Christmas Scents - Christmas Memories

Thanksgiving to Christmas our house has always been filled with aromas of baking.  Spices, chocolate, sweetness.  The counters overflow with baked goods cooling, piled on plates, and carefully layered in airtight containers. The freezer becomes a booby-trapped appliance with bags and containers of goodies shoved in every available space.  

The wonderful smells mingle with pumpkin pie, turkey, ham and at Christmas the tang of pine and cinnamon.  I’ve heard it said smells can trigger memories. Any time I smell the nostril-tingling scent of cinnamon I’m taken back to the two story farm house my parents, siblings, and grandparents lived in when I was young. My grandmother’s claim to fame at Christmas was her cinnamon candy.  Here is the recipe:

Old-fashion Cinnamon Candy

1 pint Karo syrup

2 cups sugar

1 bottle cinnamon oil

6 drops red food coloring

powdered sugar, desired amount for coating

 

Directions:

1)      In a sauce pan, bring syrup and sugar to the hard- crack stage—about 300° to 310°.

2)      Add cinnamon oil and food coloring.

3)      Stir quickly and pour into a well greased cookie sheet.

4)      Let candy harden.

5)      Crack into pieces and sprinkle with powdered sugar.

In my Christmas Story, Christmas Redemption, the hero has been in prison for ten years for something he participated in as a young man. When he returns home to confront his father, he finds his mother in her kitchen baking. The smells take him back to his childhood.

Blurb for Christmas Redemption:

Van Donovan returns to Pleasant Valley, Oregon where twelve years earlier as a boy of fifteen he left in handcuffs after standing guard for a bank robbery. He's learned a trade and excelled at it and is ready to prove to his father and the town he can amount to something.

Upon his return he learns the fate of the daughter of an innocent man who died in the robbery crossfire. To make amends he takes her out of the saloon and gives her a job, not realizing she'd been squatting in the very building he'd purchased for his business.

Can two battered hearts find solace or will the past continue to haunt their lives?

 

Excerpt:

The leafless cottonwood trees appeared stark and ominous hovering around the farm house. The two-story structure held pleasant memories. His mother’s cooking and laughter. Would she welcome him back or follow her husband’s lead? His stomach knotted, and he once again wished Tessa were by his side.

A multi-colored mutt ran out of the barn barking. Half-way to the wagon he stopped and looked back toward the barn. A girl of about eight strolled out of the building wrapped in a heavy coat, scarf, and mittens.

“Button. Stop barking,” she said when he stopped the wagon in front of the house. His mother’s eyes stared at him from the child’s face. This was his sister Grace.

“Is your ma or pa home?” he asked uncertain what to do. He wanted to pick her up and hug her, but reasoned she wouldn’t care for a stranger grabbing her.

“Ma’s in the kitchen. Christmas is coming.” She put a hand on the dog’s head.

“It sure is. How about you take me to the house then rustle your ma out of the kitchen so I can talk with her?” He started walking to the familiar front door.

Grace grabbed his hand. “We can’t go in that door. Ma doesn’t like snow on her wool rug.” She tugged him to the back of the house.

Van smiled and allowed his sister to haul him around to the back of the house. The garden patch looked larger. And the cellar which he’d help dig was grown over sprouting pale weeds through the six inches of snow.

Grace pulled the screen door open, then shoved the door into the kitchen. Familiar aromas wafted around Van’s head. He sniffed and savored each spicy nuance.

His ma turned. “Grace, shut the door, I have bread ris—”

Ma was the same other than gray wisps in her dark brown hair. She blinked, and her hands clasped in front of her chest.

“Hello, Ma.”

“Van?” She took a step toward him. He smiled and nodded, and she lunged into his arms, crying.

He hugged her tight as tears burned his eye sockets. His heart, that had been torn in two when he never heard from her, slowly melded back together. “I’ve missed you,” he said, holding on, wishing he had all those years back.

She drew out of his arms and studied him. “My, you turned into one handsome man.” She wiped at the tears on her face with her apron. Then motioned to Grace. “Come say hello to your big brother.” His mother’s smile warmed him like a toasty fire on a cold day.

“My brother? I thought pa said—” Grace stared up at him quizzically.

What scents trigger memories for you? Leave a comment to be entered into the nook HD drawing and for the daily prize.

BUY LINKS FOR CHRISTMAS REDEMPTION:  Amazon             Nook             Smashwords

Bio:

Wife, mother, grandmother, and the one who cleans pens and delivers the hay; award winning author Paty Jager and her husband currently ranch 350 acres when not dashing around visiting their children and grandchildren. She not only writes the western lifestyle, she lives it.

