Now I think I understand the old saying, The good Lord willing and if the creek don't rise. The creek is over its banks and covering up the neighbor's hayfield. It's mid day and no sign of the rain letting up. Next the creek will be over the road.
Remember me telling you that a retired teacher said I should write about what I know. She has been a constant force in keeping me writing ever since. In the late eighties, the teacher had a six weeks writing workshop in the Keystone Library. I signed up. At that point, I had written some badly constructed short stories, playing around with the idea of doing more and hadn’t a clue where to start. That’s when the teacher gave me that advice. Nine of us joined that class and had the best time. The teacher gave us assignments on Tuesdays, and Thursdays we brought in a story, read it to the class and got our constructive criticism. By the end of the six weeks, I had some idea of where to begin. My stories centered around my animals. The teacher talked the county seat newspaper into having a writer’s corner. I sent in three of my stories - mistakes and all. My pre fifties Royal manual typewriter didn’t have spell check. Can you imagine those days? Turns out, the mistakes weren’t what caught readers attention. They enjoyed each story’s content.
How did I know that? I wrote a story about a young, Saler bull we bought. The bull had been raised in a feed yard with other bulls. When my husband let this high strung animal out of the stock trailer, he snorted and danced his way around his large pen as he inspected his new surroundings. "Get a feed pan and some corn and feed the bull while I unhook the stock trailer," I was told. I wasn’t in the pen a minute, pouring the corn into that pan, when the bull raced at me. I barely made it over the gate before he skid to a stop and stared at me through the gate. It was clear to me after a couple more narrow escapes that my being a woman was the problem. This bull had been raised by men, and he knew the difference. Making my husband believe my theory was a different story. So I wrote, with tongue in cheek, my story and submitted it to the paper without telling my husband. Did I worry that he might see the story when he read the newspaper? No. My husband skipped over anything that didn’t look interesting to him.
In July during the County Fair, my husband and I managed the sheep producer fair booth. My husband grilled burgers and brats and I worked in the booth. One evening, a man we hadn’t seen for some time stopped to talk to my husband. I was too busy to listen to the conversation. Later, I took a breather and walked through some of the livestock barns. A woman came up to me and asked if I really had cattle or did I just make that story up that was in the Times. I assured her the story was true, and yes, we had cattle. Those four days of fair were hectic and long. Around two o’clock we were finally in bed and up by 5 to get chores done and back to the fairgrounds to set up. As my husband was dozing off that particular night he mumbled to me, "What do you suppose Myron meant when he said to me he saw in the paper we had cattle?" To which I replied, "Don’t know." By the way I took some gratification in the fact that I met up with the couple who sold those stock bulls at the Farm Progress Show. I mentioned the bull’s dislike of me to the woman, and she said she was sure I was right.
Since the Writer’s Workshop, the retired teacher has critiqued and edited my work for me. The latest book I finished this summer, the teacher edited in one day. Not because she usually tries to be that fast or I have become that good, but because she couldn’t put the book down until she saw how it ended. How’s that for a compliment.
Next time, I’ll tell you about what lead to my first book.
Gotta Go find the oars for the boat just in case,
booksbyfay
booksbyfay@yahoo to buy my books
www.myentre.net/booksbyfaybookstore.com
www.buysellcommunity.com to buy my books in Fay Risner's Bookstore
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia - A Civil War Saga in Vernon Co. Mo. Chapter One
We spent a relaxing weekend fishing in our boat for the first time this summer. The two days were perfect. Now here is the first chapter of Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia - A Civil War Saga In Vernon C0. Mo.
Chapter 1
Ella Mayfield was a pretty girl, but men seldom noticed so awed were they by her horsemanship and shooting skills. That’s the way Ella liked it. Her slim frame, dressed in a man’s faded, blue shirt and brown trousers, gave her a boyish look.
A flurry of dry leaves rustled along the ground and swirled past her thin, trousers legs. They bounced off her scuffed and cracked leather shoes, settling in a pile against the cabin foundation. Dandy day for hog killing all right. A proper chill in the air for October of 1859. Surely chillier than she cared for, but the seasons was one thing she didn’t have a say about. She pulled her brown, broad brimmed hat down tighter on her head and hugged herself, rubbing the goose bumps off her arms.
Ella wondered if anyone else in her family dreaded when hog butchering day came around as much as she did. Most likely this was a day just like any other to the rest. Considered hard work made light by many hands. Took a lot of meat for a family as large as theirs to make it through the winter.
When the time came for butchering, Ella’s brother, Brice, sent word by brother, Crack, across McCarty’s Branch near Bellamy to the Gabberts, Bill and Rebecca, both in their mid forties. Ella’s 20 year old sister, Leonora, was married to 24 year old John, the eldest Gabbert child. There were seven more younguns in that family so far. Ella’s friend, Eliza, 20, Peter, 17, Jefferson, 15, Mary, 9, Martha, 7, Willoiam, 4, and baby Elija. Ella figured the Mayfields and the Gabberts were like most families around Montevallo, Missouri. They multiplied like flies.
Her mother, Justine, was 45 years old and had seven younguns. Ella, 26, was the eldest. Right after her came Brice, 24. A while back, he brought home a wife, Margarett, 18. She was a quiet, young girl, plain and mousy. When spoken to she rarely did more than smile or duck her head bashfully. Ella couldn’t figure out what Brice saw in that girl. She didn’t look to have any gumption.
The Mayfields didn’t gain anything, as far as one less mouth to feed after Brice brought home Margarett. Before Leonora in age was Sallie, 22, who left home when she was thirteen to married D.P. McGiboney. The littlest younguns at home were, Tennessee and Jane. They were thirteen and twelve.
Since their father, John, died, Ella didn’t expect to share her bed with any more sisters unless her mother took up with another man. That thought no sooner entered Ella’s mind then she scolded herself. Ma would never do that, at lease until she got over Pa’s death. Ella hoped that happened long past Jestine’s child bearing years. It was hard enough to keep food on the table for the size family they had at the moment.
Absentmindedly, Ella tucked a stray hair blowing in her face under her hat and behind her left ear. Her shoulder length, dark brown hair hung straight. At the moment, her eyes, black as a crow’s when nothing bothered her, glowed like red embers on a smoldering lump of coal. Her sun browned skin, high cheekbones and full lips once in a while caused Ma to tease her about being kin to Indians. Once, Ella asked how that could be. Jestine looked all innocent. She guessed that bloodline came from Pa’s side of the family since Ella favored him. If there was an Indian in the Mayfield family tree, Pa took that secret to the grave with him. With that said, Ma smiled sly like.
Pa never kept secrets from his wife, but Ella didn’t dare question her mother anymore. She was afraid of what she would find out. Anything was possible in this country. The Osage Indian village was ten miles northeast of Nevada City. Wasn’t unusual to hear men talk about taking a fancy to a squaw. Could have happened easily if Pa’s family lived near any Indians in Tennessee. Just as well she didn’t know such a thing as that about her own father, since Indian blood was something no one wanted to claim. The thought of that to most folks was as bad as a body having Negro blood. Didn’t dare talk about that either if you knew what was good for you.
She reached for a sturdy stick leaned against the maple tree and stabbed at the thin layer of ice in the hound dogs drinking bucket. All the while envy welled up in her as she eyed the backs of Brice, Crack and their friend, Duck Phillips, headed for the timber. How in the world did Duck managed to always show up when food was involved? It’s a good thing Crack didn’t feel sorry for ever homesteading bachelor in Vernon County. A single man hurried the emptying of a family’s larder if invited often enough. The tall man had raw bone, good looks with swarthy skin, darkened from exposure to the elements, but that was all Ella could think to say good about him. He had the manners of a goat.
Brice had dark brown hair and dark eyes like most of the Mayfield younguns. As a child, he always took life too seriously. That trait worsened after he married and became head of the May- field household. His gravely voice sure reminded her of Pa.
Crack, on the other hand, had no intention of settling down right away. A mischievous twinkle lit his brown eyes most of the time, aimed at ever pretty girl within miles of Montevallo, Missouri. The youthful timbre to his voice held a reminder of the childhood he had just about left behind.
