For Black History Month, my post will focus on an amazing book I discovered while researching my October 2023 D.D. post on Hallie Q. Brown (1850-1950). Published by Ms. Brown in 1926, Homespun Heroines and Other Women of Distinction contains sixty biographical sketches/essays written by twenty-nine contributors. Ms. Brown wrote 21 of them.
Here is the book’s dedication which includes a verse of poetry by poet Clara Ann Thompson (1869-1949):
In memory of the many mothers who were loyal in tense and trying times,this volume is affectionately dedicated to the National Association of Colored Women of America and Canada.
Through all the blight of slavery
They kept their womanhood
And now they march with heads erect,
To fight for all things good,
Nor care for scorn nor seek for praise,
Just so they please their God.
Whether well-known like Phillis Wheatley or less well-known like Martha Payne, the mother of Daniel Payne, who founded Wilberforce University, each essay shares how these women impacted society in whatever role they found themselves. By publishing Homespun Heroines, Hallie Brown and her co-authors made sure the world learned about women worthy of remembrance regardless of their “lot” in life.
In the foreword, author and teacher Josephine Turpin Washington (1861-1949) begins:
“Interesting as are the facts recorded in this book, they do not constitute its chief value. That is found in its reflection of the wonderful spirit which moved the women who strove and achieved, despite obstacles greater than any which have stood in the way of other upward struggles.”
Then she ends with, “The result is a work which not only furnishes useful information, but—what is even more—inspires to finer character and racial development.”
My edition of Homespun Heroines is part of a collaboration between the Schomburg Library in Harlem, Dr. Henry Louis Gates, and Oxford University Press. In his Note from the Schomburg, Howard Dodson, the Schomburg’s director at the time, wrote that when titles from the 19th century were being reprinted in the 1960s, with the exception of well-known names like Phillis Wheatley, the work of women was notably absent. The Schomburg therefore created The Schomburg Library of Nineteenth-Century Black Women.
By sharing my African American women posts here on Delilah’s blog I think that I too am honoring the “memory of the many mothers who were loyal in tense and trying times” as Hallie Brown and her co-authors did. Their work has inspired me to begin compiling information on African American women of the modern era as well as continuing to share about those from the 19th century. I’ve already written about some of the women found in Homespun Heroine’s pages. I look forward to sharing about others I’m discovering thanks to this fantastic resource.
For a chance at a $10 Amazon Gift Card, share in the comments any thoughts you might have on this post or the name of a resource that you’ve learned Women’s History from.
One Breath Away by Michal Scott
Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more. Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex. Hope ignites along with lust until the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…
Excerpt:
Arousal—fondly remembered and sorely missed—sizzled between Mary Hamilton’s well- rounded thighs. Moisture coated her nether lips and threatened to stoke the sizzle into a blaze. The sensation surprised her, as did the owner of the gaze that lit the flame.
Eban Thurman stood against an opposite wall of the town’s community hall. Although the room was wide as two barns and filled with revelers, neither the distance nor the presence of the crowd lessened the power of his gaze. He studied her with a curiosity that didn’t grope with disdain, but caressed with approval.
With respect.
This kind of appreciation was never given to women as dark and as large as she. Gratitude heated her face.
Gratitude and embarrassment. Her lavender toilet water couldn’t hide the fragrance of arousal. She shuddered with shame then glanced around. Had anyone else detected the odor? All the merrymakers seemed too caught up in the rhythmic fast fiddling and foot-stomping of Safe Haven’s seventh annual Juneteenth Revel to notice her discomfort.
In 1872 Texas who took note of a black woman who ain’t been asked to wed?
Yet Eban’s perusal said not only did he take note, but he liked what he saw.
Today’s post may seem an odd one, but for me, it isn’t. See, recently, Mardi Gras was celebrated, which is a major event in Louisiana. And since 2020—when the entire world broke—it hasn’t been the same. Sure, it’s on its way to recovery, but it’s taking a while to get there. I should say, though, that this isn’t something that many people who have been around and are familiar with carnival are overly concerned with because, as mentioned, Mardi Gras is a big deal. It has tons of moving parts. Restructuring events this large is complicated. For those who think I’m minimizing the disruption, reflect on what happened in the years following Hurricane Katrina. It wasn’t that much different than what is presently occurring.
