Thursday Tell All – Amy Evans of Strange Bedfellows

by Sarah | Apr 9, 2014 | Character Interview, Guest Authors, Thursday Tell All, Writing

Hi. This is Jane Austeen, and welcome to Proud but Not Prejudiced. Today I’m here with Amy Evans, an animated redhead in her early thirties. Amy is dressed rather unusually for our show in a full-length classic black gown. But I must say, Amy, that off-the-shoulder style and deep plunging back really show off your gorgeous tan. I take it you’ve spent a lot of time out in the sun lately?

AMY: Thanks for inviting me today, Jane. Yes, we moved from Cincinnati down to Providenciales this summer. No more snow for this gal. And you-all know what they say: when you’re in the islands, live like the islanders.

JANE: So Amy, tell our audience what you were doing in Cincinnati.

AMY: To tell the truth, Jane, I was a stripper. Oh, should I have said adult entertainer or one of those other fancy terms? Well, whatever you call it, I showed men my titties for tips.

JANE: Um, wow. I don’t think I’ve ever interviewed a stripper before. I’m not sure what to ask.

AMY: Oh, I don’t do that anymore. Walt hit a big lottery and his wife agreed to a divorce for half which wasn’t so unexpected ‘cause they hadn’t been in love for a long time. And then we met and he invited me to go on a trip with him, and the rest, as they say, is history.

JANE: So a romantic road trip led to your happy relationship?

AMY: Well, I’m not sure how romantic it was, especially at first. Walter was a perfect gentleman, damnit. He seemed to like my son JG better than me. But Aunt Morgan said be patient, he liked me fine. And it turned out she was right. She usually is.

JANE: So you called your Aunt Morgan for advice in matters of the heart?

AMY: Oh, no. She was there too. In fact, to tell the truth, Walt loves her almost as much as he loves me.

JANE (with an uneasy laugh): You mean loves her in a platonic sort of way, of course.

AMY: No, not really. Aunt Morgan is smokin’ hot, and she’s fascinating to talk to. And Walt is real smart, loves history and all that stuff.

JANE: My goodness. Your aunt must be quite a woman.

MORGAN: Thank you.

JANE: Wait, who said that?

AMY: Oh, that was Aunt Morgan.

JANE: You mean like she’s a multiple personality or something?

AMY: Naw, nothing fancy like that, although it is a bit complicated. She’s a real person except that she lives in here with me. Ask her something.

JANE: Hello, Aunt Morgan. How long have you lived there with Amy?

MORGAN: I came to live with Amy when she was six. I’d been living with her grandmother, but she was in the hospital dying when Amy came to visit. Seemed like a good choice, and she’s turned out to be my favorite special niece ever.

AMY: Why thanks, Aunt Morgan. That’s a real nice thing to say.

JANE: So I take it you’ve been doing this for a long time, Aunt Morgan. So how old are you anyway?

MORGAN: You know a woman doesn’t like to talk about her age, particularly a woman like me.

JANE: Our audience is the soul of discretion. You can tell us.

MORGAN: They probably won’t believe it anyway. But the truth is, Jane, I’m more than 1500 years old.

JANE: 1500 years? I’m not too good with math, but that was long before Columbus. Were you a Native American?

MORGAN: Of course not. I’m British. A queen in my first life. In fact, you’ve heard of me. And my half brother Arthur was a king. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.

JANE: Um, King . . . Arthur? Morgan? You mean, you’re that Morgan? Morgan le Fay?

AMY: And Aunt Morgan told me that this gown was way better than anything Guinevere ever owned. That’s why I wore it.

(at this point the network interrupted the broadcast, so we’re not sure what happens next)

*~*~*~*~*

Strange Bedfellows has 4 first-person narrators. In this excerpt, Amy’s 11-year-old son JG is speaking.

Sava pats my hand. “Now tell me what’s so epic about Aunt Morgan, JG.”

“One day, Walt asked her a question directly, and she answered him just like an ordinary person would. So although I’ve been around her eleven years more than him, he’d already figured out that she was like a different person. So I got my nerve up and asked her like who she really was, and she answered me too. Said, ‘Hold that thought.’

