It’s a question that is often asked. Where do writers get ideas? For me, they are everywhere. The challenge becomes to write them down if only on a scrap of paper towel before I forget them. (Where do lost ideas go? Does another author, quicker and with more memory storage get them?)
When I think of how many ideas are floating around, I think of my father-in-law.
Farming seemed a noble thing to do so he and his brother left Exeter, Ontario. The brother settled in the grain belt of Saskatchewan and my father-in-law found an abandoned farm in the desert of eastern Alberta and got possession by driving school bus to pay off back taxes.
Farming may have sounded noble, but his heart wasn’t in it. All his life, he remained a frustrated inventor. There had to be a better, more efficient, quicker way to do everything and he would spend hours adjusting and experimenting while one of his sons gnashed his teeth wanting nothing more than to get on with the job of seeding or harvesting the crop or whatever was on the seasonal agenda.
His philosophy was why buy new when anything could be repaired with a piece of haywire? His fix-it bent drove many of his sons to tearing at their hair when the new combine sat idle in the yard while their father insisted he could not only fix the old one but make it run better than the new. And maybe he could but with winter hovering on the horizon, the sons wanted only to get the crop off.
Not that his efforts were in vain. He came up with some nifty ideas. Why waste time forking off hay? He rigged up a sling to pull the load off the wagon.
Below are pictures of how he created a dump truck that didn’t have a hoist.

We bought the family farm and on trips around the yards I would often find myself staring as some maze of wire and belts. Upon questioning my father-in-law or one of his sons, I would be told it was how he pulled the pump, or created an automatic waterer (long before one could go to the nearest farm store and buy one), or that how he figured out a machine to bunch the bales for easier pick up. Any number of things.
I suppose being a farmer and having to do the actual physical work required in order to survive, he never had the time to pursue all his ideas.
It’s the same with a writer. I see story possibilities everywhere I look—the headlines about a baby girl abandoned, the reunion of old lovers who lost track of each other, the report of a man who rescued a woman trapped in a car—I could go on and on. There are too many ideas. Not enough time.
What amazes me is how a great idea will wed another great idea and the two of them breed and reproduce until there are hundreds of ideas forming a story.
I can’t say exactly how it begins. It’s almost magical. It’s like Robert Frost says as he describes the dawning of a poem. ‘It begins as a lump in the throat, a homesickness, a love sickness. It is never a thought to begin with. It finds its thought and succeeds or it doesn’t and comes to nothing.’
Now off to explore a few ideas and see if they will turn into a story.
A Gentle Giant
Today, I thought I would share a guest blog I did on Petticoats and Pistols this week.

