Snowfall and Firelight


I find my outlook has changed since I’m facing the world alone. I was born at the end of a generation where women were expected to marry and household responsibilities were fairly well defined. Being the mother of two daughters, I thought of myself as a feminist, insisting that they could be and should be anything they desired. I didn’t realize how greatly my brand of feminism was supported by a loving husband who took care of the nitty gritty stuff so I could go around waving banners and spouting my philosophy.

The recently forecast massive snowstorm brought all of this to a head, at least for me. I used to love snow. I hung on every meteorologist’s forecast hoping for a 24” snowfall knowing my husband would shovel the driveway and had a four wheel drive truck. He hated winter but he was always prepared. Living in the country means losing your well water as well as your electricity. With one very sweet geriatric quarter horse in the barn who drinks gallons a day, this was problem for him as well as for us.

I realized as the forecasters continued to agree that a big storm was coming that being stuck at home alone wasn’t going to be fun this time. Roasting hot dogs over a fireplace in the living room and making s’mores pales when it’s done alone. When the power goes out, candlelight only waxes romantic with two to share it and going to bed alone with no one to snuggle with but the cat lacks warmth as well as arms to hold you close.

I spent almost 45 years of my life being sheltered by a man who voluntarily made my life easier in dozens of little ways. He didn’t call attention to himself – he just did them because he loved me and because he was raised to feel that men behaved that way.

Now some of those tasks have unfortunately fallen to my younger daughter – like thawing pipes, burying kitties unlucky enough to cross the road at the wrong time, and chasing flying squirrels from the house (some squirrels won’t leave but that’s another story).

Luckily, the snowstorm this weekend failed to perform as expected and we received ice and about 8” of snow followed by bitter cold. It was a significant snowstorm for me though because I was reminded, yet again, of the many tasks Dennie performed behind the scenes. Over the years, I always made a point of thanking him and telling him I didn’t know what I would do without him. But now I realize what a gem Dennie was and how grateful I am to have had him as my husband!

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silver ipad

Photo by Burst on

After a sizzling summer in Western Pennsylvania, September has entered in with enough rain to drench us to the core. I feel guilty complaining when others are dealing with hurricanes but this has been a year of overabundance – just too much of everything. I find I haven’t used my porch much at all because it was too hot. The fabric for new porch furniture cushions is in a bag by the sewing machine. Maybe next year I will make them.

I feel I have left a long list of unfinished chores this year. I was going to paint the wicker chairs and couch, also the black metal table. I had a tall cupboard I was going to antique, closets to declutter, and a whole lot of writing to do. Unfortunately, none of it has been done.
Today, I had no appointments so I sat myself down and spent the afternoon writing. I wrote 1000 words on a Work in Progress and I’m catching up on my blog. I’ve decided that maybe things aren’t accomplished in great swathes of time. (As when my dear brother, sister-in-law, and sister took a week of their summer to help me get my grounds in order since I no longer have my husband to help me.) Maybe, just maybe, some things can be done in 15 minutes or half an hour. Maybe, a pillow can be cut out, not sewn, or stuffed, just cut after dinner. Maybe some editing can happen in half an hour, or three shirts folded and put in a box for Goodwill.
I know God made the world in 6 days but I think he had much better organizational skills than I do. I’m tired when I get home from work. I have a huge amount of reading to do but I think I can find 15 minutes or half an hour every day to accomplish something on my list. And I think it will make me feel better about myself if I do! I’m going to try anyway. I’ll let you know how it’s going.

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DennieThis blog post is long overdue and yet incredibly painful for me to write. I did not choose Mother’s Day to publish it. I chose it only because it was time. I want to honor the man who influenced my life more than any other. This post is for my husband, who passed away last Oct. 25, on my 67th birthday.



I never had a chance to say “goodbye,” Dennie. I was too busy doing CPR, trying to restart your heart and push air into your lungs. I was convinced the Paramedics could bring you back to life when they arrived 10 minutes later. So, I stayed out of the way. I let them do their work even though my heart was breaking. I couldn’t believe you were really gone, even when the doctor in the ER assured me you were. How could I live without you? Breathe without you? How could I go on with the rest of my life without you to shape it? It’s been six months and I’m going through the motions, trying to be strong, showing the world a brave face, but inside I’m hollow and empty.

