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We all have had them. Those scary moments or those surreal moments, times when we think our lives could be in jeopardy but maybe not enough so that we’re terrified. Or maybe we are. I don’t think I was. Maybe I was too young, at fifteen, to grasp fully what could be happening or maybe I just thought, like most teenagers, that nothing bad would happen to me.

Then again, it wasn’t that bad.

It was December, 1971. My parents and I were flying to Los Angeles to spend the holidays with my brother and his family. We boarded the American Airlines jet in Nashville, our flight scheduled to make a short stop in Memphis before continuing westward.

You should have seen how people dressed to fly back then. Men in their suits and ties. Women in their dresses. I was wearing a cute red and blue dress with boots. Very hip, or so I thought. Looking back now, not so much.

Nobody in jeans. Everyone in their Sunday best.

We’d been in the air about fifteen minutes when the pilot’s voice came over the PA system. I still remember his exact words. “Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t wish to alarm you, but it is American Airlines’ policy to keep our passengers informed. We have received notification from the control tower that there is a sabotage threat on our plane. We will be arriving in Memphis in (I don’t remember the exact time) and will make an emergency landing there. Once again, please don’t be alarmed. This is a precautionary measure.”

Everyone in the cabin froze. Silence, then the buzz of conversation. My dad looked at me.  “I’m sure glad I bought that flight insurance. Ronnie will get (can’t remember the thousands of dollars).”

Wow, Dad, funny, ha-ha.

My first thought was the movie “Airport,” which I had seen the previous year. Older folks remember it, the one with Dean Martin as the pilot. Some guy decided to commit suicide by blowing himself up in the bathroom of a plane, and of course, Dean had to get the plane on the ground and all the passengers to safety. Very exciting.

But this was no movie. I watched as some people prayed openly, some people downed their drinks, others stared straight ahead, and even the flight attendants exchanged worried looks. My mom was a statue of fear next tome, her face pale. “Wouldn’t you know it?” she said. It was her first time to fly, and she had been nervous about it anyway. My first time to fly too. Dad had flown several times and din’t seem worried in the least.

After what seemed like an eternity, (it was only about ten minutes), we touched ground. It was dark outside, and I couldn’t see anything through the window. The pilot came on once again. “Ladies and gentleman, leave all your belongings on board, go to the nearest emergency exit, then run, don’t walk, to the terminal.”

Hmmm. He told us not to be alarmed earlier, and now he was telling us to run from the plane.

The airports in Memphis and Nashville didn’t have the tube exits that exist everywhere today, so when we went to the exit at the rear of the plane, a rolling stairway was in place that we had to descend. We had landed at a deserted part of the airport, not the main terminal. Fire trucks and other vehicles were bearing down on us, sirens going and lights flashing. Very “Die Hard” type of scene.

When we got to the deserted terminal, we found seats while others milled about. Several soldiers were on our flight, looking handsome in their uniforms and drawing my fifteen-year-old attention. A couple of them were near us and talked at length. “All I could think of,” one of them said, “was that I had finished my tours of duty I Viet Nam only to come home and be killed on an American airplane.”

Over two hours later, we were told we could board the plane. As my dad passed the stewardess greeting us as we entered the plane, he asked, “Well, did they find anything?”

Her smile never broke. “If they did, it’s not there now.”

When we disembarked in L.A., the pilot was shaking hands. Dad asked him why the policy was to tell passengers about the threat since they couldn’t do anything about it. The man smiled and pointed upward. “In case anyone needed to make spiritual arrangements.”

We never did find out if there was an actual bomb on the plane. More than likely, it was a hoax. My guess is it was some sort of hoax, maybe even done by some silly teen or someone angry with someone on the plane because if that person had really wanted to blow cup the plane, he wouldn’t have called in a warning.

Some of my friends told me they wouldn’t have ever flown again, but I did. Several times, most of them by myself. It took a huge drop in an air pocket over the Rocky Mountains when landing in Denver to make me dislike flying. Not because I was afraid I was going to die on a plane. Just because of the drop. I don’t even like roller coasters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My son tells me my blog is not focused enough, that I should focus on one topic, like writing, education, exercising, religion, anything that I am passionate about. He’s probably right. After all, me blogging about whatever comes to mind is pretty random.

