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Showing posts with label Native American Romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Native American Romance. Show all posts

Sunday, June 28, 2015

Sunday Snippets By Connie Vines #Sunday Snipppets 06/27

Happy Sunday everyone!
This post is being sent via my iPad from the "Happiest Place on Earth"--Disneyland, Anaheim California.

Thank you for stopping by to this week's blog hop.

Today's snippets is taken from my Native American novel, "Whisper upon the Water".

Annual Report of the Department of Interior

Gathered from the cabin, wickiup and tipi, partly by threats, partly by bribery, partly by force, they are induced to leave their families, to enter these schools and take upon themselves the outward appearance of civilized life.

CLIMBING OUT of the wagon, I was herded, along with ten other girls, to stand in a line outside the White man's lodge. One of the first girls in the line was very young, and clutched the hand of her older sister. Judging from the long deerskin dresses with flared skirts and wide, long sleeves trimmed with fringe that they wore, I knew the two were Comanche. I eyed the bits of metal and beads sewn on the front of the older girl's dress and glanced down at her buckskin moccasins and wondered whose camp they had raided to gain these adornments.

Comanche. The hatred between our two tribes ran as deep as the gullies that cut through my people's lands.




Purchase via Tower              Purchase via Powell's Books 

For my International Readers: 

India       AU       UK      NZ      CA       UN Murmullo Sobre el Aqua/ /Spanish Version


Thank you for stopping by for this week's blog hop.

FYI "Lynx" is on sale on Amazon beginning July 1st!  Check my website for additional info.

This week's participants, please stop by and see what is happening in their novels, too.

Connie

http://romancingscifi.blogspot.com/ (Vijaya Schartz)
(Ginger and Jamie will return next week)


Sunday, June 14, 2015

Sunday Snippets By Connie Vines #Sunday snippets


I spent a delightful morning at my local Romance Writers of America/ Orange County Chapter.  My life, like everyone who reads my blog post, is filled to the brim with a series (seemingly never ending) of must-do items.  This morning I pushed this list aside and drove to the twenty five miles to the Brea Civic Center.  
It was wonderful to visit with these dear friends, so very much like a large extended family.  For my Sunday Snippet I'd like to share a excerpt of "Brede".  The second in my Rodeo Romance Series, published by Books We Love.  This novel reminds us all of the importance of family.  This family may be comprised of blood-relations, dear friends, or those who are brought into our life. 
Her hair wasn't the dark, muddy brown he'd imagined, but a rich, shimmering shade of auburn.  He ran a hand through the strands removing clumps of twigs and dirt.  He probed the area near her hairline where he found a gash. Once he was certain the gash was closed, he cleaned the caked blood away with a washcloth and focused his attention on the swelling above her brow line.
Brede swallowed, trying to ignore the thick, tight feeling wedged in his throat. He didn't welcome the onslaught of emotion that filled his chest and caused him to stroke her jaw with an unsteady finger tip.  He reminded himself that he didn't need to be involved in her problems; he had enough of his own.  As soon as the roads were passable, he'd get her to a doctor and the police could take care of the rest.
Still, no matter how hard he tried to remove himself from the situation, he kept remembering how fragile she'd seemed when he held her in his arms.  He felt felt as if he'd carried a sparrow, all feathers and tiny bones, out of that gully.
He cradled on of her hands in his as he watched her desperate attempt to cling to life. He prayed he know what he was doing. He was a rancher, not a doctor.
Her long slender fingers brushed across his callused hands. Was she strong enough to fight off the cold and shock?
Closing his hand around hers in a gentle grip, he willed some of his strength into her. He'd had enough of death and dying.  Too many people in his world had died from harshness and neglect.
For more Sunday Snippets, visit my friends at these urls:
http://mizging.blogspot.com/ (Ginger Simpson)

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Sunday Snips from Connie Vines #Sundaysnips


Thank you Ginger Simpson for inviting me to participate in Sunday Snippets.

I am sharing a few snippets from one of my works in progress:
Gumbo Ya Ya: for women who like romance Cajun!

This anthology is filled with five stories and five times the fun!  Ooooh, La La!

MARRYING OFF MURPHY

Settling into his office chair, Professor Murphy Flynn glanced at the faxed copy of OP News. “I Want To Get Married,” the headline read. When he realized the grainy photograph was of him, he upended his coffee mug, sending the liquid perilously close to a six-inch stack of ungraded papers. 
He snagged the papers with one hand, using the other to dab at the puddle with his tie. His gaze locked on to the name of the submissions editor: Sylvie Dupree. The memories hit him hard and fast, leaving Murphy to feel like he’d taken a direct blow to his solar plexus.

Determined and intelligent, Sylvie Dupree had been his stepsister’s college roommate for three years.  A dark-haired Creole beauty with a soft-as-sin smile, she had captured his interest with her quick wit and charm. Only later, after too many pizza-and-study nights spent in her company, had she also captured his heart. Much to Murphy’s perpetual torment, she’d kept him in the friendship zone. 