Each man toted a sharps rifle. They figured on doing the hog kill. Wouldn’t be such a hard job since the hogs had been baited at the edge of the timber with sour mash for a few days. Manner of fact, she didn’t see why she couldn’t try her hand at shooting a hog. She had years of practice hunting on her own. In fact, she considered herself a better shot than her brothers.
Ella darted past D. P., Bill Gabbert and his boys, John, Pete and Jeff, busy preparing the butchering setup in the yard. She burst through the cabin door. Jestine looked up from mixing cornbread batter. Ella bet the thought occurred to Ma that her eldest daughter moved with the quietness of a wild Indian sometimes, but other times like a mad cow on a rampage and never like a lady.
Rebecca Gabbert, a tiny wren of a woman, stopped stirring a simmering, stew pot. With the soup ladle in mid air, she twisted to see what the racket was all about. At the end of the table, Eliza and Margarett gave Ella a slight, curious nod. To get a head start on kitchen cleanup, Eliza was washing what dishes they had already dirtied while Margarett dried.
Leonora continued to peel potatoes, frowning her disapproval at Ella from under her bent head. Ella knew that look. Leonora thought she should be helping the women. Only Sallie gave her a kindly smile. How much better off this tremulous world would be right now if everyone had the patience and kindness for people her fair haired, pretty sister did.
"What’s yer hurry, gal?" Widow Mayfield asked, watching Ella’s face closely. Even after raising a big family and working hard along side her husband, she seemed younger than most women her age. Ella admired the fact that Ma could work anyone’s hind end off.
Jestine had an unfailing quickness for sensing when something was up with one of the family, good or bad. She’d turn her piercing eyes on one of her younguns and stare what was wrong out of them. When it didn’t suit Ella for Ma to know what was going on, she was leery of that trait. She tried to stay clear of Jestine when she knew her mother would disapprove, but there was no way around it this time.
"Goin’ to take Pa’s gun out for a spell." Ella replied, snatching the sharps rifle from the corner.
"Whatever fer?" Narrowing her hazel eyes, Jestine lifted the cornmeal coated spoon out of the gray, crock bowl. She hit it on the rim to dislodge the batter while she stared a hole through Ella.
"Thought maybe I’d hep the men shoot the hawgs," Ella answered quickly on her way out the door. She knew better than to stick around and discuss the subject. Ma would try to talk her out of going. Men’s work was a lot more exciting and fun than women’s work. That’s all there was to it. Besides the kitchen was crowded with working women. They didn’t need her.
Ella followed the beaten down path along the end of the cornfield, now rows of corn stubs and shocks. Pa loved this wilderness he chose to homestead. He always said that God made Heaven and dropped a bit of it right there in the hills of southern Missouri. She agreed with him. Shoulder high prairie grass ran along the creeks and bottoms for cattle and horses to graze. There was fertile land a plenty to clear and plant crops on. Timbered hills full of game to hunt along with prowling bobcats, panthers and wolves to watch out for. Water holes to fish in. In season, all sorts of food to pick, blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, gooseberries, currants, mushrooms, grapes, plums, pawpaws plus hickory, pecans and walnuts a plenty.
She came into view of the three men squatted down in the prairie grass. Just their heads and shoulders showed. Light footed, she slipped up as close as she dared. Lined up and down on their knees, they were spaced a few feet apart. Each man aimed at one of the three thick, wiry haired hogs. Unaware that humans were near, the hogs routed with their long snouts to slurp up the sour mash out of the tromped grass. Wasn’t a fourth hog for Ella. She curled her lips sideways in a disappointed snarl and leaned back against a hickory tree.
Ella fondly admired the timber top in autumn dress, afire with blended ambers, oranges and crimson. Fall usually was a colorful sight to behold until the leaves browned. All too soon the leaves dropped and left the trees naked and ugly as plucked chicken. After five years of drought, the trees suffered from lack of water, loosing half their leaves early or died. This long, dry spell sure was a worry to the farmers.
High in a tree, a mockingbird mimicked other birds. A quail covey’s bobwhite calls mixed with the hogs sniffing and soft grunts. The sun glinted on the rifle barrels lifted above the wavering grass. The guns exploded at the same time, filling the air with puffs of arid gun smoke. Squealing screams rent the silence. Two of the hogs dropped. The sow Crack shot squealed in pain. She shook her long snout from side to side and staggered for the underbrush. Ella saw her chance. She took aim and fired. The hog lunged forward and dropped.
The men flattened to the ground and rolled to face Ella. They peeked cautiously above the grass, aiming their rifles in her direction. She ducked behind the hickory tree and pressed her body tightly against its rough bark.
"Don’t shoot. It’s Ella," she shouted.
Gotta Go,
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
booksbyfay@yahoo if you want to buy a book
www.buysellcommunity.com to check out my bookstore
Chapter 1
Ella Mayfield was a pretty girl, but men seldom noticed so awed were they by her horsemanship and shooting skills. That’s the way Ella liked it. Her slim frame, dressed in a man’s faded, blue shirt and brown trousers, gave her a boyish look.
A flurry of dry leaves rustled along the ground and swirled past her thin, trousers legs. They bounced off her scuffed and cracked leather shoes, settling in a pile against the cabin foundation. Dandy day for hog killing all right. A proper chill in the air for October of 1859. Surely chillier than she cared for, but the seasons was one thing she didn’t have a say about. She pulled her brown, broad brimmed hat down tighter on her head and hugged herself, rubbing the goose bumps off her arms.
Ella wondered if anyone else in her family dreaded when hog butchering day came around as much as she did. Most likely this was a day just like any other to the rest. Considered hard work made light by many hands. Took a lot of meat for a family as large as theirs to make it through the winter.
When the time came for butchering, Ella’s brother, Brice, sent word by brother, Crack, across McCarty’s Branch near Bellamy to the Gabberts, Bill and Rebecca, both in their mid forties. Ella’s 20 year old sister, Leonora, was married to 24 year old John, the eldest Gabbert child. There were seven more younguns in that family so far. Ella’s friend, Eliza, 20, Peter, 17, Jefferson, 15, Mary, 9, Martha, 7, Willoiam, 4, and baby Elija. Ella figured the Mayfields and the Gabberts were like most families around Montevallo, Missouri. They multiplied like flies.
Her mother, Justine, was 45 years old and had seven younguns. Ella, 26, was the eldest. Right after her came Brice, 24. A while back, he brought home a wife, Margarett, 18. She was a quiet, young girl, plain and mousy. When spoken to she rarely did more than smile or duck her head bashfully. Ella couldn’t figure out what Brice saw in that girl. She didn’t look to have any gumption.
The Mayfields didn’t gain anything, as far as one less mouth to feed after Brice brought home Margarett. Before Leonora in age was Sallie, 22, who left home when she was thirteen to married D.P. McGiboney. The littlest younguns at home were, Tennessee and Jane. They were thirteen and twelve.
Since their father, John, died, Ella didn’t expect to share her bed with any more sisters unless her mother took up with another man. That thought no sooner entered Ella’s mind then she scolded herself. Ma would never do that, at lease until she got over Pa’s death. Ella hoped that happened long past Jestine’s child bearing years. It was hard enough to keep food on the table for the size family they had at the moment.
Absentmindedly, Ella tucked a stray hair blowing in her face under her hat and behind her left ear. Her shoulder length, dark brown hair hung straight. At the moment, her eyes, black as a crow’s when nothing bothered her, glowed like red embers on a smoldering lump of coal. Her sun browned skin, high cheekbones and full lips once in a while caused Ma to tease her about being kin to Indians. Once, Ella asked how that could be. Jestine looked all innocent. She guessed that bloodline came from Pa’s side of the family since Ella favored him. If there was an Indian in the Mayfield family tree, Pa took that secret to the grave with him. With that said, Ma smiled sly like.
Pa never kept secrets from his wife, but Ella didn’t dare question her mother anymore. She was afraid of what she would find out. Anything was possible in this country. The Osage Indian village was ten miles northeast of Nevada City. Wasn’t unusual to hear men talk about taking a fancy to a squaw. Could have happened easily if Pa’s family lived near any Indians in Tennessee. Just as well she didn’t know such a thing as that about her own father, since Indian blood was something no one wanted to claim. The thought of that to most folks was as bad as a body having Negro blood. Didn’t dare talk about that either if you knew what was good for you.
