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BLOGWORDS – Saturday 16 June 2018 – SPECIAL EDITION – 500 FACEBOOK PAGE LIKES on MY AUTHOR PAGE

SPECIAL EDITION – 500 PAGE LIKES on MY FACEBOOK AUTHOR PAGE

“The battle for identity…        

            … one story at a time.”

 

Oh, just a little celebration mode!! Did you read that?? FIVE HUNDRED LIKES on my Facebook Author Page!!!

 

“I’ve been thrown in the deep end.  Of a deep ocean.  In a tidal wave.  And all I want to do is write my stories.  (Well, and get people to read ‘em… )  Write a bio, they say.  What do you want to know?  I write, that’s what I do.”

 

That was 11 April, four years ago. That was the blog, which came along on the heels of my Author page. My first profile pic is dated 4 November 2013. And now I’ve reached a BIG.FAT.MILESTONE!

 

I floundered with the blog in those early days, and I fumbled around with my Author page as well. Unsure what to post, my poor little page was more neglected than tended. I shared and posted what I had in hand (digitally speaking.) My favourite and best design images, and then as Book #2 was coming along, I shared memes and posts about the release.

 

Tessa’s first cover and her revision. And her third version.

 

My book signing for Tessa was 30 October 2014, and I posted my first meme in December. Sales and specials, and new cover designs. My first NaNoWriMo.

 

I posted images of the website when I launched it, and the blog birthday celebration.

 

I started sharing posts from other authors, and networking. I shared blog posts, both mine and others—which is now in the 30 – 50 range! Writing milestones and celebrations and excerpts.

 

facebook author page – 500 likes celebration

 

If you haven’t already, head on over and give me another LIKE!

 

https://www.facebook.com/Author.Robin.E.Mason/

 

 

“Maybe you have to know the darkness to truly appreciate the light.”—Madeline L’Engle

 

 

 

#Blogwords, Special Edition, 500 Likes on My Facebook Author Page!

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BLOGWORDS – Tuesday 12 June 2018 – SPECIAL EDITION – GUEST POST – FAMILY & FRIENDS, and Why They Show Up in my Writing So Much

written for Beth Erin @ http://www.faithfullybookish.com/

“My world came to an end the day I jumped off Versailles.”

 

SPECIAL EDITION – GUEST POST – FAMILY & FRIENDS, and Why They Show Up in my Writing So Much

 “The comforting words of dearest friends are a soothing balm to a jagged soul.”

 

 

Ya know, those peeps you sometimes just want smack up ‘side the head? The ones who can irk you and get under your skin like nobody else on the planet?? The ones who you also can’t live without???

Yup, those ones! Gotta love ‘em!!

Or not…

 

I was not close to extended family growing up. And I only discovered how much I missed that when I realized how much it shows up in my stories!! I go to great lengths to establish who’s who in all my stories, and even if a cousin’s wife’s brother doesn’t make an appearance in the story—I know who he is. And how old he is. And probably who his friends are…

 

I believe it goes to our identity. Our roots, our heritage. Who we’re related doesn’t define who we are, certainly. But who we are does stem from where we come from. (follow that??)

 

But more than that, I thrive, apparently, in family gatherings. I long for extended family reunions, or gathering of friends. I’m that odd mix of introvert-extrovert, and I come alive when peeps come around. *usually…

 

My blog is all about friends and family, like an open-door family room, or front porch with year-round lemonade or tea or coffee. A place to hang out, chat and laugh, or sit in silence. A place of fellowship and connection. (notice the lack of electronics and anything digital???)

 

Maybe that’s why family is so important, fellowship and connection. A place of open arms, no matter what. caveat: not a place of condoning unacceptable activity, but of love in spite of unacceptable behavior.

 

These connections, friendships and family, are so prevalent in my stories because they have been so lacking in my life. I have my cherished friends, those friendships that have outlasted time and distance and life-events. There have been those “for a season” friends who have left my circle. And those friends who weren’t truly friends deep down, who went their own way because they chose not to grow with the friendship.

 

But the connections that remain—those are our circle, whether family or friend. Truly, though, friends that stick with you are family.

 

In a way, perhaps my fictional characters are filling a void in my life. Perhaps they are placeholder as Father restores what has been lost and damaged.

 

Or maybe, they are extensions of Father’s love and family, my heart pouring out into fictional people what I long to share with family and friends not on a written page. (I can’t say “real” people because my characters are very real to me—in a very lucid and fictional sense!)