“Then while we were driving down here she started telling us her life story. How she was born back in the fifth century in Cornwall which I looked up and it’s a part of Great Britain. And how her father was a duke who was killed fighting against the king who then married her mother and then guess what! She’s Morgan le Fay! The evil witch from the King Arthur story only she’s not really evil although she really is a witch. And somehow she learned how to jump from person to person so she wouldn’t die but we haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet and now she’s living inside my mom!”

I got a little loud as I told that last part and Sava holds a finger to my lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell everybody, doofus.” She’d picked that up from Marcus, but coming from her it seemed, well, friendlier. “Let me see if I got this straight. Your mom’s cool enough to sunbathe in the nude and she’s a stripper who trusts you enough to leave you at home at night all by yourself and she’s traveling with a really nice guy who isn’t sleeping with her because you haven’t said it’s okay, AND she has the real Morgan le Fay living in her head, and you somehow think I might not want to be your girlfriend anymore because of that?” She does this real exaggerated show like she’s scratching her head. “Let me see. Um, gee, I don’t know.” She crosses her arms and shakes her head sadly. “Marcus is right. You are a doofus.”

At least I think that’s what she said. I sort of lost track of everything after the word ‘girlfriend.’

*~*~*~*~*

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BLURB

Commentators claim that Politics makes Strange Bedfellows. Politics? Hah. I heap scorn on such an ill-considered opinion. For you and I both know: it is love that makes the strangest bedfellows.

Here. Let me give you just one example. A strange tale that begins with . . .

Walter—a loveable middle-aged accounting nerd. Crappy job, boss from hell, loveless marriage—who gets a do-over when he wins a big lottery. He hits the road only to find . . .

Amy—Sweet, Southern gal stuck in Cincinnati, stripping for a living because it pays better than Wal-Mart. Seems an unlikely candidate to do-over with, but stranger things have happened. It might work out, except she’s got this crazy . . .

Aunt Morgan—everybody has a crazy aunt, but this one is special. Engaging, seductive even . . . how old is she, anyway? And how can she always be around?

*~*~*~*~*

Rusty Rhoad grew up on the South Carolina coast, practiced chemical engineering near Houston, Texas for 32 years, and now writes humorous Arthurian fiction “full time.” “I love characters who see the world with their tongues firmly in their cheeks,” Rhoad writes. “Life is too often serious; fiction should always have a place for the offbeat, the quirky, and the sardonic.”

Rhoad’s first novel, Return from Avalon (and Points West), was released by Soul Mate Publishing in July 2013; his second novel, Strange Bedfellows, was published in March 2014. A third book, Avalon, South Carolina, is due out this summer.

*~*~*~*~*

Blog: http://allthingswordsblog.wordpress.com/

Thursday Tell All – An Interview with Sarah Bressler of Silk Legacy

by Sarah | Mar 19, 2014 | Character Interview, Guest Authors, Thursday Tell All, Writing

Paterson Evening News, July 31, 1913 

AN INTERVIEW WITH SARAH BRESSLER 

Reporter’s introduction: Sarah Bressler is one of our most distinguished and controversial citizens. As an indefatigable fighter for woman suffrage, child welfare and reproductive freedom Sarah is revered by women and reviled by many men. The Paterson Evening News is delighted Sarah has graciously accepted our request for an interview.

Reporter: Sarah, I would like to start at the beginning. When did you arrive in America?

I was born in 1885 in Lebau, Latvia. I immigrated to Paterson, New Jersey with my parents in 1902. Unlike many immigrants, I was fluent in English. My father was a school teacher and taught me. I had worked with my father and planned to become a teacher to help other immigrants.

Reporter: What happened to make you put off your plan to teach?

I fell in love, married, and my dreams died.

Reporter: How did falling in love destroy your dreams?

