Several months ago, my internet was finicky.
It went on and off several times each day. I considered that, since it’s
summertime, perhaps lots of people were home sucking up those internet
resources.

But then the internet went out
completely. After a few hours, I called my provider. I always get a tickle out
of the recorded message telling me that, if I’m having problems, I should go
online and check the company’s website.

“But I have no internet!” I wanted to
scream at the robotic voice that kept steering me away from contact with a
real human.

After being disconnected for no
apparent reason—maybe I said something to offend the AI operator—I tried again.

“Our wait times are currently very
long,” the voice explained.

I didn’t hang up.

“Just a reminder, you can go to our
website…”

I wanted to throw the phone but held
my ground. After a about ten seconds of silence, the voice said, “You’re still
there.”

I jumped! It sounded like an
accusation.

“Let me get someone to assist you.”

I let out a breath. After a
conversation with a real person, I learned that, indeed, the service was down
all over my neighborhood. They hoped all would be well at about 6:00 PM that
evening.

But twenty-four hours later, I still had no access to the Web. After standing around with my hands in my pockets
wondering what to do, I tried to remember what life was like before we all
became addicted to e-mail and social media and instant messaging. And I
considered the number of times each day I would run to check if I’d missed
something vital.

You know…like some huge publisher
wants my newest book.

Or Netflix is interested in producing
an eight-part series on my fabulous life.

Or some impressive university wants to
bestow upon me an honorary doctorate for my literary brilliance.

Then, I had to admit that generally I
find nothing horribly important in my daily correspondences. And yet, I can’t
help myself. I remember a similar feeling each day when I was a kid
anticipating the mail, the kind with paper and ink and stamps. (For you
youngsters, Google it.) But back then we understood the mailman only arrived
once a day, a vast difference from our current 24-hour model, that has many of
us desperately seeking…I don’t know…some kind of validation, maybe.

I checked the mail on my phone—not so
easy since I have four accounts—and confirmed just how unimportant I am. I
tried to deal with my social media accounts, but dislike working on the tiny
screen, so I put the phone down.

It was in the evening that the horrible reality hit. No
streaming! There we were in Season 6 of Peaky Blinders with
no access. We were forced to try TV from the antennae, compelled to sit through
endless commercials. I wanted to weep.

Okay! I feel better now.

Yep, I’m a spoiled brat.

Later, I considered what I might do
instead of “working” online. I closed my eyes and considered the things I do
for joy: bake brownies, read a book, call a friend, play my guitar, plan a nice
meal, see what’s still eatable in the garden, go for a swim.

When I opened my eyes, I was embarrassed, because I
realized what I needed to do: Be grateful for what I do have.

Still, right now, the brownies are winning. So, pardon me
while I go mix up a batch.

Here is a brief peek at Anne’s latest release.

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to the Graves Registration Service where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Praise for Your Forgotten Sons

“Although a defty crafted work of original fiction, “Your Forgotten Sons” by Anne Montgomery is inspired by a true story. An original and inherently interesting read from start to finish, “Your Forgotten Sons” will prove to be an immediate and enduringly appreciated pick.”  Midwest Book Review

“This was a quick, riveting read that really challenged me to think differently about our servicemen and women, especially those who take on the jobs that don’t get heroically depicted in the media or news…I really highly recommend this book to anyone that is looking for a different take on American history. I left it with a newfound appreciation for the unsung heroes.” Bekah C NetGalley 

“This is the truth. It’s gritty and painful and bittersweet – and true.  When you think you’ve read every perspective of WWII, along comes Bud to break your heart.” Bridgett Siter Former Military Reporter

“Anne Montgomery writes a strong story and I was hooked from the first page. It had a great concept and I enjoyed that this was inspired by a true story…It was written perfectly and I was invested in the story. Anne Montgomery has a great writing style and left me wanting to read more.” –  Kathryn McLeer NetGalley 

Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.

When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.

Cook pasta prior to starting fish. Re-warm by running hot water over the noodles just before serving.