I began by saying Mardi Gras is a popular celebration in Louisiana. This is true. However, it is an event celebrated across the globe. New Orleans is likely the place where it is the most famously celebrated or is given the most attention. But NOLA wasn’t where Mardi Gras was created or even first celebrated. It’s just that when NOLA does something it does it big. Like, there is nothing really “over-the-top” about the place. Nevertheless, this post isn’t about Mardi Gras. Carnival was just the reason this topic registered with me.
This year, several parades were canceled—not due to weather but due to continued money issues that a lot can be attributed to the start of the icky Rona situation. In 2020, Fat Tuesday was on February 25, barely beating the U.S. shutdown/shelter-at-home. In 2021, it’s fair to say, that the Mardi Gras public celebration in NOLA was all but canceled. In 2022, it returned, but many parades/krewes didn’t return due to financial issues and parade route conflicts. This has continued to be the case as people get back on their feet.
So, as some friends and I were discussing the “good ol’ days” of carnival, we began to realize that there are plenty of things that we’ve taken for granted about Mardi Gras. Taking something for granted means failing to appreciate the value of something due to overfamiliarity. It also means failing to make assumptions without asking questions. Well, while we were having this profound discussion (and yes, distilled spirits were involved), the song House of the Rising Sun (or as I’ll refer to it from henceforth, HOTRS) began playing. And for the first time, I took note of the lyrics—perhaps because the first line begins: “There is a house in New Orleans.” As many times as I’ve heard this song, I never once questioned anything about it. I looked at my companions and asked where this place was located. No one knew, and that sent me spiraling down a wormhole of intoxication and loose association. Not only was I curious about the where, but I also wanted to know the what and why. So, I did some digging, and the results were intriguing…at least, to me.
Before I began dumpster diving into the where, what, and why, I was smacked with who. This became significant later when trying to answer what.
Like Mardi Gras being closely associated with NOLA despite it not originating from there, HOTRS is mostly associated with being performed by the British rock band, The Animals. Their version was released in 1964. However, HOTRS is a folk song that is believed to have been written in the early twentieth century and has been performed/recorded by a host of other artists. This list includes (in alphabetical but not recording order) the following: The Animals, Clarence “Tom” Ashley, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Five Finger Death Punch, Gwen Foster, Frigid Pink, Geordie, Andy Griffith, Woody Guthrie, Johnny Halliday, Lead Belly, Los Speakers, Miriam Makeba, Johnny Miller, Sinead O’Connor, Odette, Dolly Parton, Pete Seeger, Nina Simone, Thin Lizzy, Dave Von Ronk (Mayor of McDougall Street), and Glen Yarborough. This list may not be exhaustive.
Reportedly, The Animal’s version of the song was based on Bob Dylan’s version, and Dylan based his version on Dave Van Ronk’s version. However, Ronk wasn’t the original artist. The original artist is alleged to have been a woman, and the original lyrics reportedly are “poor girl” and not “poor boy.” It is believed the lyrics were changed when the gender of the singer switched from male to female. This is significant because the switch in gender perception changes the interpretation of the song. I’ll swing back around to this later.
Where?
Most of the information that I’ve read says that the HOTRS is based on a real location in NOLA. To be fair, I did find a couple of sources that said it was fictitious and a few others that concluded it was real but located in other places than NOLA. As to what type of establishment it was, three common answers kept recurring: Read the rest of this entry »
I started 2024 by publishing a new book! Well, I re-released a book, that is.
My Mistletoe Master was originally published in 2016. It was my first book. I recently got my rights back from the publisher and decided to try my hand at self-publishing. It has a brand-new cover, a fresh edit, and a prologue that’s included for the first time!
Plus…it’s FREE!
My Mistletoe Master is a spicy contemporary romance. It’s new adult, BDSM, forbidden romance, second chance, and older brother’s hot best friend all rolled into one holiday-themed novel.
I’m visiting the blog today to drop off an excerpt for My Mistletoe Master, along with a link for you to download it for FREE. (Please note, I’m waiting for Amazon to price match it. It’s currently .99 cent there, but free everywhere else. Hopefully, they will drop it to free soon.)
In addition to My Mistletoe Master, I also have a PNR wolf shifter-fated mate novel that’s FREE! Two free books to start off your reading list this January. You can get it here: get Drew for free!