She reached for a sturdy stick leaned against the maple tree and stabbed at the thin layer of ice in the hound dogs drinking bucket. All the while envy welled up in her as she eyed the backs of Brice, Crack and their friend, Duck Phillips, headed for the timber. How in the world did Duck managed to always show up when food was involved? It’s a good thing Crack didn’t feel sorry for ever homesteading bachelor in Vernon County. A single man hurried the emptying of a family’s larder if invited often enough. The tall man had raw bone, good looks with swarthy skin, darkened from exposure to the elements, but that was all Ella could think to say good about him. He had the manners of a goat.
Brice had dark brown hair and dark eyes like most of the Mayfield younguns. As a child, he always took life too seriously. That trait worsened after he married and became head of the May- field household. His gravely voice sure reminded her of Pa.
Crack, on the other hand, had no intention of settling down right away. A mischievous twinkle lit his brown eyes most of the time, aimed at ever pretty girl within miles of Montevallo, Missouri. The youthful timbre to his voice held a reminder of the childhood he had just about left behind.
Each man toted a sharps rifle. They figured on doing the hog kill. Wouldn’t be such a hard job since the hogs had been baited at the edge of the timber with sour mash for a few days. Manner of fact, she didn’t see why she couldn’t try her hand at shooting a hog. She had years of practice hunting on her own. In fact, she considered herself a better shot than her brothers.
Ella darted past D. P., Bill Gabbert and his boys, John, Pete and Jeff, busy preparing the butchering setup in the yard. She burst through the cabin door. Jestine looked up from mixing cornbread batter. Ella bet the thought occurred to Ma that her eldest daughter moved with the quietness of a wild Indian sometimes, but other times like a mad cow on a rampage and never like a lady.
Rebecca Gabbert, a tiny wren of a woman, stopped stirring a simmering, stew pot. With the soup ladle in mid air, she twisted to see what the racket was all about. At the end of the table, Eliza and Margarett gave Ella a slight, curious nod. To get a head start on kitchen cleanup, Eliza was washing what dishes they had already dirtied while Margarett dried.
Leonora continued to peel potatoes, frowning her disapproval at Ella from under her bent head. Ella knew that look. Leonora thought she should be helping the women. Only Sallie gave her a kindly smile. How much better off this tremulous world would be right now if everyone had the patience and kindness for people her fair haired, pretty sister did.
"What’s yer hurry, gal?" Widow Mayfield asked, watching Ella’s face closely. Even after raising a big family and working hard along side her husband, she seemed younger than most women her age. Ella admired the fact that Ma could work anyone’s hind end off.
Jestine had an unfailing quickness for sensing when something was up with one of the family, good or bad. She’d turn her piercing eyes on one of her younguns and stare what was wrong out of them. When it didn’t suit Ella for Ma to know what was going on, she was leery of that trait. She tried to stay clear of Jestine when she knew her mother would disapprove, but there was no way around it this time.
"Goin’ to take Pa’s gun out for a spell." Ella replied, snatching the sharps rifle from the corner.
"Whatever fer?" Narrowing her hazel eyes, Jestine lifted the cornmeal coated spoon out of the gray, crock bowl. She hit it on the rim to dislodge the batter while she stared a hole through Ella.
"Thought maybe I’d hep the men shoot the hawgs," Ella answered quickly on her way out the door. She knew better than to stick around and discuss the subject. Ma would try to talk her out of going. Men’s work was a lot more exciting and fun than women’s work. That’s all there was to it. Besides the kitchen was crowded with working women. They didn’t need her.
Ella followed the beaten down path along the end of the cornfield, now rows of corn stubs and shocks. Pa loved this wilderness he chose to homestead. He always said that God made Heaven and dropped a bit of it right there in the hills of southern Missouri. She agreed with him. Shoulder high prairie grass ran along the creeks and bottoms for cattle and horses to graze. There was fertile land a plenty to clear and plant crops on. Timbered hills full of game to hunt along with prowling bobcats, panthers and wolves to watch out for. Water holes to fish in. In season, all sorts of food to pick, blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, gooseberries, currants, mushrooms, grapes, plums, pawpaws plus hickory, pecans and walnuts a plenty.
She came into view of the three men squatted down in the prairie grass. Just their heads and shoulders showed. Light footed, she slipped up as close as she dared. Lined up and down on their knees, they were spaced a few feet apart. Each man aimed at one of the three thick, wiry haired hogs. Unaware that humans were near, the hogs routed with their long snouts to slurp up the sour mash out of the tromped grass. Wasn’t a fourth hog for Ella. She curled her lips sideways in a disappointed snarl and leaned back against a hickory tree.
Ella fondly admired the timber top in autumn dress, afire with blended ambers, oranges and crimson. Fall usually was a colorful sight to behold until the leaves browned. All too soon the leaves dropped and left the trees naked and ugly as plucked chicken. After five years of drought, the trees suffered from lack of water, loosing half their leaves early or died. This long, dry spell sure was a worry to the farmers.
High in a tree, a mockingbird mimicked other birds. A quail covey’s bobwhite calls mixed with the hogs sniffing and soft grunts. The sun glinted on the rifle barrels lifted above the wavering grass. The guns exploded at the same time, filling the air with puffs of arid gun smoke. Squealing screams rent the silence. Two of the hogs dropped. The sow Crack shot squealed in pain. She shook her long snout from side to side and staggered for the underbrush. Ella saw her chance. She took aim and fired. The hog lunged forward and dropped.
The men flattened to the ground and rolled to face Ella. They peeked cautiously above the grass, aiming their rifles in her direction. She ducked behind the hickory tree and pressed her body tightly against its rough bark.
"Don’t shoot. It’s Ella," she shouted.
Gotta Go,
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
booksbyfay@yahoo if you want to buy a book
www.buysellcommunity.com to check out my bookstore
Friday, August 21, 2009
How Life Gets Into A Book
Book Event.
Sept. 18, 19 and 20, I will be at Civil War Days in Belle Plaine, Iowa at Franklin Park, selling my books. Join the fun and look for me. I’ll be in my pioneer dress and bonnet, left over from my Ursher Ferry Days when I did spinning wheel demonstrations in the log cabin. Featuring my Civil War Book Ella Mayfields Pawpaw Militia - A Civil War Saga In Vernon County Missouri.
Now I’m going to start telling you about my background. My life experiences are reflected in my writing for a reason. In the late eighties, a retired Benton Community School teacher said to me, "Fay, write what you know about." At the time I didn’t know how that suggestion was going to help me since I didn’t see much in my life that looked like fuel for writing material. However, I had time to think about the teacher’s advice, and I’ve seen it in other authors books. Take for instance, Mark Twain. He used his surroundings at Hannibal, Missouri, his childhood and the people he knew when he wrote Tom Sawyer. His riverboat trips down the Mississippi gave Twain the sights and sounds Huck Finn experienced on the raft. One of my favorite books is "Gone With The Wind". Margaret Mitchell must have drawn on people in Atlanta to make her characters so real. Of course, I like to think Mitchell pictured Clark Gable as Rhett Butler when she was writing the book. I know I did when I read the story.
The first fourteen years of my life was spent on an 80 acre farm 100 west of Kansas City. My early memories include a wood cookstove, a blue wooden ice box, an outhouse and Dad’s team of work horses. My older brother is 11 years older and left home by the time I was in second grade. My first four years of school were in a one room school house an eighth of a mile from my house. Dad loved the outdoors. My parents took my younger brother and I mushroom hunting in the spring, fishing in the summer and squirrel hunting in the fall. Afternoons on nice days, we walked a quarter mile down a lane to the pasture with my parents to get the milk cows. A large extended family lived around us. We always had company on Sunday or went to a relative’s home for lunch. Memorial day was a family tree lesson and picnic combined. We spent all day going from one cemetery to another, listening to my parents tell about family members. Thanks to an Uncle, 4th of July we had fireworks as pretty as any town. Hot summer evenings, we sat in the yard watching the moon rise and stars sparkle while we waited for Sputnik to come over. Dad had a telescope we took turns using while he told us stories. We learned during the Civil War my parents home town thirty miles away had been burnt by Union soldiers and rebuilt after the war. To the west of our farm was Blue Mound. So called because of the blue haze around it. The spot where the Osage Indian village had been before the government moved the Indians into Indian Territory was a few miles from us. They called that mound The Wailing Mound. It was the burial site for their chiefs. When the Indians came to pay respects, the women cried loudly. Their wailing carried on the wind. When Dad plowed a field, we always found arrow heads and spear tips from Indian hunting trips.
