I read “The Black Thread” by Margaret Muir a couple weeks ago and enjoyed it, so I moved on to another of her books –
“Sea Dust” by Margaret Muir.
The story of Sea Dust is an adventure and a voyage. Set in the mid-1800s in England, Emma is stuck in a life she can no longer tolerate. Her son is now a teenager and setting out on his own. Her husband is an abuser. She wants a new life. Her journey takes her aboard an Australia-bound ship where she is often treated as poorly by members of the crew as she was by her husband. Be warned – there is some grit in this book that may shock the faint of heart.
I’m always amazed when an author can write a whole book that takes place in one tiny venue, and Ms. Muir nailed it. There are some surprises at the end that shake up the story line, but they felt rushed. I think the ending could have been its own book, and perhaps, became a series about Emma Quinlan. She is certainly interesting enough to warrant her own set of books.
The second book in The Culpepper Saga takes place in the mid-1600s. John Culpepper finally got himself the boat he wished for throughout the first book (“I, John Culpepper”) and has fulfilled his dream of sailing to the new colony of Virginia. However, while he was away, civil war broke out at home in England, and John is in an understandable hurry to get back to his wife and family.
The Thomas and John sat idle, unmoving in the dim morning light. Her sails hung limp, as they had for the last two days. John ran his hands through his hair and impatiently tapped his foot as he stared across her bow at the unending sea of glass before him. The water blended with the sky, creating a mist as far as the eye could see. There was no horizon, just an endless mirror of foggy steel blue.
He never thought this place existed and had never experienced it on any of his prior journeys, but now, when he most needed to make haste, he found his ship stuck in the middle of it. They called it the doldrums—the place in the ocean where no wind billowed sails, no waves lapped against hulls, and no mighty vessels leapt across the breakers. John had heard tales of ships being stuck in the doldrums for weeks at a time. He prayed this wouldn’t be the case, but on this third morning, he was beginning to wonder if they’d ever break free of it. He’d heard ancient legends of ships carrying horses beneath their decks, and when they found themselves stuck in the doldrums, the crew would build cranes, lower the horses into the water, and allow them to pull the ship. He didn’t know if those stories were true, for he had never witnessed a horse swimming, but in any case, he wasn’t carrying any horses. He was, however, carrying two small rowboats.
“Drop the boats!” he yelled to Benjamin. “We’ll row.”
“Sir?” Benjamin approached. “You want the crew to row us out of the doldrums?”
“Yes, Benjamin. Put them to oar. See to it at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
The men dropped the small boats into the water, tied them to the ship, and began to row. They struggled against the weight of their load, but ever so slowly, the majestic ship began to creep forward.
“How long do you think we’ll have to row?” one of the sailors asked another next to him.
“Until the cap’n gets her back to wind…or until we’re all dead. Whichever comes first.”
“Stop talking and keep rowing!” Benjamin bellowed from the bow.
For the next thirty hours, the sailors took turns rowing. The only movement in the water surrounding them came from the small ripples caused by their oars. After more than a day, the limp sails picked up a small draft and began swaying in the midafternoon sun.
“Sir!” yelled a sailor from one of the boats.
Benjamin turned and saw the sailor pointing up toward the sails. He looked up and saw the sails flutter in the breeze, and an uncommon grin spread across his unshaven face. He jogged to the back of the ship and descended the creaking, wooden steps to the lower deck. He dropped his head below the opening and blinked to adjust to the dim light. “Cap’n, she’s back to wind!”
“Finally!” John jumped from behind his scarred, wooden desk and followed Benjamin up the steps. On deck, he raised his hand to block the sun’s rays as he looked up at the fluttering sails. A cold, Atlantic breeze blew across John’s face, the first he had felt in four days, and he laughed out loud. “Ha! We’ve cleared the doldrums! Benjamin, hoist the sails and get us underway.”
“Aye, sir. Hoist the sails!”
Almost instantly, there was a flurry of activity on the upper deck as weathered sailors began pulling up the small boats, climbing the masts, raising the sails, and shouting commands.
“We have a lot of time to make up,” John said. “I want to be in London within the week.”
I’m posting this for my author friends. We all stick together when we find something that works…or doesn’t.
I have video book trailers for three of my books. I uploaded them to Youtube and generally mention their existence and include the Youtube link as an excuse to market. My video trailer for The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge was posted on Youtube on May 27, 2013. As of this writing, it has 2,215 views. I’ve been plugging it every now and then for the last twenty months. It is embedded on my blog pages, linked to on my website, and I periodically blast it on Twitter to 6,000 followers and the Stuckey’s Bridge Facebook page to 3,800 followers. The problem with Facebook is if fans aren’t actively following your posts, they never see your status updates in their news feed, and the problem on Twitter is a tweet has a shelf life of only seven minutes. I can’t say the video has sold any books, but it is a useful marketing tool, an excuse to say, “Hey, look at me!”
