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It’s Monday! What are you reading?
It’s Monday! What are you reading?
This book is part of my New Year’s resolution. I don’t know if it will happen, for I’ve retired from the music business on two occasions thus far and always get sucked back in, but I’m looking to retire again within the next few years. Even if I don’t end up retiring, I still want to be in a good financial place so it’s my choice. I need to get caught up from moving out of state back in May, which consisted of using my credit card to purchase new appliances for my new house. Somehow, I figured it would be cheaper to buy new stuff than to pay movers to ship old stuff. When I say old, I mean ancient. I could have sold them as antiques. On top of that bill, I still carry some debt from my son’s college education. I’d also like to get my car paid off. For 2015, my resolution is to make this happen. Like most people, I always have the best of intentions to save, invest, pay off bills, etc., but as with most things in life, if you don’t stay motivated, you won’t get things done. So, during 2015, I vowed to keep myself motivated by purchasing a financial/investment book on the first of each month. I spent the first six days of January browsing Amazon and searching for something I found interesting. On the seventh day, I found it! I’ve listened to his radio show on occasion and was always interested in his financial process, but I’ve never taken the next step to engage myself in his philosophies. Well, I jumped aboard his ship and I am intrigued. The book is “The Total Money Makeover” by Dave Ramsey.
I’m going to say two things about this book. 1) I wish I had read it when I was younger. 2) I’m buying the book for my kids.
The process is logical, it’s genius, it’s how our grandparents lived before culture brainwashed us to live beyond our means and on credit. If we hear long enough and loud enough that living on credit is a good thing, eventually we start to believe it. It’s a lie! I’ve always had a good credit score, but my goal now is to have a ZERO credit score. You’ll have to read the book to understand that. 🙂  You don’t need to be “credit worthy” if you have CASH!
This is not an easy financial program. In fact, it’s a bitch. It requires sacrifice and focus and motivation, but, in Dave’s words, “If you will live like no one else, later you can live like no one else.”
Dave Ramsey’s website – click here.
Saturday Snippet – ELLY HAYS
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.
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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.”
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Saturday Snippet – SAVANNAH’S BLUEBIRD
Savannah’s Bluebird is a love story with a ghostly twist.
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The bells rang from atop the steeple as Savannah struggled to pull open the ancient wooden door of the church. When she entered, she saw the backs of the heads of dozens of people sitting in the pews. She stopped in the vestibule and awaited the organ music to announce her entrance. She ran her gloved hand over her dark brown hair, adjusted her pillbox hat, pulled the tulle veil over her face, and smoothed down her ivory wedding gown. In her other hand, she clutched a dainty bouquet of white roses with sprays of baby’s breath. The smell filled her nostrils.
After a few moments, the organist at the front of the church played a fanfare and immediately followed with the “Wedding March.” She inhaled deeply and took a small step forward. After a pause, she took another step…and another. She hesitated, thinking it strange that the crowd didn’t rise and turn to face her. She inched forward again, pausing between steps. Surely the congregation would rise when the minister instructed them to do so, but she didn’t know what he was waiting for. She put a smile on her face as she admired the sun shining through the stained-glass windows, creating a mosaic of bright colors across the room, but as she reached the halfway mark of her grand entrance, the room darkened. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud, and the vibrant colors that bathed the room turned a dismal shade of gray. Her smile vanished also.
It was difficult to see through the netted veil, but she could have sworn she saw something large sitting in the center of the altar. She narrowed her eyes and, yes indeed, something was there. At the top of three small steps that led up to the altar, a white coffin rested in front of the minister’s podium. It was surrounded by beautiful sprays of flowers—roses, carnations, chrysanthemums, daisies. The sight reminded her of her father’s funeral and her head swam with the painful memory. She looked down at her bouquet and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her breath caught deep in her chest as she watched her beautiful white roses faded from white to gray to black—black and dead. The leaves shriveled and a few of the petals gently fell from their stems, fluttering to the floor. She tightly clutched the bouquet and quickly pulled her left hand away when a thorn poked through her glove and punctured the skin of her palm. She saw the small hole in the satin fabric, but there was no blood.
She squeezed her hand into a fist to make the pain stop, and looked back up at the altar. Why was there a coffin on the altar, and where was August? Why was her groom not there to greet her? She staggered a bit as she took another step forward. The “Wedding March” kept pounding from the organ and she kept inching forward. She placed her hand over her heart in an effort to make it beat normally. Remembering the puncture wound, she looked down at her dress to make sure there was no blood on the bodice. She stopped dead in her tracks.
