tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31830638951587605042024-03-25T10:06:02.346-04:00But What Are They Eating?Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.comBlogger610125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-65758368141793229622023-08-18T09:23:00.000-04:002023-08-18T09:23:17.593-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Julia Park Tracey, Author of The Bereaved<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUl1Dm5NtdSv2pEpMqmUVyKBBo-nZoScDOoWj-F3x9UZSoboLwWCdYqWof1QKEf3X-2LpyzvUrvCahPBcJDgHjb-QJ744boxxAjtnACTdQVkXK6XJShKKDVDXEuZVx75UZrIvV9lCAJYbVA-kt4hEVTYN0TD-Hgm7tADqGRwz1CldZtLL0CduP595Wb4w/s2588/2023.8.18%20The%20Bereaved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2588" data-original-width="1688" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUl1Dm5NtdSv2pEpMqmUVyKBBo-nZoScDOoWj-F3x9UZSoboLwWCdYqWof1QKEf3X-2LpyzvUrvCahPBcJDgHjb-QJ744boxxAjtnACTdQVkXK6XJShKKDVDXEuZVx75UZrIvV9lCAJYbVA-kt4hEVTYN0TD-Hgm7tADqGRwz1CldZtLL0CduP595Wb4w/s320/2023.8.18%20The%20Bereaved.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Porridge is somehow famous in literature. The Three Bears minced no words with Goldilocks—she ruined their breakfast by tasting everyone’s porridge, judging it too hot, too cold, or just right. Oliver Twist gets into trouble for asking for more. Mr. Woodhouse of Jane Austen’s <i>Emma </i>believes that a basin of porridge is just the thing (he calls it gruel). And porridge was the thing in the Old World — oats boiled hard and eaten hot. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the New World, aka America, colonial porridge was quickly replaced with cornmeal mush, a food that indigenous folks had eaten for centuries. (And we’re still eating it today as polenta, grits, and cornbread.) Colonial settlers called it samp, and settlers traveling often took Johnny cake (cornbread) because it was easy to make over a fire.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> In my historical novel, <i>The Bereaved</i>, cornmeal, often known as Indian meal, makes an appearance when times get tough. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">When she has funds in her purse, Martha, the titular widow, can afford wheat flour and baking soda and makes floury biscuits, with oats for oatmeal/porridge. But when times get tougher, baking powder, flour and oats become luxuries. So cornmeal becomes a staple, and then, almost all they ate. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here’s what the Lozier family consumed that hard, cold spring of 1859:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I could pay rent or pay the grocer that week. I paid rent and added more water to the soup. I made mush instead of baking cornbread; I fried it on the stovetop, but it stuck without grease and made an awful mess. I made patties from the cooked beans and fried those, too. I was out of sorts and my gut complained, without greens or meat or corn and potatoes.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">As Martha and the children finished a meal, any food scraps went back into the soup pot, and it was an ongoing melange, like Strega Nonna’s bottomless spaghetti pot, as Martha added more scraps, more water and salt. They had enough watery soup, but they were hungry.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Martha’s children discovered there were free meals at a local children’s aid society, Martha grudgingly let her children go, knowing she couldn’t feed them roast beef or turkey, potatoes and peas and carrots, fresh white bread, tall glasses of milk, and a slice of pie with every meal. It took everything in Martha’s heart to say, “I have to do this for the children, let them stay here while I work, and get a good meal, schooling and a warm bed. I’ll save money and bring them home again in a few months.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The aid society fed and clothed the children, free of charge, and solved all of Martha’s problems—until when, three months later, she found out what happened to her children. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">(I can’t tell you more — spoilers!)</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Julia!</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzBiOAT6DSVs6XoyYyf4Jwamr4YanzPHwws6VKmqJzH_Y1n60iHjXjaLpSXmKA1D4SVEK7Or_OiYhwL1dlBd6kPsPsXnMMC6daU6SOl--c7pOme9HbomAcv4QetN0YoXdo6WPX-_HKUhqnQ6GWCXmHMukCE2rfjDigcayttHBY2f5wcAyebluyPbyhp4/s933/2023.8.18%20Julia%20Park%20Tracey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzBiOAT6DSVs6XoyYyf4Jwamr4YanzPHwws6VKmqJzH_Y1n60iHjXjaLpSXmKA1D4SVEK7Or_OiYhwL1dlBd6kPsPsXnMMC6daU6SOl--c7pOme9HbomAcv4QetN0YoXdo6WPX-_HKUhqnQ6GWCXmHMukCE2rfjDigcayttHBY2f5wcAyebluyPbyhp4/w150-h200/2023.8.18%20Julia%20Park%20Tracey.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can find Julia here:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://JuliaParkTracey.com">JuliaParkTracey.com</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/juliaparktracey" target="_blank">Twitter @JuliaParkTracey</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/juliaparktraceywriter" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Julia-Park-Tracey/author/B009138NKG" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-25364733417425902762023-07-21T09:58:00.001-04:002023-07-21T09:58:12.693-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Susan Stinson, Author of Spider in a Tree<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZAScdsJNvsRP3LR3dK0INaG2kr1mQCwEcGQ9dnIA2qXU76pWVmRXYFUt00w1By6eghresgLoPgvydB3SzmmYm6cycBMXM8tdomRLDEYQyZbWTTCA-WH4ndhH440O3xcbRJFKk4vVXOoN8IIXlBa7Dx8zFwM1kBKYsms4-qYRNijlz9UoEOe5k_0EJ8k/s475/2023.7.21%20Spider%20in%20a%20Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="306" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZAScdsJNvsRP3LR3dK0INaG2kr1mQCwEcGQ9dnIA2qXU76pWVmRXYFUt00w1By6eghresgLoPgvydB3SzmmYm6cycBMXM8tdomRLDEYQyZbWTTCA-WH4ndhH440O3xcbRJFKk4vVXOoN8IIXlBa7Dx8zFwM1kBKYsms4-qYRNijlz9UoEOe5k_0EJ8k/s320/2023.7.21%20Spider%20in%20a%20Tree.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Shad, Chocolate, and Gingerbread: Spider in a Tree by Susan
Stinson</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s the summer of 1741. The Rev. Mr. Jonathan Edwards, a fourth-generation
English settler, calls Leah, a woman kidnapped from Africa and currently
enslaved in his household, into his study. Leah comes in carrying a cup of
chocolate and a piece of gingerbread. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They are in Northampton, Massachusetts, where I live now. This
is a scene from my novel, <i>Spider in a Tree</i>. Jonathan is recently back
from preaching his sermon “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” in
Connecticut. Leah, who has just been preparing a barrel of shad to be preserved
for the winter, is soon to be married to Saul, a man enslaved in the household.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jonathan has been riding his horse in the woods. As he rode,
he pinned notes to his clothes with ideas about a treatise he is working on. He’s
writing a defense of slavery in support of another minister, whose congregation
has accused him of sin for being a slave-owner. Jonathan’s wife Sarah helps him
unpin the notes before he calls for Leah, but slavery is not only being
practiced in his home, as it is every day, it’s on his mind.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In Connecticut, people experiencing a religious revival
fainted and called out to God in fear for their souls while Jonathan was preaching.
This moment back home in Northampton is, like a sermon, also a ritual. Jonathan
wants to give Leah counsel and advice before her marriage. Leah, who must put
the needs of Jonathan and his family before her own every day, finds this invasive
and painful. There is very little room for any of her feelings to be expressed,
but she seizes this sliver of an opening to say something true: that she wishes
her mother could be with her. The historical Jonathan Edwards wrote rough notes
in support of slavery, but he included a critique of the trade itself. He had
participated in this trade, so perhaps he had been influenced by the enslaved
people who lived with him to think slightly differently about it. In this
scene, I am trying to imagine and embody one way that might have happened.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Leah is cleaning shad because this fish, which live most of
their lives in the sea, swim up what Native people from the valley would have
called the Kwinitekw and settlers the Connecticut River in the spring to spawn.
This might be a little late for Leah’s barrel of shad, but the seasons are
variable, and people traded up and down the river. I can imagine various
circumstances by which she might end up with a barrel of live fish in July
instead of June.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Leah brings Jonathan chocolate because he regularly ordered
it from Boston. A quick search on the digital archive Jonathan Edwards Online
finds references in his account books and letters. Chocolate was part of the
Caribbean trade that was based on the labor of enslaved people. In colonial
port towns, people milled it into balls or cakes. In a family kitchen, these
were shaved into hot water in a chocolate pot, spiced, then whipped so that the
shavings melted and there was a foam.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jonathan’s daughter Jerusha makes Leah gingerbread because
she is trying to be kind. She might have made spice bread, but she knows Leah
doesn’t like allspice. Jerusha doesn’t know why that is. The slave ship that
Leah was trapped on picked up a load of allspice in the Caribbean. The smell
reminds of her of horrors that traumatized her deeply and left her far from
home, enslaved. Making Leah gingerbread on the eve of her wedding is kind, but
that kindness is warped by the fact that she is enslaved, enmeshed in a
hierarchy that Jonathan is both practicing and defending. Leah has been brought
here as commodity, like chocolate and allspice. Concern by her enslavers for
her happiness or for her soul Is rotted at the root until that blight is
addressed. She knows this and struggles to make her life within these
constraints. Jonathan, who has a reputation of being uninterested in food,
insists she eat the gingerbread. The story doesn’t say whether she does or not,
but the spice and sweetness she is being offered are far from a full, free
meal. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Susan!</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZzN28irGXnbGo9bYGN1S52SqctzDPuPWmyKSTOioWOj73ufkqvgWku81aHdpbIHdhlpXVl0f2m799dC2zoUjzYB854u91ZK-ZWoSvI_olIAK93Y7mS2GM5FnnqxGnnRMCmfohZ8o9ccVAcmDsBSH68XeBmfMQ1HLrO5MK_7JXFCLiZCfR00ODKDbEsE/s266/2023.7.21%20Susan%20Stinson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="185" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZzN28irGXnbGo9bYGN1S52SqctzDPuPWmyKSTOioWOj73ufkqvgWku81aHdpbIHdhlpXVl0f2m799dC2zoUjzYB854u91ZK-ZWoSvI_olIAK93Y7mS2GM5FnnqxGnnRMCmfohZ8o9ccVAcmDsBSH68XeBmfMQ1HLrO5MK_7JXFCLiZCfR00ODKDbEsE/w139-h200/2023.7.21%20Susan%20Stinson.jpg" width="139" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Susan here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://SusanStinson.net" target="_blank">SusanStinson.net</a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/susanstinson" target="_blank">Twitter @SusanStinson</a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Susan-Stinson/author/B000APT3IA" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Spider in a Tree: <a href="https://smallbeerpress.com/books/2013/10/01/spider-in-a-tree/">https://smallbeerpress.com/books/2013/10/01/spider-in-a-tree/</a> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lisa Brooks, Our Beloved Kin: Remapping a New History of
King Philip’s War, about the Kwinitekw and the valley in 1675, sixty-six years
before this scene: <a href="https://ourbelovedkin.com/awikhigan/connecticut-river-valley-1675">https://ourbelovedkin.com/awikhigan/connecticut-river-valley-1675</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Works of Jonathan Edwards Online. Jonathan Edwards Center at
Yale University. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://edwards.yale.edu/">http://edwards.yale.edu</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jonathan Edwards Center at Yale: Jonathan Edwards and
Slavery</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://edwards.yale.edu/publication/encyclopedia">http://edwards.yale.edu/publication/encyclopedia</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Historic Deerfield: Baby It’s Cold Outside: a sweet historic
of chocolate in New England. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.historic-deerfield.org/blog/2021/1/4/baby-its-cold-outside-a-sweet-history-of-chocolate-in-new-england">https://www.historic-deerfield.org/blog/2021/1/4/baby-its-cold-outside-a-sweet-history-of-chocolate-in-new-england</a><o:p></o:p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-21639389226395976422023-07-13T19:31:00.003-04:002023-07-13T19:31:22.203-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Robert McKean, Author of Mending What Is Broken<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCBmQJJJalqBvMjetY42oDBiSF4ovFLtVr_Gvd3TXlvneB7peTRpEJoqoNbNAPclyVb-IfUPCCyBE1IQvIwrmm9YvkJO--dEJz0mu6rsmZsbcKw9aYiRNuma69F6zIl2IYVFAdvNnfzRqPF0TMOGpGdYOQWUqC4hHmVoratQuVOFG9rUiwscXcXaDnEY/s2759/2023.7.14%20Mending%20What%20is%20Broken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2759" data-original-width="1881" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCBmQJJJalqBvMjetY42oDBiSF4ovFLtVr_Gvd3TXlvneB7peTRpEJoqoNbNAPclyVb-IfUPCCyBE1IQvIwrmm9YvkJO--dEJz0mu6rsmZsbcKw9aYiRNuma69F6zIl2IYVFAdvNnfzRqPF0TMOGpGdYOQWUqC4hHmVoratQuVOFG9rUiwscXcXaDnEY/s320/2023.7.14%20Mending%20What%20is%20Broken.jpg" width="218" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p><p><b>Fattening the Birds</b></p><p><br /></p><p>The fragrance of freshly milled wheat berries has a depth and liveliness unlike anything else, flowery, sweet, beery, faintly green and earthy. As the grain shatters beneath the grating stones and the new flour empties from the mill, an aromatic dust cloud wafts up speaking of a symbiotic relationship between human and grain that reaches back thousands of years. Peter Sanguedolce, who eats too much because he loves food too much, who eats too much to escape the sorrows that engulf him, who eats too much simply to eat too much, finds himself in <i>Mending What Is Broken </i>bewitched by the complicated, painstaking process of baking whole grain sourdough bread: nursing the starter into life, invigorating the preferment over several days, mixing flour and water and waiting through the autolyse period for the flour to hydrate, incorporating the flour and preferment and performing a series of stretches and folds to tease out the gluten. Then hours of bulk fermentation and shaping—Peter mimics the experts’ floury hands in the photographs in the numerous bread-baking texts he’s bought—and the long overnight snooze in the rattan baskets in the refrigerator to encourage the flavors to deepen and complexify, before the morning’s bake at five hundred degrees—all the while praying to Fornax, goddess of the oven, that his doughs will rise burnished and crusty and make proper loaves, that is, loaves in the shape of parsons’ hats. </p><p>Which they sometimes do, and sometimes perversely do not do.</p><p>And so there’s trouble. There’s always trouble. As Western Pennsylvania’s winter gales cushion Peter’s ramshackle Tudor home in silencing ermine stoles of snow, he broods over his sourdough cultures like a nervous parent at a child’s recital. It’s the temperature in his old kitchen, he hypothesizes. One minute it’s too cold in here, the next too hot. From Amazon he orders a proofing box, an expensive contraption that sits on the counter and furnishes a small heated parlor like a diorama he can peer into in which his finicky wild yeast and lactobacilli might be coddled at any temperature they desire. Good idea, poor design. The proofing box won’t maintain a dependable temperature, either. He returns to Savage’s Hardware and Sporting Goods, where the joke among the hardware boys is that Peter’s bread is running him about fifty bucks a loaf, to purchase a roll of aluminum insulation wrap. The quilted wrap creates a circular stockade around the proofing box some two feet in height and three in diameter, the whole affair resembling, he raises his eyebrows uneasily regarding it, a kitchen-sized nuclear reactor. </p><p>He’s suffered two failed marriages, lost his father’s clay sewer pipe business in an economic downturn, and is now threatened with the complete forfeiture of his shared custody rights to the ten-year-old daughter he cherishes. In the meantime, he bakes bread, let’s say he manufactures bread, way too much. But when you’re sublimating, how much is too much? He eats what he can, he eats more than he can, and, after dropping off surplus loaves at the rescue mission in town, he takes to fattening the birds in his backyard, the chattering sparrows and the cardinals that do not migrate and the mourning dove couple, who appear to have taken a cue from their feathered friends and no longer put up with the hassle of seasonal relocation. A Sunday morning in frigid January, as Peter waits out the tedious hours before he’s permitted to visit with his daughter in a supervised setting, he tears apart a loaf warm from the oven and heads outdoors. Spotting the large man maundering into his backyard in trench coat over pajamas, the bird nations and especially the silky, long-necked doves who lift in a whistle of wings from their perches, join him, burbling contentedly, for breakfast. </p><p>I have been baking whole grain sourdough bread for fifteen years. I seldom write from life, but will, on occasion, make loan of a personal item to a character, if the character shows that he or she can make good use of it. I’ve tasted Peter Sanguedolce’s bread. He does.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for sharing your food for thought, Robert!</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5OmTTks9hYTAJJTZa-vZJIobxuJO3sxWVRlUOiT43Dv1wOarqxlPYFZ7v4RtkY6yFeWTvnpsRdWdsFV_OY_Xw_FNuaeU6hUHr3WBhHApcH0mDa0HI84gEY8xSzsUplDoXNigrxP8i2OJ0SlaUv3-l_Lgb__vPFPJFp8__IV0Ca7p53iG740bOO_nTz8/s545/2023.7.14%20Robert%20McKean.