Farming was a hard living. Dad got a part time summer job. Mom kept us in food by canning. What was left over, we took with us to the grocery store in Schell City. Her whole life, my mother called shopping "going to do the tradin’." Mom traded potatoes, strawberries, blackberries and eggs for sugar, flour and coffee.
We left that life behind when I was 14. My parents took over a gas station near Keystone, Iowa with a history that went back to the Lincoln Highway. My summers were spent pumping gas and washing windshields. After high school, I married a man who worked for a local farmer and had a son. A few years later, my husband went to work for the Iowa DOT. We moved into a trailer house on my parents acreage. Dad had two sons and one daughter and out of all three I was the only one who had farming in my blood. I loved animals. The acreage was once a working farm so I took advantage of the outbuildings, and we soon had a menagerie of animals and birds. As my sheep flock grew, we joined the local sheep producer group. My efforts to promote lamb trained me to do public speaking and got the group awarded a plaque two years in a row for promotion from the Iowa Sheep Association as the top promoter of 99 counties. In the late eighties, my life changed again. My parents closed the gas station, and Dad got Alzheimer’s. My husband and I had been looking for a place of our own. In 1991, we moved north of Keystone seven miles from my parents. In 1993, I went to work at Keystone Nursing Care Center as a CNA. That meant most of my animals had to go. Until my dad died in 1999, I spent mornings helping my mother care for Dad and worked afternoons. I enjoyed my conversations with the elderly about their lives in the "Good Old Days". Through those years, I was awarded Nurse Aide in 2004 by Iowa Health Care Association and Professional Caregiver in 2006 by the Alzheimer’s Association. For 8 years I was a facilitator for an Alzheimer’s Support group and since 1999, I have been a volunteer speaker in my area for the Alzheimer’s Association. My husband retired three years ago and I retired in Dec. Our acreage is suited for us as long as our health holds out. The upkeep here is labor intensive to keep the area looking like a park. So far we are succeeding. We know because of compliments from people who drive by. Winters can be long, but for me the time flies by while I’m dreaming and writing a book.
Come back, and I’ll begin to unravel how I got this far.
Gotta go,
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.entre.net/booksbyfaystore
booksbyfay@yahoo to ask about my books
Sept. 18, 19 and 20, I will be at Civil War Days in Belle Plaine, Iowa at Franklin Park, selling my books. Join the fun and look for me. I’ll be in my pioneer dress and bonnet, left over from my Ursher Ferry Days when I did spinning wheel demonstrations in the log cabin. Featuring my Civil War Book Ella Mayfields Pawpaw Militia - A Civil War Saga In Vernon County Missouri.
Now I’m going to start telling you about my background. My life experiences are reflected in my writing for a reason. In the late eighties, a retired Benton Community School teacher said to me, "Fay, write what you know about." At the time I didn’t know how that suggestion was going to help me since I didn’t see much in my life that looked like fuel for writing material. However, I had time to think about the teacher’s advice, and I’ve seen it in other authors books. Take for instance, Mark Twain. He used his surroundings at Hannibal, Missouri, his childhood and the people he knew when he wrote Tom Sawyer. His riverboat trips down the Mississippi gave Twain the sights and sounds Huck Finn experienced on the raft. One of my favorite books is "Gone With The Wind". Margaret Mitchell must have drawn on people in Atlanta to make her characters so real. Of course, I like to think Mitchell pictured Clark Gable as Rhett Butler when she was writing the book. I know I did when I read the story.
The first fourteen years of my life was spent on an 80 acre farm 100 west of Kansas City. My early memories include a wood cookstove, a blue wooden ice box, an outhouse and Dad’s team of work horses. My older brother is 11 years older and left home by the time I was in second grade. My first four years of school were in a one room school house an eighth of a mile from my house. Dad loved the outdoors. My parents took my younger brother and I mushroom hunting in the spring, fishing in the summer and squirrel hunting in the fall. Afternoons on nice days, we walked a quarter mile down a lane to the pasture with my parents to get the milk cows. A large extended family lived around us. We always had company on Sunday or went to a relative’s home for lunch. Memorial day was a family tree lesson and picnic combined. We spent all day going from one cemetery to another, listening to my parents tell about family members. Thanks to an Uncle, 4th of July we had fireworks as pretty as any town. Hot summer evenings, we sat in the yard watching the moon rise and stars sparkle while we waited for Sputnik to come over. Dad had a telescope we took turns using while he told us stories. We learned during the Civil War my parents home town thirty miles away had been burnt by Union soldiers and rebuilt after the war. To the west of our farm was Blue Mound. So called because of the blue haze around it. The spot where the Osage Indian village had been before the government moved the Indians into Indian Territory was a few miles from us. They called that mound The Wailing Mound. It was the burial site for their chiefs. When the Indians came to pay respects, the women cried loudly. Their wailing carried on the wind. When Dad plowed a field, we always found arrow heads and spear tips from Indian hunting trips.
Farming was a hard living. Dad got a part time summer job. Mom kept us in food by canning. What was left over, we took with us to the grocery store in Schell City. Her whole life, my mother called shopping "going to do the tradin’." Mom traded potatoes, strawberries, blackberries and eggs for sugar, flour and coffee.
We left that life behind when I was 14. My parents took over a gas station near Keystone, Iowa with a history that went back to the Lincoln Highway. My summers were spent pumping gas and washing windshields. After high school, I married a man who worked for a local farmer and had a son. A few years later, my husband went to work for the Iowa DOT. We moved into a trailer house on my parents acreage. Dad had two sons and one daughter and out of all three I was the only one who had farming in my blood. I loved animals. The acreage was once a working farm so I took advantage of the outbuildings, and we soon had a menagerie of animals and birds. As my sheep flock grew, we joined the local sheep producer group. My efforts to promote lamb trained me to do public speaking and got the group awarded a plaque two years in a row for promotion from the Iowa Sheep Association as the top promoter of 99 counties. In the late eighties, my life changed again. My parents closed the gas station, and Dad got Alzheimer’s. My husband and I had been looking for a place of our own. In 1991, we moved north of Keystone seven miles from my parents. In 1993, I went to work at Keystone Nursing Care Center as a CNA. That meant most of my animals had to go. Until my dad died in 1999, I spent mornings helping my mother care for Dad and worked afternoons. I enjoyed my conversations with the elderly about their lives in the "Good Old Days". Through those years, I was awarded Nurse Aide in 2004 by Iowa Health Care Association and Professional Caregiver in 2006 by the Alzheimer’s Association. For 8 years I was a facilitator for an Alzheimer’s Support group and since 1999, I have been a volunteer speaker in my area for the Alzheimer’s Association. My husband retired three years ago and I retired in Dec. Our acreage is suited for us as long as our health holds out. The upkeep here is labor intensive to keep the area looking like a park. So far we are succeeding. We know because of compliments from people who drive by. Winters can be long, but for me the time flies by while I’m dreaming and writing a book.
Come back, and I’ll begin to unravel how I got this far.
Gotta go,
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.entre.net/booksbyfaystore
booksbyfay@yahoo to ask about my books
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Man's Best Friend
Now I know why dogs are said to be man's best friend. A couple weeks ago, the vet told us that my husband's dog Buster may have a year to live. He had a tumor in his left hip. My husband brought home pills to keep the dog comfortable. Susposedly the vet might be wrong and it was just a case of arthritis in this bouncy, curious, senior dog. We just barely had time to process the fact that someday he wouldn't be here when his leg took a turn for the worse fast over the weekend. Yesterday my husband had the dog put to sleep. He buried him in the corner of our pasture under a crab apple tree. My job is to decorate the wooden cross tacked to the fence post above the grave. I have the template ready, but no paint. Clearly, I wasn't prepared for this sudden passing. I always called this dog my husband's, and that's what he was - a loyal friend that wanted to be right where my husband was. They were so close I was sure the dog could read my husband's mind. I've lived with him 45 years, and I can't do that.
