My greatest asset as a writer is my memories. It is
from my memories of my grandparents and their conversations about their lives
that I was able to build a foundation for my historical stories. From them and
my parents I learned a wealth of knowledge about how a household was run
without modern conveniences, what they did to earn a living in those difficult
economic times. I also learned what they
did for entertainment in a time before anything with a screen existed and even
radios and telephones were a rarity. Hard to even imagine, isn’t it?
My Paternal Grandparents, Matilda & William McNeal
My grandfather McNeal was a post Civil War baby, born
in 1867. He had a well with a hand pump beside the kitchen porch. He bought a
little red school house with two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. He
paid for it outright, no mortgage. A coal burning potbellied stove sat in the
living room and heated the whole house. In the beginning, it had no electricity
or plumbing. By the time I came along, he had a sink with running water and
electric lights. I don’t remember him having an electric stove. He had an
outhouse. Because his eyesight became bad in his elder years, he had a rope
from the house to the outhouse. My grandfather and grandmother were both
scholars with certifications for teaching, but my grandfather earned the
greater portion on his income from painting houses. He had no horse or
automobile, so he walked everywhere, in every kind of weather, even bitter
winters in Numidia, Pennsylvania. My grandmother did not work outside of home
in order to raise their three sons and take care of the household. She, however
fought for women’s suffrage and was definitely her own person from all
accounts. I never had a chance to meet her. She and my two uncles had all died
before I was born. He died when I was just six years old, but I remember him
and that little house vividly. I wrote my time travel story, THE VIOLIN, based
on these memories and what memories my father shared with me about his years
growing up and about his brothers and parents.
The Man in the Cover is my Uncle John McNeal for whom THE VIOLIN was written
THE
VIOLIN
Can
the heart live inside a violin case? Can a message reach across time?
Genevieve Beaumont is haunted by dreams of a drowning man she is helpless
to save. When she buys a violin and discovers news clippings and pictures of
its owner who died from downing inside the case, she realizes he is the man in
her dreams.
She travels to the little town where he died 90 years before to
investigate who he was and how he came to drown that day. Little does she know
how her own life will be tangled in the mystery…until she steps through the
threshold of time to 1927.
Excerpt:
She heard him take in a slow breath before he spoke to her
in a more relaxed, quiet tone. "I beg your pardon, miss, I didn't mean to
curse. What's your name?" The younger man’s voice soothed her as he knelt
beside the couch where she lay. He wrung out a cloth in the bowl of water
beside his knee, folded it, and applied it to Genevieve's brow.
"My name is Genevieve Beaumont. I was just standing at
the window and now…I'm here." She lifted a shaky hand to her brow.
"My head is pounding."
"You bumped your head when you fainted. Is that a
French name?" He lifted a quizzical
brow and smiled.
She lifted her eyes and got a good, close-up look at him
then. Her heart almost stopped beating in her chest. She sucked in a deep
breath. What was happening to her? How could any of this be possible? The man
holding the cool cloth to her head was the man in the pictures she found in the
violin case!
She would not have guessed he had auburn hair, or that his
eyes were such a vivid, bottle green. He wore a collarless, khaki shirt with
the sleeves rolled up and suspenders instead of a belt held up his tan, canvas
trousers. Oh, but he was handsome—so much more than his pictures ever allowed.
She didn't have time to admire the young man's good looks because her mind
swirled round and round with the unfathomable implications of her situation.
My earliest memories of my maternal grandmother are
from the time when she lived in an old Victorian house on a farm. She had a big
green coal burning stove that heated the kitchen, which was huge, and their hot
water from a tank on the side. The bedrooms upstairs had fancy iron grates in
the floors that could be opened or closed to heat the rooms above stairs. I
also recall all the chores my grandmother performed cooking on that stove,
cleaning, washing clothes and hanging them on the line, ironing with an iron
she heated on the stove, and looking after the chickens and the baby chicks.
She was busy all day long, yet she enjoyed sewing, quilting with her friends,
knitting, and crocheting—and she considered all that fun. She also went to
visit her friends on Sundays which was a treat because they traded goods with
one another, the same the women on the frontier did. Visiting was a pleasure, a
comfort, and a news exchange.