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5OmTTks9hYTAJJTZa-vZJIobxuJO3sxWVRlUOiT43Dv1wOarqxlPYFZ7v4RtkY6yFeWTvnpsRdWdsFV_OY_Xw_FNuaeU6hUHr3WBhHApcH0mDa0HI84gEY8xSzsUplDoXNigrxP8i2OJ0SlaUv3-l_Lgb__vPFPJFp8__IV0Ca7p53iG740bOO_nTz8/w176-h200/2023.7.14%20Robert%20McKean.jpg" width="176" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Robert here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://RobMcKean.com" target="_blank">RobMcKean.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/mckean_rob" target="_blank">Twitter @mckean_rob</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/robmckeanauthor" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Robert-McKean/author/B0733R9PDB" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><i>Populating Robert McKean’s novels and stories are some five hundred characters, steelworkers and bankers, doctors and jewelers, teachers and librarians, lawyers and yardage clerks, salesmen and ballet instructors—all residents of Ganaego, a small mill town in Western Pennsylvania. His new novel, </i>Mending What Is Broken<i>, is being published in August by Livingston Press. McKean’s short story collection </i>I'll Be Here for You: Diary of a Town<i> was awarded first-prize in the Tartts First Fiction competition (Livingston Press). His novel </i>The Catalog of Crooked Thoughts<i> was awarded first-prize in the Methodist University Longleaf Press Novel Contest. The novel was also named a Finalist for the 2018 Eric Hoffer Award. Recipient of a Massachusetts Artist’s Grant for his fiction, McKean has had six stories nominated for Pushcart Prizes and one story for Best of the Net. He has published extensively in journals such as </i>The Kenyon Review, The Chicago Review, Armchair/Shotgun, Kestrel, Crack the Spine,<i> and </i>Border Crossing.<i> For additional information about McKean and his Ganaego Project, please see his author’s website: <a href="http://www.robmckean.com">www.robmckean.com</a>.</i></p><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-33977265253322908062023-06-30T11:49:00.004-04:002023-06-30T11:49:53.347-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Tracey Buchanan, Author of Toward the Corner of Mercy and Peace<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh83bTrhwdukN35E7AI9fO_EPf0EDcnislbWOTP-SIznBxM2lSIcsp8r-Cclx8t5qDoxFPdiY84mXUHmTeE8CLIkAqSYJvu5dtmjwtqG9LZd78mag-04w8XSHoHX-_JALj_kV06NQ4EKTGVpAteZH-iLln2citJfRyVjGQ01j7TXgaryVtNUyWpVJ1tUxs/s1000/2023.6.30%20Toward%20the%20Corner%20of%20Mercy%20and%20Peace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="659" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh83bTrhwdukN35E7AI9fO_EPf0EDcnislbWOTP-SIznBxM2lSIcsp8r-Cclx8t5qDoxFPdiY84mXUHmTeE8CLIkAqSYJvu5dtmjwtqG9LZd78mag-04w8XSHoHX-_JALj_kV06NQ4EKTGVpAteZH-iLln2citJfRyVjGQ01j7TXgaryVtNUyWpVJ1tUxs/s320/2023.6.30%20Toward%20the%20Corner%20of%20Mercy%20and%20Peace.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><br /><p>My debut novel, <i>Toward the Corner of Mercy and Peace</i>, set in a small town in the early 1950s, features Mrs. Minerva Place, a prickly widow who would prefer to be left alone. Completely. But even the most disagreeable people have to eat.</p><p>Minerva isn’t much of a cook. She’ll make a pumpkin pie if she gets invited somewhere for Thanksgiving (which, she assuredly would prefer to avoid), but she keeps her meals on the simple side. She’ll boil cabbage and fry a pork chop for dinner or let a small roast slow-cook with potatoes and carrots. The local grocery store, Myrick’s, offers the best meat in town, and, even if it’s a little on the expensive side, she’s willing to wait in line to get the cuts she prefers.</p><p>One of her favorite meals is white beans simmered all day with ham hock. It’s perfect with her neighbor Nella’s homemade chow-chow, a slice of yellow onion, and a hot chunk of cornbread liberally covered in butter. Another meal she adores, but seldom makes is fried chicken livers. She loves to order those when she eats out because they’re such a mess to cook at home. But not everyone knows the secret of a good batter that will result in a crunchy exterior and soft interior—much like a perfect cookie, come to think of it.</p><p>Hands down, Minerva’s favorite lunch is a pimiento cheese sandwich. Once again, she prefers Myrick’s recipe. It’s the perfect blend of cheddar cheese, mayonnaise, pimientos, vinegar, and a touch of sugar. It miffs her just a tad that she can’t figure out the recipe, but nobody else in town has been able to replicate it either. That’s a small consolation.</p><p>Her neighbor Nella loves to experiment in the kitchen and often shares her dishes with Minerva. Unfortunately, Nella’s experiments include meals like Tuna Fritters and Fritos Veal Rolls. Not exactly what Minerva would prefer. Why mess with your basic meat and potato? What meat has ever been enhanced by Fritos?</p><p>On the other hand, Minerva always welcomes Nella’s sweet treats. Sugar, preferably blended with flour, butter, and eggs that results in the form of a cake is Minerva’s favorite visitor. Nella makes a delicious cherry pie, and her Chocolate Mayonnaise Cake is to die for. Moist, super chocolatey, and smothered in a rich, fudgy icing—what’s not to like?</p><p>When I was writing the book, I made a point of finding recipes that made their debut in the ‘50s. If you visit my website, <a href="https://www.traceybuchanan.com">https://www.traceybuchanan.com</a>, you’ll find recipes for Nella’s Tuna Fritters, Nella’s Frito Veal Roll, Minerva’s Pumpkin Pie, and Nella’s Chocolate Mayonnaise Cake. I can’t vouch for the tuna fritters, but I can highly recommend the chocolate cake. Give it a try—maybe you have a cranky neighbor who would thaw just a little if you shared a piece.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Tracey!</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEa1DIiHUAt5lAZxpTd5br5wMWO34t-dJTku7E6dSPcgReKhKxa4BdydR7YxZWw8cDafJZyy_f2-XwvNtcVpmTUxBCtsbnuqcKP2C8lhDEzLECYuOD6HOMRNt6ebxW-PBOemxytQizgRJnap4H4wD1otjFLfNOKMmiJkBLXPcqM6JoHlqD42BMb0wnBk/s266/2023.6.30%20Tracey%20Buchanan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="141" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEa1DIiHUAt5lAZxpTd5br5wMWO34t-dJTku7E6dSPcgReKhKxa4BdydR7YxZWw8cDafJZyy_f2-XwvNtcVpmTUxBCtsbnuqcKP2C8lhDEzLECYuOD6HOMRNt6ebxW-PBOemxytQizgRJnap4H4wD1otjFLfNOKMmiJkBLXPcqM6JoHlqD42BMb0wnBk/w106-h200/2023.6.30%20Tracey%20Buchanan.jpg" width="106" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Tracey here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://TraceyBuchanan.com">TraceyBuchanan.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/TraceyBuchana11" target="_blank">Twitter @TraceyBuchana11</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TraceyBuchananAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Tracey-Buchanan/author/B0BWZ2B6Y9" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p><br /></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Tracey Buchanan crashed into the literary world when she was six and won her first writing award. Fast forward through years as a journalist, mom, volunteer, freelance writer, editor, artist, and circus performer (not really, but wouldn’t that be something?) and you find her happily planted in the world of fiction with her debut novel, </i>Toward the Corner of Mercy and Peace <i>(Regal House Publishing, June 20, 2023). She and her husband Kent live in the UNESCO Creative City of Paducah, Ky. They have two married sons, seven perfect grandchildren, and one very mixed-up dog. She’s busy working on her next novel but you can still catch her on her website, where she likes to putter around changing commas and so forth… </i><a href="http://traceybuchanan.com" target="_blank">https://www.traceybuchanan.com </a></p><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-50126997591497863762023-05-12T09:02:00.005-04:002023-05-12T09:02:35.730-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome J.R. Traas, Author of The Rave<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0og66ZDfVSYEBEo3hNOpFMNDiiZcQT1Rquh4EnvxYGgSifj-X4Ktl8v34mZXm5b3vyFU4ILXs4RMmkIFvV7ozzl4jguRq_jDNRIvFoLwUzq5sZELRLK1X2xLOEzqQrXDHy69At3CCxFxusCpcmDH3BFHF9LwgX9MqUc6OmPvUd5Rrnh7mrzCP4AIE/s500/2023.5.12%20The%20Rave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="337" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0og66ZDfVSYEBEo3hNOpFMNDiiZcQT1Rquh4EnvxYGgSifj-X4Ktl8v34mZXm5b3vyFU4ILXs4RMmkIFvV7ozzl4jguRq_jDNRIvFoLwUzq5sZELRLK1X2xLOEzqQrXDHy69At3CCxFxusCpcmDH3BFHF9LwgX9MqUc6OmPvUd5Rrnh7mrzCP4AIE/s320/2023.5.12%20The%20Rave.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>At home nowhere and everywhere, I’ve made it my business to explore wherever I land. Vernaculars, stories, main streets—such are my haunts; I am your ghost. (Hi, there. Rest easy, you did turn off the stove before leaving the house.) While I usually prefer to observe, quietly in my corner, my relationship with local cuisines is much more active. After all, food is such a fulfilling way to consume regional energy. A pretty plate is the truest feast for the senses: sight, scent, sound, touch, and taste. From an early age, I’ve been an indiscriminate collector of culinary experiences. Every bite can be a history lesson; every morsel, a message. An intercultural communication. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even the hard times proved instructive. Contrasting with my grateful experiencing of many different nations’ foods in my childhood and teens, my college years were… Spartan. We’re talking black beans for dinner, then again (in broth) for lunch and (topped with melted cheese) for dinner the next day. Often, I’d boil carrots and drink the carrot water like tea. I was not, in so many words, a man of material wealth, but those days shaped my understanding of and appreciation for food. </div><div><br /></div><div>Fortunately, at present, I am able to afford actual tea. Having survived the harder years, now armed with an ever-widening mental catalogue of dishes, I bring these to bear in my writing. Highlighting what a character eats, what delicacy a town is known for, or even what crops a nation can grow—and the resultant meals—expands the world and diversifies its peoples. Food is a <i>fare-</i>ly key ingredient in providing the reader with a sense of daily life in an imaginary world. This is certainly true of the fantasy genre, where delicious descriptions of colorful cooking are a staple.</div><div><br /></div><div>In <i>The Rave</i>, the first installment in my arcanepunk cyberfantasy <i>Aelfraver Trilogy</i>, our “heroine” (term subject to limitations) Alina’s relationship with food is one of many means I use to convey her struggles. Beginning broke as broke can be, she wishes she could get ahold of some carrot water. She carefully weighs the purchase of every can of <i>Cherry Punch! </i>soda or vegan falafel wrap. These moments help inform her personality, financial status, interpersonal skills, and more. Whenever my characters share a meal, as with their real-world counterparts, the exchange punctuates the seasoning of a relationship. In book two, <i>The Rebel</i>, the gang journeys to a strange new city, sheltering in a spy bunker, where they chow down on a “delicacy procured from the underground lakes some miles west,” popping open “cardboard takeout containers packed with rice, steamed tubers, and mostly dead eels.” </div><div><br /></div><div>The food enhances the tension, and vice versa. Later in the narrative, a gentler meeting occurs: a coffee-and-croissant date held in a floating fortress that exists within the collective unconscious of thousands of minds (human and inhuman). From the plot to the characters, to where they go and definitely what they snack on, I love combining the mundane and the alien.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are what we eat, they say, but we are many other odds and ends, too. Consider me an inquisitive acquisitor of multitudinous habits, quirks, and preferences. For, while truth is stranger than fiction, I’d argue that the combination of the two—filtered through personal perspective—is what makes a story, and its world, vibrant and resonant. This is why I seek to incorporate our species’s beautiful, diverse, unique little oddities into my writing. After all, the everyday anchors the grand and fantastical. Our rituals—including breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper—connect us to the characters in a story, to the ineffable, and to each other.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, JR!</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZz5PP_TvLjpONxMq7EhTF1WV_1d-Lbc2LDkn8_YA8E8CVpFBeTTKaUpvG8xmfuIUF5VPzAbCiOn-vh1u_KJIbtG-zQ8RF0KY0ku40nkI_D5GS2R89Jg9ayG0ce0bN6KR6UeFI73_ZzmK8MGNEZDpzdnMmxKtD0FVq9QTbOwVk2SZhl9PSK0wOkgRT/s700/2023.5.12%20JR%20Traas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="700" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZz5PP_TvLjpONxMq7EhTF1WV_1d-Lbc2LDkn8_YA8E8CVpFBeTTKaUpvG8xmfuIUF5VPzAbCiOn-vh1u_KJIbtG-zQ8RF0KY0ku40nkI_D5GS2R89Jg9ayG0ce0bN6KR6UeFI73_ZzmK8MGNEZDpzdnMmxKtD0FVq9QTbOwVk2SZhl9PSK0wOkgRT/w200-h170/2023.5.12%20JR%20Traas.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find JR here:</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://BlankBookLibrary.com">BlankBookLibrary.com</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/wordofmypeople" target="_blank">Twitter @wordofmypeople</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/JulianRTraas" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/J.R.-Traas/author/B015CZQM8Q" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-69875482025459853992023-05-04T22:51:00.001-04:002023-05-04T22:51:05.256-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Angela Sylvaine, Contributor to FOUND<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioX75jJlexIM6Zg0u6Wo2I8RyiIQwbS11_732c6PEw9S9R-pBM779elA1ZsUk0whi8NmOh8w49Md8eR5iZAyQ9NkVqJ8Jrgk1FCPRK2pLzU8y3uwUq9bshVq1KJjTU-oX-B-L4kgip9IbTI0ElBF007HZ2FQ7msR5m6dY8JZ0i8qQl_MDKM0yeMuAR/s500/2023.5.5%20FOUND.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="352" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioX75jJlexIM6Zg0u6Wo2I8RyiIQwbS11_732c6PEw9S9R-pBM779elA1ZsUk0whi8NmOh8w49Md8eR5iZAyQ9NkVqJ8Jrgk1FCPRK2pLzU8y3uwUq9bshVq1KJjTU-oX-B-L4kgip9IbTI0ElBF007HZ2FQ7msR5m6dY8JZ0i8qQl_MDKM0yeMuAR/s320/2023.5.5%20FOUND.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Roaming the exhibits at the Minneapolis Museum of Art, our unnamed diarist is captivated by the Veiled Lady, a marble masterpiece by Italian sculptor Raffaelo Monti. Monti creates the illusion of fabric, a veil clinging to the face of the virgin and allowing her delicate features to peek through.</p><p>Our diarist can’t stop thinking about the sculpture. She drifts into the museum café, where the barista recommends an Italian treat, the affogato. Rich, creamy vanilla gelato is scooped into a clear glass mug and drowned in hot espresso. Hot and cold melt and mix in a sublime combination of bitter and sweet that leaves our diarist energized by the hit of sugar, caffeine, and blooming obsession.</p><p>She leaves the museum but the visit stays with her. So much so, that she orders a resin replica of the bust to sit atop her fireplace mantel. She tries versions of affogato at every café and coffee shop she can find, though none compare to that first.</p><p>Our diarist will soon lose these memories, and more, becoming the Veiled Lady, obsessed not with art and Italian treats, but with tearing away her own veil. The features beneath are indelicate, corrupted by rage, and there is no frozen sweetness to temper her acidic spirit.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Angela!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRXCt564C37t6ZKIecyHjgxLxdrbcS-q0s6WCTUWn-e4mStuCpDzXSBsayuHTuRrG697q4C1kJ9I7VbqG_SD-pU7tpP7k63qHmJyxnLS2LL3Md7K9BFEUklbAdNlw6ZmSLuYLSo1B0ojYPmHYqA1G2k1YI5LiUnIcOs_605BudtPnnpLZ-NBvYLZX/s875/2023.5.5%20Angela%20Sylvaine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRXCt564C37t6ZKIecyHjgxLxdrbcS-q0s6WCTUWn-e4mStuCpDzXSBsayuHTuRrG697q4C1kJ9I7VbqG_SD-pU7tpP7k63qHmJyxnLS2LL3Md7K9BFEUklbAdNlw6ZmSLuYLSo1B0ojYPmHYqA1G2k1YI5LiUnIcOs_605BudtPnnpLZ-NBvYLZX/w160-h200/2023.5.5%20Angela%20Sylvaine.jpg" width="160" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Angela here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://AngelaSylvaine.com">AngelaSylvaine.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/sylvaine_angela" target="_blank">Twitter @sylvaine_angela</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/authorangelasylvaine/" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Angela-Sylvaine/author/B077MTRYVS" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-74974495504274130032023-04-21T09:32:00.003-04:002023-04-21T09:32:48.443-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Patricia Stover, Contributor to Cafe Macabre II<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0sHMCrSvlrH-dZsIqa9szGMD10YBUaus0ip9QUEHzyPnGd2f0qt6-fJ06HwfsGtJa3odV_qG62aR5l9aWjfYqdkiAtiotiwll3YXWWtrDNwoZeS8XX0NE6R-BnsQ3KYGLHsrMUYdwJkCc5Thi321uikDv9ZZbIepNTCW8L88F6a4nmwFjlKA_J2p1/s1400/2023.4.21%20Cafe%20Macabre%20II.