TANTALIZING COD
1 tbsp. olive oil
½ med. onion, sliced thin
2 garlic cloves, chopped fine
½ cup dry white wine
5 lg. Roma tomatoes, chopped
½ cup black olives, sliced
2 tbsp. parsley, chopped or 1 tbsp. dried
1 tbsp. capers, drained and chopped
¼ tsp. crushed red pepper
4 cod fillets, about 6 oz. each
½ tbsp. fresh basil, chopped or 1 tsp. dried

Heat a large skillet on medium-high. Add oil. Heat until it shimmers. Add onion, stir until translucent and lightly browned. Stir in garlic, cook 30 seconds. Add wine, cook 1 minute. Stir in tomatoes with the juice, olives, parsley, capers and red pepper. Heat to boiling.

Lay cod fillets over tomato mixture. Lower heat to medium. Cover skillet and cook until cod turns opaque throughout and flakes, about 9 minutes.

Sprinkle basil across the top.

Serve over whole grain spaghetti.

Don’t prepare extra. Leftovers have a stale taste and tend to be tough.

May you enjoy all the days of your life filled with good friends, laughter, and seated around a well-laden table!

Sloane

Lunch, dinner—or breakfast the next morning, Sloane has you covered! Because the best times always start in the kitchen.

Sloane Taylor is an Award-Winning author with a second passion in her life. She is an avid cook and posts new recipes on her blog every Wednesday. The recipes are user friendly, meaning easy.

Taylor’s cookbooks, Date Night Dinners, Date Night Dinners Italian Style, Sizzling Summer, and Recipes to Create Holidays Extraordinaire are released by Toque & Dagger Publishing and available at all book vendors.

Have
you ever wondered if or how a person’s name affects his/her personality? Does
your name determine your fate? Or was Shakespeare right to shrug off labels?
The older I get, the more I am convinced that the Bard was wrong—that there is
something in a name, after all.

My great-grandmother was named Tatyana. There are several different meanings of that name. From ancient Greek, it translates as “founder of order” or “organizer.” According to other translations, it means “a fairy queen,” or “fairy
princess.” She was both. Born to a noble Russian family, she was raised like a
princess. Later in life, by fate’s capricious will, she became head of the
household, where she reigned supreme, bringing order and organizing the lives
of her family. 

Let’s
start from the beginning: Tatyana Fortushina was born in 1901 in Qusar
(Kusary), located in the foothills of the Great Caucasus Mountains in
Azerbaijan. One of her brothers was an orthodox priest. The other was in the army.
She also had two sisters. 

Unfortunately,
the details about my great-grandmother’s family are sketchy at best. According
to all the people I have talked to, Tatyana (or Baba Tanya, as everybody called
her) wasn’t close with her parents or siblings. My guess? Probably because of
her highly unusual marriage. As I said, my great-grandmother was raised and
educated like a princess, graduating from an establishment (St. Nina’s) for
girls of prominent Christian families, and was the apple of her parents’ eye…. until
she met my great-grandfather, that is. 

Here,
we draw a big, fat blank. To this day, no one in the family knows how or why Meshady
Abbas, the son of an Iranian manufacturer, ended up in post-revolutionary
Azerbaijan.

When
did my great-grandparents meet? And how on earth did a Muslim merchant get parental
permission from one of the prominent members of Christian society to marry his
daughter? The details are shrouded in secret. One thing we know for sure,
though, is that in order to marry my great-grandmother, my great-grandfather
converted to Christianity. And so, Meshadi Abbas became Artemy Kurdov and
married my great-grandmother. Vera, my grandmother, was born the next year. 

Their
small family was happy—at least I want to believe that they were—but not for
very long. When my grandmother Vera was a toddler, Artemy Kurdov, who embraced
the Communist ideology wholeheartedly, was executed as an enemy of the nation. Ironic?
Not in the least. It’s hard to understand now, but, during Stalin’s regime,
just sneezing the wrong way was enough to be labeled as an enemy of the
state—literally.  And my daredevil of a great-grandfather
had managed to become something of a Major in the small city where he lived.  I assume that’s why he was ultimately
executed… or perhaps he just said something, or did something, or looked at
someone in passing, and some zealot took a notice and reported it. I don’t want
to think about my great-grandfather’s days in prison or the beatings he
endured. Torture was a regular practice of the NKVD—the original name of the
KGB. 