Buster was a one man dog. He wouldn't kennel for me, but also, he soon learned to respect a boundary between us. I am probably the only person Buster didn't jump on for attention. However, Buster couldn't never distinguish between what was his and what was mine. If I laid a flower shovel down or a garden glove, he carried it off. If he wanted a cool spot to lay he picked one of my freshly watered flower beds after he dug a crater which exposed bulbs and covered up plants. I soon made a fast rule if my husband gave him a bone, it was to be only in Buster's pen. That way the dog wouldn't bury the bone in the soft dirt in my flowers. My husband obeyed, but Buster found a way around that. He saved the bones until my husband turned him loose, then he buried it in my flowers. No doubt about it, this is a once in a life time, smart dog who knew he was the top dog in his domain. Never thought I would miss him, but when the vet didn't hold out any hope for him, I softened toward the dog. His last hole, with exposed roots, has been left untouched. I can cover the hole up any time, but it's going to take a lot longer to cover the hole in our hearts. Rest In Peace Buster.
More on books next time,
Gotta Go,
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
booksbyfay@yahoo to order a book
www.myentre.net/booksbyfaystore.com
Buster was a one man dog. He wouldn't kennel for me, but also, he soon learned to respect a boundary between us. I am probably the only person Buster didn't jump on for attention. However, Buster couldn't never distinguish between what was his and what was mine. If I laid a flower shovel down or a garden glove, he carried it off. If he wanted a cool spot to lay he picked one of my freshly watered flower beds after he dug a crater which exposed bulbs and covered up plants. I soon made a fast rule if my husband gave him a bone, it was to be only in Buster's pen. That way the dog wouldn't bury the bone in the soft dirt in my flowers. My husband obeyed, but Buster found a way around that. He saved the bones until my husband turned him loose, then he buried it in my flowers. No doubt about it, this is a once in a life time, smart dog who knew he was the top dog in his domain. Never thought I would miss him, but when the vet didn't hold out any hope for him, I softened toward the dog. His last hole, with exposed roots, has been left untouched. I can cover the hole up any time, but it's going to take a lot longer to cover the hole in our hearts. Rest In Peace Buster.
More on books next time,
Gotta Go,
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
booksbyfay@yahoo to order a book
www.myentre.net/booksbyfaystore.com
Monday, August 17, 2009
Read A Chapter of my latest book
Today I'm going to post the first Chapter of A Promise Is A Promise - Nurse Hal Among The Amish.
A Promise Is A Promise
Chapter 1
Home Health nurse, Hallie Lindstorm, better known as Hal to her friends and family, stepped out of the Wickenburg Senior Citizen apartments entry door smack into a taste of winter. She wasn’t prepared for the temperature drop that happened while she visited her clients. A strong blast of cold wind hit her. One long shiver ran though her five foot five inch body and broke out in goose bumps on her arms and legs. She had been in too big a hurry to get on with her day to think about the weather. Stopping by the Jack O’Lantern display, she zipped her denim jacket over her light blue blouse.
As if giving her a cue to keep moving, her cell phone vibrated in her navy blue slacks pocket. Hoping for a little protection from the wind, Hal stepped closer to the building. A row of ornamental pear trees let of of a bushel of dried leaves. The rattling leaves tumbled across the parking lot and over Hal’s feet. She turned her back to the wind and leaned her shoulder against the brick wall. The text message was from her boss, Barb Sloan, head of the Home Health Department. STOP BY THE OFFICE BEFORE NOON IF YOU CAN!
Now what’s wrong? Barb never pulls me into the office during the day. Hal glanced at her watch. Noon was thirty minutes away. On the east edge of Wickenburg, an out of business car dealership housed the home health office along with a couple lawyers, a photography studio, a Dollar Store and a half price book store. That was the closest the town would ever get to a mall. The building was ten minutes from the senior citizen apartments. She could make it easy. Hugging her apple green tote bag to her chest so the wind wouldn’t dump her nursing supplies, she headed for her late model, copper sedan in the parking lot.
Hal entered the Home Health Department and marched across the office to her boss’s desk. "What’s up, Barb?"
Worrying that the wind did a number on her hair, Hal patted down her wind blown, copper curls trapped on the back side of a wide, brown hair band. Her parents called her Carrot Top, because her hair was a similar mess as the comedian. Wind or no wind. Not much seemed to help her unruly do short of the suggestion her teasing father once made to cut it all off. She wasn’t ready to go bald yet.
Barb looked up from the form she was studying, pushed her brown, straight cut hair back out of her hazel eyes and smiled. "Good Morning to you, too, Hal." Getting to the point, she explained, "I have a new client for you. Sit down a minute." She shuffled through a stack of folders and came up with the one she wanted. Speaking slowly, she read off a page, "Name’s John Lapp. He lives at 1210 60th Street. That’s out in the country south of town."
"All right, but I have a full load of clients in town." Hal frowned at the thought of one more person added to her work load. This one, out of town to boot, meant time spent coming and going the miles between clients.
"I’ll reassign your afternoon clients to Cindy Wauters. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Lucy Stineford went to work at the hospital this week. I’m trying to rearrange everyone’s schedule to take on her work load until we get another nurse hired. Have to add the new ones at the same time."
Sounded like Barb had her hands full. Hal didn’t mean to make matters worse for her by complaining. "Yeah, Lucy told me she was quitting. All right. Give me the particulars on Mr. Lapp."
Barb looked at the chart. "This gentleman cut off two toes on his left foot with an ax while cutting wood yesterday. The great toe and the one next to it."
"Ouch!" Hal grimaced. "So I’m to watch for infection and see if the toes reattach?"
Shaking her head, Barb explained, "No. Mr. Lapp didn’t bring the toes in with him. Doctor Burns stitched the wound. The doctor’s order is to change the dressing every day until Mr. Lapp’s next appointment in a couple of weeks. After that the visits can be less often until healed. Unless you think the client needs to be seen sooner. Visits are to start today. The client expects you this afternoon."
Hal worried, "I haven’t been around anyone Amish before. Is there anything in particular I should know?"
"Like what?"
Hal shrugged her shoulders. "You know. Weird beliefs or medical procedures they won’t let me do."
"No, just treat Mr. Lapp like any other client. That foot has to be hurting him bad enough, he’ll appreciate any medical help he gets from you," Barb said, smiling at Hal’s preconceived notion of the Amish.
Hal was on her way across the room when as an after thought she asked, "Want to go for a quick lunch with me? You sound and look like you could use a break from that desk."
"No thanks, Girlfriend. Not today. Got too much to get done. Gonna have a sandwich at my desk," Barb replied, fetching a brown bag from a desk drawer.
Grinning at her boss, Hal retorted, "Come to think about it, now I don’t have time, either. Join the club. But I didn’t fix me anything to eat so I’ll have to grab a quick sandwich at Millie’s Maidrite."
The Maidrite was crowded. Hal ordered a burger, French fries and coffee. While she ate standing, she watched from the end of the counter as owner and waitress, blond, blue eyed, middle aged Millie Alperson flitted about. The woman was in a conversation with a highway patrolman who stopped by when he needed a greasy fix. Customers could count on Millie’s Maidrite being a fixture in Wickenburg, Iowa until she retired or shut the doors if her patrons decided to eat healthy. Which wasn’t likely to happen. With the economy the way it was, Alperson’s Maidrite was the cheapest place in town. That day it looked like half the town was taking advantage of eating at Millie’s for lunch.
Hal pulled away from the Maidrite parking lot and discovered her mouth was dry. She just had a cup of coffee, but that didn’t seem to quench her thirst. She checked the car clock and decided she had time to make one more stop before the Lapp appointment. She pulled in at Earnie Long’s Conoco gas station to get a can of Cherry Coke.
"How’s it goin’, my girl?" Greeted Earnie. He had a receding, strawberry red hairline and weight issues. He pressed his bulging middle flat against the counter as he leaned on it to get closer to her.
"Fine, Earn." Hal handed him the correct change for the pop. Standing that close to the man, she tried not to breathe too deep. She didn’t want second hand lung cancer. Earnie reeked of cigarette smoke. If she had to guess she’d say he must have smoked a pack already that morning.