But I’m passionate about too many things to narrow it down. Public education is one of them.

I won’t go into why I am so passionate about it, but I will say it goes beyond the fact that I worked in public education for 32 years (I worked in banking for eight). I will share that the first year I taught, 1986-87, was the worst year of my life because as a person who had never even taken an education class, I had no idea what I was doing. I felt and was a complete failure that year, but I worked at it (taking night classes and learning from peers) and managed to stick with it and survive 32 years. I think I finally figured it out.

But in those 32 years, I was privileged to be a teacher, then a principal, then back to a teacher. Those experiences gave me insights I would not have had otherwise. So I’m sharing them today in the hopes of helping a principal, a teacher, a parent. I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I’m not saying I know everything. I am saying I’ve been on all sides in the education world: a parent of two, a classroom teacher for 25 years, and a principal for seven.

So here goes. First, I’ll address principals.

School leaders:

Your teachers need to know you have their backs. They need you to communicate with them. I know, you can’t tell them everything. You have access to information that they don’t have and shouldn’t have. But at least follow up. Let them know you are aware of the issue and are working to resolve it. I know how teachers don’t understand why you don’t kick a student out of the classroom or even out of school (I understand), but at least communicate with them. Explain as much as you can. It helps them to know that something is being done. There is no perfect answer, and I remember my teachers being frustrated when they had to continue to deal with problems they thought I was doing nothing about. I was doing everything I could, but my hands were tied.

I worked under five principals, and the ones I worked the hardest for (well, I worked hard anyway, so I’ll say the ones I was happiest working for) were the ones who were supportive, the ones who encouraged instead of berated, the ones who discussed problems professional to professional instead of threatening.

Now, having said that to principals, I’ll say to teachers what principals want you to know.

Please follow the district’s rules. You may not like them, but it is your job to follow them. If you’re supposed to be at work at a certain time, do it. If your district has a dress code policy for teachers, follow it. If you are supposed to be supervising students in a designated area and enforce the rules, do it. Not everyone can be a great teacher, but anyone can follow the rules.

Those teachers who don’t follow the rules make it harder for the teachers that do. The teachers at the middle school where I was principal were all on the same page, pretty much, and for that reason, everything seemed to operate more smoothly. There was conflict at times for various reasons, but I could count on teachers do their jobs any time of the day. They were teaching, students were learning. Sure, there were some better than others, and we had a few bumps along the way with some, but for the most part, those teachers were consistent in enforcing sc cool policies, and it made things much easier.

You teachers have a hard job.  You have to deal with discipline issues, expectations of parents and principals, testing, curriculum changes, technology glitches, negative attitudes, and more. It’s tough. I get it. Your job can be discouraging. Hang in there.

Finally, to parents, some suggestions to make your child’s school experience better and ways to help your child’s teacher(s).

1.  Expect your child to oe accountable. Make sure assignments are completed on time. Help your child study for tests. If your child makes bad grades, don’t blame the teacher. Talk to the teacher. Find out what’s going on.
2.  If your child consistently gets into trouble at school, don’t assume he/she is being picked on. If your child is getting into trouble, there’s a reason. And I hate to say it, but it’s probably (99.9% of the time) your child’s fault. We educators see a different side to your child than you do. Once again, talk to the teacher. Talk to the principal if needed. Find out what’s going on and address the issue. (Oh, a side note to teachers.)
3. Teachers often spend their own money to provide things like Kleenex, GermX, cough drops or peppermints, for their students. Sure would be nice if you’d send one of those items every now and then.

My main point, I guess, is for all involved to work together. Communicate. Treat each other with respect.

The ultimate focus is the child and his/her learning and development. “It’s all about the kids,” we often said. That’s why people should be working in education. To help kids.

Retirement has given me the freedom to say what’s on my mind. Like I said, I don’t have all the answers, and some things I’ve written are not necessarily just my opinions but also the comments and opinions of others. Things I’ve heard over the years. I was not a perfect teacher nor a perfect principal, and I am glad I was not fired for being imperfect. My purpose for this blog today is to help principals, teachers, and parents to hear things that others want to say to them but won’t because of their positions.

And why do I even care, now that I’m retired? Because I am passionate about public education. And I always will be.

