CELEBRATING FREEDOM In All Its Forms

I'm reading a great new book co-written by one of my favorite authors, Laura Kaye, also known as Laura Kamoie for her historical books, America's First Daughter. It is so fitting that this weekend, as we celebrate our nation's independence, that we review some events that took place in the lives of key players at the birth of this new nation. This book is about Thomas Jefferson's daughter, Patsy, and her relationship with her mother, her father, and the woman who was her blood relative who also became Jefferson's lover, bearing several children for him, and remained at his side until his death, Sally Hemmings.

I have said over and over again the truth is stranger than fiction, and this story is no exception to that. The two authors researched over 18,000 personal letters written to and from Jefferson, and gives us a good glimpse of what it was like to live during those dangerous times. The details of their circumstances and the closeness between Mrs. Jefferson, and the slaves she "owned", inherited from her father, all the while recognizing that some of them were her half-siblings, shows what a remarkable woman she was. Her daughter, Patsy, would come to know the playmate she had as a child, rumored to be her relative as well, become her father's long companion after her mother's death. To say this very public and important family had issues and secrets, is putting it mildly. The story, as told by the daughter, Patsy, is so riveting it plays like a movie and I forget where I am while reading it.

While I can't begin to write a historical novel, I was first drawn to the book because I have a futuristic novel I'm currently working on, involving a direct descendent of Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemmings. There are similar themes, such as the concept of Freedom, the price and meaning of Independence, and the true definition of Liberty. And yes, that's all you're gonna get today. You'll be seeing some excerpts in the coming weeks and months when I'm ready to finish it. My tenative title, while I work on the story, is Free To Love.

They say circumstances don't make a man, they reveal a man. What I enjoy reading, and writing, are stories that acquaint us intimately with characters who make decisions in a hopelessly flawed and dangerous timeline. Moral absolutes become sometimes life-threatening and compromised. Often the decisions are between the lesser of two evils than the difference between a shining star and a grease stain. I love the rich conflict of this story, and hope that some of that will rub off into mine.

America's First Daughter helps me understand how precious our freedoms are, and appreciate the costs others who came before had to pay for that freedom I enjoy today.

Remember, evil exists when good men do nothing. If good men did nothing, we might still be a colony, struggling under the yoke of a controlling empire. Or, we might all be speaking German. Maybe with all the events happening this July 4th weekend, we would do well to remember that.

They say freedom isn't free. Are you willing to pay the price? Some of us may have to. And some of us are innocents, but just like those who lived and died during the times of our young struggling nation. Not just soldiers paid the price. Their families and loved ones did too. And in the end, it was worth it.

M is for Leslie Moon

M IS FOR MOONDUSTWRITER. Part of the reason I love the A-Z blog is all the new friends I make. I would not have met these people otherwise. We practically have nothing in common, except that we are poets, writers and just crazy people who like to share the connection. We are more connected than we are separate, did you know? There are those that don't want that secret to get out. Shhhh!! Leslie's post is not something I normally write about, but her words need to be heard. Enjoy, and thank you, Leslie, for stopping by my blog today.

Never Together by Leslie Moon #atozchallenge

April 16, 2015 by moondustwriter in a to z challenge, Fiction, new cago and tagged "N", a to z challenge, corruption, crime, dead, fill the cracks, medicago, moondustwriter, newcago, noir fiction

2 Votes

I remember the first time we saw each other – We hadn’t seen each other since we were kids out in the country.

Then everything went haywire. Caesar took what he wanted including the lives of my parents.

At 17, I fled – their night screams chased me for years.

I was entranced by New Cago; she beckoned with her dazzling lights and her rich satins. I didn’t know about the slime underneath until it owned me.

Sam didn’t know how I was making it, I didn’t have the heart to tell him.

 When I wrote,  I told him I had a job and my own place.

Yeah, some call  it a job. The men liked my blue eyes ‘that girl has spirit!’

 But what the hell there was money and a bunk.  I wasn’t locked up in someone’s vault and the temple goons stayed away.

Caesar was murdered and we all celebrated in fountains of bubbly. Within days, the gangs took over and I learned to shoot a gun.

A gang lord wanted to claim me as “property rights.”

Sam showed up just when they were forging my personal chain.

Sam  always could look straight down to my heart. He knew but never said a word.

Sam was something those gangsters were not and they feared him.

Evil never sleeps though and on my birthday someone took a lucky shot.

Dog gone, I’ve pulled Sam into this rotten city and now I’m dead.

 My real name is Lucerne which means ‘Life.’  My blood is a type of antidote Medicago they call it. That’s why when the bullet passed through me and into Sam he didn’t die.

Sam, do what you’ve gotta do – my blood will keep you alive.

 

 

 

Image attribution:”75 Medicago sativa L” by Amédée Masclef – Atlas des plantes de France. 1891. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons –http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:75_Medicago_sativa_L.jpg#/media/File:75_Medicago_sativa_L.jpg

Did you know there are more than 10,000 children orphaned by Ebola in West Africa? Many of these children have nothing and are stigmatized by their communities (and extended family). We are trying to find a way to raise funds to help. More info here.