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1100" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0sHMCrSvlrH-dZsIqa9szGMD10YBUaus0ip9QUEHzyPnGd2f0qt6-fJ06HwfsGtJa3odV_qG62aR5l9aWjfYqdkiAtiotiwll3YXWWtrDNwoZeS8XX0NE6R-BnsQ3KYGLHsrMUYdwJkCc5Thi321uikDv9ZZbIepNTCW8L88F6a4nmwFjlKA_J2p1/s320/2023.4.21%20Cafe%20Macabre%20II.jpg" width="251" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Imagine walking into your favorite café. The bell chimes, and instantly the aroma of coffee and pastries tickle your taste buds. Stacks of books line the walls, and you’re surrounded by patrons sipping espressos, typing dutifully on their laptops. That’s the moment you spot the group of women seated at a corner table, leaning closely to one another, their voices low. So, you pull up a stool and order a latte and a slice of your favorite pie or maybe a croissant. The women gathered are giddy with laughter, their eyes bright as they set forth to tell their favorite stories, the dim lighting providing the perfect ambiance. Each woman eagerly awaiting their turn, hoping to startle readers with their most terrifying tales. </p><p>This is what it is like in the Café Macabre. </p><p>This, and an invitation of course, is what drew me to the Café Macabre II anthology. I knew, the moment I read the name, that I wanted to author a story alongside these amazing women, inside this imaginary café. “But what does your story have to do with food?” you may be asking. Nothing really. But food has everything to do with my character, Maryann. </p><p>Maryann was such a homely little thing, her mouse brown hair tied neatly into a bun, her boring scarves and buttoned cardigans. Quite pitiful really. It was almost as pitiful as her evening routine—A microwave meal (tonight’s dish was mac and cheese) washed down with a bottle of cheap wine. </p><p>Why did I choose such a depressing meal for my character? Because that is exactly how Maryann’s story begins. Waking up each morning and going to work, wearing the same boring clothes, with the same dull hairdo, unseen or completely unappreciated by everyone around her. Bossed around and degraded until she just can’t take anymore. </p><p>It isn’t until Maryann finds the courage to change that her diet changes. A spritz of Luxury #35, and she was at Tom’s house, T-bones on the grill, and fancy rosé in hand. Asparagus, potatoes, oh my. Her buttoned-down cardigan tossed aside for a slinkier, sexier outfit. Visions of murder in her mind. Wait, what? Murder you say? That’s right. Maryann traded her boring mac and cheese microwave dinner for murder. Funny how that happens in the café. So many women find themselves in a murderous mood. Must be something in the food. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Patricia!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkRgT8eBSw_ixrTZAmfSX_4guWm0cjw_qWZAkzIaFi-KSdNEqweeaOc5T51YFM6aFaO3gU97s1pZIoudo7ZflQYp-tq71Eg4kWg-_KLQh7dPdifezX_9zgdujryAl0ggHzU-kE7Pbc1L2tci4PNEOAqmqug2FpaYkmoDspK1-h3ifsuxtVoUDYAr-/s414/2023.4.21%20Patricia%20Stover%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="334" data-original-width="414" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkRgT8eBSw_ixrTZAmfSX_4guWm0cjw_qWZAkzIaFi-KSdNEqweeaOc5T51YFM6aFaO3gU97s1pZIoudo7ZflQYp-tq71Eg4kWg-_KLQh7dPdifezX_9zgdujryAl0ggHzU-kE7Pbc1L2tci4PNEOAqmqug2FpaYkmoDspK1-h3ifsuxtVoUDYAr-/w200-h161/2023.4.21%20Patricia%20Stover%20(2).jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Patricia here:</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://PatriciaStover.com">PatriciaStover.com</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/p_stover22" target="_blank">Twitter @p_stover22</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/authorjkenedy" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Patricia-Stover/author/B01KS89VDK" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></div><p><br /></p></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-23153703622425694302023-04-07T10:00:00.000-04:002023-04-07T10:00:09.993-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Marie White Small, Author of Stony Kill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hsV7cWY-8HH0gYtNSOz1vBLdC7B_RmJO9t9u30XPnZQRCTZp-xW8EjTjeVY7TwRCBb8KE-40KRcluyI_qm1-BWIdl8JPX1kqw-iOp23MLW84J_iG010BrYsVCoiV4588yfNSEKgwRTDhLotJgit-qCCEUeQwVy88yMMxwVa-iDdF5k2f297urY2A/s383/2023.4.7%20Stony%20Kill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="255" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hsV7cWY-8HH0gYtNSOz1vBLdC7B_RmJO9t9u30XPnZQRCTZp-xW8EjTjeVY7TwRCBb8KE-40KRcluyI_qm1-BWIdl8JPX1kqw-iOp23MLW84J_iG010BrYsVCoiV4588yfNSEKgwRTDhLotJgit-qCCEUeQwVy88yMMxwVa-iDdF5k2f297urY2A/s320/2023.4.7%20Stony%20Kill.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>My debut novel, <i>Stony Kill, </i>was released in October 2005. It is a personal story, not unlike many writers’ first novels. It seems most of us who are dedicated to scratching out tales of humanity in all its forms, must get their own poignant tale out into the world before they can move on to wider topics and more encompassing tales. </p><p>In <i>Stony Kill</i>, the protagonist tells the readers her tale of growing up in a wildly dysfunctional family. But like most troubled families, there remain pieces that work, influences that ground children to productive lives. In my story, it was food and its preparations. I came from a family of chefs and caterers. At ten years old, I had learned to prepare dinner for a family of six. At eighteen I was a personal chef, ironically for a publisher and his family.</p><p>But my crowning culinary accomplishment was the perfection of the perfect flakey pie crust, so quite naturally in my novel, <i>Stony Kill</i>, the protagonist, Joss Ryckman is a pie baker who owns a bakery and small cafe. Like me, she loves to please people through food that not only is delicious, but it is beautiful as well. These days, I tend to make beautiful and delicious salads, and pies only for special occasions. Perfect pies will always remain in my repertoire of great eats and I would love to share a recipe with you. </p><p>Readers here can see more of my recipes at Marie-White-Small.com. and sign up for my monthly newsletter.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Marie!</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrWWuTBGX2-ERXRqImdUAiEQyyt9L-Md8E6tkdd-F36-PAje0MhG-m6qCVGSdiFblzwEDnM19SYQX8flMcfLLItdBq1r6Rjm5exjkR3AC0OnvIu7h_pfi1eoV9Tz5bQvR3in2v2_U58W9SRkmox6tSpHsbjRJwcxKRonJIPMqnkSjlQLum46qPNiq/s847/2023.4.7%20Marie%20White%20Small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="847" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrWWuTBGX2-ERXRqImdUAiEQyyt9L-Md8E6tkdd-F36-PAje0MhG-m6qCVGSdiFblzwEDnM19SYQX8flMcfLLItdBq1r6Rjm5exjkR3AC0OnvIu7h_pfi1eoV9Tz5bQvR3in2v2_U58W9SRkmox6tSpHsbjRJwcxKRonJIPMqnkSjlQLum46qPNiq/w165-h200/2023.4.7%20Marie%20White%20Small.jpg" width="165" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Marie here:</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://marie-white-small.com" target="_blank">marie-white-small.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/MarieWhiteSmall" target="_blank">Twitter @MarieWhiteSmall</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/mariewhitesmall/" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B018HBM9U2" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><br />Best Flakey Pie Crust<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRHhpVSTwgP6Xwn-MAuxmqW15RJlMOdxtQx0r3cYOEuOWUL659FY7kod5nxs8KOFOYaGaqWtTGlV3EjIhz-8eiW0mPXldAJVD-tvKDuzHzjEyW7ot4479IC04hrM8pmSnSN2oQNc9wTncXkSzCcUmDcSwU6so4tPWCCkVCyJmm-906QHDYVxeN8Nz/s2493/2023.4.7%20Pie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2493" data-original-width="2270" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRHhpVSTwgP6Xwn-MAuxmqW15RJlMOdxtQx0r3cYOEuOWUL659FY7kod5nxs8KOFOYaGaqWtTGlV3EjIhz-8eiW0mPXldAJVD-tvKDuzHzjEyW7ot4479IC04hrM8pmSnSN2oQNc9wTncXkSzCcUmDcSwU6so4tPWCCkVCyJmm-906QHDYVxeN8Nz/w182-h200/2023.4.7%20Pie.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>2 and 1⁄4 cups soft pastry flour or white flour<p></p><p>1 and1⁄2 teaspoons salt (scant)</p><p>1 cup Crisco shortening, chilled very cold</p><p>1 stick of butter, very cold (or lard, depending on your preferences) chopped into pats</p><p>1 egg yolk, lightly beaten</p><p>3 Tablespoons cold cream cheese</p><p>2-3 Tablespoons of Ice-cold water</p><p>1 Generous Splash of Liqueur—(It is best to use a flavor that compliments your filling, such as crème de cassis for berry pies, or Kahlua for chocolate tarts, etc.) </p><p><br /></p><p>Combine all ingredients and beat together in a bowl or mixer until lightly incorporated. You should see lumps of butter and shortening. Pour contents onto a large sheet of parchment paper. Fold parchment around the dough into a square or rectangular packet. Refrigerate for at least one hour. Longer is better or make this dough the evening before you intend to use it. </p><p>Prepare your filling in a bowl: peel and cut enough fresh fruit needed to fill your pie plate. Add sugar, lemon juice, and whatever spices your recipe requires. Also add a scant quarter cup of flour to your filling and gently mix, this will help thicken the fruit juices. </p><p>When you are ready to assemble your pie, remove the packet of pie dough from the refrigerator, open it and transfer half of the dough to a clean piece of floured parchment paper and roll it out with a floured rolling pin to an adequate size for your pie dish, adding additional flour as needed to keep the dough from sticking to the rolling pin. Roll up the round onto your re-floured rolling pin and unfurl it across your pie plate. Adjust the dough as necessary. Add the filling and a few dabs of butter. Roll out the remaining dough for the top crust and again using floured parchment paper and a floured rolling pin. When the dough has been rolled to into a somewhat larger top, roll it unto the re-floured rolling pin and unfurl. I have found that a forked pressed edge produces a tender and delicious edge. Indeed there are fancier pie crust edges, but often that are thicker and less appetizing, but do what makes you happiest. </p><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-55450373909319522252023-03-10T11:51:00.005-05:002023-03-10T11:51:55.773-05:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome ND Richman, Author of Brothers, Bullies and Bad Guys<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2Wbw53k9nqfp7oKlns7ctxfcBOpC9N8Qj_HsDigJu8qL47SHVB9qDWUIe3c4DKd-mq5_PbhXp0RLtckckgv2Yazp_QhEYRf73snEYm6sGx36OUv8pcgv56FHG-5qXiNm-s62SzwVPKgQgFo7P1KoL1J_7_zqopBIwHBogOCkW71QR2-ZtIpSOHJM/s475/2023.3.10%20Brothers%20Bullies%20and%20Bad%20Guys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2Wbw53k9nqfp7oKlns7ctxfcBOpC9N8Qj_HsDigJu8qL47SHVB9qDWUIe3c4DKd-mq5_PbhXp0RLtckckgv2Yazp_QhEYRf73snEYm6sGx36OUv8pcgv56FHG-5qXiNm-s62SzwVPKgQgFo7P1KoL1J_7_zqopBIwHBogOCkW71QR2-ZtIpSOHJM/s320/2023.3.10%20Brothers%20Bullies%20and%20Bad%20Guys.jpg" width="214" /></a></b></div><b><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Brothers, Bullies and Bad Guys</span></b></p><p><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">What Did They Eat?</span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you were a young boy of twelve, ignored by your parents and loved by the gang you hung out with, what would you like to eat? What if you’d built a secret hide-out inside of your home – a place you would monitor the household from hidden cameras and microphones, and scare your brother half to death with noises that seemed to appear from nowhere? What food would you stash in there? Salads, frogs legs, and caviar? No, not Michael. He liked junk food. And while on the topic of food, what about the inevitable outcome of eating?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Michael tossed Chris a root beer and split open a bag of cheese nachos.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“We've gotta get out of here,” Chris said through a mouthful of chips, “somewhere safe.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Michael flopped onto the futon. “Where?” </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“I’m thinking.” Chris swallowed and chugged some root beer. “Where's your cell phone?”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“On the pad.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Chris glanced at the floor. The charge pad was almost right underneath them in the kitchen. “Shoot. I don't know where mine is.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Chris?” Michael's eyes bulged.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Mmmhhmmm?”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“I gotta go.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Chris stopped chewing. “Bathroom?”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Uh-huh.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Oh,” Chris said. “Use the waste line. The one you diverted from the bathtub drain.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“No way. That’s a one inch line. I’m way beyond that.” Michael stood up and bounced on his toes.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Do you have a blender? We can whip it up and pour it down.” </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Michael kicked the bag of chips out of Chris’s hand, sending a plume of nachos into the air. “You’re gross!” </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Smooth, Michael, real smooth. How about a spoon then?”</i></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now imagine you’re Chris – Michael’s older brother. Chris only wanted to bring his brother up right, keeping him fed and out of trouble. Keeping Michael out of trouble wasn’t working out too well, but Chris had the opportunity to cook dinner in a kitchen built on dreams. And how best to describe the horror both boys had just experienced than a steak?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Chris grabbed two steaks from the freezer, placed them into the microwave, and watched the defrost time out. It was seven o'clock, and he was tired and hungry, but pleased they had finished their chores.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Michael walked into the kitchen. “I’m going to find some cash.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Chris jumped as the microwave beeped. “Make sure you put an I.O.U. in its place.” </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Michael thumped up the stairs. Chris pulled out the steaks. They were bloody and wet, marbled with fat, and pulled images of Michael's bullet riddled body into his head. His hand started to shake and he dropped the plate on the island with a clatter. Michael should have died today. How did he escape those bullets anyway? Bill shot from twenty feet away, and he obliterated the wall. Michael had always been lucky and, for once, Chris was glad for it, though Michael's fear shocked him. He'd never seen Michael scared of anything, until today.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Chris fired up the grill and tossed on the steaks. The flames devoured the dripping fat, and the smells kicked Chris’s appetite into overdrive, pushing the horrific pictures from his mind. He placed two potatoes into the oven and a pot of water on the stove for beans. He'd been cooking dinner for years, leaving Michael's on a plate for whenever he'd get home. Michael had never thanked him. Instead he chased Chris out of the kitchen with his ghostly noises, clanging pans, and blinking lights. Chris shook his head, his anger dissipating over the thought that Michael was so darned clever. He removed the steaks and placed each on a plate.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">…</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Chris watched Michael pile his plate with green beans. He opened the oven and tossed Michael a potato. He scooped some beans onto his plate, split open a potato, and gobbed peanut butter on it. They walked to the TV room and flopped onto the couch. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The next morning, Michael creates the perfect breakfast for two hungry boys.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Michael held up a plate stacked with pancakes and smiled.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Wow, those are massive. I didn't know you could cook. What’s in them?” </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“M&Ms, marshmallows, and cashews. I found strawberry jam, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup to spread on top.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Chris patted his stomach. “Hmmm. Breakfast of the gods.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">And of course, who doesn’t enjoy a Big Mac?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Chris carried a tray loaded with Big Macs, fries, and hot apple pies. Michael stumbled out of the washroom. Chris flopped at a table, popped open a carton, and stuffed the warm hamburger into his mouth.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“I figured you'd push the whole burger in there,” Michael said.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Hmpphhhm,” Chris said.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Chris chewed until his jaw hurt. He swallowed and fired in a french fry.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Michael, where did you learn how to build a Taser?”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Internet,” Michael mumbled through a mouthful of hamburger. He swallowed. “Did you know the word Taser originated from a book called Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle?”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“No, I didn’t. Hmm, should have named them after Tom Swift and His Bludgeoning Hoe. Heh!”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Very funny, Chris. They’re actually simple devices, transformers, diodes, and a capacitor.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Please don’t tell me you tested it on someone’s cat.”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Nope. I tested it on myself, just about killed me.”</i></span></p><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, ND!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWxqRHWVdu7E4E0X9zX1HHct2NBex-M7M_TNlkK-6q375Lhhvg4NXRjBJm5ImCohFULjN1K1NNDAf4VtHi82CH36JRGhO4yQwtWcIZdVj7yWQMU4j9E3yjRN37PmKtHP5lGeYn3zy8IwgJ3ZPRCdZdh5NekawdcRu97MYAk5Lk2EJT0BxnXytNjzp/s933/2023.3.10%20ND%20Richman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWxqRHWVdu7E4E0X9zX1HHct2NBex-M7M_TNlkK-6q375Lhhvg4NXRjBJm5ImCohFULjN1K1NNDAf4VtHi82CH36JRGhO4yQwtWcIZdVj7yWQMU4j9E3yjRN37PmKtHP5lGeYn3zy8IwgJ3ZPRCdZdh5NekawdcRu97MYAk5Lk2EJT0BxnXytNjzp/w150-h200/2023.3.10%20ND%20Richman.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />You can find ND here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="http://NDRichman.com">NDRichman.com</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/richmanND" target="_blank">Twitter @richmanND</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/BoultonQuest" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Brothers-Bullies-Guys-Boulton-Quest/dp/1484122364" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-88405206426220986302023-03-03T10:12:00.007-05:002023-03-03T10:20:50.032-05:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Julie Rowe, Author of Viable Threat<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhKLY4TxJcrtxrDHM9-FkxkV9iJBUmgCvS9a-wXoSJyvei0E5Wa-1zKlVXsJtibn8xM7wWe1d5UkAZH2mNbBFS2scD4TrXbyrbjQgYoduHHlbg-uXn3btFihsJlQY9Vau8v860vq5GD5BvtYQnDD5WrezZ_4zTG3VLrn6Qk9Xad-uCYH6wZPWqyWy/s475/2023.3.3%20Viable%20Threat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhKLY4TxJcrtxrDHM9-FkxkV9iJBUmgCvS9a-wXoSJyvei0E5Wa-1zKlVXsJtibn8xM7wWe1d5UkAZH2mNbBFS2scD4TrXbyrbjQgYoduHHlbg-uXn3btFihsJlQY9Vau8v860vq5GD5BvtYQnDD5WrezZ_4zTG3VLrn6Qk9Xad-uCYH6wZPWqyWy/s320/2023.3.3%20Viable%20Threat.