And I’ve heard you all like contests. Leave me comment and tell me how you celebrate the New Year. One winner will be selected to receive a paperback book. Their choice between the following:
Love Spells, Full Moons, and Silver Bullets
Tails from the Clayridge Fountain
Drew
Callum (after it releases in paperback)
My Mistletoe Master (after it releases in paperback)
My Mistletoe Master
Three years ago, he broke her heart. Now, she’s back in town and he’ll do anything to keep her.
When Nick catches her watching a fetish porno, Amelia isn’t sure what to expect. It certainly wasn’t a proposition to indulge her kinky side with her brother’s best friend—the man who destroyed her heart and confidence in one swoop.
Amelia’s three-year absence had taught Nick one thing—he doesn’t want to live without her. Nick isn’t willing to make the same mistake twice. He’ll do whatever it takes to show Amelia he can make her happy, even if that means learning what it takes to keep her satisfied in the bedroom.
Sneaking around during the holidays, Amelia questions if she can move past their history and trust Nick again.
Excerpt
Three years later…
Low keening moans and sharp slaps came from the speakers on her tablet.
Alone yet subtly embarrassed in her parents’ big house, she turned the volume down just a touch.
With her dad at work and her mother and brother recently gone to finish their holiday shopping, the welcome home from university hadn’t been as momentous as she’d expected. She’d been absent for three years, barely coming home between semesters. She had thought some sort of conversation would have at least occurred, not the quick ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ as her family fled the house she had received.
It was a busy time, especially with her parents’ annual holiday party. Besides, they hadn’t expected her home until late afternoon anyway, so who could fault them for rushing out the door as soon as she’d arrived?
Having dumped her stuff in the foyer, she’d proceeded to make herself a cup of tea, then had settled on the couch to check her grades.
No updates.
After scrolling social media, she’d given up trying to find a distraction and, instead, pulled up one of her favorite softcore porn videos. This one featured a Dom, clad in black leather pants and nothing else as he restrained a woman. He raised one arm, then the other, locking them in place above her head with cuffs. Suspended from the ceiling, the man went about binding the woman’s feet to the floor. Naked and spread eagle, she moaned for him. As he slowly raked his hand over here exposed ass, he denied her any form of release.
Growing wet between her legs, Amelia realized it had been too long since she’d had a man. Her body strained for more than her simple touch, but since she and her boyfriend had split two months ago, she would have to make do. To heighten her pleasure, she resisted her own needs, merely watching the two on the screen.
Pressing her palm against her jean-covered crotch, she watched as the woman cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure as the man repeatedly spanked her. Moaning aloud with the video, Amelia abandoned her restraint, rocking against her hand. Her eyes drifted shut as she tugged on the button of her jeans, eager to touch herself and work herself toward climax.
A cough sounded behind her, and she froze. “What a great way to start my morning.”
Amelia squeezed her eyes shut. No. No. No.
“Please, Sir,” the woman’s voice rang out from the tablet.
Wide-eyed, Amelia scrambled to shut the device off, finally muting the sound and flipping the cover over the screen.
A key in the front door that she would have heard, but another person already in the house? Damn it!
For a humiliating minute, Amelia prayed the floor would open up and swallow her whole. After three long years, this was not how she had envisioned facing him for the first time.
Frankly, she had planned to wear something sexy and elegant, and she wouldn’t have acknowledged his existence either. Instead, this was what Fate had in store.
Fuck my life.
Clutching her tablet to her chest, Amelia gathered what was left of her courage, standing to face him.
Nick Fuller. Her brother’s best friend and the man she’d been miserably in love with for decades.
From behind her makeshift shield, she studied him. He still took her breath away, even after he’d destroyed her fragile heart. With an unwavering stance, he stood with sleep-tousled hair, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, and blocked her escape. His chest was broad, his stomach chiseled, and his arms corded with long, lean muscles. His expression was dark and confused.
She realized he was waiting for an explanation. Rather than provide one, she led with, “What the hell are you doing here?”
He blinked. “I’m here for the holidays, like every year.”
Amelia groaned. “My mom didn’t tell me you were here yet,” she admitted lamely, as though that explained her sinful behavior. Granted, her mother had barely said two words to her when she arrived.
“Three days.”
At a standstill, they simply stared each other down. His gaze was curious as it examined her.
Her cheeks heated.
How long was he standing there watching me?