Her beautiful wedding gown was no longer ivory; it was now black. She thought she would faint, and looked up to search the crowd for someone to help her. When she looked through the mesh of her veil, she noticed it too had turned black. Panic rose in her chest and her throat constricted. The next breath wouldn’t come. She felt her knees quiver and she didn’t know if she could take another step. Her mouth opened and closed like that of a fish gasping for air, but she couldn’t form any words. She looked left and right at her family and friends, but no one looked back at her. They all stared straight ahead. It was as if they didn’t see her.
She stumbled forward a few more steps and noticed her soon-to-be stepdaughter, Emma, sitting alone in the second pew. She approached Emma and noticed tears running down the girl’s face, dripping off her chin and leaving dark spots on her pink cotton dress. She reached toward Emma, but stopped when the “Wedding March” turned into Chopin’s “Funeral March.” She looked up at the organ on the right side of the altar, but the organist did not look back at her.
Was Savannah in the wrong place?
She spun around in what felt like slow motion and looked at the stained-glass windows, the pews, the high, scallop-shaped ceiling. No, this was her childhood church—Fisherman’s Church. She had been coming here since she was a baby. Was she here on the wrong date? She turned again and looked at the people. She knew every one of them. She had invited every one of them. She knew it was August 25, 1936—her wedding day. Why was Emma here at a funeral? Why was she crying? More importantly, who was in the coffin?
She spun again and faced the coffin on the altar. Was she losing her mind? Where was August? Terror filled her as adrenaline rose like flames up the back of her neck.
Two men she had never seen before, dressed in black suits, stepped forward and gently opened the coffin’s lid, and Savannah saw the inside of the lid was lined with blood-red satin. Who is in there? And why was there a funeral here on her wedding day?
She climbed the three steps to the altar and placed her hand on the side of the coffin. She reluctantly looked inside.
It was a woman—a dark-haired woman in an ivory wedding dress.
She gazed down into her own face and heard a scream escape her lips.
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Savannah’s Bluebird is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and iTunes.
Saturday Snippet – STUCKEY’S GOLD
In the second book of the Stuckey’s Bridge Trilogy, Levi met an alluring young woman named Penelope Juzan. Apparently, the Juzans have quite a past which became the third book in the trilogy. Stuckey’s Gold is the story of four generations trying to escape a curse brought on by greed. The story weaves between Penelope and her friend Luke and their fathers, grandfathers, and great grandfathers. It doesn’t much matter which one we speak of. They all suffered pretty much the same terrible fate.
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He glanced back toward the shore one more time to make sure Marguerite hadn’t followed him. But what if she had? It wasn’t like he could hide in a rowboat in the middle of the lake. But if she caught him, she would be furious, and he really didn’t want to attract her wrath. She was a mean woman when she was cross. He chuckled. Well, she’d get over it once she ran her fingers through the gold in the trunk. He smiled at the thought. They were going to be very, very rich, and she couldn’t possibly be annoyed with him for that.
He dropped the anchor over the side and let out the rope. He released more and more of the rope and was almost at the end of the line when it finally went slack and he knew it rested on the bottom. “Gee,” he mumbled to himself, “that’s a thirty-foot rope.” He knew the lake was deep in spots, but it had never before occurred to him until that moment how deep it was. “No wonder no one’s been able to retrieve the gold before.”
Suspecting the trunk of gold would be too heavy to lift to the surface by sheer manpower, he had recalled the ideas written in his father’s journal on ways to raise the trunk, and he had brought two extra ropes with him. The plan was to dive down and tie both ropes around the trunk, and then hoist it up into the boat. He hoped he could do so without capsizing the small vessel because it’d be a long swim back to the shore. He tied the ends of the two ropes to the boat and then slapped the water with his paddle to scare off any snakes that might be lurking. He glanced again at the shore, just in case his wife appeared. The coast was clear. He grabbed the loose ends of both ropes and dove into the black depths.
It had been so hot the whole summer, the cool water felt refreshing. Down, down, down he went. His ears popped with the pressure. He felt around in the blackness, hoping to find the edge of the net floating in the water. He felt nothing. When his lungs felt as if they would burst, he returned to the surface. He looked around again at the landmarks on shore to make sure he was in the crosshairs of the oak, the pines, the rocks, and the inn. Yes, the trunk had to be right here.