When I was a child, my father took us to what is now known as Dinosaur Provincial Park which consists of badlands along the Red Deer River south of our home. There he showed us a rough log cabin and said it had been the home of John Ware—a famous Black cowboy. He told us about the cowboy and it sounded so brave and wonderful. Since that day, I have had an interest in this unusual man.
John Ware was born a slave on a South Carolina plantation in 1845. He was freed at the end of the civil war in 1865 and set out to join a Texas cattle drive. John Ware was a big man and strong…by all accounts, a gentle giant. When he was freed he had a debt to settle with the plantation owner. He caught the man and led him to the whipping tree where John and many of his friends and family had endured the wrath of this man. But he set his ex-master free. John preferred peace to violence.
By 1882, he was an experienced cowboy and was hired by the owners of the newly-formed North-West Cattle Company at the Bar U Ranch to drive cattle into Canada. Once the cattle reached the ranch, John was asked to stay on. It seems he ate as much as two men and needed sandwiches as big as Bibles for lunch.
Breaking horses was one of John’s favorite jobs and he was good at it. One time some cowboys were having trouble with an unruly horse and asked John to help. He got on it and stayed on it as the horse raced toward Oldman River. The horse launched itself over the bank into deep water. Afraid of what had become of John, the cowboys waited until the horse emerged downstream with John still on its back.
Many stories of his feats abound. Like the time the cattle were caught in a snow storm. The cowboys tried to turn them but failed and all returned to the ranch except John. The storm raged for three days before the cowboys could go in search of John and the cows. They found him two days later still with the herd. He had not been dressed for the weather and joked he was afraid to flex his fingers in case they broke of like icicles.
Sometimes John performed feats of strength like straightening a curved hay hook with his bare hands, or lifting a barrel full of water into cart.
John had a dream—to own his own ranch. In 1890 he had built a house on the shores of Sheep Creek. But he wanted a family. He wanted to marry a Black woman and there were few such in Alberta. However, a family moved into the area. He courted Mildred and married her. He was 26 years older than her. They soon had four children.
The land around John and his family was settling up and John didn’t care for that so in 1900 he moved his family to near the Red Deer River. Mildred must have been shocked to see the treeless countryside with its stunted grass and the nearby badlands. Their sixth child was born there but he was never strong. Mildred never regained her health after the child was born. John rode the train to Calgary to get medicine. Where he returned to Brooks (the nearest station) he had 40 Km to ride to reach home. A storm made it impossible for the horse to make its way so John walked the distance. But sadly, the child, Daniel, died before his 3rd birthday. Later that year Mildred died of pneumonia.
That same year, John and his 11 year old son were cutting out some cattle when John’s favorite horse caught her foot in a badger hold and fell, pinning John beneath. John was killed in that accident. His surviving five children went to live with Mildred’s parents.
At his funeral, the pastor described John as “a gentleman with a beautiful skin.” John had not faced much prejudice on the open range though he experienced it in the towns and cities. He was believed to have said that “A good man or a good horse is never a bad color.”
I think of John’s strengths–both physical and emotional–and think what a great hero he would be in any story, just as he is in his own story.
Persistent Hope
I sa
w these tulips poking up through the snow. Already six inches tall, they must have started growing while still covered with the cold, white stuff. It’s as if they knew the snow would go and the warm sunshine would appear. I call that persistent hope.
It reminds me of the very first book I had published.
It is the story of a young woman who has lost everything and has fallen into a dark pit of
despair. The hero reaches out to her and tenderly draws her from that darkness. He reminds her that even though the sky is filled with clouds, the sun is still shining. Just as even though she felt abandoned and alone, God’s love had not failed.
I realized that this is often the theme of my stories—how to find hope when all seems lost. How to move forward when the feet seem stuck in clay. How to trust God’s love when feeling abandoned.
I suppose it is a lesson I have to remind myself of over and over.
My hope and prayer with my stories is that you, the reader, will discover the truth right along with my characters (and me).
You can find more of hope-filled, persistent hope and love in my new series: Dakota Brides. Available here: https://tinyurl.com/y9xm7utm
The Never-Ending Story….
The never-ending story of Winter.
There are things I enjoy about winter. The snow covers the dust of the previous summer and fall. It sculpts interesting shapes of the landscape. Noise is muffled. It’s a good reason to cocoon in my office. (Or do I mean shelter in place?) I can put in long hours of writing without being drawn outside. I can spend the evenings reading rather than weeding.
Yes, winter is okay for December, January and February. Even in March it’s not too bad because we all know it will soon be over. But into April? Sorry, but that is just too much.

They say if life hands your lemons, make lemonade. But what do you make when it’s snow? The kids are making forts from it. I think I’ll just sit at the window and grumble about it.
Or maybe I’ll use this prolonged winter to clean closets.
Wait. I think I feel a story idea coming on. (Sure beats housecleaning.)
Are you still stuck in winter or has spring…summer… flowers and green grass made it to your corner of the world? If so, enjoy it for me.
An Early Morning Walk
Today I am going to do something I rarely (never to date) do. I am going to share the material in my newsletter so I you are signed up for that, you will get it twice. Sorry.

I love the different faces of morning–foggy and mysterious, bright and clear, dripping with fog or visited by wildlife. Every morning is a new beginning. Filled with hope and possibility. I am reminded over and over that life is what I make of it. I can take the bad and dwell on it. Or I can seek out the beauty.
Elin in Abandoned Bride has determined to do the latter. She’d been hurt, disappointed, abandoned, and left to manage on her own. But she is going to make the best of it. The best turns out to be better than she ever dreamed or imagined. It’s a story of strength and victory. Try it out. I think you’ll like it. You can get it here:
https://tinyurl.com/y7sx9juq
Happy Easter
I will spare you a picture of what it looks like outside my window. Suffice it to say, there is snow, snow, snow.
But it’s spring somewhere. I found it in Paris. Sigh.