People sometimes ask me how I come up with ideas for stories. My response is that I have more ideas than I have time to write about. An overheard conversation, a feature on the news, even a random comment can trigger all sorts of possibilities.

And let’s not forget art. Or photographs. Or songs. They all trigger ideas in a writer’s mind.

I had some high school friends who were (and are) extremely witty. They were the kings of one-liners, and their sense of humor and way with words improved with age. (Yes, Alex and Chuck, I’m talking about you.) I have friends who are talented poets, others who write wonderful fictional and others who, although they don’t write, have a way of saying things that is unique.

So, for all you creative types, go to my Pam Harris, author Facebook page and look for this photo. In the comments, write a one-sentence beginning, ending, or middle to a story prompted by the acrylic painting above. It can be serious, funny, poetic, whatever you’d like.

I’m looking forward to reading your responses!

Ah, resolutions for the new year. Eat less, exercise more. Save more money. Find a new job. Do something you’ve always wanted to do but never took the time to do. Be more spiritual. Be less uptight. Change for the better. The list goes on and on.

All worthy goals. Too bad most of them won’t last until the end of January.

I hope you stick with your personal goals longer than that. I hope I stick with my personal goals longer than that.

You see, I always have goals, both short-term and long-term. It’s how I’m programmed. Without goals, my life feels empty. I don’t have to wait for the new year to set them. It is an ongoing part of life for me.

The past year has placed me in a very different world, one that has opened my eyes to situations I was always aware of but not always able to comprehend. I’m sure you’ve experienced similar paths. That new perspective has altered my goals somewhat, although I confess I’ve always thought along these lines. I just didn’t always act upon them.

When President George H. W. Bush talked about the thousand points of light, he was referring to what each one of us can do, individually, to make our communities better. By making our communities better, we make our country better. And, as overly optimistic as it sounds, I believe making our country better can help make the world better. One person at a time.

If you follow my blog at all, you know I sometimes post about what we can do for others. Well, that’s the point of my blog today. I am challenging you, along with myself, to be a point of light, no matter what your circumstances.

Resolve to be the person helping others. Resolve to make your home, your neighborhood, your workplace, your community better places to be. Resolve to think of others instead of yourself. Instead of myself.

It doesn’t have to be big. You (and I) can start small. If you’re wondering what I’m talking about, here are some suggestions:

1. Have an elderly neighbor or someone handicapped? Set their garbage out for them each week and bring up the can. Even if they have relatives in town who can do it for them, you are right there and will save the relative a trip, thereby helping two people instead of just one.
2. Go to a nursing home and visit some residents who never have visitors. See if the home will let you bring your dog, k if your dog is people-friendly. Offer to read aloud to those who would like to listen. Check with the activities director about other things you can do. Just an hour out of your week.
3. Offer to babysit for a young mother––for free––to allow her some “me” time. Just an hour, once a week. She can run errands or jut soak in the tub. If once a week is too often, shoot for once a month.
4. Volunteer at a local after-school program. Help kids with their homework. Volunteer to coach a sports team. Give free music lessons. Teach them to draw or paint.
5. Check with the local senior citizens center about opportunities. You can deliver meals or provide needed services for the disabled elderly.

I’m sure you can think of more, so I won’t keep going on. But I do have a twist.

To those of you who are handicapped/disabled in some way, those of you who are lonely, those of you who are struggling––you can do things for others too. Yes, those of us in better health should think of you, but sometimes you can get so caught up in your own unhappiness, you forget to reach out to help others. You can send a card or make a phone call. You can be appreciative of what others do for you. If someone takes the time to come visit you, you can reward their efforts by being pleasant, not constantly complaining, by asking them about their lives. Doing for others is not restricted to the younger and the healthier. (Disclaimer note: I wrote this because I have a friend who cares for an elderly parent who is never appreciative of what her daughter does for her and always complains. I also have some relatives who constantly go on and on about their arthritis, etc. Nothing wrong with complaining at times as it helps to relieve our stress, but some people carry it too far!)

A better community begins with you and me. While it is worthy and needed to have personal goals to improve our health, secure our financial situations, and even realize our “things I always wanted to do but never did” list, it doesn’t hurt to look beyond ourselves to make life better for others.