Fast forward to January 17, 2015.
I realized I hadn’t “uploaded” my book videos to their respective Facebook pages. Honestly, I didn’t know you could do such a thing. I’ve always posted a link to Youtube. Keep in mind Facebook does not like to show links to other sites, so when I do post a link, a majority of my followers never see it in their newsfeed. Well, guess what happened when I uploaded Stuckey’s video to Stuckey’s page!!??…
I uploaded the video at 5 p.m. on a Saturday evening. At 10 p.m., it had 1000 views and 39 shares. People seemed to like sharing and watching the video on Facebook without having to click a link and be taken to a different site, well, that, and Facebook actually let them SEE the post. The video caught fire quickly, and I watched the views go up each time I refreshed the page. Finally, I went to bed.
Sunday evening at 5 p.m. (24-hours in), the tally was at 2200 views and 95 shares. We had accomplished in 24 hours what it took us 20 months to do on Youtube. I knew being Sunday, the numbers would grow by leaps and bounds for the rest of the evening, so I watched. (I also added the Amazon link to the comments.)
Sunday 7 p.m. – 2900 views, 114 shares. (6 views per minute since 5 p.m.)
Sunday 8 p.m. – 3400 views, 140 shares. (8 views per minute since 7 p.m.)
I thought the viralness (my new word) would die down since people had to go back to work on Monday morning, but I was wrong. The views and the shares kept growing.
Monday 2 p.m. – 4675 views, 170 shares.
Tuesday 11 a.m. – 5691 views, 204 shares.
Wednesday 5 p.m. – 6200 views, 218 shares.
Thursday 10 a.m. – 6585 views, 234 shares. We also got 74 new Likes on the page.
I’m calling that a successful campaign and the best part is – it was free! But, did it transfer into sales?
It took a minute of lag time, but it did transfer into sales. Sunday and Monday saw sales increase by 15 per day. Tuesday and Wednesday sales increased by 20 per day. Thursday sales increased by 25. Strangely, the individual books did not increase by much, but the trilogy, containing all three books in the series, is where we saw most of the sales, so you can multiply those above numbers by 3 if you’re counting actual books. These are hardly the numbers the books sold when they first came out, but free marketing is free, so I’ll take ’em!
Note: It helps to have an established book page or author page. I didn’t start from scratch. It also helps that my demographic for that book is the state where Stuckey’s Bridge is located, population 2.9 million. The people there already know the legend and are excited to find out anything new about the bridge.
Regardless, it’s worth uploading your video to Facebook. You won’t get the views logged onto Youtube, but when all is said and done, I’d rather have sales. If you’re curious about the video, here it is…embedded from Youtube…
UPDATE FRIDAY, JAN 23, 2015
21,480 people reached, 6,980 video views, 6,019 unique views
851 LIKES, COMMENTS & SHARES
456 Likes: 60 On Post, 396 On Shares
144 Comments: 6 On Post, 138 On Shares
251 Shares: 244 On Post, 7 On Shares
UPDATE FRIDAY, FEB 13, 2015
29,328 people reached. 11, 079 video views, 8,782 unique views
This challenge is set forth by No Story Too Small, and this week’s theme is “Tough Woman.”
This week’s theme was an easy one for me. I’ve written about her before, as a matter of fact, I’ve written a whole book about her, but the theme dictates that I must do so again.
My #3 ancestor is my third great grandmother, Mary Ann Rodgers.
She was just a name in my family tree. Mary Ann Rodgers Carpenter Jolly. My third great grandmother. 1828-1898. I visited her grave at Bethel Cemetery in Mississippi in 2012, and my husband asked, “Now, who is this again?” I sat with him at the foot of her grave and told him her story.
I first discovered she lost her husband, Rice Carpenter, in the Civil War in 1862. How sad to lose the one you love, but hey, it’s war, people die. After he died, she remarried in 1864.
I looked at the 1870 census and found she married William Jolly and was living with his children, her children, and three children they had together. It was a house-full! But at least their three children were proof they must have liked each other, right? That’s good. I was interested in where William came from, so I traced him back and looked at his 1860 census. In 1860, he was living with his wife Harriet, their four children, and a woman named Nancy Carpenter who was 69 years of age.