 

Seasons is about four friends, and the unlikely bond they share. Four girls from four different circumstances. In an era when family status defined them, they followed their hearts, and friendships that were birthed from their bond were stronger than any societal rigors.

And in the end, it’s the connection with her friends that restores what Simone has lost—her memory. Even in the cobwebs of lost memories, her friends, their names, their faces, came to mind. For all their spats and differences, they banded together to find the answers she sought.

Once restored, her family welcomed her back with open arms and hearts, the loss of years as bitter for them as it had been baffling for her. And within the shelter of family and friends, her story—if not always in real life—knew its happy ending.

The journey of the series is a, well, series of relationships restored, both family and friends. The connection between the characters survives any trauma inflicted against it. I established family in my stories for a reason, if not with intent and purpose; it wasn’t until my 6th or 7th book that I realized this phenomena I had created—and why!

 

The why is the foundation that family creates, and is. And what I believe is our innate instinct to preserve. Or, in so many families, to restore. Isn’t that what you do when there is a crack in the foundation? Restore it? Rebuild it? Make something new from the old? Make something beautiful from the ugly? Something vital and healthy and growing from that which was despised and discarded?

Isn’t that what Father God does with us? And isn’t it into His family that He invites and welcomes us? Are we not sons and daughters, and not puppets or minions? His chosen ones, His peculiar people (some of us more than others… ) His beloved.

 

Perhaps this golden thread of family in the tapestry of my stories isn’t so accidental after all. Perhaps Father wove it in as my hands wrote the words. Just as He had woven that precious thread into the tapestry of my life.

 

 

““Mercedes?” I could barely breathe. I didn’t remember this woman. The name only tumbled in my mind, tugging at memories I couldn’t see. I don’t know how but I knew I could trust her. Still…”

 

 

““NO!” My throat raw already, my scream was jagged and panicked and desperate. “No!” I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to remember… Not this. I didn’t want to remember this.”

 

 

#Blogwords, Family and Friendship, Special Edition, Guest Post, The Whispering Winds of Spring, Seasons Book 4

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BLOGWORDS – BLOG BLITZ & BOOK LAUNCH – MAY 2018

BLOGWORDS – Thursday 31 May 2018 – SPECIAL EDITION – THE WHISPERING WINDS OF SPRING RELEASE – EXCERPT

 

“My world came to an end the day I jumped off Versailles.”

“The comforting words of dearest friends are a soothing balm to a jagged soul.”

 

SPECIAL EDITION – THE WHISPERING WINDS OF SPRING RELEASE – EXCERPT

 

I wondered sometimes, how was ma mère. Was she doing well? Did she maintain her vile and lurid behaviors? Had her clandestine carryings-on caught up to her? Had she met her demise?

I wondered how would it be to see her again. And I wondered what would she think of being une grandmère. Would she adore my little girl, my Mercedes? Or would she loathe her as she loathed me?

Cece was sitting up now, and trying to crawl. Everything her little hands could grasp went into her mouth, including my own fingers. And her little teeth were sharp as razors.

Her smile was as bright as sunshine, and warmed my heart like nothing else; I had not known such encompassing love, not even with Yeto. His love held my heart, for certes.

But the love I bore for my child, it had changed me. I was at once sure of her place in my heart and terrified I might ruin her forever.

What if I was like Mamá? What if I became the monster I knew her to be? What if the sickness that plagued her—for surely it was a sickness; surely she wasn’t as she was by her own choice—what if it was in me? What if I carried the same sickness…

But non! Surely not. I had the love of a good man. Strong and good and caring. Surely, Yeto was passionate with me, loving me as I had never imagined. But never did he strike me. Barely had we spoken cross words.

The man was a saint. My heart did a little tumble in my chest, pitter pat, pitter pat, to think of the times I had doubted his love, his integrity—his intentions. Enyeto had stood by my side, reassuring me, affirming his love for me. Time and time again, constant, sure.

Even more remarkable were the times—so rare now—that I railed. On and on I cried and wept, ranting at the behaviors of men. The abuses I had seen, the intimacies I had been privy to. And my husband stood quietly by my side, holding my hand or stroking my hair, waiting for the storm to subside. He spoke loving words to me, his soothing words a balm, healing to my heart and soul. And to my memories.