My husband, Abraham, was also from Lebau but left at age thirteen to avoid being drafted into the Czar’s army. I was three and barely remembered him except for thinking how tall he was. As I said, my father was a teacher and Abraham was one of his students. When we met again in Paterson of course he was still tall, but he was also very handsome and a charmer. He said he loved me and respected me and we married.

Reporter: That still doesn’t explain how your dream died.

Abraham had told me he felt the same way I did about the new calling of a modern woman. We had our first child right away, and I wanted to go back to teaching after he was born, but he demanded I stay home and take care of his house and his child.

Reporter: Isn’t that what wives are supposed to do?

Sarah frowned and exhaled sharply: Isn’t it interesting that men think that way until their family needs money, then they allow, or should I say demand, their wives go to work in the silk mills. I guess most women would envy me. My husband is a man of means and I didn’t have to work. Anyway, I acceded to his demands for eight years, bearing 4 sons.

Reporter: When did things change for you? How did you get so involved with woman suffrage?

Sarah: By accident. Newly arrived immigrants from Lebau brought news that the Czar’s pogroms against the Jews were getting worse. Abe’s father had passed and my husband decided to go back and bring his mother to the United States. I was really scared about his going, but he was a stubborn man and wouldn’t listen to me.

Reporter: You were scared that he would be killed?

Sarah: Of course.

Reporter: Because your children would grow up without a father?

Sarah: Certainly, but worse. My husband’s business depended solely on him. He did not own a mill. He was a jobber. He bought and sold silk yarn. Without him there was no business. If he were to befall an accident how could I support five children―

Reporter: Didn’t you say you had four children?

Sarah: I was pregnant with my fifth.

Reporter: Oh.

Sarah: As I was saying, how could I support five children on a teacher’s salary―

Reporter: And you would have to give up this big house and return to the tenements.

Sarah: I resent that question. I lived in the tenements before I was married. Many of my friends still live in the tenements.

Reporter: I’m sorry.

Sarah: You’re forgiven. What I was afraid of mostly was that my older children would have to go to work in the mills. You know what happens to children in the mills.

Reporter: Of course.

Sarah: Their hands get mangled in the looms. They get lung illness from the toxic fumes in the dye houses.

Reporter: Is that why you also became active to restrict child labor as well as fighting for woman suffrage?

Sarah: Yes. I wanted the same protection for all children, not just those of wealthy families.

Reporter: Let’s get back to how you began your campaigns.

Sarah: I started when Abe was away. I had a young girl helping me with the housework. I was able to leave the house for an hour or two to go to the market. But I couldn’t leave four rambunctious children with her for long. But one day I saw a sign about a suffrage meeting. I went. I decided right then that I was going to get involved no matter what my husband said. And I did.

Reporter: Weren’t you worried about what your husband would say when he got home?

Sarah: Of course, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t think I could become active in the movement because of him. Like I said, he is very insistent on the proper place for his wife. And now I was also going to have an elderly person in the house to care for.

Reporter: But of course you did become active.

Sarah: As it turned out, his mother was the one who allowed me to immerse myself into Paterson’s suffrage movement.

Reporter: How so?

Sarah: My mother-in-law was not feeble like I thought she would be. She had raised five sons. She knew how to handle rambunctious boys and was a great help tending to her grandchildren. For the first time since I married I felt like a free woman. I was able to attend meetings and I even held strategy meetings in my house. Did I tell you Alice Paul was in town one day and came to my house?

Reporter: Alice Paul! She’s quite the revolutionary. Wasn’t she arrested in England when she was part of Emmeline Pankhurst’s radical suffrage group?

Sarah: Yes she was.

They fell into a strained silence while the reporter wrote on his pad. Looking back at Sarah he asked: And you did all this without your husband getting suspicious?

Sarah: He worked all day. He obviously thought I was home taking care of his mother and the children.

Reporter: His mother said nothing?

 Sarah: She thought what I was doing was wonderful.

Reporter: Eventually your husband did discover what you were doing. How?

Sarah: When I was arrested. I thought he was going to explode. Would you like some tea?

Although anxious to hear the rest of her story, the reporter acquiesced to the break: Yes, thank you.