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I’ve written several bioterrorism thrillers where the best thing there is to eat is a Meal Ready to Eat (MRE). MREs are vacuum sealed, cooked meals that have a shelf life of 5 years. In <i>Viable Threat</i>, the first book in my Outbreak Task Force series, the main characters are in a crisis situation, a city is locked down, and the only food available are MREs. MREs are used usually by the military, but can be purchased by anyone for camping trips, and like in <i>Viable Threat</i>, in emergencies. </p><p>It feels like every week is its own emergency these days. Cooking has gotten expensive. Groceries, and nearly every other consumable thing, has increased in price no matter where you live. Shipping costs have gone up and there are shipping delays on so many things thanks to multiple global events. Conversations with friends have shifted to where the best price on meat is, and which recipes can be stretched. We’ve discussed meal prep and how to use leftovers. </p><p>One of the meal prep ideas my best friend and I have been using is bulk cooking and freezing meal sized portions. We take one Sunday a month, decide which meals we’re going to prepare, cook, and freeze for that month. We purchase all our groceries in bulk for all the meals, and work together to cook it all up. </p><p>There are several ways once-a-month-cooking benefits us. One, because we’re buying in bulk, it’s cheaper. Also, we’re going to the grocery store less often throughout the rest of the month, which means fewer impulse purchases. There’s less stress on the whole family because no one has to worry about what’s for dinner tonight.</p><p><br /></p><p>Want to give it a try? Here’s one of my favorite recipes Freeze it in whatever size suits your needs, from family size, to smaller portions for lunches.</p><p><b>Baked Spaghetti</b></p><p><i>Traditional Italian flavours. Serve with garlic bread.</i></p><p>Metric<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Imperial</p><p>0.45 Kg<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lean ground beef, browned<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>1 lb</p><p>500 ml<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Spaghetti, cooked<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>2 cups</p><p>370 ml<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Frozen or canned corn<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>1 and a half cups</p><p>120 ml<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Finely chopped mushrooms<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>half cup</p><p>1 370 ml can<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tomato soup<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>1 12 oz can</p><p>1 860 ml can<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tomatoes, chopped<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>1 28 oz can</p><p>250 ml<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Cheddar cheese, grated<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>1 cup</p><p>1<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Medium onion, chopped<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>1</p><p>2.5 ml<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Chilli powder<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>half tsp</p><p>2.5 ml<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Worcestershire sauce<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>half tsp</p><p>370 ml<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Chopped mushrooms<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>1 and a half cups</p><p>2.5 ml<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Oregano<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>half tsp</p><p>2.5 ml<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Basil<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>half tsp</p><p>Brown ground beef and onion. Break spaghetti into pieces and boil for 10 mins.</p><p>Combine all ingredients in a large bowl, mix well. Freeze in doubled Ziploc bags.</p><p>To serve: Defrost in fridge overnight. Put in a large casserole dish, Cover and bake at 350 F (180 C) for 1 and a half hrs. OR cook in slow cooker on low for 6 10 8 hours.</p><p>Tip: cook hamburger needed for ALL your recipes in one or two large frying pans at the same time. Then separate into meal sized portions (about two cups of cooked meat).</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Julie!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRWDGZLJNo4iInqB6cspMUIh2oVOTA38BV5Byyra1SVstn1--pPS8w5fzAdRlCN1h9Db83Dpwo-tDWpbY4TbY5bTa3Dx3UfAuoIXh0fIMkUj0_EBJuTkoNR3lZjRmtvJc9AETk5Fsyr7sPSh4jC3GRF2hmyS1CRJcnRJ8jwP7_Ki_htbE38LHpoNy/s875/2023.3.3%20Julie%20Rowe.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRWDGZLJNo4iInqB6cspMUIh2oVOTA38BV5Byyra1SVstn1--pPS8w5fzAdRlCN1h9Db83Dpwo-tDWpbY4TbY5bTa3Dx3UfAuoIXh0fIMkUj0_EBJuTkoNR3lZjRmtvJc9AETk5Fsyr7sPSh4jC3GRF2hmyS1CRJcnRJ8jwP7_Ki_htbE38LHpoNy/w160-h200/2023.3.3%20Julie%20Rowe.jpg" width="160" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Julie here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://JulieRoweAuthor.com">JulieRoweAuthor.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/JulieRoweAuthor" target="_blank">Twitter @JulieRoweAuthor</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/JulieRoweAuthor/about" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Julie-Rowe/author/B005WL9UJY" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-630298090974137862023-02-16T20:08:00.001-05:002023-02-16T20:08:01.899-05:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Jo Robinson, Author of Sands of Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cB6ngtxFASNroUQqY8Dg1e63nSejs6LRGtXswTbpP-JU59X9GeZ4MJuUvdJd7bjo9k3mFMBtSbekUroGPTZwVEBZK_xEfpjTr5CgY2Mc1Tm8xCxYCKsM7cBNlQ48dhJeVvHYV0OUt0lJO-uaGjsfrAUVXQiCUICvwlp2ZzTR2Rkds1K7UCXc8-hS/s1280/2023.2.16%20Sands%20of%20Time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cB6ngtxFASNroUQqY8Dg1e63nSejs6LRGtXswTbpP-JU59X9GeZ4MJuUvdJd7bjo9k3mFMBtSbekUroGPTZwVEBZK_xEfpjTr5CgY2Mc1Tm8xCxYCKsM7cBNlQ48dhJeVvHYV0OUt0lJO-uaGjsfrAUVXQiCUICvwlp2ZzTR2Rkds1K7UCXc8-hS/s320/2023.2.16%20Sands%20of%20Time.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I’ve always enjoyed the parts of the books I’ve read where the people in them were preparing food, eating it, or just talking about it in general. I also like to know the things that the authors I love get up to when they’re not writing books. Not only the things that they like to eat or drink, but I like to know a little about all their interests. I’m not sure if everyone’s like that, or if I’m just nosier than most. I don’t think so, though. For me it’s always the parts of fiction that are relatable that make me love or hate a book. Most people can relate to some things. Grief, love, laughter, outrageousness, a remembered smell or scenario, but we can all relate to food.</p><p>Now that Shelley has brought the food in fiction into sharper focus for me, I realise that my own books are liberally laced with some aspect of eating. My first book, <i>African Me and Satellite TV,</i> pretty much revolves around it, because one of the main characters is a passionate and brilliant home cook, and everyone around her loves everything that she makes; apart from a memorable for all the wrong reasons Garlic Martini.</p><p>In another of my books, <i>Echoes of Narcissus in the Gardens of Delight</i>, there is a little coffee shop in the middle of a sort-of secret garden, where a few damaged souls get together to plan, bond, help, heal, and of course, eat and drink.</p><p>Finally in my thus far one and only Sci-Fi/Fantasy book, <i>Sands of Time</i>, there are humans eating the usual human sort of food, but there are also other beings. Among others there are the Voxavi, a race of dragon-like creatures. They are an incredibly intelligent and advanced species. In their first get-together with the humans on their home world, they all enjoy a feast together of natural foods and nectars, but at the end they develop a slight addiction to human junk food. Cookies in particular.</p><p>So, food and eating seems to be a little or a large part of fiction, just as it is in life. Thank you, Shelley, for shining a spotlight on such an integral and yet often unnoticed part of storytelling.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Jo!</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-MoH0_C6a_vse1goFwoYXNFC1mq7rH-pvZnqJw6xXzg334YLQu49ZN88TRC-RgyQPodq2vJWZhIguW87ZYFyNo-F50oiQPByG_fVU99G9NGNyoBbkAOMSaE8VHFbhxJZdJa_f4_NPTW8VgAjY9E-90PQhbfLkYa3bvedKRYjoW5CM3RgYj9iLemH/s1280/2023.2.16%20Jo%20Robinson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1251" data-original-width="1280" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-MoH0_C6a_vse1goFwoYXNFC1mq7rH-pvZnqJw6xXzg334YLQu49ZN88TRC-RgyQPodq2vJWZhIguW87ZYFyNo-F50oiQPByG_fVU99G9NGNyoBbkAOMSaE8VHFbhxJZdJa_f4_NPTW8VgAjY9E-90PQhbfLkYa3bvedKRYjoW5CM3RgYj9iLemH/w200-h196/2023.2.16%20Jo%20Robinson.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Jo here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/@JoRobinson" target="_blank">YouTube Channel</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/jorobinson176" target="_blank">Twitter @jorobinson176</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063979304802" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jo-Robinson/author/B009JB6IAW" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><i>Jo Robinson is a writer and children’s book illustrator living in South Africa. She is the author of several books, including fiction and non-fiction, as well as the illustrator of various children’s books by different authors. After a couple of years of health and life issues, and also having to learn how to mainly use one eye, she is now back in the writing and publishing world.</i></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-53776210019158507342023-02-03T09:20:00.001-05:002023-02-03T09:20:13.537-05:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Eileen Schuh, Author of Project W.Olf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTXef4XZcIhsU4MlWtKzxCtNC6hRf-ztYF1mQootu-MkpxarW4SBfLmPXHtB4PQ_fmFyUEd3zC3DTxUagX-Wz2yTnEbg_WxXZQqmXNh9tkJAhctM3d0mJNV4xRjc0ixLS7aGlh8zAM0u8BHyleQSghmAmI3Pc8VHywVydDcbFJTi044hyPcwHfF5C/s2560/2023.2.3%20Project%20W.Olf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1651" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTXef4XZcIhsU4MlWtKzxCtNC6hRf-ztYF1mQootu-MkpxarW4SBfLmPXHtB4PQ_fmFyUEd3zC3DTxUagX-Wz2yTnEbg_WxXZQqmXNh9tkJAhctM3d0mJNV4xRjc0ixLS7aGlh8zAM0u8BHyleQSghmAmI3Pc8VHywVydDcbFJTi044hyPcwHfF5C/s320/2023.2.3%20Project%20W.Olf.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Nothing makes a stronger romantic impression, perhaps, than offering up a home-cooked meal. But that cooking has to be taken up a notch to worthy of a scene in a novel. It has to be ‘elevated’, as Chef Ramsay says on his shows. </p><p>How about...Can you imagine being able to smell chocolate with 100 percent more intensity than you can now? Peter Kane, the hero in my latest SciFi release, <i>Project W.Olf,</i> can. He’s volunteered for a research project that’s imbued him with the wolf’s olfactory abilities. </p><p>That could definitely be a plus in the kitchen. Sniffing out all those spices and herbs. A quick inhale to tell if the steak is rare, or medium. Is the casserole done?</p><p><i>“Oh, shit!” Although it was good he was learning to ignore olfactory input in favor of mental concentration, it was definitely not good the house was full of smoke. He’d forgotten to reset the timer for his casserole.</i></p><p><i>The chime rang again and he scurried toward the door, turning off the oven on his way past. Now that he was aware of it, the smoke was burning his throat and eyes and clogging his lungs. He flung open the door and sucked in a breath of cold evening air. “Marie,” he managed, between coughs. He stepped out on the stoop with her, hacking and wiping his eyes. </i></p><p><i>“Do we need 911?” she asked after a moment.</i></p><p><i>“No,” he gasped. “It’s just supper. I burned supper.” He wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. “Come in…”</i></p><p>Marie is a forgiving creature though, and…well I’ll let her tell you how she eventually got the evening back on track:</p><p><i>“I’m not sure what to do for supper, he says.” He has the rich mahogany dining table set with earthy ceramic dishes that I swear were hand-painted and locally kilned. “Would you like me to see if I can make reservations somewhere?”</i></p><p><i>“What is it you were planning to serve? It looks like you went to a lot of trouble.”</i></p><p><i>“It was just a chicken casserole.”</i></p><p><i>“If you have the ingredients, let’s make another one. I’ll help. It won’t take long and then we can pretend none of the smoky shit hap—we can pretend you didn’t burn supper and the evening was perfect.”</i></p><p><i>“I actually do have enough left to make another. I didn’t know you liked cooking. Are you sure?”</i></p><p><i>“I’m very sure. I’m best at slicing and dicing—the spicing I’m sometimes not so good at.”</i></p><p><i>He is so pleased I like cooking and together we prepare the most scrumptious meal I can remember.</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Ah, yes. #Sigh. Food and romance. ‘Elevated’ or not, is there any combination better than that?</p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Eileen!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzk-ONk-FO-ZW4htBOJFQWWShFpbRkbsQuBTw0xf6m_LY76DPdtQBJW-pPz6bgJeue3mJg9Sh2WI8WmAsSG-NuD85GOr-llL3OPECb92I4PIKolvvbbfB7CsVrXxf1pf0TB-DkTdRY0Uxm-XjNjETETmMJsxkCf85OHx0FMR4m_MBYiRlNBcSOyWI/s5616/2023.2.3%20Eileen%20Schuh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5616" data-original-width="3744" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzk-ONk-FO-ZW4htBOJFQWWShFpbRkbsQuBTw0xf6m_LY76DPdtQBJW-pPz6bgJeue3mJg9Sh2WI8WmAsSG-NuD85GOr-llL3OPECb92I4PIKolvvbbfB7CsVrXxf1pf0TB-DkTdRY0Uxm-XjNjETETmMJsxkCf85OHx0FMR4m_MBYiRlNBcSOyWI/w133-h200/2023.2.3%20Eileen%20Schuh.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Eileen here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://EileenSchuh.com">EileenSchuh.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/eileenschuh" target="_blank">Twitter @EileenSchuh</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/EileenSchuhAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B005C1ZHZU" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-68110535737422789512023-01-20T09:45:00.003-05:002023-01-20T09:45:58.077-05:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Linda Rondeau, Author of The Fifteenth Article<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkwYt8ugDC8EKLfzOdSC_C5L6YiDFjWMjCK-6VCdR--Kv3LEDeVt13_LdiYOXQG2zs1B9EpiKrEK0peoB_yKQPjj-GGaIMAT8AVhG9cpb72RR8jKJoIJcwVouxGTp8exYgaKMZwE_jTivBIky5jBt2NW6m97-2twfsPhq-EmyAOPP1nXbGryHazw7/s1280/2023.1.20%20The%20Fifteenth%20Article.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkwYt8ugDC8EKLfzOdSC_C5L6YiDFjWMjCK-6VCdR--Kv3LEDeVt13_LdiYOXQG2zs1B9EpiKrEK0peoB_yKQPjj-GGaIMAT8AVhG9cpb72RR8jKJoIJcwVouxGTp8exYgaKMZwE_jTivBIky5jBt2NW6m97-2twfsPhq-EmyAOPP1nXbGryHazw7/s320/2023.1.20%20The%20Fifteenth%20Article.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><b>FOOD IN THE NEXT WORLD TO COME</b></p><p>What would people eat in a post-apocalyptic world? Something I had to consider when writing my futuristic political thriller, <i>The Fifteenth Article</i>. The diet in this book is dependent upon where people live. In the cities, only the rich can afford fresh meats, vegetables, and fruits. The rest of the populace subsists on cloned provisions, meager at best. </p><p> Nuclear damage to the environment due do sporadic wars, religious confrontation, global climatic upheaval, and the failure of government to fix economic and social issues, led to a second dark age. The Governments consolidate and a world government is formed called The Accord. It was too weak, much like The League of Nations, and was replaced by quasi-democratic system called The Constitutional Government based on Fourteen Articles of Confederation. The world is divided into nineteen provinces, each with a local leadership. Each province has a domed, capital city where citizens enjoy a comfortable life if they promise allegiance to the Constitutional Government. </p><p>In the recent past, those who disagreed with the government were allowed to defect and take their chances living in the hostile regions surrounding the cities. They were left to their own systems, mostly comprised of nomads and marauders. Food was scarce and was comprised of whatever animal or vegetation survived the nuclear wars. </p><p>However, two provinces began to organize … one militarily, based in the Highlands provinces of former British Isles and Ireland. The developed agricultural system in the Western America Province, centered around what was Colorado, and near the city of America Prime … headquarters for both the Western America Province and the World Capital. Because of it’s agricultural importance, the government began a system of interference to take control of the area, beginning with tithes in exchange for autonomy. It’s food was vital to feeding millions with fresh food, rather than a dependence upon cloning. </p><p>When the book begins, the first president of The Constitutional Government, in power for twenty-five years, is dying. He has opted for euthanasia. According to law, his second becomes acting president until his position as the new president is approved by Congress. The new president has his eyes set on the agricultural success of Western America outland and hears rumor of the area declaring independence from the world government.</p><p>To counteract this growing idea, the new president has proposed a bill to make defection both present and past a crime punishable by death. However, he also proposes an option of repatriation to avoid the death penalty. The new law, or the Fifteenth Article, would become law upon his official installment as president. Will the banded communities of Western America Province outland resist or surrender their hard-won freedom? Will civil war emerge and throw the new world into a third dark age?