Memories that were now faded, but a dim shadow, cloaked away with the ghosts of other memories. Memories of a happy time. Memories of years before Walden Plantation. Memories of…

 

Amidst the clamor of confusion, can she hear the whisper of her memories?

 

The southern town of Saisons lies at the crossroads between North and South, progressive and genteel antebellum life. Between East and West, between history and heritage, and new frontiers. Downton Abbey meets Gone With the Wind.

 

It’s 1912, in a world where slavery is dying and women’s rights are rising, and four young women who once shared a bond—and experienced a tragedy—question their own truths.

 

Simone Dubois’ life was unraveling. All she had known and held dear was gone from her. At ten, all she wanted was to escape beneath the black waters of the Edisto River. She couldn’t know her whole life would be stolen from her.

 

When she returns to Saisons sixteen years later, she has no memory of ever having been there. Not even that it was her birthplace. Enlisting the help of her childhood friend, Mercedes—whose name stayed with her, if in shadowy dreams only—Simone encounters misty memories, and stirs up more mystery than she started with.

 

 

 

““Mercedes?” I could barely breathe. I didn’t remember this woman. The name only tumbled in my mind, tugging at memories I couldn’t see. I don’t know how but I knew I could trust her. Still…”

 

 

““NO!” My throat raw already, my scream was jagged and panicked and desperate. “No!” I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to remember… Not this. I didn’t want to remember this.”

 

#Blogwords, Special Edition, The Whispering Winds of Spring, Seasons Book 4, Excerpt

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BLOGWORDS – BLOG BLITZ & BOOK LAUNCH – MAY 2018

BLOGWORDS – Saturday 26 May 2018 – SPECIAL EDITION – THE WHISPERING WINDS OF SPRING RELEASE – EXCERPT

 

“My world came to an end the day I jumped off Versailles.”

 

“The comforting words of dearest friends are a soothing balm to a jagged soul.”

 

SPECIAL EDITION – THE WHISPERING WINDS OF SPRING RELEASE – EXCERPT

 

“Of course, you know we were married.” I sat now with the Colonel, just the two of us at Alés House—now my home. “But I did wonder would he ever propose.”

The Colonel laughed and tugged on his cigar. “You, my dear, are a fragile one. And I bow to your man for recognizing that. I dare say he knew a good thing when he had it, and didn’t wish to scare you off.”

“Scare me off?” I sipped at my tea, and shifted as the babe stretched.

“Tell me, Harmonia.” Ashes from the cigar flitted down to the floor. “Had he asked you to be his wife sooner, when you were wet behind the ears still, would you have accepted?”

“Wet behind the ears?” I hooted with laughter, and pressed my hand against my belly. “Me? My dear Colonel, I was hardly wet behind the ears.”

“Naïve, no.” He had read my meaning. “Lissette stripped that from you, much to my great sorrow.”

“Colo—” His raised finger interrupted me.

“You learned and knew far more than any lady should ever know of a man’s nature.”

“But you…”

“My dear.” The Colonel’s voice overlapped mine, diminishing it in the shadow and depth of his own. “I am a man, as base as we come. I’ve seen things—the ugliest things. But I know propriety and decorum, and I choose the better thing.”

He stood then and stretched, went to the window. “Let’s walk, shall we? It’s a most lovely day.”

It was lovely, mild for the first days of June, sunny with tempering clouds, and an easy breeze stirring.

“You, Little Harmonia, were a scared little rabbit.” He patted my hand and snugged it in the crook of his tweed-sleeved arm. “You knew and saw much. But it was distorted and vile what you saw. Your man, what he gave you was not that. What he gave you was a most precious gift.”

For all that the Colonel was a giant of a man, and his work—I never did know what exactly it was he did—in the darkest recesses of humanity, it might have made him an angry and violent and bitter man. But it did not.

Non, the Colonel was most tender and thoughtful and considerate, and he always knew the best in a person.

“He did, yes.” Awe stilled my voice, and trilled in my heart at the man I now called husband.

“Ah, yes. Le Seigneur always knows what the heart needs most.”

We walked in companionable silence, serenaded as we were by nature itself, the folding of water over the rippled mud, the trill of birds as they danced in the sky. The sway of trees as the wind brushed the sky.

“How did you know?” We had walked to the end of the boardwalk, and turned back, stopped to sit in the gazebo that perched over the marsh.

He reached into his jacket, and pulled out another cigar. “I was watching you.” Smoke twirled along on the breeze.