He took another deep breath and dove again. About half way down, he felt something brush his thigh. He figured it was one of the ropes, then realized it might be the net. Adrenaline pumped through his veins in anticipation. He grabbed in the direction where he felt the object, but nothing was there. He froze for a moment as an alarming thought came to mind. What if it had been a snake? The snakes around here could kill a man with one bite. It would be a horrific and painful death. He ignored the thought and kept swimming downward, trying not to be too disappointed that he hadn’t found the net yet.
When he reached the bottom, his ears pounded from the pressure. He could feel it in his jaw and across his whole head. He quickly groped around in the blackness, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stay down too long. There was nothing but weeds and silt. He kicked off the bottom and shot up again to the surface. He took a deep breath and turned to check the landmarks once again. When he turned to look behind him, he came face to face with the most dreaded of snakes—the cottonmouth. Its snout was not more than a foot from his face, and Gabriel saw its tail flicker in the water nearly three feet away. It was huge, solid black except for tan markings on its face. Gabriel remained as still as possible, hoping the creature was as startled as he and would turn and swim away.
The snake quickly slithered across the surface of the water, but it didn’t swim in the opposite direction. It darted directly at him and struck him on the cheek. He cried out as the serpent dashed away, disappearing as fast as lightning.
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Stuckey’s Gold is available in paperback and Kindle at Amazon and in paperback at Barnes & Noble.
Saturday Snippet – STUCKEY’S LEGACY
While writing The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge, the main character came across a young boy. The boy ended up being nearly as creepy as the main character, and I received tons of emails asking me to elaborate on the boy’s life. No one is that creepy without having some sort of lurid past. So, I penned Stuckey’s Legacy. The boy’s name is Levi, and he is a dark character. Creepy doesn’t quite describe him…
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The starlit night was perfect for a romantic walk, and it would have been pleasurable to stroll the streets for a while in the balmy night air, but Levi had more immediate plans for his escort. He marched her to the nearest hotel and checked in under the name Thomas Stuckey.
“I thought your name was Joe.” The girl giggled as she entwined her arms in his.
“It is Joe, but I don’t want to put that on the hotel register.”
They kissed as they staggered up the stairs, laughing all the way up to their room on the top floor of the three-story hotel.
Following their lovemaking session, Grace lay in Levi’s arms and listened to him tell her all about the fancy people he was going to be friends with on Jekyll Island, about Cornelius Bliss’s death, and about the New Year’s Eve Gala tickets he’d found when he broke onto Mr. Pulitzer’s yacht.
She rolled over onto her stomach, crossed her arms across his bare chest, and looked at his face. Her blonde ringlets danced across her face and he softly pushed them from her temple.
“You’re really quite pretty, you know that?”
She blushed. “Then why don’t you take me with you?”
“Oh, that’s out of the question, dear. I’m going to meet wealthy society people, and I don’t think you’ll fit in.”
“Well, what makes you think you’ll fit in?” she teased.
“Don’t you think I’m one of them?” Levi frowned.
“Mister, I grew up in the Charleston Orphan House. I know a poor orphan when I see one.”
“Well, I never lived at the Charleston Orphan House, but it’s true I’m an orphan.”
She looked at him like a lovesick schoolgirl and waited for him to elaborate.
“I was orphaned years ago. My father was a drunk. He killed my mother right in front of me when I was eight years old.”
Grace gasped.
Levi continued. “He strangled her after he caught her fooling around with a man from up the road. He murdered both of them in a fit of drunken rage.” Levi looked away from her and stared at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry. You probably loved her very much, huh?”
“I don’t know. I thought I did for a long time, but my father pounded into my head that my mother was not worthy of my love. She was a whore.”
Grace grinned. “Well, I’m a whore. It’s not all bad.”
He looked at her with surprise. He didn’t think of her like that, but it was true. “I guess you are, aren’t you?”
“What happened to your father?”
“I killed him,” Levi said flatly and looked back at the ceiling.
After a few uncomfortable seconds, Grace giggled. “No, really, what happened to your father?”
He looked her in the eye. “I killed him.” He paused to watch her expression and was satisfied with the look of fear in her eyes.
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Stuckey’s Legacy is available at Amazon.
Saturday Snippet – STUCKEY’S BRIDGE
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.
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“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.”
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Saturday Snippet – OKATIBBEE CREEK
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.
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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.
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Lori Crane Books at Amazon
It’s Monday! What are you reading? – A Time of Traitors
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.
Amazon link click here
Authors web page “History with a Twist” click here
“Elly Hays” named semi-finalist!
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. Â
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.
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“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.
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Lori Crane 