</p><p>Throughout history, agriculture has been important to governments who continue to find ways to control the national breadbasket. And so it is, in the next world to come. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Linda!</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihogoD6QSUuNMY8TOBtvGr65RI1D864gqBGnLtU2ow7zlYLvDE6dstvnI500JVl7MsbiN5ETV76mXZB7d9E-O3Na9IEElDz9x8PlD-VSokVKUySClHGkzsZxAqjwpjDp0jSHjKomH8NcThO-UFEH8p6oF74rqLmF5uv6i0hLDWpN_GbTXZJwTBfh1Q/s1280/2023.1.20%20Linda%20Rondeau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihogoD6QSUuNMY8TOBtvGr65RI1D864gqBGnLtU2ow7zlYLvDE6dstvnI500JVl7MsbiN5ETV76mXZB7d9E-O3Na9IEElDz9x8PlD-VSokVKUySClHGkzsZxAqjwpjDp0jSHjKomH8NcThO-UFEH8p6oF74rqLmF5uv6i0hLDWpN_GbTXZJwTBfh1Q/w133-h200/2023.1.20%20Linda%20Rondeau.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Linda here:</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://LindaRondeau.com" target="_blank">LindaRondeau.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/lwrondeau" target="_blank">Twitter @LWRondeau</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/lindawoodrondeau" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B006FNG1BI/allbooks" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>ABOUT LINDA WOOD RONDEAU</p><p><i>Something to be said for a man who likes to cook. After retirement, my husband took over the culinary reign in the Rondeau household. For the most part, I like this … gives me more time to focus on my writing career. As retired folks, we probably, ashamedly, focus on ease and convenience more than nutrition … something we’re committed to change going forward. Glad we don’t have to resort to cloned food as many in </i>The Fifteenth Article<i> need to do. </i></p><p><i>Retired social worker and award-winning author, Linda Wood Rondeau lives with her husband of forty-five years in Hagerstown, MD. The author is a breast cancer survivor and a recovering food addict. A Toastmaster graduate, she enjoys speaking to groups about her experiences as well as the writing life. She has published over fourteen books, including a few nonfiction works, and has served as managing editor for her publisher, Elk Lake Publishing for a number of years. Currently, she is semi-retired from this position but continues to provide editing services for the house. When not writing, she enjoys playing golf, going for hikes, shopping, and spending time with her family, as well as eating anything containing chocolate. </i></p><div><br /></div><p>ABOUT THE FIFTEENTH ARTICLE</p><p>Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/Fifteenth-Linda-Wood-Rondeau-ebook/dp/B0762NR697/</p><p>Does Chaos in United Earth Foretell a Third Dark Age?</p><p>In a post-apocalyptic era, factions compete for control of a global government gone amuck. The Network, a system of outworld communities comprised of defectors and Nomadic tribes, has become organized and desires more independence from United Earth’s dictates.</p><p>Edwin Rowlands, current governor of Western America Province and President-elect of United Earth, fears if other outworlds follow the Network’s example, the system of one government, one world, one people will collapse. His proposed Preservation Act, the Fifteenth Article of United Earth’s Constitutional Government, would criminalize non-citizenship—past, present, and future—punishable by death without benefit of trial.</p><p></p><p>As the cry for freedom crescendos, Ahmed Fared, Rowland’s Second-elect, fears a civil war that would usher in a third dark age. He calls upon the God of the Ages to once more intervene in the affairs of men.</p><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-45168514143651359252023-01-06T10:17:00.005-05:002023-01-06T10:50:58.670-05:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Nicholas Rossis, Author of Pearseus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWw9rJQl2L3edCCas5OJ77Ue7ify_kV9fOfAPvfKlkNgQrzu2YsRKIlIF7llIGHMNwOLnXTXlEJeNmf0hNMp8oV9ungxaUlNhpQ-K8pJymsR1zbnGU3TBm5pjsybij7ktcQgL3TEAwbxbE1CoLMgUduyG6TvkIxmQcsXqZvTox3wbwkjMEM6jYq9Pe/s1224/2023.1.6%20Pearseus.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWw9rJQl2L3edCCas5OJ77Ue7ify_kV9fOfAPvfKlkNgQrzu2YsRKIlIF7llIGHMNwOLnXTXlEJeNmf0hNMp8oV9ungxaUlNhpQ-K8pJymsR1zbnGU3TBm5pjsybij7ktcQgL3TEAwbxbE1CoLMgUduyG6TvkIxmQcsXqZvTox3wbwkjMEM6jYq9Pe/s320/2023.1.6%20Pearseus.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><br /><p>A conspicuous lack of food</p><p>When Shelley asked me for a guest post on the subject of food in my novels, I realized to my horror that food plays practically no role in them! I mean, sure, someone consumes a certain poison at some point plus there is a sort of recipe for an antidote. But that doesn’t count, right? When it comes to food, let’s face it: I’m no Andrea Camilleri.</p><p>Which makes no sense, as I love food! Not in the sense of eating buckets of it but in the sense of loving preparing, cooking, and enjoying it. I find cooking immensely relaxing after a day staring at my monitors, so I’m usually the one who cooks during the week and the missus the one who handles weekends (unless we’re having a BBQ, then it’s all me again).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMkRF74F_eJUuqIArzD6nTCh2L-v4_exV4hmVyP4AMw1jPzpSf-b9nWrk73iX7ncEnpHkMfJekbWbU6-IsASSCqw7G6ZfVZZQD8RAhgDEWUERewJoP0Cdy8UBSPdeVnSec6CcyjtKf9bHQNCHXh4vNAXKhHw5ghP0zEHb7kKarI70gO6f44ubmM0h/s1280/2023.1.6%20Nicholas%20Rossis%20B.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMkRF74F_eJUuqIArzD6nTCh2L-v4_exV4hmVyP4AMw1jPzpSf-b9nWrk73iX7ncEnpHkMfJekbWbU6-IsASSCqw7G6ZfVZZQD8RAhgDEWUERewJoP0Cdy8UBSPdeVnSec6CcyjtKf9bHQNCHXh4vNAXKhHw5ghP0zEHb7kKarI70gO6f44ubmM0h/w150-h200/2023.1.6%20Nicholas%20Rossis%20B.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br /><p>My origins story</p><p>Ironically enough, I first learned to cook because my mom, bless her, well, doesn’t. Her idea of a stew was to drop a couple of tomatoes into water, salt generously, and serve hot. So, cooking was a matter of survival for my poor taste buds. Naturally, the very first things I learned to prepare involved snacks such as pizza—the kind of food a kid can practically live on.</p><p>As a kid I was collecting recipes with the passion that others collected baseball cards, so my culinary skills grew through the years. Nowadays, I can prepare from scratch diverse dishes such as moussaka or stir fry with my eyes closed. No more need for snacks. Indeed, I may have half-jokingly been accused of being a bit of a food snob at times.</p><p>Except that the universe, with its undeniable sense of humor, gave me a daughter who’s a self-confessed snackatarian. Even as a baby, she’d take a couple of sips from her milk bottle, then ask for a bit of avocado (often mixed with Greek yogurt) before munching on a nacho. What can I say, my girl loves a buffet. And I see it as my duty to cater (pun intended) to her needs.</p><p>So, it’s back to snacks for me, from lovingly prepared popcorn with melted butter and handmade caramel to grilled cheese (aka toasties) and hot cocoa. Still, hope springs eternal, and I hope that someday my daughter, who just turned 7, will stop turning her nose at my grownup (as she calls them) dishes. Maybe she’ll learn to enjoy my pasta shells with roasted feta and cherry tomatoes, or even my chili—seasoned with my own paste made with genuine Ancho and Aleppo peppers (directly imported from Mexico no less). Until that happens, I’m happy when she cautiously dips a nacho into my freshly prepared guacamole and munches away.</p><p>As for my novels, I will make a point of including a couple of restaurant or, even better, cooking scenes in the future. After all, I love reading about food. Why not write about it?</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Nicholas!</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9mWgzp3ARqPDWX4k14aXG-O2zhGfHicyryuI6pv2_xjhxIbqx0IFOuCN2PS7_RERWnKrnSSYSJ53_2VffdTywqRfH37l3vTjqCKOmN9ZTZM1zi5Gs1MEbrUCgdcJz2V3g2PNpLeNnDdW3Rtfd9xCcNpq_GHcEiU7WcVGz0N024KxWG2TByII2nTZz/s1000/2023.1.6%20Nicholas%20Rossis.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9mWgzp3ARqPDWX4k14aXG-O2zhGfHicyryuI6pv2_xjhxIbqx0IFOuCN2PS7_RERWnKrnSSYSJ53_2VffdTywqRfH37l3vTjqCKOmN9ZTZM1zi5Gs1MEbrUCgdcJz2V3g2PNpLeNnDdW3Rtfd9xCcNpq_GHcEiU7WcVGz0N024KxWG2TByII2nTZz/w200-h200/2023.1.6%20Nicholas%20Rossis.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Nicholas here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://NicholasRossis.me" target="_blank">NicholasRossis.me</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/nicholas_rossis" target="_blank">Twitter @Nicholas_Rossis</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/NicholasCRossis" target="_blank">Facebook Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B00FXXIBZA" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p><br /></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Besides coming up with recipes or cooking up a storm in the kitchen, Nicholas loves to write and does so from his cottage on the edge of a magical forest in Athens, Greece. When not composing epic fantasies, children’s books, or short sci-fi stories, he chats with fans and colleagues, writes posts for his author blog, and enjoys the antics of his dog and young daughter, both of whom claim his lap as home. His books have won numerous awards, including the prestigious IBBY Award (Greece).</i></p><p><i>In addition to his best-selling sci-fi fantasy series, </i>Pearseus<i>, he writes short science fiction/speculative fiction stories, many of which have appeared in various collections and anthologies.</i></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-85478362157326284292022-12-09T11:21:00.004-05:002023-01-06T09:59:55.451-05:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Rick R. Reed, Author of TOXIC<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLE7sDeqOp8m1-I14i6Gpy9d4rKTIkCt4uzvVKufYe3vYgwyejBNKHnkw4VpEORzkXF8dlldA49BC_cdR2pYKN9mJx0kp29_aAOaQbGvtpnHX9Uq3LLNce1flr4-ipOYEJtUoGYrXIEUiPEWIoz05khQdJHUhYfSW7LgIUYucC3ALQOAmhFMWTE_j/s1280/2022.12.9%20TOXIC.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLE7sDeqOp8m1-I14i6Gpy9d4rKTIkCt4uzvVKufYe3vYgwyejBNKHnkw4VpEORzkXF8dlldA49BC_cdR2pYKN9mJx0kp29_aAOaQbGvtpnHX9Uq3LLNce1flr4-ipOYEJtUoGYrXIEUiPEWIoz05khQdJHUhYfSW7LgIUYucC3ALQOAmhFMWTE_j/s320/2022.12.9%20TOXIC.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p><p><b>A TOXIC First Date</b></p><p>Food always plays a big part in my writing. From a major role in my “romance with recipes” series like <i>Dinner at Home, Dinner at Fiorello’s, Dinner at Jack’s </i>and <i>Dinner at the Blue Moon Café </i>to less obvious reading in genres like horror, psychological suspense, mystery and thriller titles, food is always present in one way or another.</p><p>Why? Because it’s one thing this author always looks for as a reader or viewer. I want to know what the characters are eating if there’s a scene where a meal is being consumed. For example, today, I was watching an old episode of the great TV series, <i>Mad Men,</i> and two characters met up for lunch…and I was crushed. They didn’t eat! Don Draper had two Old Fashioneds and the woman he was with had only coffee, which she didn’t touch. I was ready to yell at the screen, “but why didn’t you <i>eat</i>?”</p><p>I digress. Today, I want to talk about my thriller, <i>Toxic</i>. Now, <i>Toxic</i> doesn’t revolve around food, but food plays an important role. <i>Toxic</i> is about a man coming out of a long-term relationship, going online to look for love, and finding poison instead, in the form of a catfishing villain pretending to be someone he isn’t.</p><p>The first date between Connor, my lovelorn and bestselling mystery author, and Trey, beautiful on the outside, but rotten to the core on the inside, is typical of how I handle food in my work. Right off the bat, we see that there’s something off about Trey, but Connor, naïve, gullible, and hopeful, misses all the hallmarks of a catfisher because he’s been off the dating market for so long.</p><p>Connor’s plan is to take him to one of Seattle’s more trendy and expensive restaurants, the Asian fusion gem called Joule, but changes his mind when Trey arrives.</p><p><i>Trey walked in. Connor had to admit he was a little disappointed in how he’d dressed for their first date. Normally, it wouldn’t matter, but Joule was a smart place, trendy, and he wondered if they’d fit in. Trey had worn gray sweatpants, running shoes, and a University of Washington purple hoodie. Now, he did look good. The man would have looked good in a burlap bag, but still. </i></p><p><i>Connor grinned. “You know what? How about we try someplace more casual?”</i></p><p><i>“Oh? What did you have in mind?”</i></p><p><i>“The Pacific Inn is just as close.” The restaurant was a divey joint near Lake Union at the end of Stone Way. It was small, with just a few booths and a bar. In the summer, their outdoor patio was lively, but right now, summer was a dream, a mirage.</i></p><p>The locale for the first date could have been a good litmus test, because it’s so intimate and unpretentious, yet there are still more signs that this is a relationship destined for trouble.</p><p><i>The Pacific Inn was unpretentious, coming from a time before Seattle was the gentrified, high-tech city it now was. It was the kind of place workers on fishing vessels would have ended up for beers and fish and chips. And those fish and chips were some of the best in the city. But at least there, Trey’s ensemble wouldn’t attract any undue attention.</i></p><p><i>“Never heard of it,” Trey said. “But I’ll try anything once.”</i></p><p><i>“You’ll love it.”</i></p><p>And things do go relatively well—at first—and the horrible events that eventually transpire could have been avoided if Connor had just made note of the red flags Trey gave off, but he didn’t, not until it was almost too late.</p><p><i>The Pacific Inn was a good choice, Connor thought. Maybe better than Joule, especially for a first date. The Friday night crowd was lively, but he and Trey were able to snag one of the booths just as two women stood to leave.</i></p><p><i>The table was littered with stocky cocktail glasses, rumpled napkins, and wicker food trays. He smiled at Trey as he sat across from him. “I know it’s not morning or anywhere close to brunch, but they make a wonderful Bloody Mary here.”</i></p><p><i>A young guy in jeans and black-and-red flannel came over to clear the table. He wiped it with a rag. “What can I get you boys tonight?”</i></p><p><i>Connor looked to Trey. “You want to try the Bloody?”</i></p><p><i>“If you recommend it, I gotta see what the fuss is.”</i></p><p><i>“Two bloodies, please.” He looked again to Trey. “Spicy okay?”</i></p><p><i>Trey looked at their waiter, a gorgeous blond-bearded hipster, and winked. “The spicier the better.”</i></p><p><i>Connor also ordered the Cajun shrimp and a side of Tater Tots with tartar sauce.</i></p><p><i>“Tartar?” Trey asked as the waiter walked away.</i></p><p><i>“That’s how they do ’em here.” He smiled. “So here we are. I know a little about you from your profile, but why don’t you tell me what makes you tick. Who you are.”</i></p><p><i>“Oh my god,” Trey said. “Is this a job interview?”</i></p><p><i>“No, no. Just making conversation.”</i></p><p><i>Their drinks arrived, and Connor hoped he wasn’t getting off on the wrong foot.</i></p><p><i>“Maybe we don’t need the third degree, then.”</i></p><p><i>“I’m sorry.” Heat rose to Connor’s cheeks.</i></p><p><i>Trey sipped the Bloody and smacked his lips. “That is good.” He eyed Connor. “Hey, I was just fucking with you. I always want so much to get the first-date awkwardness out of the way, to just be three months in the future where we can be comfortable with each other.”</i></p><p><i>“Oh god, that’s exactly how I feel. I don’t do much socializing in my line of work, so I’ve kind of gotten rusty as how to act in a situation like this, to be honest. Add in that I am very newly single after almost twenty years, and you have a guy who is really operating on hope and a prayer. When I met my Steve, Internet dating was just heating up.”</i></p><p><i>Trey said, “It’s okay. Let’s just relax and see where the night takes us. Steve, huh?”</i></p><p><i>“Sorry. I promised myself and my daughter I would not bring him up tonight. I definitely didn’t want to be that guy, the one who goes on a date and then won’t shut up about his ex.” Connor sighed. “But it’s hard when someone has been such a big part of your life for so long. So apologies and excuses in advance.” He smiled. “I’m sure it’ll happen again.” This was so not where he wanted to take things, so he asked Trey to tell him about his work as an attorney. “That must be exciting. Remind me what kind of law you practice again.” Connor wasn’t sure it was in Trey’s profile, but at least the ‘remind me’ was a good way to cover if it had been.</i></p><p><i>“Actually, it’s duller than dishwater. I kind of regret my choice of profession, but what can I say? It pays the old mortgage.” Trey sipped his drink.</i></p><p><i>“Well, is it too late to do something else? You’re young enough to make a change. What don’t you like about it?” Connor asked. He was surprised when Trey abruptly changed the course of the conversation, throwing it back to him.</i></p><p><i>“Ah, I don’t want to talk about my dull job. You’ll die from boredom.” He rolled his eyes. “But you? Mr. Famous Author! That must be amazing. Making a living from telling lies.” He chuckled.</i></p><p><i>Connor wished Miranda hadn’t outed him as an author so quickly, but he hadn’t thought about warning her before Trey arrived. “Never really thought of it that way, but I suppose you’re right. People tend to think I have this glamorous life—all the fame and fortune, you know? But the truth is, it’s mostly me and a blank screen with a blinking cursor waiting for me to get started.”</i></p><p><i>“You obviously get started…again and again. How many bestsellers have you written?”</i></p><p><i>Connor often got questions like this, along with where he got his ideas. He thought the question was a little out of line, like asking what his income was, so he said, “You know what? Even I’ve lost count. A couple dozen books, I guess. I don’t kid myself. People enjoy them. People also enjoy Burger King and Taco Bell.”</i></p><p><i>“And they’ve all done well?”</i></p><p><i>Connor thought, but didn’t say, that after the first couple books were out, his books had done spectacularly well.