You can learn more about Paty and her books at her blog; www.patyjager.blogspot.com  her website; http://www.patyjager.net or on Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/#!/paty.jager and twitter;  @patyjag.

Switching Genres While Sticking to What you Know

Well, let's try this again!  Paty Jager was a guest on my blog last year, and I accidentally reposted that blog again!  Yikes.  So, I've deleted the wrongly posted blog and now have the correct one. I am sorry about that readers and, especially, Paty.

Here's the correct post:

Anna Kathryn, Thank you for having me on your blog.

I typically write westerns both contemporary and historical, with a paranormal twist tossed in sometimes. My latest writing adventure is an action adventure with romantic elements that came about while riding back and forth to a writers retreat. My friend Julie who writes suspense with romantic elements and I were hashing over some books we’d read and I commented on how I was disappointed in a book toted to have a female Indiana Jones. I’d read the book with expectations that the book would be set outside the U.S. only to find  a chapter in the beginning and one at the end were set outside the United States.  And I hadn’t found the action all that adventuresome.

This is the discussion between Julie and I.

Julie: Why don’t you write one?

Me: I can’t write action adventure and I’ve worked hard at branding myself. I write western or Native American.

Julie: So make the heroine have something to do with Native American studies.

Me: I guess that would work. (here my brain started kicking into overdrive)

Julie: Where would you set this story?

Me: South or Central America.

Julie: Why?

Me: I could use the heroine’s studies of Native American Indians as her reason for traveling to countries with drug problems.

Julie: Why?

Me: Because the hero would be with the DEA

And that is how Secrets of a Mayan Moon became a kernel of an idea in my head and is now the first of a three book series about Doctor Isabella Mumphrey a woman with a genius IQ who finished her doctorate in anthropology at the age of twenty-two and is passionate about her studies because she feels the quarter Hopi blood in her veins is pushing her to discover all she can about the people who inhabited the Americas before it was discovered by Europeans.

Blurb

Child prodigy and now Doctor of Anthropology, Isabella Mumphrey, is about to lose her job at the university. In the world of publish or perish, her mentor’s request for her assistance on a dig is just the opportunity she’s been seeking. If she can decipher an ancient stone table—and she can—she’ll keep her department. She heads to Guatemala, but drug trafficking bad guys, artifact thieves, and her infatuation for her handsome guide wreak havoc on her scholarly intentions.

DEA agent Tino Kosta, is out to avenge the deaths of his family. He’s deep undercover as a jaguar tracker and sometimes jungle guide, but the appearance of a beautiful, brainy anthropologist heats his Latin blood taking him on a dangerous detour that could leave them both casualties of the jungle.

Excerpt

She deposited her backpack on the floor at her feet. The horn handle of a twelve inch Guatemalan blade protruded from the side pocket. Tino’s curiosity spiked another notch.

“I have a reservation. Dr. Isabella Mumphrey.”

Tino snapped the paper down and stared even harder at the woman. This was the frumpy, old anthropologist he was to guide? His gaze scanned the length of her one more time while tuning in the conversation.

“Ahh, Dr. Mumphrey, Dr. Martin said you were to get the finest room, no?” The clerk acted like a simpering fool giving the doctor her key and expounding on all the wonders of the hotel.

“Gracias. May I borrow a paper and pencil? I need to make a list for the taxi driver.”

The clerk handed her the items. She stepped to the side of the counter and began writing.

Why would she make a list for a taxi driver? Curious, Tino folded the paper and strolled to a spot beside her. So intent on her list, she didn’t even acknowledge his presence as he leaned, reading the items. Army knife, candle, braided fishing line, hooks, swivels, 24 gauge snare wire…

“You are planning a trip into the jungle, no?”

She started at his voice. Deep green eyes rimmed in gold stared at him from behind wire-rimmed lenses. She blinked, focused on him, and narrowed her eyes.

“Didn’t your mother teach you manners? You don’t look over people’s shoulders to see what they’re doing.” She picked up her list and held it to her damp shirt.

“Mi mamá did teach me manners, no? I am Tino Kosta, your guide to the dig at Ch’ujuña.” He held out his hand waiting for her to shake.

Her gaze traveled from his extended hand up his arm to his face. She squinted her eyes and glared at him.

“You’re not of Mesoamerican descent, so you can’t possibly be my guide. Are you in cahoots with the disgusting little man who stole my property?” She bent toward her backpack, giving him a good view down the front of her blouse.