Happy 2020, everyone. Here’s hoping we all strive to be a light in our little corner of the world!

“I’ll be alone during the holidays,” he said. “The holidays don’t mean much to me.”

I wasn’t shocked to hear him say this. I know there are many who find the holidays a time of sorrow instead of joy. They look around and see others who seem to have family and friends, and they are overwhelmed by sadness because they feel they don’t have the same.

Understandable. But, as Paul Harvey used to say, what about the rest of the story?

“Why won’t you be spending time with your family?” I wanted to ask. “Why are you estranged from them?” But I didn’t, even though I know there are often two sides to the story. Maybe it’s his fault. Maybe it is his son’s or daughter’s. Maybe it’s both.

Instead I said, “If they won’t ask you over, why don’t you ask them over? Can you cook a meal or order something?”

“I don’t have a dining table,” he said. “I eat in the living room on a TV tray.”

Oh. He went on. “They invited me over for Thanksgiving, but they all got up and left the table while I was still eating.”

Ouch. Rude.

I started to say, “Why don’t you ask some friends over to celebrate?” Then I remembered. No dining table.

So I got to thinking. Families are fractured these days, but I have no delusions that families in the past were always happy and things were wonderful. I’ve heard enough stories from my parents over the years, although I do think as they aged, their glasses became a little more rose-tinted. Yet I know some families are more cohesive than others. More unified. More in harmony.

They argue at times, sure. Maybe even some hurt feelings from time to time. But they stick together. They endure. They try to make things work.

Think about all the things that destroy the ideal family. Divorce. Selfishness. Unwillingness to communicate. Addictions. Short tempers. Being inflexible, unwilling to change.

During the holidays, however, maybe we should put those things aside, “we” being our culture. Get along, at least for a few hours. Keep hot topics out of the conversation. Focus on the food and the fellowship, not the fault-finding. Forgive past hurts, for your own sake, without opening the door of your heart to fresh ones.

We all have to live with the consequences of our choices. Unfortunately, our families do too. But maybe, during the holidays, we can stop punishing the ones who have hurt us and be the bigger person. Spread joy instead of taking it away. Giving kindness instead of ill will. Showing mercy and grace instead of judgment. Just for a while.

And for those of us who do not have the struggles this man and his family face, maybe we can reach out to the lonely and the alone by inviting them into our homes for food and fellowship with friends. Maybe our families can be more inclusive and less exclusive.

Food for thought. If you read my blogs regularly, you know I tend to think about things that many people may not think about. Weird, I know, but maybe some of you readers are like me and will appreciate the sentiments I’ve shared today.

May this holiday season bring you joy, not pain, and may you spread that joy to others. Happy holidays, everyone.

Years ago, I read this book that was eventually made into a television mini-series. I later read the sequel, The Prodigal Daughter. I was convinced that Sir Jeffery Archer of England Native to Bristol) was my favorite author.

His books are in depth, requiring a great deal of time for research and writing. I heard an interview with him in which he explained his schedule. He writes from six a.m. to eight a.m., takes a two-hour break, writes from ten a.m. until noon, takes another two-hour break, writes from two p.m. until four p.m., another two-hour break, then finishes his work day by writing from six p.m. until eight p.m. At the time of the interview, he said he was in bed by nine-thirty and up by five a.m.

Regimented, for sure. Dedicated. But the most remarkable thing was that he said he wrote all of his books by hand. Not a typewriter. Not a computer. He may have changed his ways and eventually joined the twenty-first century, but I have a feeling, if he still writes, he continues to do what he has also done.

One book a year. All written by hand. I wonder who had or has the fun of typing them?

He is a master storyteller, something he said is a gift from God. Writers, he said, can study the craft of writing and learn all the grammar rules and sentence structure, but story telling cannot be taught. It is a talent, just as some are talented artists, dancers, and actors.

Over the years, I’ve read a few other books by Archer, but they weren’t quite as good as the first two. As a result, he disappeared from my radar. Until two weeks ago, when I downloaded an audio book, Only Time Will Tell, the first of his five-book series known as the Clifton Chronicles.

I’m hooked. his style is unique, his ability to write in third-person omniscient incredible, and his knowledge of American culture, despite his being British, is impressive. I doubt his books are for you if you’re a fan of romance or suspense, but if you enjoy well-crafted books  that span years of time, you might want to give his a try.

