May 2012 – Barbara Edwards Comments

On the Road- Again- by Barbara Edwards

The plan is to spend time at St George’s Island State Campground as a host couple. The best laid plans get thrown into the trash fairly often.

The phone call came. A close relative is dying. Come home.

So here we are packing away all the things we’d arranged for our comfort in the Florida heat. The screened room is down. The chairs packed, along with the

small grill and the folding table. I’m so disappointed that we have to leave early. Family come first, though.

I admit I wasn’t sure about volunteering during the increasing heat, but what the hey? I’ll try anything within reason.

The worse day was 94 degrees and high humidity, so we took it easy until the late afternoon. Between us, we found the weather was bearable as long as we paced ourselves.

I had another trip out at dawn to hunt for turtle nests. This time was different with swarms of flies driving us crazy as we drove the beach. It was another adventure I want to repeat.

The campground is between the bay and the Gulf,

within easy walking. The fishing is wonderful. Or so I’ve been told by the fishermen who take poles, nets, coolers on a cute wheeled cart and haul everything with them.

The wonderful Loggerhead Turtle pictures the Ranger took and shared for the other morning are for another time.

I took pictures at dawn and dusk. Of the birds. Of the soaring clouds before a local storm. And I love being here.

St George's Island, 5-12 008 — Sunset over the dunes

We’re already planning the return trip. We’ll be armed with more bug repellent, a bigger fan and a television antenna that gets the channels.

Visit my website at http://www.barbaraedwards.net for buy links for my books

Memorial Day is for every soldier by Barbara Edwards

2010 summer 011 — Minute Man National Park

Memorial Day is for every soldier in every conflict. I feel so strongly I am reblogging this post from my Memorial Day blog on Roses of Prose.

Memorial Day’s about more than parades, red poppies and barbeques. Memorial Day honors sacrifice.

So visiting the Minute Man National Park in Lexington-Concord Massachusetts has special meaning.

The shot heard around the world happened in a tiny village where a handful of men gave to the 350 million Americans alive today their freedom. As I walked their path, my heart

2010 summer 022 — Minute Man Statue, with my husband Bill

was in my throat. We don’t appreciate the struggle they endured. They lost their farms and businesses, their men died.

The area is charming with a few period houses still open. The park has two visitors’ centers and interpretive guides dressed in period attire. The path followed by those resolute men goes for

miles. I’m going back with my younger grandchildren. I want them to know where they got their freedom.

Would you be willing to sacrifice so much? I hope I would.

I came from a family that fought. My Father’s and Mother’s brothers (seven in total) all went overseas in World War Two. They marched through France and Italy, North Africa, Japan and the Pacific Islands. They serve on ships. My Father built ships at the Brooklyn Navy Yards. My Aunt Edna was a riveter putting airplane wings together.

2010 summer 025 — Barbara Edwards at monument

My daughter and her husband served in the United States Army. Two of my sons and a daughter-in-law served in the United States Navy. Just their service adds to more than 100 years. My grandson and granddaughter are in the Navy with number three in the early enlistment program for next September.

I am the grandchild of emigrants. My family appreciates the freedoms here. All four escaped the religious suppression, forced military service and virtual slavery of a serf type life. I love this country.

2010 summer 024 — The shot heard around the world

My husband’s family has been here since the 1600s. One of his ancestors joined the Minutemen. A company of armed men journeyed overland from New Haven, Connecticut to Lexington in two days, an incredible feat.

My eyes fill with tears as I picture their hardships. It was all for my family and me.

Take the time to visit the park. Walk where they marched and died. Listen to the lectures and learn why you enjoy the freedom you do.

Salute the flag and stand during the National Anthem.

Put flowers on the grave of a soldier on Memorial Day.

Say “Thank You” to our military.

And register to vote. Use the greatest privilege they sacrificed for: Vote for a free and responsible government.

Visit my website at http://www.barbaraedwards.net

Turtle Patrol on St George Island by Barbara Edwards

The turtle patrol goes out at dawn. Not a bad time to hit the white sand beach. I checked my alarm clock several times during the night. I didn’t want to oversleep and miss this opportunity. Not everyone can go on patrol, but I’m a volunteer on St George Island State Park and allowed.

The birds fly low over the water and the sand as our four-wheel drive gator crosses the beach. We need to stay close to the water’s edge so the tide wipes away the tracks, but at times the trash left by inconsiderate tourists has us crossing close to the dunes. Another duty for the volunteers is keeping the area clean.

The turtle expert is explaining to me what to look for, but I’m too excited to listen. She’s attended hours of class and been certified to hunt and mark turtle nests.

We’ll be checking over nine miles of beach for the turtles. The first tracks we find circle erratically, not normal unless the turtle is disturbed. Then we find someone’s sandle prints and paw-prints from a large dog. Someone took his dog for a walk after dark where he’s not allowed and it harassed the Loggerhead Turtle.

We still need to check for eggs. A nest can contain from one to one hundred and fifty

eggs. Maybe it didn’t lay, but if it did the nest needs to be covered with screen to thwart predators and posted with warnings.

We kneel in the sand and poke our hands into the sand. It is hard a couple inches down if it’s undisturbed. A soft place indicates the turtle dug down to deposit eggs. And there is a distinct odor from the turtle’s body fluids. After searching for an hour, we write-up a report that we didn’t find eggs, then the hunter notices a dead weed and swarming flies. Determined to be sure, she digs again. She finds the

nest underneath and carefully shows me the golf-ball sized eggs. I am thrilled.

We cover the nest and move on. Another track crosses to the dunes. An experienced ranger claims that nests in the dunes indicate a rough hurricane season ahead. The turtles instinctively shelter their eggs.