Thus,
my great-grandmother Tatyana was left a young widow with no income to support
her and her daughter, and no family to turn to for help. But instead of falling
apart, this delicately built dark-haired princess squared her shoulders and
spat fate in the eyes. She showed everybody what a graduate of St. Nina’s was
made of! Remembering the sewing lessons she took in school, Baba Tanya soon
became one of the most sought-after seamstresses—all the wives of the city’s
elite were dressed by her. Much later, her granddaughters, my mom and my aunt,
paraded in the clothes that were the subject of envy to their friends.  She had finally found her footing, and life
in her household became content. They had a roof over their heads, food on the
table, but, most importantly, they had each other. 

And
then… 

Her
only daughter, her whole world, the reason of her being, fell in love with a
man almost twice her age… and had to get married, or else. I can only wonder
what Baba Tanya felt, when her nice and quiet world suddenly fell apart, as her
own daughter repeated the same fate she had? As a mother, how would I react if
I were in her shoes? Would I let my daughter chose her own fate, or would I try
to interfere? I honestly don’t know. 

In
the end, my great-grandmother gave the couple her blessings and stepped aside. For
the next five years, she lived alone. Was she hurt? I imagine she was. Feeling
lonely? Abandoned? Oh, absolutely. But she was too proud to show her emotions.
Always restrained, now she became coolly aloof. 

Years
later, when her beloved daughter became a widow with two small children at the
age of twenty, she immediately took all of them under her wing. How could a
woman, a mother, and grandmother keep harboring grudges when three people she
loved more than life itself needed her? Hence, she became the head of an
all-female household, one she ruled for almost three decades. The second
meaning of her name – the founder of order—had come into play. 

According
to my family, she was a stern woman, fair and loving, but reserved. She didn’t
suffer fools, didn’t forgive easily, and meted out punishment with a precision
of a surgeon. Her scalpel was her tongue—sharp, cold, and merciless. But her
love for her girls, although never visible, ran deep and was true. 

My
grandmother Vera always said that, if not for Baba Tanya and her sacrifices, they
probably wouldn’t have survived the hunger of World War II. During that
horrible time, to suppress her own hunger, Baba Tanya started to smoke. She went
hungry for days, giving her tiny bread portions to her granddaughters. She learned
to cook from bran and waste products, conjuring meals out of things
unimaginable. She stood hours on end in bread lines, barely alive from hunger, all
the while puffing away her disgusting handmade cigarettes. That cheap tobacco
mix affected her lungs, ultimately causing her to pass away years later when I
was barely three years old.  

My
memory of her is vague: a frail figure in a starched white kerchief, thin and
pale-faced, coughing loudly. I remember I was afraid to enter the room when the
‘scary old woman’ was lying in bed. I suppose, for a small child, her frailty,
her illness-ravished face, that horrible dry cough could and did look scary.

But
still…to this day, I feel ashamed of myself. 

Interestingly
enough, while I don’t remember much of my great-grandmother’s face, one thing
that stuck with me is her hands, which I can remember clearly. 

Isn’t
that just strange? 

Or
is it just the wonders of human memory?

Here is a peek at
Stella’s time travel romance novel for your reading pleasure. 

One key unlocks the love of a lifetime…but could also
break her heart. 

Nika Morris’s sixth sense has helped build a successful
business, lovingly restoring and reselling historic homes on Florida’s Amelia
Island. But there’s one forlorn, neglected relic that’s pulled at her from the
moment she saw it. The century-old Coleman house.  

Quite unexpectedly, the house is handed to her on a
silver platter—along with a mysterious letter, postmarked 1909, yet addressed
personally to Nika. Its cryptic message: Find the key. You know where it is.
Hurry, for goodness sake! 

The message triggers an irresistible drive to find
that key. When she does, one twist in an old grandfather clock throws her
back in time, straight into the arms of deliciously, devilishly handsome Elijah
Coleman. 