 

 

Merry Christmas! This is my favorite time of year, partly due to the Christmas movies and music that are always available. What fun to make reading Christmas-themed books to the mix!

Several other authors and I have partnered to create a Christmas book scavenger hunt that will result in three winners receiving Amazon gift cards in values of $300 for first place, $150 for second, and $75 for third. All it takes for you to win is to participate in the scavenger hunt by reading each author’s blog post, answering a question about the book, and submitting it by the deadline, 11:59 p.m. EST on Dec. 16! The winners will be drawn on Dec. 17.

Now for information about my book. Smoky Mountain Brides is a two-novella collection including my Can’t Help Falling in Love and Kat Anderson’s Keeper of the Stars. Although the title gives the idea that the setting is in the mountains, that is not actually the case. The settings range from Memphis to northern Mississippi to Knoxville to the Smoky Mountains in my book, while Katt’s character spends most of her time in Nashville, Tennessee.

Kyla Porter and Becki Hunley had been friends since childhood. They had gone to church and school together and had graduated from the University of Tennessee. They parted ways when Becki moved to Nashville to enter the country music field while Kyla continued her education in veterinary school and eventually moved to northern Mississippi to practice veterinary medicine.

Scarred by a tragic ending to a relationship, Kyla finds it hard to trust any man, even the handsome teacher she meets at Graceland, who seems too good to be true. Becki finds the perfect man for her, a handsome doctor she meets at church. Kyla’s road to happiness is a longer, more difficult journey than Becki’s, but they both end up engaged around the same time. When they set their wedding dates independently of each other, they are dismayed to discover the weekend before Christmas is their only option. They are determined, however, to fulfill their youthful promise to each other to be the maid of honor in each other’s wedding, resulting in an unexpected sort of wedding celebration.

The scavenger hunt begins at 6:00 a.m. EST on Dec. 9, and concludes at the time and date above. All you have to do is read the Amazon sample pages for each book and answer one question about each (be sure you fill out this form  ).

The link to my book is https://www.amazon.com/Smoky-Mountain-Brides-Katt-Anderson-ebook/dp/B075QQLKW6 and the question is:

What is the name of the horse Kyla treats on her first visit to Graceland?

Thanks so much for stopping by! I hope you enjoy the hunt, and I wish you the best of luck. The author you may now link to is Izzy James,author of The Christmas Plainsong,  https://enotsilent.wordpress.com/2019/12/09/a-christmas-scavenger-hunt-the-christmas-plainsong/

Today is the final blog in my series of the story behind the story. If you follow my Pam Harris, author page on Facebook, you already know some of what I’ve shared. Even so, maybe you will enjoy a refresher.

I belong to a writers group that meets monthly. Our group consists of multi-published authors, authors not yet published, and a few people who don’t yet write but are interested in learning the craft. A couple of us came up with the idea of writing novellas set on the beach and having them published in one volume. Our original plan was to get the book published by the beginning of summer to give vacationers a beach read, but other responsibilities got in the way, and the book didn’t release until this past September.

But that’s okay. An island story can be appealing in any season.

The only guideline for us was to write in first person. This was new to three of the writers. As a matter of fact, it was Diane’s first book ever. We decided it would be easier not to have our characters connected in any way. They’re not sisters or cousins or friends. Each story stands on its own, unlike the novellas I blogged about yesterday.

I knew where the setting of my book had to be. The Outer Banks (the OBX) of North Carolina. I visited there for the first time in 2018 and fell in love with the area. Where I live, most people head to the gulf for their beach vacations, to places like Gulf Shores, Alabama; Destin, Florida; Pensacola, Florida; and our favorite, Perdido Key, Florida. For you non-Spanish speakers, “perdido” means “lost.” Just thought I’d throw that bit of trivia in there. The Spanish teacher in me will live forever, regardless of retirement!

But the Outer Banks…oh, how I loved it! Not crowded, wide beaches, great (reasonably priced) restaurants with delicious seafood, sites like the Wright Brothers memorial, historical places like The Lost Colony, dolphin cruises, and more.

Remember I wrote that my settings must be places with which I’m familiar, not places I simply research. Also remember I’m a Tennessee gal, so I wanted to have a Tennessee connection in my novella.