*~*

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SILK LEGACY has been called:

“An Epic Family Saga”

“A Tumultuous Love Story”

“A Slice of American History”

Jealousy, infidelity, arrogance, greed—the characters’ titanic struggles will catapult you into the heights of their euphoria and the depths of their despair.  Who will triumph and who will be humbled is not certain until the last page.

EXCERPT FROM SILK LEGACY:

Set up: 1904, Abe and Sarah were on their first date. They had been on the chasm bridge marveling at the great waterfall when she said she wanted to see his bar. (Abe owned a bar before getting into the silk business.)  Abe was reluctant at first. It wasn’t a place for a proper woman, but Sarah insisted. The following is a piece of the dialogue once they got to the bar.

“Can I see your apartment?” Sarah asked. (Note: His apartment was above the bar)

….

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I was up there.”

….

As she moved around the living room, she ran her finger tips over the silk upholstery and silk draperies, barely caressing them, as she would a delicate flower whose petals might break off if touched too hard.

….

Sarah stared at the Edison phonograph.   “I wish we had one of those.”

“Would you like to hear it?”

“Oh, yes.”

….

“Sounds raspy, doesn’t it?” Abe asked.  “Not like real singing.”

“I love it.  I love all the new inventions.”

“The world is a thrilling place,” he said.

….

“I want to act in a flicker,” she said.

“You’d radiate off the screen and delight everyone in the audience.”

“You make me blush.”

….

“When you smile your eyes sparkle like the mist from the falls that bursts up into the rays of the morning sun.”

She dropped her eyes and reached out to the wing chair for support.

“Do you want to see the rest of the apartment?”

Raising her eyes to meet his, she said, barely louder than a whisper, “Yes.”

He opened the door to the master bedroom.  She looked in and absently said, “Interesting uniforms your bar-maids wear.”   She glanced at her chest.  “I wonder how I would look in one of them?”

“All the men would want only you to wait on them,” he said.

“You think I have enough to fill it out?”

….

His eyes drifted over the curves of her body.  You certainly have enough to fill out any dress, he thought, imagining her bare breasts, round and firm, their rosy nipples taut as he suckled them.  He moved his head to her cheek, inhaling her essence, so fresh and clean.  He kissed her ever so lightly.

She didn’t jump away, but turned to face him.  “Your mustache tickles.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I think it’s handsome.  It makes you look very distinguished.”

Their lips, slowly, cautiously came together.  Abe opened his mouth, drawing her lips apart with his.  He touched her tongue with his.  She pulled back, but only for a moment before following his lead.

*~*

Richard Brawer writes mystery, suspense and historical fiction novels. When not writing, he spends his time sailing and exploring local history.  He has two married daughters and lives in New Jersey with his wife.

Read more about SILK LEGACY and all Richard’s books at his website: www.silklegacy.com

SILK LEGACY is available on Kindle and any e-reader, computer, Apple or Android device that has a Kindle APP, or any tablet that can access Kindle books. (Note: Although not self published the book is no longer available in print as the publisher has gone out of business.)

The Price is $2.99

Thursday Tell All – Brent Davenport of His Abductors Desire

by Sarah | Mar 12, 2014 | Character Interview, Guest Authors, Thursday Tell All, Writing

1. What is your story?

I’m the heir to a banking empire headquartered in Boston. I met the love of my life before I was old enough to accept that’s who she was. I lost her and spent the last few years looking for her.

1. Do you have any special strengths?

I have the ability to go after what I want with single-minded determination until I get it.

1. Do you have any special weaknesses?

Unfortunately, that strength could be considered a weakness if what I want and what I need are two different things.

1. Did you ever meet any other family members? Who were they? What did you think of them?

My father died when I was very young so I don’t remember very much about him. He was a banker, a very important man so he was always dressed well. He was very stern. I don’t think I ever remember seeing him smile. But he loved my mother. I remember he would bring home a flower to her every day, even in winter. I always thought he was a magician, until I grew up and realized that anything could be bought, even in winter.