Swept up in a journey of a lifetime, Nika finds herself
falling in love with Eli—and with the family and friends that inhabit a time not
even her vivid imagination could have conjured. But in one desperate moment of
homesickness, she makes a decision that will not only alter the course of more
than one life, but break her heart. 

’Til Time Do Us
Part
is available in Kindle and Paperback at AMAZON. 

Talented author Stella May is the penname for Marina Sardarova who has a fascinating history you should read on her website. 

I love Sunday Brunch
and all the egg casserole dishes. This one is not for everyone, but I love
onions and eggs. Perhaps you will too. It’s easy and fast. You can add small
bits of bacon or ham for an extra interest. Shake a bit of Paprika to the top
of the pie for a garnish with parsley. 

I grew up in South
Georgia not too far from Vidalia. Although the mild popular brand of sweet onion
is named for the small country town, it’s actually the surrounding soil that is
the reason for the tasty veggie. It lacks sulfur which causes the biting taste
of other types. 

Only 20 surrounding
counties may name their onions Vidalia. (Vidalia Act of 1986.) You’d never know
the difference driving through the area. Just pleasant, rolling country farmland with the occasional roadside stand selling—you guessed it—Vidalia onions.
(And Pauline pecans, but that’s a story for another time.)  Now we can buy them most anywhere when in
season. Vidalia onion! Conjures up the tasty memory of a drive-in hamburger
laden with sweet onion and cheese, doesn’t it? With your steady BF, of course. 

This pie is not a good keeper. Serve it warm from the oven.

1 c. saltine or Ritz
crackers, crushed (Club is okay too)

Preheat oven 350° F. 

Mix crushed crackers
with melted butter. Pat crackers and butter mixture to form a crust in 8- or
9-inch pie plate. Set aside. Sauté sliced onions in butter until opaque not
browned.  In bowl mix eggs, milk,
salt/pepper to taste. Pour over onions. Sprinkle with cheese and bake for 45
minutes or until knife inserted comes out clean. Serve hot from the oven in pie
slices.  Add thick slices of French bread
to round off your breakfast. Orange juice, small glasses of champagne, a
selection of jams, will turn this dish into gourmet.

I’m afraid this dish
requires both a couple of y’alls and two Y’alls come backs.

Enjoy!

Here is a little from one of my cozy mystery books under my pseudonym Janis Lane. I hope you enjoy it.

Abby Naycomb, wildlife photographer, found more than scintillating images of the birds of Central Florida. A handsome park ranger turns her world upside down even as a criminal stalker seeks to threaten her life.

Who knew trespassing in the restrictive area of a Florida State Park to get the perfect shot of the sand hill crane family would wind up with Abby Naycomb, wildlife photographer extraordinaire, meeting the most handsome park ranger in the world? Mating/nesting birds were the subject of her quest but finding those intense blue eyes in the lens of her camera was distracting and hormone inciting.

Adam Rawlings, millionaire park ranger, was as shocked as Abby when she accidentally discovered a murdered man buried in a shallow grave in the sand.

Face to face with an exciting relationship with Adam, the perfect man, leaves her no excuse for backing away from a growing intimacy. Vagabond Abby must consider relocating if she wants to continue an invaluable relationship with Adam, the original hometown hero.

Abby struggles as she continues to work deep in the breathtaking wilds of Central Florida while trying to ignore the menace of a serious and threatening stalker. Her task was to reexamine long held premises and prejudices while admiring the southern flora and fauna through the lens of her camera. Bird and nature lovers alert.

SHORT TEASER
Busted in Bird land. Still…what a calendar he would make with that uniform, that smile, those shoulders. She stifled a sigh of pure visual pleasure.

Stoppit!

She stifled a giggle which was riotously rolling around deep inside her, threatening to break out. He continued to loom, gazing thoughtfully while she fidgeted in her warm nest sheltered by the dune. Surrounding them, the sporadic wind blew the smell of something baking in the sun. With her face turned upward and her eyes half-closed against the glare, she awaited her fate. She offered a weak smile while trying to bring into focus his face which was back lit by the bright sunlight. It couldn’t hurt, she thought, and tried for puppy dog eyes pleading for mercy.