This is what I devised:

When pop country singing star Holly Bellamy (known as Rachelle) can’t stand the spotlight and pressure anymore, she escapes to Duck, North Carolina, to hide out at Surf Song Inn while she tries to figure out what she wants to do with her life. Her sister/manager Jada is left in Nashville to deal with the record label while Holly, who has dyed and cut her hair short to disguise her identity, revels in the anonymity of a normal tourist.

The inn’s family atmosphere draws her to the workers there, especially Brody, the owner. As their relationship evolves from casual friendship to one of romantic promise, Holly has to make some important decisions about her future, especially after she learns of a betrayal by someone she thought was her friend as well as Brody’s own lack of honesty.

When I came up with the name of the inn, I thought it was catchy and creative because it tied in with her singing career. After I sent the book to the publisher, I thought, “I hope there’s not a real place named that.” I searched online, and lo and behold, there is a vacation rental on VRBO named Surf Song Inn. It’s not an actual inn, just a vacation rental, but what are the odds? Anyway, my novella is the fourth one in the book, and I encourage you to go to Amazon and read the blurbs about the other three.

I mentioned yesterday that I would share an excerpt from my current work in progress, but I’ve changed my mind. I will reserve that for its own blog one day next week.

I wish all of you in the U.S. a very enjoyable Thanksgiving tomorrow. Safe travels to those of you hitting the road or the air, and many thanks to those of you who have purchased any of my books. I hope they have brought you some enjoyment, and I am thankful for you. If you have the time, I’d be even more grateful if you’d write a review on Amazon!

I’ll be blogging soon as part of an online scavenger hunt involving prizes, so be on the lookout for that around Dec. 16. It involves Christmas-themed books, and at this time, I have no idea how many authors are involved, but the more authors that participate, the better the prize!

I’ll close with some photos of the Outer Banks. You may need a beach escape right now. Thanks for using your valuable time to read my blog!

 

 

As I continue my blog series about the story behind the story of my books, I’m especially happy to write about Can’t Help Falling in Love, a novella contained in the two-volume book you see pictured above.

Mantle Rock Publishing owner Kathy Cretsinger, who also writes as Katt Anderson, approached me with the idea of writing a novella with my main character being her main character’s best friend. The history of the two young women is that they were friends while growing up in Knoxville and during college but went their separate ways after college graduation. Her main character ended up in an important position in the music industry in Nashville. My character? “Your character is a vet who treats the horses at Graceland,” she said.

That was the only guideline given, and my imagination immediately started working. How could a young woman who grew up in Knoxville, almost four hundred miles from Graceland, end up in the Memphis area? What kind of romance could I write that would be realistic, believable?

I don’t like writing romances. I know most women like to read them, but they’re not my cup of tea. I am more likely to enjoy a John Grisham book than a romance, so this was a challenge for me.

But I was ready to accept the challenge. I have been to Olive Branch, Mississippi, several times while visiting my husband’s cousin and his family, so I decided Olive Branch was an ideal location for my character, Kyla Porter, to live. It is close enough to Graceland (which is very near the Mississippi state line) to make it credible for a vet from that area to treat the rescue horses housed at Graceland.

I had to do a little research. I am friends with Mrs. Marian Cocke, Elvis’s nurse and close family friend to the Presleys, and she put me in contact with the woman who is in charge of the horses and stable at Graceland. Then I thought about my characters, and holding to my belief in writing about what I know, I came up with the story. What do I know? Teaching, University of Tennessee football, Graceland, even a little bit about horses. Very little.

A brief summary:

Kyla Porter is a beginning veterinarian who has found a position in Olive Branch. Raised in wealth and oppressed by a socialite, “old money” mother in Knoxville, she chooses to leave all that is familiar to escape the social expectations of her family. While making a routine visit to Graceland to check on a horse, she meets Colt Weathers, a math teacher and baseball coach at the Olive Branch high school, who is at Graceland with his team for an outing.

The attraction, of course, is instant, but they have no idea they will encounter each other again. When they do, Colt is determined to get to know the woman who captured his attention the moment he laid eyes on her, and the relationship blossoms. The drawbacks? She comes from wealth. He doesn’t. Her mother doesn’t approve. Kyla still struggles with the death of her former fiancé, not because she still cares for him but because he was not the person she believed him to be.