Whether there are flowers or snow, Easter is a time to celebrate the death and resurrection of our Lord. Because He liv
es, I too can live a full life. Rejoice.
A little reminder that Abandoned Bride is live today. I hope you
will buy it and enjoy it. My client read it while I was away in Paris and has numerous times said it is the best book I’ve written. That’s something I like to hear.
Get it here:
https://tinyurl.com/y7sx9juq
May your Easter be full of joy and celebration as we contemplate the great gift God has given us. Rejoice. He is risen.
VELCOMME
What? you might ask. Welcome, in Norwegian.
Why? Because my latest series–Dakota Brides–features a family from Norway. It was fun doing research for this series. Which included a trip to a nearby museum where I found a number of objects that are included in one or more of the four books in this series.
A tine–a trinket box, usually oval in shape. Traditionally, on the day of her confirmation, a young woman would get one for carrying cakes. It would be hand painted with beautiful rosemaling and her name and the date of her confirmation.
Norwegian wedding crown. Worn by a bride at her wedding. Spoon-shaped bangles dangled around the crown and produced a tinkling sound when she moved. According to tradition, the sound would scare away evil spirits and ensure a happy marriage.

Hardanger samples: a form of embroidery that involves counted and drawn threads. Very beautiful.

The first story in the series, Temporary Bride, is available now. Get it here. https://tinyurl.com/y9xm7utm

Abandoned Bride will be out April 1 or can be preordered. Get it here. https://tinyurl.com/y9vtephq
A WRITING LESSON FROM MOOSE
This week I learned something about story telling from some moose. You see, all winter I’ve seen their tracks and knew they were about. Tracks that circled the trees, meandered across the lawn and crossed the road to wander over the fields.

This week I saw them. Two of them. Only a few yards in front of me. We stared at each other for a few minutes and then they disappeared into the trees.

What, you may well ask, has this to do with story telling?
Let me tell you.
I am on the last pages of the first draft of a story for an upcoming new series–no titles yet. I could well call it a discovery draft. I had an outline, knew the characters wounds and dreams–you might say I saw the tracks. Just as with the tracks, I knew there were moose about, I knew there was a story to be told. But I couldn’t really see it. Then a few days ago, it was right there in front of me as clear as two moose staring at me.
Sometimes stories are like watching the moose wander about the yard and nibble at the trees. Other times it’s like seeing the tracks but not the animals. The former is easier to write but the latter has an excitement all it’s own.
Watch for news on this new series. In the meantime, you can get my latest book, Temporary Bride, here: https://tinyurl.com/y9xm7utm

THE MAGIC OF WORDS
Words can hurt. Words can heal. Words can amuse.

(Please don’t message me and say the sign is inappropriate. It’s an illustration.)
Words can stir emotions, cause one to rise up in anger, and make one thoughtful.
From a young age, I have loved words. I love the shape of them on paper, the feel of them on my tongue. And then later, I learned to love how words march one after another, across page after page to create a story.
However, the magic of story doesn’t magically happen. With Temporary Bride, I wrote four very different versions of that story before I was reasonably satisfied. What do you think? Was I successful? Read it and tell me. Leave your comments as a review on Amazon then we can all see them. (But please be kind. Authors do not care to have their babies trashed especially when it’s taken a lot of effort to birth them. -:))

Go here to get your copy.
https://tinyurl.com/y9xm7utm
SHE DID NOT WANT MARRAIGE BUT…
Temporary Bride is the first in my new series: Dakota Brides.

They’ve come to Dakota Territory seeking a new life, freedom from their past and a change from the lives they’ve known. But is their future going to be more of a challenge than they dreamed? And is the man who tries to help each of them going to thwart their plans or help them achieve their goals?
Lena Stevens has lived through more than her share of troubles. After losing her mother and father when she was young, she learned that every kindness came with obligation. Now a widow with a small child, Lena has lost the one thing she had left: her house. She has no desire to be a burden on her neighbor, even if the man was foolish enough to promise her late husband to watch out for her. But when propriety demands a marriage, Lena makes Anker vow to annul the marriage come spring.
Anker has longed for a wife–but not like this. A forced marriage. A pretend marriage. He will do what he must to protect Lena and Charlie throughout the winter. But as days stretch into months, his admiration for the spirited young woman begins to turn to something else. Something more…
Anker and Lena both had their reasons for wanting a temporary marriage. But when spring arrives, will they regret their vow to end the union?
Here is a comment from one of my early readers: I LOVED this story! Every dialog, every feeling was realistic and natural. The romance blossomed so naturally and just as it should have. The message of trusting God no matter the circumstances came through loud and clear. Who wouldn’t fall in love with Anker, Lena and Charlie???
This book is now up for pre-order at a dollar off normal price. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079Z9RCHJ