Nancy Carpenter? The only Nancy Carpenter I know is Rice’s mother. Why was Mary Ann’s mother-in-law living with her future husband in 1860?? Were they neighbors? Was Nancy the cleaning lady? I clicked on Nancy Carpenter and saw her relationship to the “head of house” was listed as “mother-in-law.” She was William’s mother-in-law? What?? She was Harriet’s mother?
So, I went back and looked at Rice’s family, and sure enough, his sister Harriet was married to William. Rice died 31 Dec 1862 and Harriet died a month later of typhoid on 30 Jan 1863. Their spouses, Mary Ann and William, brother-in-law/sister-in-law, married in 1864. Well of course they did. They had known each other for many years, hadn’t they?
The more I looked at the Rodgers and Carpenter families, the more I was amazed by the sheer number of family members they lost to war and typhoid. At the time of my research, I remember counting SEVENTEEN, but I’m sure there were many more I missed. I couldn’t wrap my head around that kind of heartache and quickly became impressed with Mary Ann’s strength. How would you react if you lost two or three family members this year? You would probably need Prozac. How would you respond if you lost a dozen? I wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed. Seventeen in one year? I can’t even fathom that.
We all come from these strong women. We are the living proof of their strength. If the boat sank, the story would be over. But it didn’t, and we know that because we are here. We are the survivors. I dug deep down in my heart and soul and decided to tell her story, a story she would be proud of. I wanted her to know that she didn’t endure all of that heartache in vain. I am here. I am her legacy. Her story has been told to make us see the strength in our own hearts. We are the products of strength, fortitude, and integrity, as well as tears, heartache, and pain. We are the children our grandmothers fought so hard for, and I want Mary Ann to be as proud of me as I am of her.
I just finished “The Black Thread” by Margaret Muir. I enjoyed it so much, I’m now reading another of Ms. Muir’s books, “Sea Dust.”
Honestly, I got this book for free through one of her promotions quite a while back, and it’s been sitting in my Kindle collecting dust. Now, I feel bad that it took me so long to get to it.
It is a story of a young girl named Amy Dodd living in England in the late 1800s. Amy had disillusion of grandeur about who and what her absentee father was, and when she found out the truth about the man, it nearly destroyed her. Luckily, she had the strength to change her situation and by the end of the story, you feel quite happy that her reality wasn’t exactly her reality. On the negative side, I found the descriptions of the landscapes and scenes a bit wordy for my taste, and I caught myself skipping over a large amount of paragraphs just to get back to the story. I tend to be on the impatient side, so that’s not a criticism of her writing in the least, only of my personality. On the positive side, it was a really, really good story with a great plot twist. I read the book in one sitting and would recommend it to anyone as a rainy-day read. You’ll find yourself rooting for poor Amy and cheering at the end.
Elly Hays is the real-life story of a woman struggling to keep her family safe from the Creek Indians during the War of 1812. From the first few chapters, you know there is no way this story is going to end without a terrifying confrontation.
*********************************
She angrily plopped down on a rock and yanked dirty stockings from the basket. She dunked them in the water and began scrubbing them hard enough to put holes in them. She could feel her ears buzzing and her shortness of breath and realized she needed to calm down. She stopped scrubbing, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath through her nose, trying to slow her heart. She concentrated on releasing the tension in her shoulders and the knot in her stomach. She felt guilty for losing her temper with her husband, but frustration was taking over her life. Every day brought new problems—life-and-death problems. Her mounting anger was overriding her fear of the Indians and her love for her husband.
She opened her eyes when she heard him clear his throat behind her, and she turned to apologize for her harsh tone of voice. But when she saw the black eyes looking back at her that did not belong to James, she stopped and gasped. They belonged to an Indian, sitting tall on a brown and white painted horse. She hadn’t heard him approach. She jumped to her feet, wondering where she could run.
The Indian was bare-chested, wearing only tan animal hide pants and moccasins. His hair was short, shaved on the sides and sticking up higher on top. Most of the Indians she had seen had this same haircut. His face was covered with lines of red and black paint, and he wore a headband tied around his head with strips of animal fur hanging on either side of his face. His headband was not adorned with any feathers. This was not the same Indian she had seen before.
He stared at her for a long time and did not move. She glanced across the swift creek to the left and right, but there was nowhere to run. She would never be able to outrun a horse. Her heart beat wildly as beads of sweat broke out on her brow. She remained frozen.
“I came to warn you,” the Indian said in a monotone.
Elly was surprised by his English.
He sat motionless, waiting for her response.