1. What is your worst childhood memory?

The day my father died. I wasn’t there when it happened, but I remember coming home to see my mother sitting in the front parlor. It’s where she would wait for him every afternoon. She already knew. I didn’t know yet, but the look on her face was terrifying. I’d never seen it look so empty, so devoid of anything. You have to understand, my mother is a talker and very animated. It was so unlike her to be so still. I still remember that moment.

1. What is more important – sex or intimacy? Why?

For a long time I thought sex was more important. Where I come from women only want two things from me: my name and my money. If they can’t have the first, they’re more than happy to enjoy the second. I never thought intimacy, real intimacy, was possible. The one time I caught a glimpse of it…it scared the hell out of me. Now I know better.

1. What’s the worst thing you’ve done to someone you loved?
2. What one act in your past are you most ashamed of? What one act in your past are you most proud of?

Leaving Charity is both the worst thing I’ve done to someone and the one act I’m most ashamed of. I ran from her love because I was a coward, I was afraid. I didn’t even have a good reason.

I’m most proud of the work I’ve done to bring my uncle to justice.

1. What trait do you find most admirable, and how often do you find it?

Honesty. I’ve found that very few people are actually capable of it.

1. What one word best describes you?

Determined

1. How private of a person are you? Why?

I’m a very private person. I’m a Davenport, so people have always expected me to play a certain role. Playboy, gambler. When I was younger, I found it easier to play along than to allow them to know the real me.

1. What would you wish for if you found a genie?

I don’t make wishes. I prefer to make things happen.

*~*~*~*

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Blurb:

Montana Territory, 1887

Heiress-turned-outlaw Charity Blake is determined to get back the fortune the Davenport banking family took from her father—even if she has to hold Brent Davenport ransom to do it! After all, the seductive charmer stole something even more valuable from her five years ago: her heart. But once she has Brent in chains, Charity must face the fact that her desire for the man has grown from the sweet dreams of a young girl to the unquenchable passion of a woman. And soon it’s not clear whether she’s the captor, or the captive….

Excerpt:

“Don’t worry, folks. We ain’t here for yer valuables, just the money in the vault.” Charity’s contrived accent came out deep and loud to make it past the muffling barrier of the scarf covering the lower half of her face and to hide her cultured Bostonian intonation.

As she spoke, her partners took their appointed positions. Elle had come in through the back door and quietly made her presence known, while Dew moved to disarm the men in the room, quickly establishing a stack of revolvers in the far corner.

“Get up and open the vault.” Charity barked the order to the manager.

He sputtered for a moment as if he might argue and looked at the customer sitting across the desk from him. Had she not been watching so closely, Charity would have missed the almost imperceptible nod from the man that gave the manager the courage to get on his feet. Hands still in the air, he walked his wiry frame to the vault, which sat in plain view behind the row of clerks, and stopped there, afraid to proceed.

“Th-the key is on my belt.” He explained, hands still in the air. His gaze went from her to the customer left sitting at his desk.

Charity followed his gaze and found herself looking at a broad pair of shoulders encased in a fine wool coat. The coat was impeccably tailored, not the roughspun typically found this far outside of the town of Helena. A banking official was her first thought, but that didn’t explain why her heart was suddenly threatening to pound out of her chest and the blood had gone cold in her veins.  The girl who had long ago been banished to areas deep in her subconscious had already recognized the set of those shoulders. She knew that thick, sable hair brushed back in a style that had been entirely too long for Boston society but was a trademark of his contemptuous nature.

*~*

Author bio

Harper St. George was raised in the rural backwoods of Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was a setting filled with stories of the old days that instilled in her a love of history, romance, and adventure. By high school, she had discovered the historical romance novel which combined all of those elements into one perfect package. She has been hooked ever since.

She lives in Atlanta, GA with her husband and two young children. Look for her short story in the upcoming Romance Writers of America anthology. She would love to hear from you. Please visit her website at harperstgeorge.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/harperstgeorge
Twitter: @HarperStGeorge
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/harperstgeorge