"Busy day?" He asked, giving Hal his wide, good old boy smile.
"Sort of. Have to go out into the country to see a new client. Know where 60th Street is?"
Earnie scrunched up his face like it hurt him to think. "Take this street. At the intersection get on the road goin’ south out of town. Go about four miles. Turn east or west. Say that’s Amish country. Amish gettin’ home health nurses out there doesn’t happen very often. Who you gonna see?"
"I can’t tell you that. It’s a privacy thing." Hal popped her can open and took a drink.
"Sure thing. Hey, Hal, why don’t you go to the movie with me tonight once?" He invited.
"What’s playing?"
Earnie shrugged his shoulders. "Don’t know. But it’s something to do already." He winked at her.
She hesitated to think about his invitation and wonder just how bad she wanted a night out. "No, but thanks for asking. I may be running late this afternoon since I have to go out in the country. After rushing all day, when I get home I’m going to put my feet up and read a book. Besides if I stay up late tonight that makes it too hard to get up early tomorrow morning." She didn’t see any sense in telling Earnie she wouldn’t go to the theater with him if she wanted to see a Brad Pitt movie in the worst way. She might need some repair work done on her car some day. Earnie was a good mechanic, but his not knowing what movie was playing certainly didn’t sway her to accept a date with him. Sitting next to him for a couple hours would be long enough to kick up her allergies. Thoughts about how miserable she would feel, sniffling and sneezing for days, was the clincher.
Not long into the country drive, Hal decided she needed to look on the bright side of this trip. She was cruising passed colorful scenery. In pastures and on slopes, bright green grass was now much shorter and tinged with the browns of fall. Standing out here and there in the grass, a lone, dried up thistle or a patch of them waved in the wind.
The rolling mounds of southern Iowa were surrounded with creeks meandering here and there. Brilliant red sumac, purple berry laden polk plants and dark brown cattails, with tops oozing cotton, lined ravines dammed to form moss covered ponds. A collection of weeping willows with yellow green branches sagging to the ground, shaded the pond banks.
Now and then, she saw a deer with its time clock messed up, grazing in broad daylight among a cattle herd. A flocks of turkeys, pheasant or quail strutted across stubble fields, looking for a stray soy bean or kernel of corn. If the birds were lucky, they might stumble onto a pile of grain the combines spilled between the picked rows when filling a grain wagon. Timbers of hickory, walnut, cottonwood, dogwood and oaks painted a back drop of red, yellow and orange to brightened up the brown corn plants still standing.
At the base of a hill, Hal caught up to a John Deere tractor pulling two empty wagons that swayed back and forth. When she got where she could see over the hill, she passed the tractor and sped back up. At the 60th Street intersection, she had a dilemma. Which way was she supposed to turn? Hal pulled off onto the gravel road and stopped to call the office. "Hi Barb. Happen to know which way to the Lapp farm on 60th Street? Is it east or west of the highway?"
"West."
"Thanks a bunch. This must be my lucky day. I’m going the right way." Hal flipped the flap shut on the phone. It immediately vibrated an incoming call.
"Hello." Hearing throaty honks over head, Hal stretched to look over the steering wheel toward the light blue, cloudless sky. A large flock of geese flew low over her car, going the same direction as she was. Headed to Lake Rathbun, no doubt, for a layover to rest up before heading south.
"Hi, how’s your day going?" Wickenburg Daily newspaper reporter, Phil King’s smooth voice asked. Hal pictured him combing his plastered down hair in the men’s bathroom mirror while he talked.
"Busy, Phil. I’m out south of town," Hal said brusquely. "Just got an extra client added to my list. Lives out here somewhere so I have to hustle." Hal’s explanation was synchronized with a fair sized splatter of greenish white glob against her windshield. She yelled, "Dang it!"
"What’s wrong?" She must have been mistaken about where Phil was. A loud bang sounded as if he’d just taken his feet off his desk and stomped the floor as he sat up straight.
"Oh, nothing too drastic. A flock of geese just flew over me. One of them pooped on my windshield. Left the awfulest mess on the passenger side you’ll ever see. That’s what I get for sitting still too long. Bombed by geese," Hal growled.
"Won’t keep you any longer. The reason I called was to ask if you’d have supper with me tonight? I’m hungry for a big, juicy steak. Thought we could go out on 63 to the Angus Steak house," Phil invited.
Hal hesitated. She just turned down Earnie’s offer, but this was different she excused to herself. Earnie hadn’t offered a meal with his date. She would always be tempted by a hot, sit down supper. Beat the usual maidrites and take out she had to suffer through, because she didn’t know how to cook.
"Sure," Hal accepted. "I can do that if you don’t mind if we eat a little later. Maybe I’ll be ready to go by eight."
"Great!" Phil snorted. "Just my luck, that late in the evening you’ll have a bigger appetite. It’ll cost me more to feed you." When Hal didn’t respond, he laughed. "See ya later."
Hal slowed her car to a crawl when she noticed she was coming up to a neat farm with no electricity poles. Well kept fences made boundaries for fields of corn shocks, hay and a pasture. The green 911 address post at the edge of the driveway said 1210. The mailbox had black letters painted on it LAPP. This was the right farm. She parked in front of the white, two story house. The tidy structure was compact and pristine. A large, white barn set across from the house with other outbuildings scattered about.
Hal raised her head to check out her flighty hair in the rear view mirror. Patting down the unruly, stray sprigs behind the knit band, she said to her blue green eyes, "What these Amish folks are gonna see is what they get. They’ll have to like it or lump it as Mom often says."
The minute Hal got out of the car, a flock of cawing chickens attracted her attention. Multa colored, contented hens industriously turned dirt into dusty powder in front of the barn door. Watching the chickens caused memories of days gone by to flood back to her. Taking care of chickens and selling eggs was what Hal did with her mother when she was a kid. Thinking about it made her miss her mother.
In the pen off the barn, Holstein milk cows contentedly chewed their cud. They lined up to eye her over the fence with curious interest. A small pen next to the cows contained a large, Holstein bull. In case she hadn’t already decided he was an animal to avoid, he intended to sway her to that opinion. He pawed the ground before he stuck his head over the fence and snorted at her. Hal wasn’t impressed. She grew up on a dairy farm, helping her father with chores. She was familiar with milk cows and unpredictable bulls.
Those memories made her homesick. She needed to quit thinking about her parents. Titonka, Iowa was too far away to jump in the car and go visit. Besides, she didn’t have enough vacation time saved up yet.
Somewhere behind the barn, the screaming whinnies of a couple of horses sounded like they weren’t getting along. The windmill’s blades in the field grated and squawked, racing in the brisk, north wind. Typical country sounds that she hadn’t thought about missing until now.
Hal went around the car and pulled her tote bag and a box of wound dressings off the seat. With her hands full, she struggled to shut the door. The strong wind was against it. Finally, she balanced on one foot and kicked the door. Dust from the toe of her tennis shoe left the sole’s impression. One more reason to stop at the car wash if she ever had time.
Hal whirled around at a series of rapid, deep barks too close behind her to her way of thinking. Her fast movement caused the nervous dog to back up to a safer distance as he yapped at her.
Let me know if you like this chapter.
Gotta Go,
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
booksbyfay@yahoo to chat about this chapter or buy the book
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Quite Saturday
Cloudy most of this August day with a surprisingly cool breeze since it's coming from the south. I was on the computer most of the morning, fixed lunch and this afternoon cut up pears and blanched them to freeze. They will taste good this winter.
I filled out a form in www.1chapterfree.com to advertise my book A Promise Is A Promise. Forgot I have to have the chapter on another website and put that address in so people can read it. I can't download it from my computer like with other websites. Same with the cover picture. But the book is sold on Amazon so using that works to get them the picture. I have all my other books on www.authorden.com so I thought I would add the new one and a chapter. My free space has been used up on authorden so I moved on to www.booksie.com and left my book and chapter there. Then back to www.1chapterfree.com and edited my profile to include the website. 1 chapterfree shows how many people have looked at what an author submits. If they like what they read they can go on to www.amazon.com and buy the book. I got rejected off kijiji for not staying local and not doing one ad so quess I will try again in a few days and abide by the rules. Now to do one more advertising site www.webcosmo.com and that will be it for the day. Looks like I will have plenty of time to work on the computer since everyday next week is going to be rainy except Tuesday.