She finally blurted out, “Warn me about what? That you want us to leave? We already got that warning.” She could feel her temper escalating again. All of the tension she had felt the last few months, all of the worry for her children, all of the stress of building a new life, was about to explode in this Indian’s face.
“Yes, I’m here to warn you that you need to leave, but not for the reason you are thinking.” He looked down at the reins in his hands, as if trying to gather his thoughts and find the correct words. “My brother and I were the ones who killed your animals.”
Elly threw a wet stocking on the ground. She hadn’t realized she was still holding it, and it had dripped down her blue linen skirt, causing the front of her dress to become dark in color. “You? You did that? How am I supposed to feed my children?” she raised her voice, her temper becoming stronger than her fear.
“This is the least of your worries. When your husband chased us away, my brother’s boy fell from his horse and snapped his neck.” His eyes carried a tint of sadness. “The boy is dead.”
Elly felt her heart soften for a young boy she didn’t even know. Her anger began to subside, as if it were being washed away by the babbling creek beside her. “I’m…I’m very sorry to hear that,” she stammered, wringing her wet hands together.
“You must understand, my brother is the great warrior of our village. He has vowed revenge on your husband and your family for the death of his son.”
Elly’s eyes widened as the Indian continued.
“He told our Great Chief your husband killed his son, and the Great Chief has given him permission to slaughter your family.”
Elly was shocked by the revelation and quickly shook her head. “No. My…my husband would never kill a boy. He’s never killed anyone, for any reason.”
“Our great warrior does not know this.”
“Please tell him. Tell him my husband didn’t kill his son.” She took a step forward as she begged.
The Indian shook his head and looked at her with compassion. “I cannot tell him anything. I can only warn you. You must leave now…before it’s too late.”
The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge is based on folklore surrounding the real 1850s Stuckey’s Bridge in Lauderdale County, Mississippi. I heard the tales my whole life and was drawn to write a story about the man locals refer to as Old Man Stuckey. He cracked me up in his impatience, but he was still an evil and creepy character. Here’s a bit of the way his brain worked.
“Wha…what’s going on?” The woman jerked and sat up. “Who are you?”
He poked the rifle into her ribs harder. “Where’s your money?”
The woman didn’t fight back. “In…in the coffee pot in the wagon.”
“You got any jewelry?”
“What? No, we don’t…”
He spoke louder, his impatience building. “Do you have anything worth money?”
“Only the…” She looked at the rifle. “Only the gun you’re holding.”
“Don’t move,” he said as he stomped back to the wagon and climbed in to search for the coffee pot.
A few moments later, the woman unexpectedly appeared at the back of the wagon, pointing a trembling six-shooter at Thomas. “Get out!” she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Without thinking twice, he spun around and shot her point-blank in the chest with the rifle, killing her instantly.
She collapsed to the ground with a thud. He sighed and turned back to his job at hand, and soon located the coffee pot in the bottom of a box, covered with threadbare dishcloths. He took the money out of the pot and crammed the bills into his jacket pocket.
He climbed down from the back of the wagon, removed the gun from the dead woman’s hand, and said, “Too bad you didn’t stay put. Why don’t you women ever learn to do as you’re told?” He shook his head in exasperation. He shoved the six-shooter into his waistband and moved quickly through the dark woods toward to his waiting horse. He rode most of the night, and as the sun rose hot and red on the horizon, he stopped to count his take. “Fourteen measly dollars, a rifle, and a six-shooter.” He grimaced. “I’m getting too old for this.”
Okatibbee Creek takes place in Mississippi during the Civil War and is based on a true story. Our heroine, Mary Ann, has been left alone with the children while the men in her family are off fighting. I don’t think she’s as fragile as the Yankees assume.
I can hear Charlie screaming for me as he runs up the road. He flies in the front door of the store, shouting that the Union Army is coming down the street. Oh, no, here we go. Apparently I am now in the middle of this war. Unfortunately, on this day, I have all of the children with me: my three, William’s four, and James’s five.
I order the boys to run to the field in back and chase the hog and the horse into the woods. I order the girls to take every jug, every crock, and every jar of food from the store and the cellar, put them in the attic, barricade the door, and stay there. Then I load my rifle. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let these disgraceful, plundering Yankees ruin my life any more than they already have. And I will kill every last one of them before I let them harm the children. When the Yankees arrive, I will be more than ready for them.