Rounding the couch, she wondered how many days she could hide in her room before her parents dragged her out forcibly. With a bit of luck, she could avoid him at least for a few days.
But that was the coward’s way out and she knew it. This year’s plan had centered on pride and confidence, no matter how much she had to fake it.
I guess that plan is out the window now.
Aiming to shoulder her way past him so she could get to the stairs, Amelia put on a brave face and stalked toward him. His big body didn’t budge as she tried to maneuver around him.
Attempting to edge by, she mumbled, “Maybe we could just forget about this. You know, pretend I’m just not here yet.” She tried for a bright smile, but it faded when she saw humor light his gaze. Growing up, he and Gabe had teased her endlessly, and now she’d handed him ammunition.
“I don’t think so,” he took a step closer.
She had to tilt her head to keep his gaze. Rascal that he was, he dared to smile at her discomfort. Her body was primed for the orgasm she’d denied herself and his nearness didn’t help matters. Masculinity and dominance rolled off him in waves. People had always taken notice when he entered a room. He wasn’t the broad and bulky type like her brother; he was lean with a natural grace that made women think: stamina.
“I can’t believe it. I would never have thought Gabe’s little sister was such a perv.”
Convinced he was merely trying to get a rise out of her, her eyes narrowed, and her determination to sock him grew. Casual as you please, she shrugged. “It’s just a little kink.”
His smile widened.
She knew better than to trust that smile.
“You’re not going to tell anyone.” She winced when her words sounded more like a plea than an order.
“What’s my silence worth to you?”
This was the Nick she remembered from her childhood. Rebel, tease…scoundrel.
She ground her teeth and insisted, “You won’t tell.”
“Well, that depends on you, sweetheart,” he whispered. And was it her imagination, or had he gotten closer?
The firstborn of Sylvanus and Anne Smith’s eleven children, Sarah was born on July 31, 1831, in the now historic Black Brooklyn neighborhood of Weeksville. Her father was one of Weeksville’s founders and one of the few black men who could vote because he had $250 in property. Both Sarah and her sister Susan were firsts in African American history in New York. Sarah became the first African American female to serve as a principal of a public school. Her sister Susan was the first African American female in New York State to receive a medical degree.
When Sarah was fourteen, she began her career as a teaching assistant. In 1854, she taught at the African Free School of Williamsburg (Brooklyn). By the time she retired from teaching in 1900, she served for thirty-seven years as a principal. First at Colored School No. 7 in Manhattan in 1863 then as principal for both Colored School No. 4 and Public School No. 80 in 1866. She used her position to help other African American women in the teaching profession. She signed a letter of support to the Board of Education on behalf of a teacher, Ms. G.F. Putnam, for her appointment to the position of Head of Department in Public School No. 83.
In addition to teaching, Sarah was an active suffragist. She founded the Equal Suffrage League in Brooklyn, the first suffrage club for African American women. She also headed the suffrage department of the National Association of Colored Women. Alva Vanderbilt Belmont reached out to Sarah in 1910 to see if African American women might be interested in joining her suffrage club, The Political Equality Association. The answer was no, as many white women’s suffrage movements did not focus on civil rights issues important to all African Americans, like lynching. In 1911, Sarah’s activism took her to England with her sister Susan to the first Universal Races Congress, where Susan delivered a paper on African American women.
It comes as no surprise that Sarah also had an entrepreneurial spirit. She owned and ran her own seamstress shop from 1883 to 1911.
Sarah married twice. First to Episcopal minister Samuel Thompson (often mistakenly cited as Tompkins) who died in 1852. They had one daughter who lived to adulthood. In 1875, she wed Presbyterian minister and abolitionist Henry Highland Garnet who died in 1882.
Sarah died at home in Brooklyn in 1911. Noted African Americans W.E.B. DuBois and Addie Waites Hunton spoke at her memorial service.
Having grown up in Brooklyn, I knew more about her sister Susan Smith McKinney, but Sarah’s pioneering work in the New York City public school system has gained prominence thanks to the HBO series The Gilded Age.
Too often the ordeal of slavery is the only lens through which African American history is seen. Sarah Smith Thompkins Garnet’s story shows how free blacks in the North used their own advocacy and agency to build resilient African American communities.
For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card share your thoughts on Sarah’s life in the comments.
