjoying a review or two.  Today check out the review and comments at two great blogs:

"One of my favorite things in Literature is when you get taken outside of the typical setting of North America. I love "seeing" other countries and settings that I have never seen before, and I got to go on the ride of a lifetime with Claire as she traveled to Cambodia and attempts to solve vicious and grisly murders and disappearances that are taking place..."   Unabridged Andra

"Intent to Kill is an exciting look at smuggling in Cambodia and the extent that people will go to make money–no matter who gets in their way. Add to the mix an Interpol agent and a journalist who have a nearly explosive chemistry between them and you have an adventure just waiting to happen.
Ms. Kennie knows how to write action–and there’s plenty of it in this book..."Long and Short Reviews

Follow the links to read the rest and comment for a chance to win a Amazon gift certificate at the end of the tour.

Now it's off to enjoy some sunshine.

Ryshia
www.ryshiakennie.com

November 27: Unabridged Andra
November 27: Long and Short Reviews
December 4: Bunny's Review
December 4: It's Raining Books
December 11: A to Z Reviews
December 11: Promo Room With Books
December 18: Book Reviews by Xunaira J.
December 18: As the Pages Turn
December 18: Straight From the Library