“Leave this area, and I’ll forget your lapse of good manners–this time. Don’t let me catch you trespassing on restricted lands again. This is a nature preserve. Visitors may not wander about– especially during nesting season,” he added giving her a stern look. “And that goes for well-meaning, good-looking, lady photographers as well.”

Janis Lane is the penname for gifted author Emma Lane who writes cozy mysteries as Janis, Regency as Emma, and spice as Sunny Lane.

She lives in Western New York where winter is snowy, spring arrives with rave reviews, summer days are long and velvet, and fall leaves are riotous in color. At long last she enjoys the perfect bow window for her desk where she is treated to a year-round panoramic view of nature. Her computer opens up a fourth fascinating window to the world. Her patient husband is always available to help with a plot twist and encourage Emma to never quit. Her day job is working with flowers at Herbtique and Plant Nursery, the nursery she and her son own.

Look for information about writing and plants on Emma’s new website. Leave a comment or a gardening question and put a smile on Emma’s face.

Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to check out the things that make Emma smile on Pinterest.

If you’ve been
following my blog or my social media accounts, you may know that I’ve got to
the end of this year (2025) to find another publisher who would be willing to
breathe new life into my back list, and publish future books. I gave myself the
grace to be sad when I heard the news that my present publisher will no longer
be excepting submissions, and will pare down their promotion and marketing by
the end of 2025. Authors need growth. We also need challenges. So, I decided to
shake up my author life, and start the query process early so my books can have
another chance to reach new readers, and hopefully keep the ones I’ve got.

The thought of
querying again—after being with my current publisher for ten years—made my
teeth itch and body convulse. Augh. But, like anything, it takes some gumption
and a good deal of action to make things happen in your life. I knew I had a
slight advantage being in the publishing game for a while, so I reached out to
a few of my author friends to see who they were published with, and if I could
use their name when submitting my query. Since it’s a small world in this
business, I got the green light from friend Regan W.H. Macaulay, and submitted
my Canadian book series to Pandamonium
Publishing House based in Ontario, Canada. I made the decision to split up
my two series, The
Last Timekeepers young adult time travel adventures, and Mysterious
Tales from Fairy Falls teen psychic mysteries because I’ve learned the hard
way that you don’t put all your eggs (your books) in one basket (same
publisher) in case they close or go bankrupt. This happens far more often than
you know, so authors are left scrambling to find another publisher.

This is where miracles
happen. Not a day went by when Pandamonium Publishing House emailed me back to
schedule a Zoom meeting with me, and talk about the possibility of signing with
them. The meeting lasted over an hour, and needless to say, they were ready to
sign me to publish my two existing books from Mysterious Tales from Fairy
Falls: Lost
and Found, and Blackflies
and Blueberries. Woohoo! They’ll also take on future project in this series
of five, so it’s nice to find a wonderful home for these books. My two Fairy
Falls books should be republished by the end of May, and I couldn’t be happier
finding a new home for them.

 If you’re in the
process of searching for a new publisher, make sure that you look for a
different
experience than the one you’ve had with your previous publisher.
There’s a reason why they closed their doors. Do your due diligence, and see
what other publishers offer to republish your back list, and take on new
submissions. For instance, ask if they add extra bonuses at the back of your
book, like reading guides for teachers or discussions for book clubs. Will they
develop and execute a promotional campaign, including social media outreach,
collaborations, and cross-promotions? What about coordinate tours, author
interviews, and book signing events? Do they create and distribute promotional
materials such as graphics, press releases, and excerpts? Lots to think about
before choosing the right publisher to re-release your book babies. Right?  

That said, it’s been a
strange and stressful start to this year with personal and family challenges to
deal with, scheduling an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon for my knee
replacement (looks like August or September), and allowing myself to grieve a tragic
loss. I look forward to a new author life with a new publisher, and hopefully
connecting with new readers. If you’re an author, has this circumstance ever
happen to you? If you’re a reader, do you follow your favorite authors to their
new publishing homes? Would love to read your comments. Cheers and thanks for
taking the time to read my blog. I appreciate you!