“That was you?” I had known someone trailed me, but hadn’t known who. I hadn’t known the Colonel then, leastwise, I hadn’t remembered knowing him, and the realization that he was the one—

“No, dear girl.” He held the cigar out over the railing. “I’m not seen when I’m trailing someone.”

“What…” The sense of dread and unease washed over me, a surge like an undertow, tumbling me back into murky depths. “But…”

“I guarded you.”

From who?

“Capps had—has—dirty dogs who jump when he barks.” If he thought levity would ease the rising panic, it failed. “Fellows, scalawags, who scrabbled for the scraps and bones he might toss their way.”

“Dogs, Colonel? Really?” Indignity and insult temporarily edged out the panic.

“Capps is a dog, no doubt about it.”

“Isn’t he the one you said… some operation? Lissette was involved?”

“The very one.”

“He was following me?”

“You were in association with Lissette.”

“Not association. Non, never.”

“He wouldn’t know that.” The Colonel pulled another drag of his cigar, the tip bright and hot and angry red. “Nor would he care. You were close with her, lived with her. Whatever you saw or heard, it was too much.”

“He wanted…” What? What had he wanted?

“He wants you dead.”

 

Amidst the clamor of confusion, can she hear the whisper of her memories?

 

The southern town of Saisons lies at the crossroads between North and South, progressive and genteel antebellum life. Between East and West, between history and heritage, and new frontiers. Downton Abbey meets Gone With the Wind.

 

It’s 1912, in a world where slavery is dying and women’s rights are rising, and four young women who once shared a bond—and experienced a tragedy—question their own truths.

 

Simone Dubois’ life was unraveling. All she had known and held dear was gone from her. At ten, all she wanted was to escape beneath the black waters of the Edisto River. She couldn’t know her whole life would be stolen from her.

 

When she returns to Saisons sixteen years later, she has no memory of ever having been there. Not even that it was her birthplace. Enlisting the help of her childhood friend, Mercedes—whose name stayed with her, if in shadowy dreams only—Simone encounters misty memories, and stirs up more mystery than she started with.

 

 

 

““Mercedes?” I could barely breathe. I didn’t remember this woman. The name only tumbled in my mind, tugging at memories I couldn’t see. I don’t know how but I knew I could trust her. Still…”

 

 

““NO!” My throat raw already, my scream was jagged and panicked and desperate. “No!” I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to remember… Not this. I didn’t want to remember this.”

 

 

#Blogwords, Special Edition, The Whispering Winds of Spring, Seasons Book 4, Excerpt

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BLOGWORDS – BLOG BLITZ & BOOK LAUNCH – MAY 2018

BLOGWORDS – Wednesday 23 May 2018 – SPECIAL EDITION – THE WHISPERING WINDS OF SPRING RELEASE – EXCERPT

 

“My world came to an end the day I jumped off Versailles.”

 

“The comforting words of dearest friends are a soothing balm to a jagged soul.”

 

SPECIAL EDITION – THE WHISPERING WINDS OF SPRING RELEASE – EXCERPT

 

“Simone, where are you taking us?” Pearl always did whine; she was so prissy and didn’t like to get dirty. She ought to have been a princess.

Pearl should have been my dearest friend. She and I were, after all, the same station in life. But Mercedes was as a sister to me and I was closer to her than anyone. She knew me so well, understood me. It was uncanny, really, that she should. Mercedes was a reflection of me, in counterpoint to my whim and caprice she was staid and steady.

Mercedes’ mamá was our housekeeper at Saisons House. And she was two years ahead of me and Pearl. But ma mère et grandmère were kind to our servants; it was as though they were family. And as young girls, Mercedes was permitted to play with me.

She and I got on famously. She read stories of great adventures, and I liked to explore and have great adventures. I don’t know why Pearl ever wanted to play with us; she had a sister, after all, but she always preferred to come to Saisons House of an afternoon.

Scarlett came to Saisons House to play, too. Her mamá and mine were dear friends, and they often came for tea. Scarlett’s sister, Avalina, joined us some days but not always. Scarlett was a tiny girl, and younger than me and Pearl. But she was sassy and spirited, and never lagged behind.

“Why Pearl, it’s a great adventure.” And Scarlett charged ahead of even me, picking through the bare path I had forged earlier.

“What is this place?” Always the sensible one, Mercedes asked the logical questions but failed to see the magic in a thing.