LOVE POTION #9

“Don’t shake your finger at me, Simone Basso. I know what I’m doing.” Persia Richmond said, filling a half-ounce bottle with perfume. The warm scent of spice, magnolia, mimosa and a hint of something unnamed and mysterious wafted across the narrow processing room.
The fragrance was New Orleans; culture at its most upscale moments and Mardi Gras at its naughtiest! A smile of supreme joy curved her mouth and success warmed her soul.
Persia had dreamt of creating a signature fragrance since the time her grandpapa had begun her tutorage in perfuming.
 “I’ve done warned you and warned you about messing with love potions!”

THE PIRATE OF GOMBI ISLAND

Celeste Brossard stared up at the turbulent sky above the gulf.  The water churned and slapped choppy waves against the levee’s edge, but she still heard the click-click of stiletto heels on the cobblestone street.  As was their usual Sunday custom since high school, Francine Grant always brought breakfast after Mass while Celeste secured a table and ordered coffee at the cafĂ©. 
After taking a hurried sip of her mocha latte, Celeste scooted over so that her best friend could slide into a vacant bistro chair.
 “Girlfriend, you look like you need substance.”  She tilted the white paper bag between her French manicured fingertips and offered Celeste a warm beignet.
 Celeste snagged the donut-like, powder-sugared covered confection, and took a healthy bite.  “We’ve got to get another habit,” she managed to say around the tasty mouthful.
Francine grinned and reached for her cup of chicory coffee and poured in an unhealthy amount of cream. “We’re both in our early thirties, single…still.  What other habit were you contemplating?  Bar hopping?”
‘No!  Something healthier. I was thinking more along the line of adding fiber—“
“Fiber?  Girl, what is wrong with you?”
Celeste shrugged her shoulders.  “Work, work, and more work.”
Her friend rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t already know.  What happened with that guy—“
“What guy?”
“You know, the know guy in the office down the hall?”
“Married.”
“Oh.  What about that Spanish guy—you know the sea captain with the funny name?”
Celeste gave an unladylike snort that sent sprinkles of powdered sugar down the front of her silk-print waist dress. “Bocanegra?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. You were all excited about him”
“Francine, I’m cataloging the University’s latest acquisitions.  Therefore, whomever I’m excited about is dead.  Dead, as in no longer living.”
“That’s a real problem.”  Francine popped the final bit of her beignet in her mouth and brushed her hands together to remove the powdered sugar.

#
I did say those Cajuns stories was fun. . .and as exciting as, well, New Orleans and the wild bayou.

Join us next month for more snippets. I will be featuring the final two stories from my anthology.  Including award winning T.A.R.A paranormal romance, 1-800- FORTUNE,  and action packed Cajun crime mystery, A Slice of Scandel.

Can't wait?  

Visit a few of my links and spend some time with my Rodeo Cowboys featured in my Rodeo Romance series,  Or perhaps a little fun and sassy fantasy novella will make your evening.

Remember to stop by and see what my author friends have in store for you.

Happy Reading,

Connie



http://triciamcgill.blogspot.com (Tricia McGill)

Saturday, January 24, 2015

My Favorite Time and Place to Read? How About Writing Time? #Round Robin

Life keeps getting busier, and finding time to complete daily tasks is difficult, but I always, always find time to read.


This month’s question:
What is your favorite time and place to read? How about writing time? Do you have to make time?
Do you have a ritual or is your plan helter-skelter? What's your method?

As a child it was hiding beneath my covers with a flashlight long past my prescribed bedtime.  Today, it more of a snatch of time here and there.  While preparing dinner (e-reader/ iPad /paperback on the counter), 10:30 p.m. wrapped in a woven throw on the couch listening to Slacker Radio on my iPad (when I should be sleeping), or with a grand-baby snuggled in my lap.  Reading is a pleasure, an escape, a way to share stories with others.

I make time to read, I make time to go to the gym, and I make time for family and friends.  These day-to-day activities weave, in my opinion, the fabric of a well-balanced and enjoyable life.   
Writing Time—the second part of today’s blog topic.

My method of writing?

I make it a practice to study the master of successful fiction.  Hemingway never wrote a treatise of the art of writing fiction.  He did, however, leave behind letters, articles and books with opinions and advice on writing.  Some of the best of those were assembled in 1984 by Larry W. Phillips into a book Ernest Hemingway on Writing.   While I do not rigidly follow these steps, I always keep them in the back of my mind.

1: To get started, write one true sentence.  One simple declarative sentence. 
·       Charlene hadn’t told Rachel that she’d fixed her up with a cowboy, much less Lynx Maddox, the “Wild Cat” of the rodeo circuit.
(Lynx, Rodeo Romance)

·       “You and Elvis have done a great job on this house,” Meredith said as her older sister led the way downstairs toward the kitchen where the tour began. “Sorry I couldn’t get over, until now, but I’ve been sort of. . .well, busy.”
(Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow) Sassy & Fun Fantasy Series.