Better To Marry Than To Burn by Michal Scott
Wife Wanted: Marital relations as necessary. Love not required nor sought…
A bridal lottery seems the height of foolishness to ex-slave Caesar King, but his refusal to participate in the town council’s scheme places him in a bind. He has to get married to avoid paying a high residence fine or leave the Texas territory. After losing his wife in childbirth, Caesar isn’t ready for romance. A woman looking for a fresh start without any emotional strings is what he needs.
Queen Esther Payne, a freeborn black from Philadelphia, has been threatened by her family for her forward-thinking, independent ways. Her family insists she marry. Her escape comes in the form of an ad. If she must marry, it will be on her terms. But her first meeting with the sinfully hot farmer proves an exciting tussle of wills that stirs her physically, intellectually, and emotionally.
In the battle of sexual one-upmanship that ensues, both Caesar and Queen discover surrender can be as fulfilling as triumph.
Excerpt from Better to Marry than to Burn:
Of the men attending the meeting, thirty plunked down ten dollars for a chance at a wife. Twelve signed “I’m leaving” pledges. Caesar would do neither. His new beginning couldn’t be left up to chance, not now that staying took on a grander meaning.
Forty women arrived in June. Young, old, ex- slave and freeborn. Some widowed. Some with children. Some mere children themselves. Once introduced, each woman shared her hopes and wants. The lottery gave them three months to be courted and become brides or accept a return ticket back home. Moving as their stories were, Caesar knew he’d done right to go his own way. He’d advertised back East for a new wife. His ad, and to the point, stated his goal:
Freed man seeking woman to partner in marriage for at least two years in the black town of Douglass, Texas. Must be willing and able to help establish a legacy. Marital relations as necessary. Love neither required nor sought.
Only desperate females who couldn’t string two words together had answered. Not that he was looking for conversation, but he’d had a prize in his Emma and nothing less than another prize would do. Finally, he received a missive that gave him hope he’d found his match.
He’d held her envelope beside the flickering glow of a kerosene lamp and studied the handwriting. The elegant strokes bespoke education. The grade of paper used signaled either someone of means or at least someone intent on making a good impression. Two marks in her favor.
His eyebrows raised, however, as his gaze lingered over the Q imprinted in the wax seal holding the envelope shut. Another sign of quality…maybe too much quality. Why would a woman of obvious education and means be willing to brave the hardships of life out West as an ex-slave’s mail order bride?
The winter solstice has arrived, and with it the shortest day of the year. Darkness comes early and stays late, but the tide is beginning to shift. This time of year can be hectic with holiday preparations—decorating, baking, shopping—not to mention the parties and get-togethers. So often, when the holidays arrive, many of us are too tired to enjoy it. We get crushed under the expectations—our own and those encouraged by the media. We feel that everything has to be perfect or that the holidays are ruined.
It doesn’t have to be that way. It shouldn’t be that way. Turn off the computer, put down the phone, and take some time to breathe. Go for a walk. If you walk in the evening, you can enjoy the festive lights. Sit in front of the tree and enjoy it. Watch a favorite holiday show with your family. Don’t let the season pass by in a blur. Being present is better than any store-bought gift you could give your loved ones.
Then there’s the financial stress the season often brings with it. There are many ways to enjoy the season without spending a ton of money. Call up your sister, mother, or friend and invite them over for tea or coffee or maybe an afternoon of holiday baking, sharing memories, and laughing together. The best part about the holidays is spending time with loved ones…and the food. Can’t forget the amazing food.
I recently spent a day with my brother and sister-in-law making homemade chocolates. It’s a tradition we carry over from our childhood, which makes it extra special. In the end, I had a tin of yummy chocolates, and they had a stack of tins they’ll give out to friends. Spending the day baking with friends and splitting the end results is not only fun but takes the pressure off everyone involved. Cookie swaps have become popular for this very reason. It’s a great excuse to socialize and you go home with a variety of cookies without having to bake them all yourself.
If you’re looking for a fast, easy, and delicious recipe, here’s one for fudge that my family has been making for at least sixty years, maybe longer.
Five Minute Fudge (From the Carnation Milk Cookbook)
2/3 cup of Carnation milk
1 2/3 cups of sugar
~Bring sugar and milk to a boil and boil on low heat for 5 minutes. Stir constantly. Remove from heat.