“It looks like a castle.” Scarlett was a tiny slip of a girl but her imagination was not tiny at all.

“Or maybe a dungeon,” I suggested.

“Good grief, Simone.” Pearl crossed her arms and stamped her foot. “It’s no castle. And we certainly have no dungeons here.”

“Oh, what do you know about it, Pearl? You’ve never been in a dungeon.”

“I’ve seen a dungeon.” Her look of disdain changed to one of smug superiority.

“Ha! There’s no dungeons around here.”

“There are in Paris.” She was the only one of us who had ever sailed to France.

“Well.” I defended my argument. “This could be a dungeon.”

“You can’t see the sky in a dungeon.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Or the trees.”

Pearl and I sniped back and forth for several minutes before Mercedes stepped between us. “Look, you two. It was once a church. See up there?” She indicated a round opening high in what remained of a stone wall. “That was where a window was.”

I scrambled on the wall, the part nearer to where we stood, where it was but a couple of feet high.

“Do get down from there, Simone.” Pearl reasserted her chastising demeanor. “It’s most unladylike.”

Her scolding only urged me higher, though, and soon my feet were well above their heads. “Look at me!” I cried. “I’m a mountain lion.”

“Do have a care, Simone.” Scarlett offered her genuine concern. “You could fall.”

“I’m not going to fall.” And to prove my point, I climbed higher, till I was standing at the pinnacle of the wall, directly above the round opening. “See?”

All three of them then begged and pleaded and urged me to come down. I sat instead.

“I’m not going to fall.”

 

Amidst the clamor of confusion, can she hear the whisper of her memories?

 

The southern town of Saisons lies at the crossroads between North and South, progressive and genteel antebellum life. Between East and West, between history and heritage, and new frontiers. Downton Abbey meets Gone With the Wind.

 

It’s 1912, in a world where slavery is dying and women’s rights are rising, and four young women who once shared a bond—and experienced a tragedy—question their own truths.

 

Simone Dubois’ life was unraveling. All she had known and held dear was gone from her. At ten, all she wanted was to escape beneath the black waters of the Edisto River. She couldn’t know her whole life would be stolen from her.

 

When she returns to Saisons sixteen years later, she has no memory of ever having been there. Not even that it was her birthplace. Enlisting the help of her childhood friend, Mercedes—whose name stayed with her, if in shadowy dreams only—Simone encounters misty memories, and stirs up more mystery than she started with.

 

 

 

““Mercedes?” I could barely breathe. I didn’t remember this woman. The name only tumbled in my mind, tugging at memories I couldn’t see. I don’t know how but I knew I could trust her. Still…”

 

 

 

““NO!” My throat raw already, my scream was jagged and panicked and desperate. “No!” I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to remember… Not this. I didn’t want to remember this.”

 

 

#Blogwords, Special Edition, The Whispering Winds of Spring, Seasons Book 4, Excerpt

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BLOGWORDS – Thursday 17 May 2018 – HEADLINE NEWS – GDPR – GENERAL DATA PROTECTION REGULATION

HEADLINE NEWS – GDPR – GENERAL DATA PROTECTION REGULATION

 

 

So, yeah, about privacy stuff… In my naïvete, I have failed utterly to provide the appropriate information. Allow me to amend this egregious oversight for you today.

GDPR is the acronym for General Data Protection Regulation. Yeah, it’s Greek to me too. But, apparently, it takes effect 25 May 2018, and with the whole world up in arms about their personal information, and data breaches, I figured I’d best do some back-peddling and tend to some blog housekeeping.

  1. I am creating and posting my privacy policy and my disclosure statements, and will keep those prominent on both the blog and the website, as well as including in this blog post.
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In my Pollyanna, rose-colored world, we would all get along and these things wouldn’t be necessary. But Amazon likes to know and lovely regulations say I have to so…

 

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  • Limitation of Liability: By entering you agree to release and hold harmless Robin’s Nest and its sponsors for liability, mail loss, illness, injury, death, litigation, claim or damage that may occur, directly or indirectly, whether caused by negligence or not, from such entrant’s participation in the giveaway and/or his/her acceptance, possession, use, or misuse of any prize or any portion thereof.

 

Disclosure of Material Connection: I often receive free books (whether egalleys, ARCs, or paperbacks) from publishers, authors, and publicity groups in exchange for only my honest review. I am not required to write a positive review, nor any review for that matter. The opinions I express are always my own. Reviews of books which I received free in anticipation of a review will be indicated as such at the end of that particular post. Otherwise, the book was part of my personal collection or borrowed from a library.

