How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
This month, I’d like you to know about St. Joseph’s Indian School. I probably never would have heard about St. Joseph’s except for my mother and aunt. They both contribute to the school as part of their tithing, and for years I’ve heard about what a good job the school does to help children of the Lakota Sioux nation. Maybe Mom and my aunt feel a kin to the Sioux because they live in Sioux City, or because they have family in Yankton, South Dakota, where we once attended a Sioux pow-wow, or maybe because Mom has genealogical records showing she has an ancestor who was Sioux. Whatever the reason, Indian children in the U.S. deserve our help. If you have doubts, just read any article about life on the reservations and you’ll see.
St. Joseph’s has taken on no small mission:
“St. Joseph’s is a Native American school dedicated to improving the quality of life for Lakota (Sioux) children and families. As an apostolate of the Congregation of the Priests of the Sacred Heart, St. Joseph’s mission is to educate Native American children and their families for life — mind, body, heart and spirit. This mission drives our organization to educate and provide housing for over 200 Lakota (Sioux) children each year.
Child poverty and abuse are serious issues on Indian reservations. By supporting St. Joseph’s Indian School, you are helping Native American children in need reestablish pride in their culture by learning the Lakota language, studying Native American culture and healing the broken family circle from which they come.
Our organization provides an opportunity for Lakota (Sioux) children to escape extreme poverty and abuse when they attend St. Joseph’s Indian School.”
I hope you will comment and give your support to my support of this special Charity Sunday!
My ménage historical book, Maire, tells how a Hopi Indian and his best friend save Maire O’Ryan from a long and painful death on the desert—and how she steals their hearts.
Blurb:
Maire O’Ryan, an independent Carolinian bent on living life as she sees fit, is hurt on the Arizona desert, alone and miles from her colleagues. Her only comfort is the presence of an circling eagle above and the sense of a warm fur wrapped around her at night. After two days, delirium keeps her from knowing whether her rescuers are real or dreams. Either way, they’re delicious.
John Eagle and his best friend, Gus Brannigan were led to the white woman on the rock by John’s totem, the eagle, but he doesn’t know why. He understands only that he’s now responsible for the green-eyed beauty. When a crisis erupts, John is surprised by Maire’s determination to come with him and Gus as they cross the desert in search of a murderer. Long before their search ends, the men commit their hearts and bodies to the woman. But does she reciprocate?
Excerpt:
John Eagle had known when he followed his spirit that he would find something unexpected and special at the end of the flight. That’s the way it always happened when he flew with his totem. But he had never imagined he would find a woman, a beautiful white woman about to die from thirst and snakebite.
Augustus Brannigan, Istaka, Coyote Man, as John thought of him, was John’s best friend. He knelt beside the woman and felt her wrist. “John, we have to get her some help.”
John stilled his mind so he could feel what was right. Looking up, he caught sight of his kindred spirit, the golden eagle, soaring high in the sky.
Gus sat back on his heels and pushed his hat back with his thumb. “I wonder how long she’s been out here.”
“Days.”
Gus looked up, brows raised. “How do you know?”
John shrugged. He couldn’t explain it to a non-Indian. Even a man as close to him as a brother, like Gus, wouldn’t understand that an eagle had appeared in his dream last night and indicated that he should come to this spot on the mesa. Just now he sensed that the eagle had watched the woman for two days. Why she was so important, he didn’t know. But coming here and rescuing her meant he assumed responsibility for her. On some basic level, they belonged to each other because of his act. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted that. Life already held enough complications.
“We’ll take her to Bacavi,” he said.
Gus expressed surprise. “You don’t think we should take her to that group of researchers? That’s probably where she’s from.”
John looked up at the sky again. The eagle swooped toward the ground and then reversed course to fly up and toward the north, toward Bacavi.
“No.”
It was time for Gus to shrug. “We can send word to them. And your village is a mite closer.”
John strode to where they’d left their horses and brought his back to where the woman lay, still unconscious. He jumped astride the saddleless horse. “Hand her up, will you, Gus?”
His friend slid one of his arms under her shoulders and the other under her knees and scooped her off the rock surface. Turning, he lifted her to John, who fit her in front of him.
“She’s a tiny thing, and light as a snowflake,” Gus said. “She wouldn’t have lasted out here much longer.”