I watch for them out the front window of the store. My palms are sweating. My heart is pounding out of my chest. My breathing is heavy. I can also feel my anger rising like flames from the very depths of Hell. My hands are shaking, though I don’t know if it is from fear or rage. I can hear them coming before I can see them. Their horses are clomping on the dry road and there is a jingling sound from their spurs and saddles. Sure enough, they stop right in front of my store. There are three of them on horseback dressed in their blue uniforms. They are filthy and unshaven and a bit thin and weary. I slowly emerge through the doorway onto the wooden front porch with my loaded rifle in my hands.
“What do you want?” I yell to the Yankees.
“Do you have any food here?” one of them asks, though it sounds more like a demand than a question.
“No, I don’t have any food,” I say, surprised at the sound of the strength in my own voice even though my statement is a bold lie.
“Is your husband home?” the second one asks.
“No. You already killed him,” I reply, with venom in my tone that would scare off any other man, but they don’t move.
“Is there a man of the house here?” the third one asks.
“No, there are no men here, just me.” I raise my gun slightly.
“You need to put that gun away, ma’am. We just want some food. We’re not here to hurt anyone. You have to have some kind of food in that store,” the first one says with a cocky smile on his unshaven face, as he climbs down from his horse. He removes his dusty hat and takes a couple steps toward me.
“I already told you, I don’t have any food,” I say slowly without raising my voice. I do, however, raise my gun to my shoulder and point it squarely at the man’s face. The two Yankees still on horseback put their hands on their pistols.
The man on the ground stops moving and holds up his free hand to the other two to keep them from drawing their weapons. Again, he starts to move toward me.
I cock the hammer. Again, he stops.
We seem to be at a stalemate. But what he doesn’t know is that the rage inside me will have no trouble blowing his damn head off. We stare each other directly in the eye and neither of us moves.
I just finished A Time of Traitors by David Lawlor.
The benefit of being a writer is having writer friends, and I’m proud to say, David is one of my friends.
He just released the third story about Liam Mannion, but each are stand-alone stories and do not need to be read in order. Liam is a 1920s Irish Republican Army fighter who has a host of spy/traitor/hero friends and enemies. If you love old spy movies, you will love this book. It is vividly narrated in scene, character, and dialog. I could picture Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall all the way through it. 🙂
Blurb from Amazon
It’s 1921, and LIAM MANNION is embroiled in the murky world of informers and spies; the IRA has announced a truce, and the British and Irish leaderships are taking their first tentative steps toward signing a treaty.
Liam and his fiancee, KATE, are tasked with finding republican rotten apples, some of whom are intent on foiling the fledgling peace talks. For Kate, the Brigade Intelligence Officer, that means asking awkward questions of trusted allies – questions that reveal a traitor. For Liam, it means travelling to London and collaborating with the British police to find a killer.
As the search unfolds, a devastating revelation from Liam’s past will make the hunt more personal–and deadly–than even he could imagine.
My book “Elly Hays”was named semi-finalist in the 2014 Authorsdb Book Cover Contest! I love this cover best of all my books. It was designed by Elite Book Design and is awesome!!!
The distinction wasn’t for the book itself, only the cover, but check it out anyway. It’s a really, really good story if I do say so myself. It’s the story of my 5th great grandmother during the War of 1812. It has received 14 reviews on Amazon totaling 4.5 stars, and it generally sits in the Top 100 of Native American stories over there, and has for the last year since its release in October 2013.
Blurb
As the War of 1812 approached, the Creek Indian Nation was in the middle of a civil war. They fought brutally between themselves, as well as with the white settlers who were encroaching upon tribal land.
It was during this time Elly’s family moved to the eastern Mississippi Territory for the promise of low-cost land and fertile soil. She had no idea they were moving into Creek territory – into the middle of a hornet’s nest. Tafv’s band of warriors taunted them, stealing their property, killing their animals, and destroying their livelihood. Just when the family thought things couldn’t get any worse, during one of the Indian raids as Elly’s husband chased the Indians away from the farm, Tafv’s young son was killed in the pursuit. Tafv vowed revenge against Elly’s family, and a final showdown was imminent.
.
“Elly Hays” is based on the real-life story of Elizabeth Hays Rodgers and is the epic clash between a fearless warrior with nothing to lose and a young mother on the verge of losing everything.
It’s Monday! What are you reading?
The story of Sea Dust is an adventure and a voyage. Set in the mid-1800s in England, Emma is stuck in a life she can no longer tolerate. Her son is now a teenager and setting out on his own. Her husband is an abuser. She wants a new life. Her journey takes her aboard an Australia-bound ship where she is often treated as poorly by members of the crew as she was by her husband. Be warned – there is some grit in this book that may shock the faint of heart.
You may also want to pick up a box of Kleenex.
Lori Crane 