</i></p><p>A first date that should have been a last date is how I might characterize this initial meeting between our hero and his eventual nemesis. But if characters didn’t act human and make mistakes, especially out of hope for love, we wouldn’t have many stories to tell. When their awkward dinner comes to a close, there’s another red flag when the check arrives.</p><p><i>When the bill came, Connor reached slowly for his wallet. He didn’t mind paying, not at all, especially since this was a pretty cheap dinner date, but he wanted to see if Trey would at least offer. But Trey seemed oblivious to the bill lying on the table between them, his gaze suddenly transferred to the TV screen above the bar, where a Seattle Seahawks game was being replayed.</i></p><p><i>“Let me get this,” Connor said, smiling.</i></p><p><i>Trey glanced down at the check, then back at the screen. </i></p><p><i>Just when Connor had given up on him making an offer, Trey turned his attention back to what was right in front of him. “You sure?”</i></p><p><i>“Yeah, it’s fine.” Connor gave him a tight-lipped smile.</i></p><p><i>Trey burst into laughter. “I have a confession to make. I left my wallet back at my place…totally by mistake. I was too embarrassed to say anything.” He winked. “I’ll get it next time, and I promise we’ll do better than this dump.”</i></p><p>A first date, like a job interview, can tell someone a lot about the person he’s interested in, but like job interviews, first date dinners leave room for misinterpretation, forgiveness, and patience. The latter two are good qualities, but not when applied to someone who is showing you who they actually are, if you’d only listen.</p><p>Conner doesn’t listen… And he ends up jeopardizing his own life and that of his beloved daughter. Whether either or both of them does make it out alive is something I won’t reveal. You’ll have to read <i>Toxic</i> to find out if good or evil triumphs.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Rick!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFRqvfdWMokuA7-Ws_mkaxar-MPsqeO-JDF8My5HzJuJinnU_sp4FO6MvBoCf2WRtzcqIOV34W4ETki4hlG2G7gJx_VnP-DwFKY5uWAI13fjpVoRJ5nVURPhPqIjFnrW_JCmk7f18krgEI_3a3bK7HemN4q84VvWovDGzTR5wn7P6b1AoQusk0d-2/s749/2022.12.9%20Rick%20R%20REed.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="524" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFRqvfdWMokuA7-Ws_mkaxar-MPsqeO-JDF8My5HzJuJinnU_sp4FO6MvBoCf2WRtzcqIOV34W4ETki4hlG2G7gJx_VnP-DwFKY5uWAI13fjpVoRJ5nVURPhPqIjFnrW_JCmk7f18krgEI_3a3bK7HemN4q84VvWovDGzTR5wn7P6b1AoQusk0d-2/w140-h200/2022.12.9%20Rick%20R%20REed.jpg" width="140" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Rick here:</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://RickReedBooks.com" target="_blank">RickReedBooks.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/RickRReed" target="_blank">Twitter @RickRReed</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/RickRReedBooks" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Rick-R-Reed/e/B000AP5H2G" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p><br /></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. </i>Entertainment Weekly <i>has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” </i>Lambda Literary<i> has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their rescue dogs, Kodi and Joaquin.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><b>"Rick R. Reed's TOXIC is a smart, nuanced novel of dark and compellig relationships with sparks of wicked humor - all hallmarks of a writer at the top of his game. TOXIC is an unmitigated triumph by a master of twisted suspense." ~Gregg Olsen, #1 New York Times bestselling author</b></p><p><br /></p><p>Connor Ryman thought he had it all - a successful career as a mystery novelist, a condo with stunning views of Seattle's Lake Union, a supportive and long-term partner, Steve, and a loving daughter, Miranda, who was following in her father's creative footsteps.</p><p>It all went bad when Steve left the family suddenly. Jilted and heartbroke, Connor begins to search for love online. So long off the market, he enlists his daughter's help in crafting a dating profile.</p><p>His prayers are answered when Trey Goodall, smart and handsome, answers his ad. He's witty, urbane, a wealthy attorney, and his sex appeal is off the charts. But he's a liar, a monster under a pretty mask. Miranda sees through the red flags and senses soemthing very wrong beneath the facade.</p><p>Can she convince her father to save himself before it's too late? Or will Trey, a master manipulator with a very tainted history, play upon Connor's innocense to ensnare him in a web of deceit, intrigue, and, ultimately, murder?</p><p><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-8097819802515129202022-12-02T08:17:00.002-05:002022-12-02T08:17:27.655-05:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Ann Jacobus, Author of The Coldest Winter I Ever Spent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWx3X5GU9Sx9o5eq1C9rpy-742PIHM0RMe2o9uN0yvIRsYhH7FwgtmhWCSg4Q1VUIuUGkGuPY15c497NymeWJVXgzd29_95hQ6BaOiJpJ1SdGlY66d52FWrpk2o-g22eUKZcyqV3Jc8txPPnf9UUbXlohzmOOFuEJaixrFE0VE32AcspOpdVxSg1H/s600/2022.12.2%20The%20Coldest%20Winter%20I%20Ever%20Spent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="397" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWx3X5GU9Sx9o5eq1C9rpy-742PIHM0RMe2o9uN0yvIRsYhH7FwgtmhWCSg4Q1VUIuUGkGuPY15c497NymeWJVXgzd29_95hQ6BaOiJpJ1SdGlY66d52FWrpk2o-g22eUKZcyqV3Jc8txPPnf9UUbXlohzmOOFuEJaixrFE0VE32AcspOpdVxSg1H/s320/2022.12.2%20The%20Coldest%20Winter%20I%20Ever%20Spent.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>My mom died a few years back and my siblings and I took turns caring for her at home near the end, along with medical and hospice support. It was difficult of course, but to my surprise we all spent a lot of time sharing old stories and laughing heartily, often over food. I then wrote a novel about a troubled 18-year-old tending to her beloved guardian Aunt Fran who has recently been diagnosed with cancer. It’s called <i>The Coldest Winter I Ever Spent</i> (out March 7, 2023)</p><p>The story is fueled by good food. Aunt Fran is a wonderful cook from Dallas, Texas and she’s been teaching main character Delilah. Her specialties include: buttery Jalapeño cheese grits, buttermilk biscuits and fried chicken, pimento cheese, proper southern cornbread (not sweet), and a mean cheese straw-- those crisp, savory, flakey treats dusted with cayenne pepper—that feature in two scenes. One scene is funny and involves a Labrador Retriever. The other shows just how much ground Aunt Fran is losing.</p><p>You see, Aunt Fran’s cancer is a virulent strain, not unlike the one that took my mom too quickly. And Delilah fears that losing this woman who has meant so much to her, might cause her to lose her life too. Yes, it’s irrational, but what, you’re rational all the time?</p><p>During the course of Fran’s illness, friends bring over spinach quiche, seven-layer bean and salsa dip, and a macadamia tunnel-of-fudge Bundt cake. A later scene in the story involves Delilah, her estranged father, and a weakened Aunt Fran, all sitting down to dinner together over a crab casserole (more cheese!) delivered by a friend, and an arugula and spring-mix-from-a-bag salad with a Dijon-vinaigrette that Delilah makes. Dad contributes a crisp white French Chablis, and a German chocolate cake with coconut-pecan frosting—Fran’s childhood favorite. Despite the family’s many tensions it’s a gentle, warm reunion, and they don’t know it at the time, but it’s their last meal together.</p><p>The story’s set in San Francisco, so naturally great local food figures: North Beach coffee house Lattes, burgers and fries, Ghirardelli hot fudge sundaes, fish tacos and beef burritos, and eggplant and Brie sandwiches on whole grain. And Delilah and her father talk turkey, coming to a new understanding over fragrant, take-out green curry chicken, red rice, and shrimp-packed Tom Yum soup.</p><p>As you and I know, food is inextricably tied up with family dynamics, history, and culture, not to mention nostalgia and comfort. It’s what sustains us emotionally as well as physically, especially in times of loss. Novels are almost always about struggle and loss of some sort. How can a writer not include heaps of memorable food?</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Ann!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38bY-EnBOVyyfoJibUkloiilwcWuqumZtlForGwdTwBpEbgti3FyaHexL6BrVakS9jTTApP8_8INuhrrbDRJF9-5GXRn3_FBolHqRdNAImc7ePfLE0t9eVHcOCuqbrsJ1DNzsXsioVCteAcELZlyiBY7ldcwU4ra8ARZ0PnS3angaSiyPuV_YJIzV/s1000/2022.12.2%20Ann%20Jacobus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38bY-EnBOVyyfoJibUkloiilwcWuqumZtlForGwdTwBpEbgti3FyaHexL6BrVakS9jTTApP8_8INuhrrbDRJF9-5GXRn3_FBolHqRdNAImc7ePfLE0t9eVHcOCuqbrsJ1DNzsXsioVCteAcELZlyiBY7ldcwU4ra8ARZ0PnS3angaSiyPuV_YJIzV/w160-h200/2022.12.2%20Ann%20Jacobus.jpg" width="160" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Ann here:</div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://AnnJacobus.com" target="_blank"></a><a href="http://AnnJacobus.com" target="_blank">AnnJacobus.com</a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/annjacobusSF" target="_blank">Twitter @AnnJacobusSF</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/annjacobus.author" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ann-Jacobus/e/B00XVEY3WI" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Ann Jacobus is the author of YA novels </i>The Coldest Winter I Ever Spent<i> (March 7, 2023), and </i>Romancing the Dark in the City of Light<i>. She teaches writing at Stanford Continuing Studies, is a long-time suicide crisis line volunteer, and a mental health advocate. She gravitates to Tex-Mex and BBQ.</i></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-78853599234667561422022-11-10T18:44:00.001-05:002022-11-10T18:44:48.450-05:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Dan Scanlan, Author of The Hacker<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaoukpSSNp0zlzNH-J3S9EnXa5QnvYIo6NPf4sMEZjZxGXkjbpLCgVKxRa-J-iJAmgbvtJlqkqSqls6OXRsvR_CG-alQ-nYrgHTdYVjCz_5F87_uDfGwaJJdU6XWmZ5kye1GkUN0jo8ncnMGCcv8jtfh6VRBfq3Sj_r2j4fnGbazXhSSMs5CUHFdSa/s1000/2022.11.11%20The%20Hacker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="655" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaoukpSSNp0zlzNH-J3S9EnXa5QnvYIo6NPf4sMEZjZxGXkjbpLCgVKxRa-J-iJAmgbvtJlqkqSqls6OXRsvR_CG-alQ-nYrgHTdYVjCz_5F87_uDfGwaJJdU6XWmZ5kye1GkUN0jo8ncnMGCcv8jtfh6VRBfq3Sj_r2j4fnGbazXhSSMs5CUHFdSa/s320/2022.11.11%20The%20Hacker.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The enjoyment of great food and good company is one of life’s familiar pleasures. Including these kind of scenes in a novel can create the same relaxed enjoyment for the reader as the meals themselves. In a thriller they can be used to create the opposite feeling by stressing the absence of normal opportunities to rest and reenergize, keeping tension high. Pressure is created for the reader by keeping the characters sweaty, stressed and always on the move. In The Hacker, investigators race to find a master cybercriminal using the avatar, Dantalion. Any minute they delay is more opportunity for him to wreak damage. Their compulsion to run him down overrides all other aspects of life.</p><p>Eating becomes more of a refueling effort than dining, stopping just long enough to bolt sufficient food to keep going and return to the chase. This, combined with scant sleep for time or anything else places the reader in the head of the investigators and I hope, enables the reader to feel the tension as the characters do. <i>But what are they eating?</i></p><p>Late at night in the lab:</p><p><i>Peering towards the door to ensure she was alone, she stopped to root through Tim’s desk and pirate a pair of granola bars from his bottom drawer. She munched on a bar without tasting it as she settled back into her chair.</i></p><p>Even when they do actually stop to eat, the case is always on their minds:</p><p><i>Tim nodded, waiting to speak as their food arrived. Their mouths watered at the smell of the thick burgers and double-fried chips. After a few huge bites, he leaned back. “I can start working on the material, but there’s an angle to all this we’re going to need to deal with before we go to a judge.</i></p><p>Using deprivation as a mechanism to create tension emphasizes the very few times in the book, when the lead investigator, Ericka Blackwood, slows down enough for introspection, to let herself feel what the chase is doing to her:</p><p><i>They faced each other over the antique table, set with cream, sugar, toast and the old woman’s own marmalade, the comforting scent of breakfast blended with the small, potted flowers near the window. The well of strength that had brought her back while she was suspended. The old woman had moved in below Ericka’s top-floor condo, helping her fill the days and quickly becoming her confidante and counsellor. Mrs. Donnelly’s eyes narrowed as she sipped, the rising sun’s glow on the horizon in the window behind her.</i></p><p>Part of what I hope to bring to the reader in The Hacker is a sense of just how much must be sacrificed in an active police investigation, particularly in the cyber world. I have tried to leverage my three decades as a prosecutor, working with police and seeing the effects their work has on them to bring home to the reader the unyielding stress they deal with in the middle of a big investigation. My hope is that it engages the reader in the chase, making each step they take more compelling as the story unfolds. Food is part of that narrative.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Dan!</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CksktI3FscCVllZaF9pTiJ8QOnbJ0luwH6LqvAUsJSTT6SBQufMAgkAZAaHVStIR_6aOfk1G3ToEqEX808otqNUUFDU-5U7KucsilX6D-3ZJTULtELnBSc8gnBL8TW3KjX_zYe_FkdMfqhHVSgevztDdHZRoovX2ygj8P-ngHWQZadBg4NDV-0Hu/s400/2022.11.11%20Dan%20Scanlan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CksktI3FscCVllZaF9pTiJ8QOnbJ0luwH6LqvAUsJSTT6SBQufMAgkAZAaHVStIR_6aOfk1G3ToEqEX808otqNUUFDU-5U7KucsilX6D-3ZJTULtELnBSc8gnBL8TW3KjX_zYe_FkdMfqhHVSgevztDdHZRoovX2ygj8P-ngHWQZadBg4NDV-0Hu/w200-h200/2022.11.11%20Dan%20Scanlan.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Dan here:</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://DanielScanlanAuthor.com">DanielScanlanAuthor.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/DanielMScanlan" target="_blank">Twitter @DanielMScanlan</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/dan.scanlan.142" target="_blank">Facebook Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Daniel-Scanlan/e/B096ZJLDVZ" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-78530021233633932712022-11-03T22:00:00.002-04:002022-11-03T22:00:26.123-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Stacey Pierson, Author of VALE<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtX7JigSIWiXpaj1-vxA4xGZTOCMHYR2joKP2605dAawG7T-FKTx4DLj4Y35tOgejix42D5jnyvLGqUjlcbN4lMid4NfKrw-Gffxc7Z8tM2TtOXNhgf0-4zHH9xhYgDCaTttthEaWBzbH04bepB-NS0UM-Op3hhjIvnxID3_j09HAAUO8oJuA5MCw2/s1600/2022.11.4%20Vale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtX7JigSIWiXpaj1-vxA4xGZTOCMHYR2joKP2605dAawG7T-FKTx4DLj4Y35tOgejix42D5jnyvLGqUjlcbN4lMid4NfKrw-Gffxc7Z8tM2TtOXNhgf0-4zHH9xhYgDCaTttthEaWBzbH04bepB-NS0UM-Op3hhjIvnxID3_j09HAAUO8oJuA5MCw2/s320/2022.11.4%20Vale.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>Vale</i> is a Young Adult bayou murder mystery, unique
and one of a kind, like a fresh batch of crawfish. And so is the food the
characters put into their mouths, and how the food they eat is their
personality.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Charles is the plain bagel in the story. He lives
with Epilepsy, and with each seizure is like a sprinkling of Everything But The
Bagel, which adds another layer to his ever-growing character arc. Layer by
layer, bit by bit, Charles add tries new seasonings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Simple, quick bites represent Leigh. She once was a
charcuterie board before she left with different flavors and tasty snacks. Her
personality was crunchy like the crackers and crispy like her snappy, sarcastic
saying. Now, after her return, she’s silent and missing like the food on the
tray.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Truly, I know she is a Trix bar. One of two amazing
halves, but once one is gone, you either save it or inhale it, never really
tasting the sweetness before it’s too late and leaving you wanting more. But
what happens when you break it in half? Do you want to share it? I can tell you
that you won’t, especially because of the poison-laced inside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Max is delicate and darling. He savors each bite
with a smile then the heat like jalapeno pepper wrapped in bacon hits. He
always goes back for more, even though he’s getting burned, and never reaches
for the water to cool off because he enjoys it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Carmel is exactly what her nickname is. She has
always loved caramel apples, but there’s a part of her that chips her
razor-sharp teeth on the red glossy, and hard candy surrounding the caramel
goodness she sees that no one else does. Like her thoughts, the core of the
apple is rotten.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Audrey and the Leeches are the same. Sinister with a
twist of flavor like beefy jerky. At first, everything seems great, and they
are friendly. But once you take a bite, the peppery taste catches you off
guard, and you might choke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jace and his football teammates like playing on the
field, they are spaced out and ready for one another when it comes to Xs and
O’s – like a Valentine’s Day candy you give to your arch enemy as a joke.
Funny, but with dire consequences. They look yummy, but the aftertaste is sour
and could make you green with envy as their selfishness engulfs you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Peyton is one who is a mix of sweet and sour. She
loves to get in the middle of things but prefers a sour apple Blow pop. She
loves to break the hard candy shell down like shredding layers of people’s
insecurities and sinking her teeth in the gum inside, like blowing up people’s
lives with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Dark Horse is unique as can be, like black licorice.