Gotta Go
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
www.twitter/booksbyfay
www.buysellcommunity.com to see my bookstore
booksbyfay@yahoo to email me about my books
I filled out a form in www.1chapterfree.com to advertise my book A Promise Is A Promise. Forgot I have to have the chapter on another website and put that address in so people can read it. I can't download it from my computer like with other websites. Same with the cover picture. But the book is sold on Amazon so using that works to get them the picture. I have all my other books on www.authorden.com so I thought I would add the new one and a chapter. My free space has been used up on authorden so I moved on to www.booksie.com and left my book and chapter there. Then back to www.1chapterfree.com and edited my profile to include the website. 1 chapterfree shows how many people have looked at what an author submits. If they like what they read they can go on to www.amazon.com and buy the book. I got rejected off kijiji for not staying local and not doing one ad so quess I will try again in a few days and abide by the rules. Now to do one more advertising site www.webcosmo.com and that will be it for the day. Looks like I will have plenty of time to work on the computer since everyday next week is going to be rainy except Tuesday.
Gotta Go
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
www.twitter/booksbyfay
www.buysellcommunity.com to see my bookstore
booksbyfay@yahoo to email me about my books
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Busy Day
Yesterday I advertised my books on kijiji. They don't want the ads repeated in different cities. Think they want you to stay local but I managed to advertise in two different towns and stopped. I'll go back to do other towns another day. kijiji has the click buttons for the social networks. Always makes for another advertisement to alert Twitter, Facebook and others.
This is a busy day for me and not at the computer. I'm going to go pick up my mother in law and bring her home for the day. She lives fifteen miles from us. This is an amazing woman. She will soon be 89 and has a garden bigger than ours and a large yard full of flowers. When fall arrives she cuts snips all all the flowers and has Styrofoam cups sitting on window sills waiting for spring. This woman has a real green thumb which my mother had a little touch of but I have none. I've always relied on my mother in law to give me a new start of any plant that died or I killed.
We're going to take a tour of my flowers which are full of bloom and our garden that just had two inches of rain and looks great. After lunch we're taking mother in law shopping with us. She doesn't get out unless someone takes her. My sister in law lives in the same town and takes her shopping once a week. The last of Oct. that sister in law is getting a knee replacement so I have offered to take mother in law shopping each week until further notice. Should be fun. I enjoy my mother in law.
Gotta Go
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
booksbyfay@yahoo to order a book from me
This is a busy day for me and not at the computer. I'm going to go pick up my mother in law and bring her home for the day. She lives fifteen miles from us. This is an amazing woman. She will soon be 89 and has a garden bigger than ours and a large yard full of flowers. When fall arrives she cuts snips all all the flowers and has Styrofoam cups sitting on window sills waiting for spring. This woman has a real green thumb which my mother had a little touch of but I have none. I've always relied on my mother in law to give me a new start of any plant that died or I killed.
We're going to take a tour of my flowers which are full of bloom and our garden that just had two inches of rain and looks great. After lunch we're taking mother in law shopping with us. She doesn't get out unless someone takes her. My sister in law lives in the same town and takes her shopping once a week. The last of Oct. that sister in law is getting a knee replacement so I have offered to take mother in law shopping each week until further notice. Should be fun. I enjoy my mother in law.
Gotta Go
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
booksbyfay@yahoo to order a book from me
Monday, August 10, 2009
High school reunion
My high school reunion was Saturday night. We all had a great time and I remembered everyone by name. Amazing after 45 years of seeing almost all of them just once every five years. The fifty page book I made for one of the committee members went over well. Everyone looked at it quite often trying to refresh their memories. This was one of those kinds of occasions when we hated to end it and go home.
Sunday, my husband got up early and went with his brother fishing so I spent all day advertising my new book on the internet. Some of the websites have social connections so I could advertise on Facebook, Digg, Delicious, Sumbleupon, Technorti and yahoo buzz by just clicking a button. That only works if you are already signed up or you can sign up right on the spot.
I keep a book of all the ads websites so I can remember which ones I used for the new book. Here are a few I advertised on yesterday. You want to keep track of when the ad stops. Some sites let me know by email but not all. If you renew the ad right away, you don't have all the form work again.
Sales spider, inetgiant.com , usfreeads.com , stumblebee classified ads. com, oodle.com , porkypost.com , weblegg, buy sell community. com which is one of the best. I have a store front on that site because I have so many books and they let me know to renew the ad. I have been trying to fix me a website store and doing poorly at it so I started putting buy sell community as my store. If I never get the website going I will be set with that. Craig's list which will only let you advertise an ad once so I advertise each book separate, Postpin.com , porkypost.com, lifeplat I signed up on this morning. They want business so I call my self booksbyfay Book Store and was able to advertise all my books but I couldn't get the download to work for the one image they were going to give me.
Now that I have so many sites done I can do one or two a morning when I find new ones and it won't be so time consuming.
Didn't have time for more today. We had a 90 mile an hour wind in a thunder storm go through last night and I had to pick up limbs to day.
Gotta go fix supper,
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
booksbyfay@yahoo to buy my books
www.buysellcommunity/booksbyfaystore to see my book covers and read about each one.
Sunday, my husband got up early and went with his brother fishing so I spent all day advertising my new book on the internet. Some of the websites have social connections so I could advertise on Facebook, Digg, Delicious, Sumbleupon, Technorti and yahoo buzz by just clicking a button. That only works if you are already signed up or you can sign up right on the spot.
I keep a book of all the ads websites so I can remember which ones I used for the new book. Here are a few I advertised on yesterday. You want to keep track of when the ad stops. Some sites let me know by email but not all. If you renew the ad right away, you don't have all the form work again.
Sales spider, inetgiant.com , usfreeads.com , stumblebee classified ads. com, oodle.com , porkypost.com , weblegg, buy sell community. com which is one of the best. I have a store front on that site because I have so many books and they let me know to renew the ad. I have been trying to fix me a website store and doing poorly at it so I started putting buy sell community as my store. If I never get the website going I will be set with that. Craig's list which will only let you advertise an ad once so I advertise each book separate, Postpin.com , porkypost.com, lifeplat I signed up on this morning. They want business so I call my self booksbyfay Book Store and was able to advertise all my books but I couldn't get the download to work for the one image they were going to give me.
Now that I have so many sites done I can do one or two a morning when I find new ones and it won't be so time consuming.
Didn't have time for more today. We had a 90 mile an hour wind in a thunder storm go through last night and I had to pick up limbs to day.
Gotta go fix supper,
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
booksbyfay@yahoo to buy my books
www.buysellcommunity/booksbyfaystore to see my book covers and read about each one.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Promoting My Book
I've spent all day filling out online free classified ads for my latest book A Promise Is A Promise and while I was at it I included the other 15. The ads show up on google search and give me exposure but it is a painfully slow job. I will be glad when I have exhausted all the websites. If anyone is looking for a site to advertise a book free I can give the sites here.
www.craig'slist - this site will only let you advertise an item once in an area
www.sellitforfree.com - stays local but used the 500 mile limit to reach as far as possible
www.buysellcommunity.com - can post in different cities around the U.S.
www.webleeg - have to stay local
www.postpin.com - can only advertise in 100 mile radius and one ad a day
www.classifiedadsforfree still working on this one. It seems to freeze up. good for 7 days and has social website buttons to advertise other places like Stumbleupon, Digg, Facebook, Amazon wish list which is good since I sell books on Amazon, etc.
That's what I did for today and will have many more sites like these that I will share when I work my way through them. These sites all have different length of time for an ad. Some will notify by email that the ad has run out so you can renew it which is great. Just click once instead of filling out the form over and over. I keep a date book as a reminder with days to renew the books so I can get back at it.
Going to my high school reunion in about an hour. We'll see how they like the Book I made of their bios and pictures. Also taking each of the former classmates and teachers a free copy of my book "A Promise Is A Promise."