Si, she didn’t wear a bra. The nipples peaking through her clingy shirt sat atop a palm-sized mound. Now, being a man who liked his hands filled to overflowing when it came to handling a woman—

“¡Carajo!” The pointed end of the large knife that had been tucked in the doctor’s backpack waved inches from his nose. “What is this about?” A woman who ran around without undergarments shouldn’t be offended by a man viewing her body.

Secrets of a Mayan Moon is available at Kindle, and Smashwords.

Please visit me at:

www.patyjager.net

www.patyjager.blogspot.com

Spirit of the Mountain- Paty Jager

Anna Kathryn, Thank you for having me here today to talk about Spirit of the Mountain, my first historical paranormal release.

This is the first book of a trilogy set among the Nez Perce of the Wallowa Valley in NE Oregon. I have sibling spirits and each one has their own story and how they fall in love with a mortal. I kept the day to day life of the Nimiipuu factual and inserted all the fun spirit stuff, which is only a figment of my imagination. While the Nez Perce did believe in spirits and the Creator, I have made up my own sense of how the Creator and the spirits in my books influenced the band and my characters.

Nez Perce were animists; They believed that everything in creation- animals, birds, fish, rocks, trees, stars, plants and all natural phenomena- had spirits or a supernatural side that appeared to humans in visions and could influence them for good or harm. I took this notion and brought good and bad spirits to life in my book. With this ingrained belief in their society it was easy to make my heroine believe in the hero when she sees him for the first time as a man and realizes he is the wolf she has been talking to about her fears.

Blurb for Spirit of the Mountain
Wren, the daughter of a Nimiipuu chief, has been fated to save her people ever since her vision quest. When a warrior from the enemy Blackleg tribe asks for her hand in marriage to bring peace between the tribes, her world is torn apart.

Himiin is the spirit of the mountain, custodian to all creatures including the Nimiipuu. As a white wolf he listens to Wren’s secret fears and loses his heart to the mortal maiden. Respecting her people’s beliefs, he cannot prevent her leaving the mountain with the Blackleg warrior.

When an evil spirit threatens Wren’s life, Himiin must leave the mountain to save her. But to leave the mountain means he’ll turn to smoke…

Excerpt
She knew not of this man. He was not from any of the Nimiipuu tribes. He would not have gone unnoticed. She had heard stories of a band with flaxen hair who lived before the coming of the horse in the area far beyond the River of Many Bends.
Could he be of that band? If so, why was he here, on this mountain?
“Come, Wren,” he bid in a deep, soothing voice.
She started forward at his command then stopped. How did he know her name?
Wren moved a foot backward to step into the trees and run if necessary. “How do you know me?”
“Your friend called you that.” His gaze never left her face. She stared into his eyes, recognition flashed, warming her to her toes.
His presence didn’t threaten her. It puzzled her. Why did he stand in the clearing where she met the wolf? She took a step forward.
“You are called?”
“Himiin,” he said with a slight tip of his head.
Wolf. She stared in disbelief. Was he the wolf?
She gazed into his eyes. The recognition she saw within the depths set her heart racing. How could he be? It was not possible.
“You have received bad news?” His light blue eyes turned a deep blue, showing her he was the wolf she sought.
But how could this be?
She took a step back, unsure of this man and the turmoil within. Her mind grasped at all the tales told by the elders around the winter campfires.
Many stories told of shape shifters and how they showed themselves to only a few. Could her wolf be a shape shifter? If so, could this be a sign about her future? Her heart thudded in her chest. If he truly was the wolf, he knew everything about her, and she knew nothing of him.
“How do you come to be both man and wolf?” Her father always told her she asked too many questions, but this seemed a very good time to ask many.
“I am the spirit of the mountain.” He shrugged.
“The creator has given me the ability to take many forms.”
“How is it you have come to me?” She took a step forward. The warmth of his voice and unguarded stance drew her.
“You came to me. I merely tended my wounds, when you came upon me.”
She gulped in air and choked.
He was truly the wolf.

You can visit my website and enter my monthly contest or stop by my blog and learn more about me and my writing life. You can purchase my books in e-book of print from The Wild Rose Press or Amazon.com.

Guest Author Paty Jager on Researching a Book

Anna Kathryn,
Thank you for allowing me to spend time on your blog today.
My name is Paty Jager, and I write historical and contemporary western romance. While researching for my books I can get lost in the newspaper archives and local museums as well as trekking to the areas I set my books.

For my latest release, Miner in Petticoats, my daughter and I loaded up in my Jeep and headed to the gold mining area around Sumpter, Oregon. I wanted to get a feel for the Cracker Creek area since that was where my hero would set up a stamp mill. While there was a good deal of mining on the Cracker Creek, there was never a stamp mill. That's where I like fiction. I can take a real area and add what makes my book work.