I used much of what my grandmother did in several
stories including “A Christmas Visitor” in the new Christmas anthology, SWEET
TEXAS CHRISTMAS. My only regret is I didn’t ask my grandparents more. There is
so much more I wish I knew.
SWEET TEXAS CHRISTMAS is an anthology of sweet historical
western romances that take place in the state of Texas written by veteran
western romance writers: Stacey Coverstone, Sarah J. McNeal, Cheryl Pierson,
and Marie Piper.
(my contribution) A Christmas Visitor
Prairie Rose Publications
Releases November 2, 2017
He left her…Now he’s back…But not for
long…
Sterling
Thoroughgood was Matilda Barton’s first and only love, but he left her three
years ago to seek his fortune in Wyoming. And now he’s come back with a puzzle
box as a gift with a secret inside. But as far as Matilda’s concerned, it’s
three years too late.
Is love lost
forever or does the mysterious puzzle box hold the key to happiness?
Excerpt:
“Don’t you even think about stepping up
on this porch, Sterling Alexander Thoroughgood, or I’ll shoot a hole in you big
enough for a team of horses to jump through.” The woman wearing a faded blue
calico dress aimed the shotgun straight at his heart…and sometimes his liver
since she wasn’t holding the shotgun all that steady.
Sterling raised his hands in the air.
His bare hands were practically numb from the cold. He glanced up at the slate
gray sky. Snow’s comin’. Then he
grinned at the woman holding the shotgun. “Merry Christmas to you, too,
Matilda.”
She dipped the shotgun for just a
moment, but raised it again as if on a second thought. “What do you want here
after being gone for three years? Did you break some hearts up in Wyoming?
Maybe you have some fathers and brothers gunning for you and you thought you’d
come running back here to hide.”
Well, there it
was. He’d hurt her when he left and she wasn’t about to let him forget it.
Sarah
J. McNeal is a multi-published author who writes
diverse stories filled with heart. She is a retired ER and Critical Care nurse
who lives in North Carolina with her four-legged children, Lily, the Golden
Retriever and Liberty, the cat. Besides her devotion to writing, she also has a
great love of music and plays several instruments including violin, bagpipes,
guitar and harmonica. Her books and short stories may be found at Prairie Rose
Publications and its imprints Painted Pony Books, and Fire Star Press and
Sundown Press. She welcomes you to her website and social media:
It is amazing the progress that has been made since our grandparents' time. I'm amazed how things have changed since I married the first time when I saw a picture of a microwave and the advertised promise that they expected them to be available to the general public within a few year. Thank you for sharing your memories about your ancestors.
ReplyDeleteEven since my time, Robyn, I was raised without the internet, computers or even calculators. Milk, butter, and eggs were delivered to our door. We didn't have interstate highways in my early childhood. I remember people being afraid of microwaves. LOL I couldn't live without one now.
DeleteMany of today's advances came about because of the space program--like Velcro.
Thank you so much for coming by and commenting.
What a wealth of info you have from your family, Sarah. What a wonderful gift.
ReplyDeleteKristy, it is with much gratitude that my family shared so much of their stories with me. I wish I had listened more.
DeleteI'm so glad you came by to comment.
The stories my grandparents told show up often in my stories, too, Sarah. I've even slipped by paternal grandparents into one story--at least by name. My maternal grandparents will get their turn, I'm sure.
ReplyDeleteTracy, aren't we the luckiest people to be able to tell our stories and include our ancestors? We are also privileged to be given such a gift. I feel honored to be able to tell their stories.
DeleteThank you for taking the time to comment on my blog.
Oh, yes, Sarah. Those stories told by our grandparents and those memories we have of being with them. My head is full of the stuff, too. I wrote Wish for the Moon based on my memories of my grandparents house and dirt farm. Max is pattered after my Papa. The blind man is patterned after my blind uncle who lived with my grandparents. It's the "book of my heart", and although it's never been a big seller, it got wonderful reviews and comments, enough for me to know others...readers...had memories, too. You have the gift of using those memories to great advantage. See? No one can write a similar story...because yours came from your memories.