The second nest is covered and marked and we continue down the beach. Last year there were forty nine nests on this section of St George Island beach. This year we’ve found a Green Turtle nest along with the Loggerheads.

I spot a shell and stop to pick it up. A sunray is pretty and a keeper.

We don’t go shelling since it’s not allowed with a gator, but the trip itself has been an adventure.

I told my guide I’d love to do it again. Maybe after the fifty-five to seventy days it takes for the baby turtles to hatch.

Watching the tiny turtles head for the open water under the moon must be worth staying up all night.

Visit my website at http://www. barbaraedwards.net

Writing is a Lonely Profession

Welcome to my slant on what it means to be an author.
Writing is a lonely profession.
I sit for hours in front of my computer with the only company the people who populate my head.
Even when I’m with others my thoughts are concentrated on my plot, a turning point, a pivotal scene or black moment.
No one understands like another author.
So here is my transition to why I’m blogging today.

MFRW, a supportive group of authors is offering the opportunity to join.

Opportunity Knocks at Marketing For Romance Writers Summer Camp. Open the door to our MOTTO: SEEK, TEACH, LEARN, SHARE, SUCCEED.

Marketing for Romance Writers Summer Camp is July 14th – July 15th. To receive updates for the camp or learn more about it and MFRW, please sign up here: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/MarketingForRomanceWriters/

I’ve taken the MFRW classes on using Twitter, Facebook and Triberr with great success. I enjoy the interchange of information with fellow writers. Questions get asked and answered. The list of shared information goes on and on. The best part is that it’s other authors sharing what they’ve learned.

I’ve found a hundred plus friends who cry with me, laugh with me and celebrate with a glass of cyber champagne at success.

I’m Barbara Edwards. I write paranormal romance for The Wild Rose Press and Historical Romance with WingsEpress. My stories are dark and edgy. My heroes have something broken, either their spirit or an important aspect of their lives. Meeting the heroine sets them on the path to healing. All of my heroines are independent, stubborn women. Life has handed them problems that they face with resolution, intelligent, and love.

In Ancient Awakening, Police Officer ‘Mel’ Petersen investigates a death only she believes is murder. By disobeying direct orders from the Rhodes End Chief, she risks her career to follow clues that twist in circles to her backyard and lead the killer to her.

Her neighbor Stephen Zoriak is a prime suspect. Steve worked for a major pharmaceutical company where he discovered a weapon so dangerous he destroys the research. He is exposed to the dangerous organism. He suspects he is the killer and agrees to help her find the truth.

In the course of their investigation Mel and Steve find the real killer and a love that defies death.

Excerpt:

“Don’t touch me, Mel, not unless you’re willing to do a lot more,” he warned as her hazel eyes flared golden.

“Don’t threaten me, Steve. You’re…”

He pulled her into his arms despite the alarm bells clanging in his head.

Danger! Danger! Danger!

Her widened eyes met his. Mel’s hands were trapped against his chest, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, her fingers curled into his shirt.

Her mistake. His mistake was to crush her mouth under his.

Mel’s soft lips parted. Need exploded. The taste of black coffee didn’t hide her sweet flavor. As her tongue tangled with his, her arms slid around his neck and her fingers burrowed through his hair.

Steve hungered to peel the starched shirt off her soft shoulders, lay her on the thick turf and ease his desire. He tasted her brows, her cheek, along her throat, seeking the source of her call. Her pulse whipped under his mouth, awakening another need.

His teeth gently closed on the vulnerable vein.

He wanted, wanted, wanted…

Cold alarm chilled his pounding blood.

Steve gasped for air. He’d forgotten his own ironclad rule. Mel’s eyelids flittered open to reveal the molten glow of desire but he forced himself free.

He had no right to touch any woman. Not until he knew he hadn’t become what he had set out to destroy.

Barbara Edwards

www.barbaraedwards.net

Available on Kindle

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Buy hyperlink Ancient Awakening http://www.wildrosepress.us/maincatalog/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=177_136&products_id=4511

Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B002TG4NFG

Buy hyperlink Ancient Blood http://www.wildrosepress.us/maincatalog/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=177_136&products_id=4511

Opportunity Knocks at Marketing For Romance Writers Summer Camp. Open the door to: SEEK, TEACH, LEARN, SHARE, SUCCEED…and discover MFRW’S MOTTO of Achievement.

What IS That on The Roof? By Barbara Edwards

The camper is set-up, the screen-room ready, the folding chairs and tables arranged for watching the world go by on St George Island State Campground. I’m putting away the stuff in the kitchen when my husband calls me.

“Com’on out and see this.” Knowing the drill, I grab my camera and tiptoe outside. He laughs and points at the camper’s roof. At first I didn’t see it. Then, “What is that on the roof?” I exclaim.

St George Island is five miles into the Gulf of Mexico across a long causeway. It’s one of the major stops for migratory birds and has one of the top ten rated beaches in the United States. So birds are common. I saw a bald eagle on a telephone pole. An albatross winged alongside the car during our trip over the causeway and miles of dunes are fenced to keep the nesting birds safe.

I’m not a birdwatcher. I can identify the common birds like cardinals and crows. The rest are just pretty objects to watch. I have several Audubon bird identity books and we looked up the visitor. An egret sat on my roof.

“Glad it’s not a stork making a delivery,” he quips with a wink. Did I mention he thinks he’s a comedian? See photo of crab?

The next day I saw the egret in the next campsite and wondered if it was lost or hunting. For many years egrets were hunted almost to extinction for their curly feathers. Turns out it was hunting. I knew they ate frogs and fish. I learned they also will snatch a swamp rat from the md and eat it. That time I didn’t have my camera.

So what does St George Island have to do with my writing? I’m planning on sitting in the screen room and finishing my next book.