We did run across several old mining sites, but they were either boarded up or looked too precarious to search through. But I did get a good feel for the area and when I wrote my scenes I could easily visualize the canyon and tree filled mountain sides.

With the whole book being based on Ethan setting up a stamp mill, I had to research the different ways of finding gold as well as how a stamp mill worked and the set up. A stamp mill could be anywhere from three up to ten stamps. The stamps were heavy iron "feet" that moved up and down in a synchronized pattern and smashed the rock to separate it from the gold or silver ore. The huge mills were usually set up on the side of a hill to allow gravity to feed the rock down through the machines. Before electricity or in areas of no electricity water or animals were used to make the mechanics for the mill run.

In my book, Ethan finds the perfect spot on the side of a hill with a good section of fast running water on Cracker Creek to run the mill. The only problem is the widow who owns the land isn't about to give it up. And thus the sparks fly.

Here's an excerpt from Miner in Petticoats available at The Wild Rose Press in e-book or print and Amazon.

“Mrs. Miller?” he asked, extending his hand. She kept her head tipped forward just enough her face was shadowed and hidden behind the brim of the hat.

“Who be askin’?” Her voice caught his attention with its deep, lyrical tone.

“I’m Ethan Halsey. My brothers and I have a claim just over the ridge.” It aggravated him he couldn’t see her face and register how she took his words.

“Are ye lost?” The voice vibrated under his skin, causing his body to warm.

He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not lost. I’m looking for Mrs. Miller. I’m assuming that is you,
since you’re the only grown woman I see here.”

“Ah m Aileen. Ah dinnae fancy bein’ called Mrs. Miller.”

This disclosure piqued his curiosity. “Mrs— Aileen. I’ve come with an offer.” Her head tilted, tipping the wide-brimmed hat to the side and revealing a slip of her face.

“And whit may this grand offur be?” He saw the slightest curve on one side of her lips.

“Ma’am, not to sound bossy, but I’d like to see your face as we discuss this proposition.” Her
shoulders dipped slightly before she squared them, stretched her neck to its full length, and
whipped the hat from her head. Copper sparks reflected off her hair as the sun lit her dark locks.
Ethan hadn’t believed the words of a cowardly man like Miles, and he was happy to see there
wasn’t any kind of mark on the woman’s face, at least none put there by the devil. Her skin was
abundantly sprinkled with angel kisses. That was what his mother had called the freckles on her
face. Angel kisses. He’d always had a fondness for freckle-faced women and children.

“Thank you, I appreciate seeing people’s eyes when talking business.” Ethan took a step closer
to the porch, waiting to be invited to the shade.

“And whit be yer business?” The woman didn’t seem inclined to invite him any closer.

“I’ve scouted the land all around our claim. The five acres of your land down where Cracker
Creek drops in elevation is the perfect spot to set up a stamp mill. The side of the canyon has the
right slope and the water is moving fast enough to power the mill.”

“So yer business is askin’ me tae sell ma land?” She clamped work-reddened hands onto
those ample hips and glared at him.

“We’d give you a fair price for the five acres, and you could use the stamp mill to claim more
gold from your mine.” The information didn’t seem to change her opinion. She still glared at
him. “We’re allowing the nearby claims to build rails to bring their ore to the mill. They can use
the stamp mill, giving us a small cut of their profits.” He smiled at his family’s generosity.

“So ye’re doin’ this oot o’ the goodness o’ yer heart? Takin’ yer neighbor’s land and their gold.”
Her light green eyes flashed with indignation.


Thank you for hosting me today!

Paty Jager
http://www.patyjager.net/
http://www.patyjager.blogpsot.com/

Paty Jager on Critics

Critic- 1) one who expresses a reasoned opinion on any matter esp. involving a judgment of its value, truth, righteousness, beauty, or technique. 2)one given to harsh or captious judgment.

This word carries a negative connotation, yet, doesn't every one want an honest evaluation even if it is of one person's opinion? One person's view be it full of compliments can make your day or one person's view which judges or tells their thoughts that are unflattering can also spoil a day. Yet, when it comes down to it, both the good and bad comments can be used to make you better at what ever you do.

I know I've cringed and fumed a time or two over comments from writing contests or even from my own handpicked critique partners, but when I let the information settle and think it over, I realize there is something I need to consider. So, I've come to value critique and have used it as a means to strengthen my writing.

Of course you have to have a thick skin to take some things that may be thrown your way, but if you do step away and come back later, nine times out of ten you realize they were right.