Gotta Go
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
booksbyfay@yahoo to buy my books
www.craig'slist - this site will only let you advertise an item once in an area
www.sellitforfree.com - stays local but used the 500 mile limit to reach as far as possible
www.buysellcommunity.com - can post in different cities around the U.S.
www.webleeg - have to stay local
www.postpin.com - can only advertise in 100 mile radius and one ad a day
www.classifiedadsforfree still working on this one. It seems to freeze up. good for 7 days and has social website buttons to advertise other places like Stumbleupon, Digg, Facebook, Amazon wish list which is good since I sell books on Amazon, etc.
That's what I did for today and will have many more sites like these that I will share when I work my way through them. These sites all have different length of time for an ad. Some will notify by email that the ad has run out so you can renew it which is great. Just click once instead of filling out the form over and over. I keep a date book as a reminder with days to renew the books so I can get back at it.
Going to my high school reunion in about an hour. We'll see how they like the Book I made of their bios and pictures. Also taking each of the former classmates and teachers a free copy of my book "A Promise Is A Promise."
Gotta Go
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
booksbyfay@yahoo to buy my books
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Honey Without Bees
Before my husband cut the hay field I collected the ingredients to a 200 year old recipe - Honey Without Bees. Since I'm in to everything Amish I wonder if the Amish people have this recipe. I do know it might come in handy for folks who like to use honey since honey bees are dying for an unknown reason. That is a serious problem. All plants and trees need pollination if we are going to have an abundance of food to eat.
Recipe - Bees Without Honey
45 red clover blossoms - 45 white clover blossoms - 25 wild rose blossoms - 1 tsp of powdered alum and 10 cups of sugar. Bring all to a boil in a large pan and boil three minutes. Not longer or the honey is too thick. Strain through cloth or cheesecloth and you have two quarts of honey.
Just make sure to pick the flowers from plants that haven't been sprayed with pesticide. I knew my hayfield was safe and I happen to have large wild rose bushes in a flower bed by the house. Wild roses are just that wild flowers along side the roads in Iowa and in pastures. In fact that is the state flower.
Just starting to advertise my new Amish book - A Promise Is A Promise.
Here is the back cover
Fay Risner takes readers on an emotional journey into a tender, original story set int he rolling hills of southern Iowa. a story that is heartwarming, romantic and a mystery. Home Health Nurse Hal Linstrom is assigned Amish widower John Lapp. She offers to stay with his children while he is in the hospital. Fifteen year old Emma takes care of the household. Her two younger brothers are handling the dairy operation. Hal soon realizes that Emma suffers from depression. Noah is withdrawn, and Daniel is so troubled he sleepwalks outside, looking for his dead mother. Drawn to this needy family, Hal discovers they have a secret swept under their proverbial Amish rag rug. The more she tries to help them the deeper she is sucked into the family's problem. Finally, Emma makes Hal promise to stop trying to unravel the family's tragic secret before it's too late. Hal agrees. When her future happiness is at stake, she wishes she hadn't, but a promise is a promise.
Tip for the day
Ebay isn't such a bad place to advertise a book on the budget plan. For 15 cents a week, my books are looked at by many and I even sell a few. There is a place to start.
Gotta Go
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
www.twitter/booksbyfay
booksbyfay@yahoo.com for information or if you would like to buy one of my books which by the way are on my bookshelf by my blog thanks to shelfari
Recipe - Bees Without Honey
45 red clover blossoms - 45 white clover blossoms - 25 wild rose blossoms - 1 tsp of powdered alum and 10 cups of sugar. Bring all to a boil in a large pan and boil three minutes. Not longer or the honey is too thick. Strain through cloth or cheesecloth and you have two quarts of honey.
Just make sure to pick the flowers from plants that haven't been sprayed with pesticide. I knew my hayfield was safe and I happen to have large wild rose bushes in a flower bed by the house. Wild roses are just that wild flowers along side the roads in Iowa and in pastures. In fact that is the state flower.
Just starting to advertise my new Amish book - A Promise Is A Promise.
Here is the back cover
Fay Risner takes readers on an emotional journey into a tender, original story set int he rolling hills of southern Iowa. a story that is heartwarming, romantic and a mystery. Home Health Nurse Hal Linstrom is assigned Amish widower John Lapp. She offers to stay with his children while he is in the hospital. Fifteen year old Emma takes care of the household. Her two younger brothers are handling the dairy operation. Hal soon realizes that Emma suffers from depression. Noah is withdrawn, and Daniel is so troubled he sleepwalks outside, looking for his dead mother. Drawn to this needy family, Hal discovers they have a secret swept under their proverbial Amish rag rug. The more she tries to help them the deeper she is sucked into the family's problem. Finally, Emma makes Hal promise to stop trying to unravel the family's tragic secret before it's too late. Hal agrees. When her future happiness is at stake, she wishes she hadn't, but a promise is a promise.
Tip for the day
Ebay isn't such a bad place to advertise a book on the budget plan. For 15 cents a week, my books are looked at by many and I even sell a few. There is a place to start.
Gotta Go
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
www.twitter/booksbyfay
booksbyfay@yahoo.com for information or if you would like to buy one of my books which by the way are on my bookshelf by my blog thanks to shelfari
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Make Hay While The Sun Shine
Literally that's what my husband and I did yesterday. We made hay. Usually it is very hot with the sun beating down on us and our hay making equipment, but with our usually cool summer, yesterday was a pleasant day. I did put on plenty of sun screen and didn't burn at all. Driving the tractor with a chugging baler behind me is not my favorite thing to do. So many things can go wrong like shearing a pen or not watching when too close to the fence. I stay nervous until we're done. While I'm trying to keep the tractor and bale on the windrows of hay, my husband is hooking the bales from the baler and stacking them on the hay rack. Once we have the hay bales picked up the hard part comes. We have to put the bales into the barn. I unload the hay bales on to a conveyor that sends them up to my husband in the loft. He stacks them neatly so there's room for the third crop. First thing he said this morning was the barn smelled so sweet with the fresh clover hay in the loft.
Now today I'm stiff and sore, but feeling good about a good day's work making hay when the sun shines that will be feed for our sheep and goats when the snow flies.
Still working on my business website. Hope to have it up and running soon so I can sell my books on line.
Gotta Go,
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
booksbyfay@yahoo to buy my books
www.MyEntre.net to check out my book business
Now today I'm stiff and sore, but feeling good about a good day's work making hay when the sun shines that will be feed for our sheep and goats when the snow flies.
Still working on my business website. Hope to have it up and running soon so I can sell my books on line.
Gotta Go,
Booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
booksbyfay@yahoo to buy my books
www.MyEntre.net to check out my book business
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Memories Are Important
Memories are important. Without memories, I couldn't write my historical fiction books. Some of the interesting details I use are from stories told to me by older people. Those tales stuck with me and now I use them in my books. I'm thankful that the older folks I visited with had good memories. Next Saturday night, I will find out if my generation has as good a memory. My 45th High School reunion is coming up that night. A night of visiting, recalling and sharing a good meal together in Keystone, Iowa (the town we started in). To be on the safe side, the committee for this event has left no stone unturned as far as memory goes. I was asked to write and format a picture book complete with bios to be given to everyone so they will have no excuse a few days from Saturday as far as remembering who lives where, how many offspring they have and what they did for a living when they worked. The book comes with a class and teacher picture for every year they were in high school. We can look at those pictures and see how everyone has changed. Come to think about it at my age that may not be so thrilling to watch us age in a few pages. The book was fun to put to gather and add small pictures or school newspaper headlines of each of our accomplishments along with the bios. I was only in that class for the last three years of high school so I was able to go back in time and see what I missed. I'll let you know the response to the book and if it works.
Right now I am busy telling the internet world about my new Amish book A Promise Is A Promise so if you're interested buy a copy and help me spread the word.
Gotta go. Am working on my new online bookstore. Tell you about that next time.
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
twitter/booksbyfay
booksybyfay@yahoo to buy my books. Take a look at my bookshelf connected to this blog
Right now I am busy telling the internet world about my new Amish book A Promise Is A Promise so if you're interested buy a copy and help me spread the word.
Gotta go. Am working on my new online bookstore. Tell you about that next time.
booksbyfay
Fay Risner
www.booksbyfay.tripod.com
twitter/booksbyfay
booksybyfay@yahoo to buy my books. Take a look at my bookshelf connected to this blog
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