John agreed. The woman’s head fell onto his chest, and his arms surrounded a body so slight he hardly noticed she sat there. He nudged his horse into a walk. Augustus went to his animal and climbed into the saddle. Without another word, the two slowly rode off the rock and away from the slot canyon where they’d found the nearly dead white woman.
Once on the desert floor, they turned north and broke into a trot and then a gallop. Bacavi lay about two miles away on the third mesa of Hopi land. They had given the woman a little water and hopefully released the venom from the snakebite. She should be fine until the shaman could look at her. Then his sister and mother would care for her until he could figure out why his spirit guide had led him to her.
“Don’t worry, little one. You’re safe now.” She stirred only a bit, snuggling against his chest. Was it her breathing he felt on his chest or the rapid beat of his heart, having her near? Either one thrilled him. Either one scared the shit out of him.
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The first TV my mom ever bought cost her $10 a week for a year—money she could barely afford. It had something like a 15-inch screen, a picture tube that had to warm up and disappeared into a pin light when you turned off the set, and rabbit ears on top that routinely had to be adjusted to get the best picture. It was black and white, of course. We picked up CBS, ABC, and NBC, and we had to get up to turn it on, change the channel, or adjust the volume. And we thought it was a miracle! I was about four or five at the time. Thinking back, it now seems ridiculous. Hubby and I have a 48-inch screen that fits flat against the wall, in blazing color and an auto tuner. All we have to do is click a button to turn it on or to change channels. And we have what many consider a “basic” set!
There was rarely any humor, true, but the writing was just so damn good that you got caught up in the show anyway. Plus, whether it was or not, it seemed so realistic. There weren’t romances going on between the men and women—it showed a professionalism that I appreciated. And the cops didn’t always get their men and the lawyers didn’t always win their cases. Each week was a story “torn from the headlines,” and the show made you feel part of the action. Since it went off the air, I’ve watched it over and over in reruns. I can almost repeat the dialogue for some of the episodes, but I don’t care. Good entertainment is good entertainment forever!
Favorite TV show of all time. Why?
Brenda Whiteside is the author of suspenseful, action-adventure stories with a touch of romance. Mostly. After living in six states and two countries—so far—she and her husband have decided they are gypsies at heart, splitting their time between Central Arizona and the RV life. They share their home with a rescue dog named Amigo. While FDW is fishing, Brenda writes.
There was a time when I never would have considered reading MM romances. Not that I had anything against them, I just never thought of them. Then hubby went out of town for a business meeting and I went along, just to go. We had dinner with one of his colleagues and he asked what I did. I told him I wrote romance—erotic romance. It had only been recently that I’d admitted that to people. Was I ever surprised when he said his sister also wrote erotic romance—of the MM variety. He put us in touch with each other and after exchanging a few emails. she sent me one of the works she’d just finished. Oh. My. God. It was fabulous!!!
romance and not especially on the sex. And her sexy sequences were explicit but without seeming raunchy—which can happen whether writing MM or MF sex scenes.
Alana Lorens has been a published writer for more than forty years. Currently a resident of Asheville, North Carolina, she loves her time in the smoky blue mountains. One of her novellas, THAT GIRL’S THE ONE I LOVE, is set in the city of Asheville during the old Bele Chere festival. She lives with her daughter, who is the youngest of her seven children, two crotchety old cats, and five kittens of various ages.
As a reader what attracts you most to a character?
Winston Graham. Those characters, with their strengths and weaknesses, held millions of people captivated until the final scene.
Over the years of reading, I’ve fallen in love with angsty characters (ooo-la-la, Mr. Darcy!), sweet characters (Donald in Finding Camlann), quirky characters (Don in The Rosie Project), and any number of alpha males (any of the SEALS in Suzanne Brockmann’s books). But the character that will steal my heart for real, is the one who shows humor. That goes for male or female. If a character makes me laugh, that’s most often a 5-star read for me.
spark of electricity, if they also share a great back and forth in their dialogue, I consider that a winner. Sarah Ney has written a series called How to Date a Douchebag, and all of them contain great banter, Her books make me laugh—and a few have made me tear up. Spectacular interaction. In fact, while writing this post I started reading one of the books in the series again. So, if you’ll excuse me, I plan to add a little humor to my afternoon.