·       Audralynn Maddox heard her own soft cry, but the pain exploding inside her head made everything else surreal, distanced by the realization that someone had made a mistake.
(Brede, Rodeo Romance Book 2)

My exception:  my YA historical novel is told in the first person.  Since the novel focuses on the emotional and life altering events of a young girl, I used historical facts and events to form the plot of my award-winning novel,  Simple declarative sentences are applied to the Prologue and Introduction.  However, emotional impact was needed to make the story ‘real’.

·       Prologue: The Governor of New Mexico decreed that all Indian children over six be educated in the ways of the white man. 

Indian commissioner Thomas Morgan said: It was cheaper to educate the Indians than to kill them.

1880, Apacheria, Season of Ripened Berries
Isolated bands of colored clay on white limestone remained where the sagebrush was stripped from Mother Earth by sudden storms and surface waters. Desolate. Bleak. A land made of barren rocks and twisted paths that reached out into the silence.

A world of hunger and hardship.  This is my world. I am Tanayia.  I was born thirteen winters ago. My people and I call ourselves “Nde” this means “The People”.  The white men call us Apache.
(Whisper upon the Water, Native American Series). 

2: Always stop for the day while you still know what will happen next.  I find this to be a key for me.  When I do not follow this step I find myself flirting with writer’s block the next day.

3: Never think about the story when you’re not working.  I carry this to an extreme, I do not talk about my work-in-progress.  The only exception being when I have research questions or trying to plot a continuing series.

4: When it’s time to work again, always start by reading what you’ve written so far.  The only problem, I am sooo tempted to make revisions.  For most part I beat back the urge (with a stick, if necessary ;-).  Otherwise, I’d never progress beyond chapter one.

5: Don’t describe an emotion–make it.  Watch and listen closely to external events, but to also notice any emotion stirred in you, or others, by the events and then trace back and identify precisely what it was that caused the emotion. If you can identify the concrete action or sensation that caused the emotion and present it accurately and fully rounded in your story, your readers should feel the same emotion.   When I am uncertain as to whether I’ve conveyed too little, or too much (insert: whiny), I ask my BF and fellow BWL writer, Geeta Kakade.  Geeta is the master of writing emotion (just ask Debbie Macomber).  

6: Use a pencil.  A mechanical pencil, please (multiple selection of refill sizes and colors available online).  I do not like to conduct an unproductive search for a pencil sharpener—or heaven forbid, be reduced to whittling a semi-acceptable point with my dull paring knife.

7: Be Brief. To quote Hemingway:  It wasn’t by accident that the Gettysburg address was so short. The laws of prose writing are as immutable as those of flight, of mathematics, of physics.  Therefore, I revise ruthlessly, use strong verbs, and avoid adverbs, and always, always step away from the keyboard when it is time to type: The End.

Thank you for visiting my blog today.  For upcoming releases, contests, and links to interviews, recipes and more! Visit my website: www.novelsbyconnievines.com

Please take a moment to visit, and comment, upon view other writers participating in this month’s Round Robin Blog.

Happy Reading,

Friday, March 28, 2014

Sunday Snippets #sunday snippets~ Connie Vines




Welcome to Sunday Snippets!  I would like to thank author Ginger Simpson for including me this week.
The rules are simple--six paragraphs no more, no less.  

This snippet is from my published novel (Book 1 of my Native American Series).  Available as e-book or paper back. 


My snippet is from my historical sweet romance.  This is my favorite (though all of my novels are dear to me).  I believe every writer has a story which comes from the soul--this is mine.  Whisper upon the Water, awarded the Dream Realm Award, Independent e-book Award; Frankfurt e-book Finalist, E-Book YA Historical Bestseller, and was a National Book Award Nominee.

Please enjoy your visit visit to Tanayia and Anna Thunder's world.

"Anna thunder, you will pay dearly for you disobedience!" Sister Enid slapped the flat of her palm against the desk top. "When I tell a student to recited, everyone is to participate."

I stiffened against the wooden back of my chair and held my breath.  Sullen silence from the Comanche girl was a daily ritual. Never before had she challenged the teacher in front of so many students.  Hatred twisted Sister Enid's prune face in fury. "I demand an apology."

Anna Thunder remained silent.

With her back arched and her scrawny neck stretched its full length, Sister Enid marched to the back of the room.  Her heavy shoes sounding like horse's hooves on the brightly polished wooden floor. Grabbing Anna Thunder by the arm, the teacher yanked the girl from the chair. Dragging her toward the hallway, she said, "Two days in the attic for you. No food. Only water. Afterwards, I'll wager, you'll remember you manners."

During the days which followed, all students spoke in whispers about Anna Thunder. All wondered what had happened to her. None dared ask Sister Enid. Some said she was being starved and 
beaten.Others said Anna Thunder had died and was buried beneath the church floor.

On the morning of the third day, while the other girls were marching in the exercise yard, Sister Enid ordered me to remain inside. 

Or find more snippets here: http://mizging.blogspot.com/

Happy Reading,

Connie Vines
www.novelsbyconnievines.com
follow me on Twitter, Pinterest,
http://vimeo.com/72567100  (Whisper upon the Water book trailer)