He’s not everyone’s favorite and not tasty. It’s an acquired taste that comes
over time. But it leaves a coating of revenge and truthfulness that most people
see as a threat when it’s justice. Horrible, sinister, dark, and deadly
justice, you can’t win them all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Each character in <i>Vale</i> is unlike the other. They
look, act, and want to be the same. But they are far from it. One thing that
will keep anyone wondering is how many maggots and rot really is inside of them
as they bite into their favorite foods.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Stacey!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgda7C9InsjcfRqaFIdBg1x2WA9A35PYBWBPLwZAyxvOh2ppuAXF9b8DcwGZTaY8ucNKSbUT36uKvZulbQ8Sf_CaLIF4V4zRFDj-dz37JjxFKvVgajW8x6BQDa8fJpbRsaa4j7BNXLJIl1F3cp7zAhpjlmYJKwIWqw_T4u4G15JXEmYCEOoyyLZu0lK/s400/2022.11.4%20Stacey%20Pierson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgda7C9InsjcfRqaFIdBg1x2WA9A35PYBWBPLwZAyxvOh2ppuAXF9b8DcwGZTaY8ucNKSbUT36uKvZulbQ8Sf_CaLIF4V4zRFDj-dz37JjxFKvVgajW8x6BQDa8fJpbRsaa4j7BNXLJIl1F3cp7zAhpjlmYJKwIWqw_T4u4G15JXEmYCEOoyyLZu0lK/w200-h200/2022.11.4%20Stacey%20Pierson.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You can find Stacey here:</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://shilohgirl318.wixsite.com/staceylpierson" target="_blank">Author Site</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://twitter.com/SuperStacey318" target="_blank">Twitter@SuperStacey318</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/stacey.b.pierson" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Stacey-L-Pierson/e/B0B3KJMZ43" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-28532446646330136672022-10-21T09:35:00.002-04:002022-10-21T09:35:59.752-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Michelle Tanmizi, Author of Late Dawn<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi01N3ScnsgWtvrmbYeNgXZTv0WFN4pZGUcT_wd_Hh-usM3TnwkTFRFAExuD2naz3-zjDOuJOXly08Zvz_xXhmasEabIKiB2be4yG1PmxJ0tJg_J2AZ6qzRt9RRFvmGe11iKqtTy9xmPPMmWGL2x9_IBHB8s40TswP6NcpUnPxyK8Gp5ryoNuEVFjM1/s2553/2022.10.21%20Late%20Dawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2553" data-original-width="1655" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi01N3ScnsgWtvrmbYeNgXZTv0WFN4pZGUcT_wd_Hh-usM3TnwkTFRFAExuD2naz3-zjDOuJOXly08Zvz_xXhmasEabIKiB2be4yG1PmxJ0tJg_J2AZ6qzRt9RRFvmGe11iKqtTy9xmPPMmWGL2x9_IBHB8s40TswP6NcpUnPxyK8Gp5ryoNuEVFjM1/s320/2022.10.21%20Late%20Dawn.jpg" width="207" /></a></b></div><b><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Food in the year 4848</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
come from a culture that reveres food and the ritual of eating. Passed around
like a fortune cookie is the saying that ‘One lives to eat, and <i>not</i> eat
to live.’ But what happens when food becomes scarce in the far-future,
dystopian world of <i>Late Dawn</i>, in the year 4848? That is the timeline of my
novel. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It
is so far in our timeline, it lies on the other side of the horizon of
perception where eyes and minds cannot yet reach. I chose such a far timeline
for a good reason. I wanted to project an image of a transformed Earth, where
climate change had ravaged and damaged it, and where Earthlings (wildlife,
nature and insects included) who survived, are living through yet another
global disaster. It is a world where humans are no longer Mother Nature’s
favourite children.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
this world, we are no longer the apex predator because animals have taken over
our territories, and our domestic meat source, like chickens, cows, ducks,
etc., have perished. So, for those who crave flesh protein, it becomes
necessary to find an alternative solution to animal meat. In the world of Late
Dawn, people eat Bio-Meat, a government, laboratory-produced protein. But it
creates long term illnesses for those who consume it, side effects from
non-natural food products. I believe in eating only fresh, unaltered food, and
so it is normal I would write this into my novel. Today, the once popular trend
of Genetically Modified foods has lost advocates as people are realising it is
healthier to eat natural, unaltered products.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
focalising character of the story, Marra, belongs to an environmental and
animal protection agency whose members are all vegans. I am an advocate of
eating vegetables because it helps the planet and for me, it also helps the
animals. Since January 2021, I’ve become a vegetarian myself and loving it.
Environmental issues interest me and like the protagonist of <i>Late Dawn</i>, I
believe in trying to help the planet as much as I can.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So,
while <i>Late Dawn</i> is not so much about food, it is about wildlife protection and
what happens when we ignore the fact that we share this planet with other
living beings.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Michelle!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-Ambs56CiPykbYCt4c3NWD9oDCuJdAam58NwgpRFA4oqBnCGf9oHsubRSle2Wb_Qtsrq2tp4ij6doI5Wraa9tR6zb5NktJ8V8BDDZm4KX7z9bhYH1XlZ5aImcPCLSqc1j9CCHIafzp7mSuHHfJCmRTrgRyMTchpzp5RxPjB17cRgklBZql4N-5YX/s640/2022.10.21%20Michelle%20Tanmizi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-Ambs56CiPykbYCt4c3NWD9oDCuJdAam58NwgpRFA4oqBnCGf9oHsubRSle2Wb_Qtsrq2tp4ij6doI5Wraa9tR6zb5NktJ8V8BDDZm4KX7z9bhYH1XlZ5aImcPCLSqc1j9CCHIafzp7mSuHHfJCmRTrgRyMTchpzp5RxPjB17cRgklBZql4N-5YX/w138-h200/2022.10.21%20Michelle%20Tanmizi.jpg" width="138" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You can find Michelle here:</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://MichelleTanmizi.com">MichelleTanmizi.com</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://twitter.com/MTanmiziAuthor" target="_blank">Twitter @MTanmiziAuthor</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/MichelleTanmiziAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Michelle-Tanmizi/e/B07V72JQM4" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-53148388927000868272022-10-14T09:12:00.001-04:002022-10-14T09:12:06.900-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome MK Schultz, Author of Kassius Kanex<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTf9in2saUDAXGoGMSNKT5HNyDkBXZYcFYl2c2I2hIOZNVYmuTBoHjxn5XS6o2rpP51AvYSTcJDYhr-8M1AMOnQqSq1SEUWuMDk7dNwbqic2R19wTVV2ney-iI6LHnkh7Q-ZSnp9KfBD-C5-YzvR6MWsmDnWNeawk_FzdKSClh-e3oFtkZhLubpp6/s475/2022.10.14%20Kassius%20Kane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="308" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTf9in2saUDAXGoGMSNKT5HNyDkBXZYcFYl2c2I2hIOZNVYmuTBoHjxn5XS6o2rpP51AvYSTcJDYhr-8M1AMOnQqSq1SEUWuMDk7dNwbqic2R19wTVV2ney-iI6LHnkh7Q-ZSnp9KfBD-C5-YzvR6MWsmDnWNeawk_FzdKSClh-e3oFtkZhLubpp6/s320/2022.10.14%20Kassius%20Kane.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p><p><b>Kassius Kanex Culinary 101</b></p><p><br /></p><p>As a consumer of stories, I frequently reflect on the ingredients that are consistently present in the ones I love. Sure the story has to be interesting, but how is that achieved? The story has to be good. Well, yes! The story has to take the reader on a trip of the mind. Of course it does! The scenes must contain all, or at least some of the genres of action, comedy, drama, suspense and horror. The story must intrigue, interest, bewilder, sadden, anger or cheer the consumer, regardless of the medium - film, score, theatre, audiobook or the written word. How does it achieve this? What is that most important ingredient - the holy grail of story, or so to say? Character investment! The viewer, the listener and the reader must become invested and they must come to care about what happens to the characters. They must laugh at their jokes, they must cry when they suffer and they must cheer when they succeed. There are an endless multitude of ways readers become invested in characters. One of those ways can be answered by the question, <i>“But what are they eating?”</i></p><p>Enter the protagonist, Kassius Kanex. This sci-fi / thriller / horror story begins with the main character’s realization of his inability to continue spending so much time and focus on a job that does not bring him fulfillment. One of his many coping mechanisms is the preparation of his lunches for the week - all five prepared ahead of time. The simpleness and controlling nature of these lunches seem insignificant at first, but they provide a link to the ongoing theme of the coexistence of the simple and the complex as the preparation and contents of the lunch is explained in detail. The ingredients for the lunch are tuna, hot sauce, almonds, yogurt, and cottage cheese. A breakfast is also described, but then there is the fruit.</p><p>His search for the destiny he believes to be out there begins very suddenly, following a mysterious call for help. Without knowing why at the time, he intuitively places four pieces of fruit in the palm of his left hand while alone at work. The fruit - two apples and two oranges, are stacked in a pyramid form and as he walks to his desk, he ritualistically holds the fruit pyramid, outstretched as far and as high as he can in front of him, as a kind of plea to whatever god or force that may be out there. Remarkably, this call for help is answered and a path to his destiny comences.</p><p>As his new involvement with a secret organization begins to replace his current work life, the regular part of him - his family life, must continue. This is where the complex is joined with the simple. As Kassius becomes overwhelmed with his new experiences, he takes refuge in his joy of cooking in order to cope.</p><p>When he begins to question the changes he is experiencing, he starts the prep for a homemade pizza that he will cook on time for when his family comes home. In this long and therapeutic scene of the chopping and organization of the ingredients into a neat row of containers on the counter, he finds peace of mind to ponder all that is happening. The beer helps too. When his family arrives, he assembles the pizza for them and cooks it on an outdoor grill while enjoying their company. Every single step of the prep, assembling, cooking instructions and serving is explained like a cookbook, further emphasizing how food is therapy for Kassius as he struggles with change.</p><p>The food references don't stop there. Throughout the trilogy, Kassius and other characters seem to possess a love of all things culinary. From award worthy breakfasts, to homemade subs, pizzas and burritos, the theme of the simple alongside the complex continues. There are fresh caught fish prepared over a bonfire, the agave fruit, pirozhki and pineapple chicken skewers basted with bbq sauce. There is a mind blowing quiche, hot dogs, poutine, burgers and even supernatural garlic that affects time.</p><p>There are food and drink parties, breakfast meetings, family suppers and friends meeting at pubs. There is also Rock’s amazing microbrewery which provides a steady supply of the most amazing beers on the planet!</p><p>In the <i>Kassius Kanex </i>series, food provides a backdrop of simplicity to anchor the reader in a comfy chair to view the danger, chaos and complexity constantly unfolding around them. This chair comes with a seat belt, so buckle up because it’s one hell of a ride!</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, MK!</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzsbo1vLU2hlrPNET4piif3gvMZRtQ1orqQW1Lxn6HXD5X43cTXOsUIVp2XFoJKQ7mjIVImH9vtDYWjT8bCUb7ms2DqzTKG68Zvpn0oNd-B7GDTdhISJphb5pBeJoFLuPsUpmd_7vbBV6KXzSDFlhixOGZKH2UF1vd16nSLq6Esha-Vrz-Zc4H6Lw-/s731/2022.10.14%20MK%20Schultz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="731" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzsbo1vLU2hlrPNET4piif3gvMZRtQ1orqQW1Lxn6HXD5X43cTXOsUIVp2XFoJKQ7mjIVImH9vtDYWjT8bCUb7ms2DqzTKG68Zvpn0oNd-B7GDTdhISJphb5pBeJoFLuPsUpmd_7vbBV6KXzSDFlhixOGZKH2UF1vd16nSLq6Esha-Vrz-Zc4H6Lw-/w191-h200/2022.10.14%20MK%20Schultz.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find MK here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://MKSchultz.com">MKSchultz.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/Makemali" target="_blank">Twitter @Makemali</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/mkschultzauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/MK-Schultz/e/B09GCCZGS7" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>MK Schultz is the Canadian author of The </i>Kassius Kanex<i> trilogy. A father of two young adults, he lives in a wooded area in the outskirts of Ottawa. He and his wife are avid outdoor enthusiasts in all seasons. Although formally educated in Architecture, his true passion is writing. Schultz is currently writing a new, stand-alone novel in a different genre.</i></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-47503646953519438332022-09-29T20:22:00.000-04:002022-09-29T20:22:15.179-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Claire Polders, Author of A Whale in Paris<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6LQQcCYxBncfCAY8l6PVxighGTgPkArLljUjJ3HNIs55lfEp_goRJ3V8we4m7lf3FRO1oKtZhuEp7WlQ-PzUmJq3XDo-Sgqi9t4u2K-M0_9MOOYazgmxvZrOY4m3niTS7jhO_07s0Fg_qBQoIr6Qv7HmGWgOEqhKFeXzfIDLU-MlH5COGKfwtlCE/s475/2022.9.29%20A%20Whale%20in%20Paris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="314" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6LQQcCYxBncfCAY8l6PVxighGTgPkArLljUjJ3HNIs55lfEp_goRJ3V8we4m7lf3FRO1oKtZhuEp7WlQ-PzUmJq3XDo-Sgqi9t4u2K-M0_9MOOYazgmxvZrOY4m3niTS7jhO_07s0Fg_qBQoIr6Qv7HmGWgOEqhKFeXzfIDLU-MlH5COGKfwtlCE/s320/2022.9.29%20A%20Whale%20in%20Paris.jpg" width="212" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Chantal
and Papa live in Paris during the Second World War. Nazi forces occupy the
French capital and steal crops from the surrounding farms to feed the German
soldiers. Parisian citizens, like the characters in <i>A Whale in Paris</i>,
invent new ways to find food and fill their stomachs. Chantal and Papa fish for
salmon in the Seine at night.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately,
they’re often unsuccessful. Most days Chantal eats nothing but stale bread for
breakfast. She must get by without the things she once thought essential, such
as hot croissants and hazelnut macarons. But sometimes the stars align.
Sometimes she and Papa catch a large fish and take it home in a bucket.
Sometimes the priest of the Notre Dame gives Chantal an armload of zucchinis as
a reward for working in his vegetable garden. Sometimes Papa has enough ration
tickets left to buy flour and butter. Sometimes Aunt Sophie trades on the black
market and brings them fresh eggs in a bundled handkerchief.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And
then… then Papa bakes his super-delicious salmon quiche—Chantal’s favorite dish.