Oh, my, what will they do? How will they overcome these obstacles?

Excuse the drama there. The conflicts may sound cliché, but I think if you read the book, you might be surprised. While you’re at it, read Katt’s book, Keeper of the Stars, and in the last chapter of the book, find out how the two girls manage to pull off their weddings the same weekend. Yes, that was a spoiler alert. Kyla and Colt will get married.

Here’s the link to the trailer for the book:

The weddings take place at Christmas time, so maybe someone on your shopping list will enjoy the ebook or paperback. Available on Amazon.

Tomorrow I will blog about my novella Surf Song that is part of Coastal Promises. I will also be sharing an excerpt from my work in progress. It is unlike anything I’ve written to date.

Yesterday I blogged about my first two books, mysteries targeted to girls ages eight to twelve, and promised to continue my blog theme of the stories behind my other books. I am going in chronological order and will finish on Wednesday. Soon I will share an excerpt from a work in progress that is unlike anything I have ever written.

But now, I’ll talk about what prompted me to write a book for adults set in 1890s Strawberry, Arizona. To do that requires a little personal background, so please bear with me.

My family moved from Tennessee to the Arizona desert when I was only three because of my dad’s respiratory problems. Multiple pneumonia events, that sort of thing. The doctor said get to a dry climate, so we did. I always lived in the southern part of the state, but we traveled all over it.

We returned to Tennessee when I was twelve, but my brother and his family made their permanent home in Arizona. He’s nine years older than I am. In 2013, we visited my niece and her family in Strawberry, Arizona, where their vacation home was located. her husband loves to hunt, and they bought the place for that purpose. While there, we explored the mountainous area, an area populated by elk, mountain lions, bears, and other wildlife.

It was beautiful, primitive, unlike anything I’d experienced. Then, one day, we walked to the historical schoolhouse, the oldest standing schoolhouse in Arizona. I took the photo you see on the cover. The place is incredibly nice for the time it was built. You can search for it online to see pictures of the inside.

The story hit me at once. What if a young woman from Tennessee had to come to the wilderness for some reason? What if she were a city girl who had to learn how to live a more primitive life?

Her name, I knew, had to be Amy, my niece’s name. But she suggested I give it a different spelling, which I did.

Slowly, the story formed. Aimee Winters has lost her mother, and the small cottage that was their home had to be sold for medical and funeral debts. She is shocked to learn that her father, whom she has believed her entire life to be dead, is very much alive and well in the Arizona territory. His offer for her to come live with him while she teaches at the small school seems like the only answer, although she doesn’t intend to make Strawberry her permanent home. Intrigued by the idea of learning the truth of her past and why her father was absent from her life, she finds the courage to make the long train ride from Memphis to live with a man she doesn’t even know.

That’s just the premise of it. Add in a love interest (of course), some scary experiences, conflict with nature and residents, overcoming fears, and making some important life decisions, and you have the story. And, oh, did I mention the missing cattle from area ranches?

This is a work of fiction, but I researched to supplement my experiences there. I purchased a book at the Tim Country Museum in Payson, and many of the happenings in the book are based upon actual experiences of the settlers of the area.

You may envision Arizona as all desert, but you would be wrong. Strawberry is  5,800 feet above sea level, surrounded by pine-covered mountains. It has bitterly cold, snowy winters and mild summers. Fossil Creek Canyon, an important location in the book,  is just a short distance away. Strawberry sits on what is called the Mogollon Rim, not far from where author Zane Grey made one of his homes near Payson, a twenty-mile drive away.

The photo below was taken from my niece’s back yard and is the meadow that Aimee viewed regularly in the book.

I hope to write more books set in Arizona some day, and I am contemplating a sequel to this one with a grown-up Leah as the main character. You’ll have to read this book to find out who Leah is! Available on Amazon as an ebook and as a paperback, it might be the perfect Christmas gift for someone who enjoys historical fiction set on the frontier. Maybe that person is you.

Tomorrow I will talk about my novella Can’t Help Falling in Love, so please check back! And, yes, there is a Memphis connection…we’ll leave Arizona and return to Tennessee as I blog about the story behind that story.