Add:
1 ½ cups chocolate chips (I use semi-sweet dark chips)
1 ½ cups of plain mini marshmallows (I use Kraft minis)
1 tsp of vanilla flavouring
~Stir until smooth and pour into greased 8” X 8” pan.
~Cool and cut into squares.
And if you’re looking for a calorie-free treat to help get you through the season, be sure to check out Taming the White Wolf, the first book in the Lone Wolf Legacy Trilogy.
Taming the White Wolf
Lone Wolf Legacy, Book 1
White wolf Devlin Moore has spent nearly the last century following his destiny: hunting rogue werewolves. His fate is to be the only one of his kind—hardened, feared, and brutally ruthless. Only now, Devlin’s not alone. There are two others. And if that wasn’t unsettling enough, Devlin is drawn to New York City for what appears to be a human…
As far as Devlin can tell, vibrant artist Zoe Galvani is no threat. But there’s something about her— from her unusual eyes that look similar to the same shocking hue as his own, to his growing need to mark her as his that suggests magical forces may be at play.
Now there’s no escaping each other, or the attraction that grows stronger by the second. But no one, especially a human woman, should have this effect on a lone wolf. And just when he’s sure that having her could be his undoing…the truth steps out of the shadows.
If you want to read more, you can find Taming the White Wolfhere:
N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, assassins, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.
If you read the title and thought I was speaking of all the holiday rubbish that no one needs or ever asked for being sold by department stores and online, I’d say that is a pretty good guess. However, it’s incorrect. The holiday crud I’m referring to is bodily sickness.
Several years ago, I began to recognize a pattern in myself of becoming sick on Christmas Day or shortly after that. Initially, I thought it might have been some psychosomatic way to avoid those family members I didn’t wish to interact with. While this was a convenient offshoot, it wasn’t the reason it manifested.
After brief introspection and evaluation of circumstances, I quickly realized my very real illness was a byproduct of stress. Mentally, I would compile anxiety regarding creating a wonderful Christmas experience for everyone. This included everything from preparing holiday snacks to cooking to cleaning and preparing my home for visitors to decorating (interior and exterior) to purchasing the perfect gift. I had addresses to collect for all the Christmas cards to mail, outfits to assemble for events, and hair and nail appointments to look my best on the big day. In truth, I didn’t give two wooden nickels about the majority of these things. I only cared because others told me I should—others expected it of me. Left alone, I would have made it a PJ and given heartfelt, sappy homemade gifts as seen on Hallmark holiday movies. However, that wasn’t the kind of environment I was raised in. Sadly, much emphasis was placed on material items and public/social appearances. Thus, I would do my best to meet these expectations.
Begin Phase Two.
To accomplish these numerous tasks, I would run myself ragged and jump through a football field of burning hoops. Store after store, I would walk until I felt my arches falling. My eyeballs would bulge and water from scanning the internet. My head would ache from gift wrapping. (How many times can a roll of tape be lost in one sitting? And why is it so difficult to find the correct size box?) My muscles screamed at me from scrubbing. None of these things I found fun or rewarding. And by the time Christmas arrived, all I felt was tired and relieved. This is when I both mentally and physically would crash. My body responded the only way it knew, and that usually was with some type of respiratory illness.
Some family members would accuse me of faking sick by drumming it up all in my mind. “Oh, she’s not really ill. She’s just being lazy,” some would whisper. I didn’t know laziness came with fevers and congestion and lasted a week. Apparently, my wallet didn’t know it, either, when I had to pay for after-hours clinic care. And also, I apparently was good at tricking medical staff into hearing congestion in my chest and giving me diagnoses (e.g., pharyngitis, strep throat, and the flu). Then, one year, a physician informed me that my immune system was pretty crappy, and he suspected that when stressed, I would weaken it so much that it could not fight off infection. As a result, I was catching anything airborne that blew in my direction. He suggested that I should do less over the holidays and allow myself more time to rest.
Of course, I didn’t listen, at first, until one year I became especially ill. Actually, it wasn’t the illness that did me in. It was the nonproductive cough that lingered for weeks after. It was so deep that I felt I had swallowed a box of matches with each breath. I literally walked around clutching my chest like Fred G. Sanford. During the day it was bad, but at night, it became unbearable. Well, I learned my lesson.