ReplyDeleteGreat post.
Celia, I know that you hold your memories of your family dear and you tell their stories within your fictional tales. I also like when you post stories from your childhood on your Facebook Page. I always enjoy reading about your family.
DeleteThank you so much for coming and for your consistent support. It means so much to me.
I remember sitting down with the elders in my community when I was growing up, listening to their stories. Later I did the same thing with my mother. So many stories they had, and like you, it ends up in my work. Great post and wonderful memories. Doris
ReplyDeleteThank you, Doris. Did your grandparents visit with their friends a lot? I always liked listening to my maternal grandmother and her friends sharing stories. It sounds like you experienced that kind of gathering, too. I like that you call them "the elders". It gives them respect and honor.
DeleteI am so happy you came and shared your thoughts.
Oh Sarah, I can so relate. My maternal grandmother came over from England and had married a Scotsman. My paternal grandparents came over from Italy. I have so many fond memories, yet I too regret that I didn't pick their brains and find out so much more than the bits and pieces I know. But the years that I worked in homecare as a Public Health Nurse, I attended an inservice once (geared for knowing your patients better)and they suggested we ask the old timers we visited about their life way back when. You can't believe the stories they had. I learned so much about times gone by, but mostly I learned and so enjoyed those people so much more. They weren't just my patients but true valued friends. So I not only relie on family memories and info but those of all the many people I cared for throughout the years. I too remember the metal milk box at my parents back door, that we were the first family on our block that had a TV and got six stations, or the taffy pulls and walking through town with everyones' dog on the loose. Oh the good ol' days. And what memories we have. Loved your blog today as always and thanks so much for sharing such sweet memories. I so enjoyed THE VIOLIN and Sweet Texas Christmas is a must for everyone to read. I didn't want it to end.
ReplyDeleteBev, nurses are lucky because patients trust us with their stories. I have used bits and pieces from their stories in my fiction, but I've never been able to bring myself to actually write the stories about the patients or the things that happened during my nursing career. I don't really know why I can't bring myself to do it. Maybe some day...
DeleteTHE VIOLIN was written straight from my heart. I wish Pop could have lived long enough to have read it.
I appreciate your very kind words. You know how much a writer appreciates it when someone likes their work. It's better than money; better than diamonds. Thank you!
What precious memories, and now with your stories, what a gift to us all!
ReplyDeleteYes, Jacquie, these memories are precious. You have some wonderful stories to tell from your present life as well as from your past. You are so lucky to have the life you live.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comment. I really appreciate it.
Sarah, I was fortunate to hear stories from my paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather about their lives when they were growing up. I've been prompting my mom (b. 1933) to retell me stories of her childhood. Although my dad passed away almost five years ago, I have a recording of him telling childhood stories when his siblings gathered a few years ago for a funeral. Until you mentioned it, I'd forgotten about floor grates in the upstairs rooms to let the heat in. We had those in the house I lived in when I was in first grade. Thanks for the memories. *hugs*
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed your excerpt from the new Christmas anthology. Made me smile.
Kaye, how wonderful to have a recording of your father's voice.
DeleteI remember lying on the floor and peering down through the grate that led down to the kitchen and eavesdropped on the adults talking. There were certainly advantages for those grates. LOL
When I lived in Texas (my husband was in the service in Killeen back in 1970), I used to correspond with my parents using reel-to-reel tapes. They were using my little battery operated recorder and they would use it when the battery was low which slowed the recorder. I tried to play them years later and the recorder just would not cooperate. Still, I got to hear their voices over the years. It should have made me happy, but my joy was mixed with heavy sadness. I still have the reels even though I have nothing to play them on.
You're wise to have your mom tell you her stories. They won't be forgotten in your heart and neither will she. It's such a blessing to be a writer. Stories are never lost on us. We keep that flame burning brightly.
Thank you so much for coming by and sharing some of your family history.