J is for Junk On My Computer, SUNDAYS WITH SHARON

J is for Junk On My Computer!  I had a lot of extra files on my computer and yesterday I cleared out 120 Gigs of junk. I feel squeaky clean! Our family Apple Expert, Mario, came over and spent about seven hours with us both. Mine was the most difficult and detailed. But what I have now are 19 separate folders containing everything about my books. I have 14 novels, 2 Novellas and 2 of my own bundles, or boxed sets.

I had snippets everywhere, blog posts and guest spots, interviews and faq sheets filed sometimes by name, sometimes by kind of file, sometimes random, and then those dreaded "X Novel - FINAL FINAL FINAL" files. Some files were separated from others because one way editors or my formatter would send them without spaces, some with dashes between the book and the date of the edit, and others in all caps or upper and lower case with or without spaces. I was holding all this in my head, and boy was my head hurting. I had to remember which ones were which (oh yes, that was a novella of the same name, oh yes, that was the correction I made that came in late, etc.) 

In short, I was an accident waiting to happen. This morning as I wake up and go to the computer, my desktop is clean, organized and I know where all my important papers are. A good friend of mine used to look at my lists of "versions" of my books, and shake her head, "Sharon, you've got to get this fixed." That was about 4 years ago. Did I mention sometime before I'm stubborn?

Now some of you saw the word Junk and were thinking of something else. And for you, all I have is a picture. Enjoy the view...the part that I can show! Enjoy your day.

If you are want to follow along in the A-Z Blog Challenge, just clink on the button at the bottom with the sunflower on it. You will be directed to a list of some 2000 other bloggers who have taken the challenge. This week, I'm number 573. Some are dropping out, so this number could change, but tell your friends about it. Enjoy!

Decide

de·cide verb \di-ˈsīd, dē-\

de·cid·edde·cid·ing

Definition of DECIDE

transitive verb

1

a : to make a final choice or judgment about <decide what to do>

b : to select as a course of action —used with an infinitive <decided to go>

c : to infer on the basis of evidence : conclude decided that he was right>

2

: to bring to a definitive end decided the fight>

3

: to induce to come to a choice decided him to help>

The most important part of this word is the ending. Decide means to kill off your options. That means, to make a choice, so that there is no going back.

That's why making a statement of purpose is so powerful, because when you declare it to the world, you are asking for the world to support you, you are making a stand. Saying, "I will do/believe this."

Ah, but the fun stuff happens when the universe talks back. Don't click me off here, I haven't begun to hear voices, well, more voices, I mean. Haven't you decided to go on a diet and the very first day get offered your favorite red label food? Haven't you told someone you were a writer, to have them ask you how many books you've written and where you are published?

This universe is testing you. Making sure you really decided, not just giving lip service to something.

Having goals is a way of deciding. They have to be measurable and a stretch to what you would normally achieve. They should have a stop and start time, and they are best when you show them to someone, not keep them in your drawer or under the cat food.

Decide today one little change you're going to make to get something accomplished you will feel good about tonight. Do it for yourself, but tell someone else you're doing it to make it more real, so you risk more.

And kill off your other options.

Cochins

COCHINS

These wonderful, big fluffy chickens are perfect brooders. I've taken eggs from other hens, and given them to these Cochin mamas, and they smother them with love until they hatch, and then are some of the most attentive mothers a baby chick could have, even doing battle with some of my randy roosters and other hens looking to damage their young.

Cochins were imported to England from China in about 1845. Queen Victoria was given a pair as a gift, and, until then, were only found in the orient. Raised by royalty, and, just like the Panda, they were rarely seen outside of the mainland.

Well, someone in England figured it out, and soon chicks were hatching and were presented to important persons by the Queen, who was said to be very pleased with her little brood. They were all the rage. Until they figured out what they would do to gardens. When Cochins go after things, like roses, peonies, lavender and even rosemary, well it's not a pretty sight. My chickens even ate all my asparagus roots, rhubarb, artichoke and yes, horseradish. One chicken can do a lot of damage to a well-tended garden, in spite of the fact that they eat almost their weight in snails, slugs, bugs per week.

I have one golden feathered one, like on the left, several black ones, and one blue Cochin, really a beautiful silvery grey color.

Now why would I bring up Cochins on my stop at C on the blog tour? Yesterday, as a matter of fact, one of my Cochins was beside herself, clucking, looking for an egg she probably thought got eaten or stolen by another hen. She was grumpily pecking all the other hens in the yard while she continued to search for it, having conducted a thorough review of the henhouse.

I only know this because of what happened next. Normally this very sweet hen is no problem, but I knew she was miffed about something.

When she turned around, I saw her egg had gotten stuck in her feathers, and she was wearing it, carrying it around the yard while she told everyone else about her distress. She couldn't feel it, couldn't see it, so it had disappeared.

I laughed when I thought how often I have been clucking around about something, you know the drill, the muttering under the breath, sure someone else had done something to cause me this distress, only to later find out I did it to myself all by myself!

And how many times did I not listen to advice or feedback, or pay attention in a craft class or workshop, and suffer for it later on?

When I removed the brown egg from her feathers, I showed Ms. Cochin her progeny. She looked at it, pecked it, and then went on and I never heard another cluck all afternoon. Even chickens can be enlightened with the right teacher.

Who knew?