If I don’t think it’s a good book, I will be clear in my review. As always, you the reader are free to decide which books (if any) you purchase based on my reviews and from where you purchase them.

I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

 

 

Now, who wants tea?

 

 

#Blogwords, Headline News, GDPR, General Data Protection Regulation, Privacy Policies, Disclosure Statement and Policies

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BLOGWORDS – BLOG BLITZ & BOOK LAUNCH – MAY 2018

BLOGWORDS – Saturday 12 May 2018 – SPECIAL EDITION – THE WHISPERING WINDS OF SPRING RELEASE – EXCERPT and COVER REVEAL

 

“My world came to an end the day I jumped off Versailles.”

https://www.singinglibrarianbooks.com/

“The comforting words of dearest friends are a soothing balm to a jagged soul.”

 

SPECIAL EDITION – THE WHISPERING WINDS OF SPRING RELEASE – EXCERPT and COVER REVEAL

 

I was content living on the Walden Plantation. I had my friend, Clover, and was friends with the other children who lived on our lane.

Of course, all the other children out on our lane were Negro children. And they didn’t attend the schoolhouse where I did. I had to go all the way to Pascalville School but Clover and the other Negro children didn’t have to walk so far; Walden Schoolhouse was right here on the plantation.

I didn’t have so many friends at school on account of I lived on the plantation with the slaves. I knew they weren’t slaves anymore—I had studied about the war and how they were free now. What they didn’t teach us and what I didn’t understand way why some of the people thought they owned other people like they owned horses and such. I knew Mamá didn’t like them, leastways she didn’t like me to play with them. But we lived more like the slaves ever did than those who owned them.

Not all of my classmates were so mean as that, though. Lucy Mae was friendly enough to me, and she didn’t have a dress so fancy as Hester MacBee. Hester MacBee wore frilly dresses like… like I didn’t know who it was I saw in my mind. Somebody prissy, though, with black plaits and black leather boots and a lacy parasol that nobody ever did need at school.

Hester never did tote a parasol and she didn’t have black hair, neither, but she did have a lacy pinafore and her hair always was ever so curly.

Not like my hair. My hair was ratty sometimes on account of I didn’t have a brush to brush it with. And my dress was sometimes dirty on account of the dusty road when I walked home.

Lucy Mae’s mamá, she gave me supper sometimes when I walked to her house with Lucy Mae. And she said I could have some of Lucy Mae’s dresses, too. But I didn’t think Mamá would be so happy if I took Lucy Mae’s dress so I said no.

Mostly, though, I played with Clover when school was done, and sometimes with some of the other Negro children. Once they saw Clover was my friend they were my friends, too. And even their mammies and pappies didn’t mind if ever I came around so long as I didn’t get caught by Mr. Walden or one of his men.

 

Amidst the clamor of confusion, can she hear the whisper of her memories?

 

The southern town of Saisons lies at the crossroads between North and South, progressive and genteel antebellum life. Between East and West, between history and heritage, and new frontiers. Downton Abbey meets Gone With the Wind.

 

It’s 1912, in a world where slavery is dying and women’s rights are rising, and four young women who once shared a bond—and experienced a tragedy—question their own truths.

 

Simone Dubois’ life was unraveling. All she had known and held dear was gone from her. At ten, all she wanted was to escape beneath the black waters of the Edisto River. She couldn’t know her whole life would be stolen from her.

 

When she returns to Saisons sixteen years later, she has no memory of ever having been there. Not even that it was her birthplace. Enlisting the help of her childhood friend, Mercedes—whose name stayed with her, if in shadowy dreams only—Simone encounters misty memories, and stirs up more mystery than she started with.

 

WAIT FOR IT…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WAIT FOR IT…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WAIT FOR IT…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 isn’t she just gorgeous!!!

 

 

““Mercedes?” I could barely breathe. I didn’t remember this woman. The name only tumbled in my mind, tugging at memories I couldn’t see. I don’t know how but I knew I could trust her. Still…”

 

 

 

““NO!” My throat raw already, my scream was jagged and panicked and desperate. “No!” I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to remember… Not this. I didn’t want to remember this.”

 

 

#Blogwords, Special Edition, The Whispering Winds of Spring, Seasons Book 4, Excerpt and Cover Reveal

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