The following year, I decided to take heed and began holiday preparations early. Instead of sorting through Christmas cards and trying to best match the design and card to each person, I purchased a box of assorted designs from the dollar store and randomly added the names. I cut the amount of Christmas treats I made in half, only decorated the interior, and put a time limit on the time I spent gift shopping. I still ended up getting sick that year but not nearly as severe as previous years.
I thought I was alone in this until recently when I was having lunch with a group of friends and the topic came up. Being who I am, after the discussion, I began researching, and this phenomenon isn’t uncommon.
Exposure to large crowds while shopping and traveling. Viruses and bacteria can loom anywhere. However, the body is amazing. When we are exposed to some conditions long enough, we build up a tolerance or immunity to it. But when we travel or in large crowds, we are subjected new viruses and bacteria. Thus, the probability of contracting an airborne illness or a germ from an infected surface increases. If avoiding crowds isn’t something that you can or want to do, you may want to avoid people who are visibly sick or touch surfaces that are known to have not been cleaned.
Forgetting to wash hands. How many surfaces do we touch when in public (e.g., opening doors, removing items from shelves, handshaking, etc.)? This act can transfer germs from a surface onto our hands. Then, without thinking, we may touch our mouth, eyes, or nose—increasing the probability of making us sick. Now, let’s be clear. Will failing to wash one’s hands after touching a public surface always result in illness? No. In fact, I don’t know scientific odds for that. But can it happen? Yes. Does it sometimes happen? Yes. Does handwashing help prevent it? Yes.
A frequent change in temperature. When researching, the information found listed this as going from inside to outside. However, I’m going to take this a step further and go out on a limb to include something that isn’t research-based. I live in the deep south, and anyone in this area can tell you it’s like a Heidi Klum Project Runway intro: One day you’re in a sauna. The next day you’re out on a witch’s boobie. Mother Nature is a bipolar roller coaster. It has literally snowed on day, and the next shot up into the 80s. Mostly, it is warm, but when the temps get to bouncing, noses get to running. There’s not much one can do about Mother Nature’s fluctuation but dressing appropriately to maintain a constant body temp from one setting to the next helps.
Lack of sleep. This one is easy. Being well rested can help stave off illness.
Reduce stress. Give yourself the grace to not have to do it all during the holidays. When possible, delegate tasks to people you trust and know will get the job done. Simplify tasks (e.g., purchasing prewrapped gifts, doing meal prep in advance, reducing number of purchases, etc.). Every little bit helps.
Dear Reader, I am so excited! I finally managed to get the manuscript up for Six Geese Laid! Thank you so much to Delilah for welcoming me back to share it with you.
This was a fun one for Rachel Wilder and I to do. It was originally written for the WROTE podcast and performed by Vance Bastien. He did such an amazing job with it! Hearing our words spoken out loud was a new experience for us.
The story came about because our friend, J. Scott Coatsworth, asked me if I’d like to contribute something for the podcast, and I thought, hey, that sounds fun! So we wrote it really fast during Thanksgiving week while we were at a family reunion.
The thing about writing fast is that it allows you to avoid the inner critic. There is power in drafting, which one learns when doing things like National Novel Writing Month (https://nanowrimo.org/). If I stop to wonder, “Is this spelled right?” “Is this the right way to say this?” “Would this really happen?” I lose the magic of the story. If I listen to the narrative I see in my head, and stay curious, then I can navigate from one piece to the next. “And then what happens?” “What would he say?” “How does that look?” I’ve heard it described as driving at night: you can’t see the whole journey, but you can see what’s in your headlights, and you can get from one end of a state to the other that way.
The other thing I enjoyed about writing this is that it’s a humorous story. It’s based in our Chicagoland Shifters world, and while there are times where things are funny, that series is urban fantasy – so, dark, angsty, and sexy. This story is a different vibe, and that was fun to experiment with going in. Short stories are always a challenge for novelists, because they need to be a full story: that means, a beginning, a middle, and an end or resolution. I find that difficult to do in a short format.
You’ll have to judge for yourself whether we hit the mark or not. But whether you decide to read it or not, I want you to know, Dear Reader, from the bottom of my heart: thank you for reading. Us authors work hard to tell stories that entertain and we are ever so fortunate to have readers like you that like to read.
Buy links (if you see your favorite retailer isn’t listed here, please drop me a note in the comments).