The full recipe-spectacle is in the book, but let me serve you a taster here:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Papa
makes the crust with flour and water, rubbing the butter in with his fingertips
while singing. Singing helps the dough stay pliant and moist.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
pats the crust into a round tart tin and trims the overhanging dough with a
letter opener or other object of sentimental value that doesn’t belong in a
kitchen. He lights the gas oven and says, “Voilà!” like a vaudeville magician.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
bakes the salmon filet in a pan for fifteen minutes, but not before thanking
the fish for jumping onto the hook. He also sautés the zucchinis with salt and
herbs de Provence. The smells that circle up from the stove into Chantal’s
nostrils are warm like love.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Whistling,
Papa cracks the eggs into a bowl and whisks them with an eggbeater. He removes
the salmon from the oven, forks it into soft steamy flakes, tastes a bite or
two or three, adds pepper, and sneezes.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">He stirs everything together, the salmon and
zucchinis and eggs, pours the mixture into the crust, and bakes the dish for
another twenty-five minutes. When the super-delicious salmon quiche is finally
done, he serves it with a flourish, as though he’s created something magical.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
has. Chantal and Aunt Sophie already sit waiting around the kitchen table when
Papa cuts the quiche into six pie slices. Chantal first consumes the steam coming
from her plate, breathing it in; the nose must be fed before the belly. Then
she eats her slice as slowly as possible, savoring every bite.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Does
this make you hungry? Please read the book for more!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Claire!</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: 74.25pt; text-autospace: none;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTEu4nM0N2D7wDClhcWPhUY23pvIIYvoUrUlf1NMyoWBYlDU5n6toYq82_pvNipuI5mWc0Ccoe39Hqj9aXxg-yYpd_2HOF3Aoa80uJJvGOwNesIcx2XMWdKEsKDbci9AkwS4MaBHGExRko9oJDObNlXip-hsLBdIiPxolGt-rXCnxfjh_2jTLsWlF/s350/2022.9.29%20Claire%20Polders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="350" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTEu4nM0N2D7wDClhcWPhUY23pvIIYvoUrUlf1NMyoWBYlDU5n6toYq82_pvNipuI5mWc0Ccoe39Hqj9aXxg-yYpd_2HOF3Aoa80uJJvGOwNesIcx2XMWdKEsKDbci9AkwS4MaBHGExRko9oJDObNlXip-hsLBdIiPxolGt-rXCnxfjh_2jTLsWlF/w200-h200/2022.9.29%20Claire%20Polders.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can find Claire here:</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://ClairePolders.com"></a><a href="http://ClairePolders.com"><span style="font-family: inherit;">ClairePolders.com</span></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/clairepolders" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Twitter @ClairePolders</span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/claire.polders" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Facebook</span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Claire-Polders/e/B076Z42Z7L" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Books on Amazon</span></a></p><br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-19496576359897344122022-09-22T15:05:00.002-04:002022-09-22T15:05:31.813-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Jacopo della Quercia, Author of License to Quill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid08EWvOzMF2sspgx4GuHb79_PL2RERIMzEkovUcoIf4zX746_1QV-HTCLQqMSC3BLjn3thLhaqzc-Q4_JaZTl9alFh1-iH-6uexu6laMPuB8by79Z0Dcd9mv_cRyDGgaOhFUtucR10CYUnBoe6io7i5Xa9W0qtlYBzFRuQGWisUUuYg2M5ZMGkA8G/s475/2022.9.23%20License%20to%20Quill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid08EWvOzMF2sspgx4GuHb79_PL2RERIMzEkovUcoIf4zX746_1QV-HTCLQqMSC3BLjn3thLhaqzc-Q4_JaZTl9alFh1-iH-6uexu6laMPuB8by79Z0Dcd9mv_cRyDGgaOhFUtucR10CYUnBoe6io7i5Xa9W0qtlYBzFRuQGWisUUuYg2M5ZMGkA8G/s320/2022.9.23%20License%20to%20Quill.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I've always been more interested in what James Bond eats instead of what he drinks. The latter is pretty scripted, after all: "shaken, not stirred." I'm more intrigued by what he orders for breakfast, lunch, and dinner while crisscrossing the world. (To my surprise, Ian Fleming wrote that Bond's favorite meal was <a href="https://www.foodandwine.com/breakfast-brunch/eggs/scrambled-eggs/proof-james-bond-foodie" target="_blank">breakfast</a>.)</p><p>This interest compelled me to pay close attention to the foods featured in my second novel, <a href="http://www.jacopodellaquercia.com/license-to-quill1.html" target="_blank"><i>License to Quill</i></a>, a spy-thriller that follows William Shakespeare as a secret agent during the Gunpowder Plot. Since the story took place during the English Renaissance, I devoured every book and video I could find on food, drink, sweets, snacks, and even breath-fresheners in Shakespeare's London. Tavern fare was particularly important for me to know since so many clandestine meetings in the book were held in pubs. </p><p>However, I also wanted to depart from the Bond films and novels by featuring a more international menu appropriate for the book's many settings. In one chapter, for example, one of the book's major characters is treated to an elaborate Turkish breakfast at Venice's <i>Fondaco dei Turchi</i>. I had a delight researching that scene with the help of a next door neighbor who was a restaurant owner and Turkish. I am particularly indebted to him for making sure that I got my spelling right!</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Jacopo!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJbPwsYNJzctdnTaewnymv_4mfFBqMgMpmUeVDgQ753qmMVPbxp6P_BonBnbvUPlJKXg_WbX4RFLj73T8tzee078trMdEKK4LscfbYOu_R1b2IELS9e2j2hLIlpV8qQoe3P00tc7G3IMOsTCK2-IiSJXw11X3TYwSjqYUpTq1b25hpeiNcF63qHZM/s420/2022.9.23%20Jacopo%20della%20Quercia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="322" data-original-width="420" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJbPwsYNJzctdnTaewnymv_4mfFBqMgMpmUeVDgQ753qmMVPbxp6P_BonBnbvUPlJKXg_WbX4RFLj73T8tzee078trMdEKK4LscfbYOu_R1b2IELS9e2j2hLIlpV8qQoe3P00tc7G3IMOsTCK2-IiSJXw11X3TYwSjqYUpTq1b25hpeiNcF63qHZM/w200-h153/2022.9.23%20Jacopo%20della%20Quercia.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Jacopo here:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://JacopodellaQuercia.com" target="_blank">JacopodellaQuercia.com</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/Jacopo_della_Q" target="_blank">Twitter @Jacopo_della_Q</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/JacopoDellaQ" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Jacopo-della-Quercia/e/B00594R8ZC" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-48983888694970395312022-09-15T22:25:00.003-04:002022-09-15T22:25:50.382-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Laura Greenwood, Author of Pumpkin Spice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjblIr_7V6_3GmV4m0RH1Ntgb9Rn9KIcOTMQ1LvEviCIB-zhKl13hYl0wPGIjGiiyUJWMBi_6dvDc_1V7hMuujckx5gVTBxEqzRhPx0vf9AMRaIkClD0T0z_AjPJqeA_q1L6_w6oZVscTpYeW7wQLxpJfzX3yd2Em8RHPqaXtMmEOFiNUulHcn0huOq/s1600/2022.9.16%20Pumpkin%20Spice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1066" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjblIr_7V6_3GmV4m0RH1Ntgb9Rn9KIcOTMQ1LvEviCIB-zhKl13hYl0wPGIjGiiyUJWMBi_6dvDc_1V7hMuujckx5gVTBxEqzRhPx0vf9AMRaIkClD0T0z_AjPJqeA_q1L6_w6oZVscTpYeW7wQLxpJfzX3yd2Em8RHPqaXtMmEOFiNUulHcn0huOq/s320/2022.9.16%20Pumpkin%20Spice.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p>What if someone had never tried ice cream before? It certainly wasn't the question I thought I'd be asking myself when I was considering what a cute date would look like for Willow and Azíl in the second book of my <i>Cauldron Coffee Shop</i> series, but it was the one I was faced with when I realised that as a three-thousand-year-old warlock who'd been stuck in a teapot, Azíl would never have tried ice cream. And if he had, it certainly wasn't going to be of the modern variety. </p><p>Having a character as old as Azíl is, especially one who hasn't eaten in a long time, has certainly proved interesting when it comes to the approach of writing food into scenes. When someone comes to the modern world, it's easy to remember that they'll be surprised by modern appliances, including cars, fridges, and showers, but it's sometimes more difficult to remember that they'll also be able to try food that they've never experienced before, which is something I tried to capture within the <i>Cauldron Coffee Shop</i> series. </p><p>Trying and discovering new food, flavours, and cuisines is something my partner and I try to do regularly, as well as introducing one another to the tastes of our childhoods, and it is that sense of adventure and discovery that comes across in the characters. While Azíl gets a chance to discover new things, Willow (a witch in her late twenties), gets to share the things she loves with him. And more importantly, choose some of the flavours she thinks he will love with him, even if they're not her favourite. It makes for an interesting partnership, with the two of them growing closer over the food - and the experiences they share while eating it! </p><p>As an interesting (at least to me!) side note: I did end up researching ice cream in ancient times, and it turns out that they would save the frozen cream from the sides of storage containers and eat that like ice cream, though it doesn't have the same taste or texture as the frozen treat we enjoy!</p><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Laura!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEarGu_dpjmmd9x41eWS-CVLXPZ9lwIXxUlHoIKyNAzD1W-bbCo_Rnzx297tu7q56XwNCSp743DRtR3WMsedDNrtQB21EpPUlhtXJe35VU7Fg_GfD609CK6fHzqpgEJyL_VZPFRgC7Y3768vgJJ4KvvaZS6QteJMZF8h-A-Bn95k0VM8S1UsGxIX5c/s700/2022.9.16%20Laura%20Greenwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEarGu_dpjmmd9x41eWS-CVLXPZ9lwIXxUlHoIKyNAzD1W-bbCo_Rnzx297tu7q56XwNCSp743DRtR3WMsedDNrtQB21EpPUlhtXJe35VU7Fg_GfD609CK6fHzqpgEJyL_VZPFRgC7Y3768vgJJ4KvvaZS6QteJMZF8h-A-Bn95k0VM8S1UsGxIX5c/w200-h200/2022.9.16%20Laura%20Greenwood.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Laura here:</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://AuthorLauraGreenwood.co.uk" target="_blank">AuthorLauraGreenwood.co.uk</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/lauramg_tdir" target="_blank">Twitter @Lauramg_tdir</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/authorlauragreenwood" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/theparanormalcouncil" target="_blank">Group</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Laura-Greenwood/e/B01LXDZJKE" target="_blank">Books on Amazon US</a> and <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Laura-Greenwood/e/B01LXDZJKE" target="_blank">UK</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Laura is a USA Today Bestselling Author of paranormal, fantasy, urban fantasy, and contemporary romance. When she's not writing, she drinks a lot of tea, tries to resist French macarons, and works towards a diploma in Egyptology. She lives in the UK, where most of her books are set. Laura specialises in quick reads, whether you're looking for a swoonworthy romance for the bath, or an action-packed adventure for your latest journey, you'll find the perfect match amongst her books!</i></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJsExRYezPwtaXH5LLqMgsh7rLDSHo0a3hbLFHGJK4otsbNT1THmt4bGWFAIOKU9ZforUf2v7w7i2Bicd5D5hZWXKZzGFJU4BHvuS_N_OxSd1ijs83NlLXkGioT_e41qik3Asj9iVB-YMd0B_SDWCmBmSmrwIO0AnmihMyLup8TjMDvtVjQWBaMeA/s740/2022.9.16%20Cauldron%20Coffee%20Shop.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="740" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJsExRYezPwtaXH5LLqMgsh7rLDSHo0a3hbLFHGJK4otsbNT1THmt4bGWFAIOKU9ZforUf2v7w7i2Bicd5D5hZWXKZzGFJU4BHvuS_N_OxSd1ijs83NlLXkGioT_e41qik3Asj9iVB-YMd0B_SDWCmBmSmrwIO0AnmihMyLup8TjMDvtVjQWBaMeA/w400-h229/2022.9.16%20Cauldron%20Coffee%20Shop.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><div>Cauldron Coffee Shop<i> is an urban fantasy romance series featuring coffee shop-owning witch, Willow, as she tries to unravel the mysteries of a teapot sent to her by her best friend. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Book 1 (</i>Pumpkin Spice And All Things Nice<i>) Blurb: </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>When coffee shop owner, Willow, receives a mysterious teapot from her best friend, her charmed life is turned upside down.</div><div><br /></div><div>Between the cursed warlock who thinks he's still in Ancient times, the cat who insists on coming through her window and making herself at home, and a new employee, Willow has her hands full.</div><div><br /></div><div>Can she unravel the mess she's found herself in? And can she do it without losing her heart?</div><div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Pumpkin Spice and All Things Nice<i> is book one of the </i>Cauldron Coffee Shop<i> Series, a witchy modern fantasy series with a romantic sub-plot, a mysterious teapot, and a cat who might be up to no good.</i></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-9902206695314552172022-09-09T12:24:00.002-04:002022-09-09T15:05:40.062-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Leigh Podgorski, Author of Desert Chimera<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYzTN6hGl15xD5Kd9VRit6MhYy1j8yhhAsblx6NjVmMxwSkWukxbquSsuPnMKinrbNDqlq3bhvtOgYIJjQOTrt2SXmQMt5f8c73kv4uqKCWAXBXbVTbd2psFNd3vQX_75JSNefcLyoiblbe5CljWDafbuGUThPdJkKECwb8fnt5uN-YIENvXuAWoiT/s475/2022.9.9%20Desert%20Chimera.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYzTN6hGl15xD5Kd9VRit6MhYy1j8yhhAsblx6NjVmMxwSkWukxbquSsuPnMKinrbNDqlq3bhvtOgYIJjQOTrt2SXmQMt5f8c73kv4uqKCWAXBXbVTbd2psFNd3vQX_75JSNefcLyoiblbe5CljWDafbuGUThPdJkKECwb8fnt5uN-YIENvXuAWoiT/s320/2022.9.9%20Desert%20Chimera.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><i>Desert Chimera</i> is the first book in the <i>Stone Quest</i> Series, and introduces recluse, tracker, and reluctant young psychic Luke Stone and his paranormal universe. After escaping his dark nemesis, fleeing the loss of his beloved mentor crossing the country from the north woods of Michigan on foot, Luke has spent countless days in the Mojave Desert. How did he survive?</p><p>Luke is a tracker and a survivalist. He knows how to live off the land. What plants to eat, and which are poisonous. Yet the last three days, as storms raged and visions plagued him, Luke grew ragged, frayed, gaunt. Staggering out of the wind-swept, rain-soaked Panamint Mountains, Luke lurches into Eppie Falco’s Desert Inn and Café:</p><p><br /></p><p><i>She knows him. The young psychic is wary, as skittish as an unbroken colt. Other people are gathered, two young women who are guests, an older man, Eppie’s handyman. They stare at him as if he is a phantasm, an eccentricity blown in by an ill will. Eppie approaches him cautiously, her hand out, palm up. She asks him if he’d like something to eat. Eggs. Toast. Coffee. The exhausted young man with a voice as raspy as sandpaper replies, “Yes, please.”</i></p><p><i>“What happened to you?” Eppie asks. Luke remains unsettled. Though seated, sipping on water now, his cobalt blue eyes never rest. “I ate something. In the desert. Something I gathered.” Eppie, startled, replies, “But how is that possible?”</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Who is this woman? How does she know these things about him. Eppie pours him coffee. Hot. Black. Strong. Food is set out, and though it is obvious Luke is near starvation, he stands back, serves himself last. Eggs. Sausage. Home fries. Toast. More coffee. Manna from heaven. Food. It is as if the ravages of his flight, of the storm, of the Panamint Mountains slide away with each bite, each taste, with the comfort, the extraordinary healing power of the nourishment set before him.</p><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Thank you for stopping by to share your food for thought, Leigh!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLf-tdqonGkiZRYO_QX7d_cKn3SmhmvaKgkMXY62OzC42PaqqV24XDr5BolfNmbLrnzs08X0ftBSew0SJnTgiTpZhe1gS5ozP-qW-SE7YtpY4px9BZ6sPn_0VOXNFN03KCsSzGWpNQdpMDAEz7fcJtBoghOvccW7gxk1Qx-oAfSTMmZ546A_wr1KjF/s700/2022.9.9%20Leigh%20Podgorski.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="700" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLf-tdqonGkiZRYO_QX7d_cKn3SmhmvaKgkMXY62OzC42PaqqV24XDr5BolfNmbLrnzs08X0ftBSew0SJnTgiTpZhe1gS5ozP-qW-SE7YtpY4px9BZ6sPn_0VOXNFN03KCsSzGWpNQdpMDAEz7fcJtBoghOvccW7gxk1Qx-oAfSTMmZ546A_wr1KjF/w200-h134/2022.9.9%20Leigh%20Podgorski.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Leigh here:</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/leighpod52" target="_blank">Twitter @LeighPod52</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/leighpodgorskiwriter" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Leigh-Podgorski/e/B005P57NEQ" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3183063895158760504.post-19319910830278018092022-09-01T09:48:00.002-04:002022-09-01T09:48:28.801-04:00FOODFIC: Please Welcome Perry Prete, Author of The More Things Change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEBjF3z29YLiUDWkfqIg-yy-jFsOdja0Yu2WrSMg9A6yuOa2wGMZ1hmEOv_UQ6L00jhqHURRQM-B5Ilc9VSEH4cP10lXnkiPI2g09M_mVke8dk7QH63IMxLTuo8B_gD_VFXGiZaKJeky3OgpNRqFUjtW889svF3pTqRGtQ5kJTKGxUe15r1n7umwR/s470/2022.9.2%20The%20More%20Things%20Change.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="318" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEBjF3z29YLiUDWkfqIg-yy-jFsOdja0Yu2WrSMg9A6yuOa2wGMZ1hmEOv_UQ6L00jhqHURRQM-B5Ilc9VSEH4cP10lXnkiPI2g09M_mVke8dk7QH63IMxLTuo8B_gD_VFXGiZaKJeky3OgpNRqFUjtW889svF3pTqRGtQ5kJTKGxUe15r1n7umwR/s320/2022.9.2%20The%20More%20Things%20Change.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><br /><p>Although Ethan Tenant is a fictitious City of Ottawa Paramedic, the career and the circumstances I placed him in were not. One of the situations that Ethan and his partner Tom had to deal with was how they ate while working shifts or between calls. Most Paramedics today spend very little time at base and don’t always have access to a microwave, stove, or even a fridge.</p><p>Paramedics carry their food with them unless they really enjoy take-out. Ethan and Tom would pack a lot of non-perishable foods in a soft cooler with an ice pack and stow it in a outside compartment, away from patient contact. Easy and quick food usually means processed foods or something a Paramedic can eat on the go, between calls or even while driving. Take-out food for a Paramedic is risky. As a seasoned 40-year veteran, I can’t count how many meals I paid for and never got to enjoy because we were dispatched to an emergency and the food wasn’t ready or I didn’t have time to eat and it spoiled on the floor of the rig.</p><p>Ethan’s go-to food was a granola or energy bar: quick energy, easy to open, easy to eat, even while driving through downtown traffic. Tom was more concerned about his health; he stuck to fruit and veggies in re-sealable containers. Both enjoyed a lot of coffee, with the proverbial pitstops getting in the way. Bottled water was also a necessity. If they bought sandwiches, it was something that wouldn’t go bad like a P.B. & J. And they never ate tuna fish or egg salad in the rigs.</p><p>Imagine you and friend are on a long road trip that could last twelve hours. What do you bring? Now imagine that twelve-hour road trip is at night - not a lot open, not a lot of choices. That’s what today’s Paramedics must deal with every shift. They didn’t always have time to stop and grab a healthy lunch or snack. That’s when anything easy to eat helps to calm an empty stomach.</p><p>Many readers didn’t consider some of the calls Tom and Ethan would attend, tended to kill an appetite, regardless of how hungry they were. If you want to read about those calls, pick up one of the books featuring Ethan Tenant.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Perry!</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedY3yKuGG9POIUe11WSZwXzVFGUkVqOiHHYJRTsDEaJ2gwiiitkoExvNlZadVSZi2zDVYGaiwKYTo1eW_z_A_WQOZ6OXXOiXX3wrgq5JfWF83AEyBrwl07ND7gPWuw46Vi0Dn1k-HFkHdNGfo0wHPpcgAdE1bnD3ln5g9bhiG_dvwv61KOZoOZV0C/s643/2022.9.2%20Perry%20Prete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="643" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedY3yKuGG9POIUe11WSZwXzVFGUkVqOiHHYJRTsDEaJ2gwiiitkoExvNlZadVSZi2zDVYGaiwKYTo1eW_z_A_WQOZ6OXXOiXX3wrgq5JfWF83AEyBrwl07ND7gPWuw46Vi0Dn1k-HFkHdNGfo0wHPpcgAdE1bnD3ln5g9bhiG_dvwv61KOZoOZV0C/w200-h162/2022.9.2%20Perry%20Prete.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You can find Perry here:</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/perrypretebooks" target="_blank">Twitter @PerryPreteBooks</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/PerryPreteAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Perry-Prete/e/B00H0OMZ16" target="_blank">Books on Amazon</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Content provided by Shelley Workinger,
<a rel="author" href="https://plus.google.com/107387434905636270829">Shelley Workinger</a></div>Shelley Workingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12720790942978108809noreply@blogger.com1