Then there is the glowing critique- those we can never get enough of! LOL My last book Outlaw in Petticoats received glowing reviews from reviewers, yet my oldest daughter (my toughest critic) and my best friend, both, didn't care for the book. They thought I didn't dig deep enough and make it a fulfilling read. This bugged me. They both loved my book Gambling on an Angel which is more character driven and less action packed.

Well, my daughter took home my newest release, Miner in Petticoats, when she was visiting. She called me a few days after she went home, "Mom, I read your book." I held my breath, fearing what would come next. "And this is now my favorite of your books, it even surpasses Gambling on and Angel." That made my day and my week.

But I'm holding my breath- I've yet to receive a review on the book from a review site. So if my daughter didn't like the last book and the reviewers did.... Does this mean because my daughter likes this one the reviewers won't? I don't have time to worry about that I'm working on the next book.

Blurb for Miner in Petticoats:
Shouldering the burdens of his family and the mining community, Ethan Halsey devotes himself to providing for his brothers’s growing families.

However, Aileen Miller, a widow, also looking out for her family’s interests, refuses to part with the land he needs. As they battle- one to push his dream to reality and the other to prove no man will hurt her again- their lives become enmeshed and their hearts collide.

Excerpt:
“Mrs. Miller?” he asked, extending his hand. She kept her head tipped forward just enough her
face was shadowed and hidden behind the brim of the hat.

“Who be askin’?” Her voice caught his attention with its deep, lyrical tone.

“I’m Ethan Halsey. My brothers and I have a claim just over the ridge.” It aggravated him he couldn’t see her face and register how she took his words.

“Are ye lost?” The voice vibrated under his skin, causing his body to warm.

He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not lost. I’m looking for Mrs. Miller. I’m assuming that is you,
since you’re the only grown woman I see here.”

“Ah m Aileen. Ah dinnae fancy bein’ called Mrs. Miller.”

This disclosure piqued his curiosity. “Mrs— Aileen. I’ve come with an offer.” Her head tilted, tipping the wide-brimmed hat to the side and revealing a slip of her face.

“And whit may this grand offur be?” He saw the slightest curve on one side of her lips.

“Ma’am, not to sound bossy, but I’d like to see your face as we discuss this proposition.” Her
shoulders dipped slightly before she squared them, stretched her neck to its full length, and
whipped the hat from her head. Copper sparks reflected off her hair as the sun lit her dark locks.
Ethan hadn’t believed the words of a cowardly man like Miles, and he was happy to see there
wasn’t any kind of mark on the woman’s face, at least none put there by the devil. Her skin was
abundantly sprinkled with angel kisses. That was what his mother had called the freckles on her
face. Angel kisses. He’d always had a fondness for freckle-faced women and children.

“Thank you, I appreciate seeing people’s eyes when talking business.” Ethan took a step closer
to the porch, waiting to be invited to the shade.

“And whit be yer business?” The woman didn’t seem inclined to invite him any closer.

“I’ve scouted the land all around our claim. The five acres of your land down where Cracker
Creek drops in elevation is the perfect spot to set up a stamp mill. The side of the canyon has the
right slope and the water is moving fast enough to power the mill.”

“So yer business is askin’ me tae sell ma land?” She clamped work-reddened hands onto
those ample hips and glared at him.

“We’d give you a fair price for the five acres, and you could use the stamp mill to claim more
gold from your mine.” The information didn’t seem to change her opinion. She still glared at
him. “We’re allowing the nearby claims to build rails to bring their ore to the mill. They can use
the stamp mill, giving us a small cut of their profits.” He smiled at his family’s generosity.

“So ye’re doin’ this oot o’ the goodness o’ yer heart? Takin’ yer neighbor’s land and their gold.”
Her light green eyes flashed with indignation.


If you would like to learn more about my books and myself hop on over to my website www.patyjager.com and while you're there enter my monthly contest.

Anna Kathryn, Thank you for having me here today!

I'm Blogging, but YOU can Win

Join me as I blog with Paty Jager today. I'm discussing my two Christmas stories, last year's "The Priceless Gift" and today's release "A Cowboy's Dream." Also, if you a comment, you'll be eligible to win one of the two stories that I'll give away today.

Paty Jager

And tomorrow, I'll be blogging as part of the Christmas Carol Blog Train. So, stop by and get the title of my Christmas Carol. Then if you haven't been participating, you can backtrack and get the list of all the Carols, so you can enter to win a $75 The Wild Rose Press gift certificate. Plus, I'll be giving away prizes ALL DAY to those who leave comments. http://annakathrynlanier.blogspot.com/

Anna Kathryn Lanier
A COWBOY'S DREAM - Out Now
Compelling, Sensual Tales of Love and Forgiveness
www.aklanier.com