I will never stop listening for your footsteps on the stairs, Dennie,
Never stop reaching for your hand under the covers,
Never stop wishing you would appear at the living room door in your tux,
Never stop wishing you were sitting on the porch swing beside me,
Never stop feeling that every holiday is less without you here,
Never stop hoping that you are driving every red Silverado I pass.

When you left so suddenly, you took my world with you.
After 45 years, we were one complete person and I am less than half of that now.
I miss dancing in the kitchen.
I miss listening to our favorite songs.
I miss winter nights when we filled the living room with just the two of us.
I miss having you greet me in the driveway when I come home from work,
I miss you sneaking cookies off the cooling rack when they were still hot from the oven.
I’ll miss watching for falling stars on the front porch steps and taking a ride to see the fall leaves with you.

Thank you for your strength,
Your honesty,
Your integrity,
Your steadfast love,
Your friendship,
For showing by example what it means to be a Christian,
For being such a good father and husband,
For encouraging me to never stop writing,
For making sure I always had a good computer to use,
For sticking by me for 45 years.

I am so sorry that you will never have the chance to give your daughters away at their weddings. They love you so much!
I’m sorry you bought an Ultralight but never got to fly it and didn’t get to ride your new motorcycle.
But never doubt that to me – you were my whole world. You fulfilled everything that I ever needed or wanted. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without you and
I will love you forever and ever!

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I have always had a kind of love/hate relationship with wolves. Perhaps it was the steady diet of fairytales that were read to me as a child. When I was little, I always imagined riding in a beautiful red sleigh being chased by a wolf pack in deep snow. The heavy laden branches above us sent pure white snowflakes drifting down on a scene of terror and savage pursuit. I’m not certain whether scenes like that ever actually took place historically or they were simply conjured by my overactive childhood brain. The image seems universal, however, just look at Disney’s Frozen. The fact remains that both my sister and I dreamed of wolves as children, decades ago.

If you’ve read Among Wolves, you know that Devin suffers from “waking dreams,” a malady where the dream lingers for a few seconds even after the sleeper has wakened. I have experienced the same phenomenon since I was a child and my sister must have, too, at least when she was younger. Both of us claimed to see wolves traipsing around our bedrooms in the middle of the night. The wolf in my room always exited into the hall, blocking my escape to my parents’ room or the bathroom. I would lie awake in terror that he would come back in and eat me! My sister’s wolf simply walked around her bed, his tail held proudly aloft so that she knew his position even as she huddled under the covers with the quilt pulled up to her eye sockets.

I’ve never quite forgotten the fear those nightly wolf visits elicited. I think that’s why I was so enthralled with the French legend of The Beast of Gevaudan when I first ran across it. The possibility that a man could train and command wolves while learning to run with them himself, was too good a storyline to pass up! I adore Chastel as a character. The man is a Comte, he’s elegant, funny, and undeniably good company AND he has the same love/hate relationship with wolves that I have. His family’s ability to shapechange has set them apart from their peers and irrevocably complicated his own life. And yet, he loves, actually yearns, to run with his wolves! He is a man with many layers to his personality and I hope to explore that aspect further in future books about Llise.

My actual knowledge of real wolves is limited. When I wrote the scene where Devin encounters the wolves in a cave in Before Winter, I had to run it by a family member, Adam Katrick, who heads Wolf Guard in the state of Vermont. I wanted to be certain  my wolves were behaving realistically. Oddly enough, my instincts were correct and I felt more in touch with Llise’s wolves than ever before.

All of this simply proves that writers’ minds are complex treasure troves of everything we have ever experienced. A childhood dream can be woven into the tapestry of a country poised on the edge of revolution, with an array of characters and subplots. Never discount any item of information, no matter how slight. Like an artist, a writer builds a creation, line by line, until it’s something wonderful and new!

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Ode to Autumn

Today theOak2 wind changed. It swooped down from the north, rustling the maple leaves and whispering through the spruce needles. Fallen leaves skipped and frolicked across the field, cartwheeling end over end. After weeks of waiting, Autumn finally made its way to Western Pennsylvania.

Fall has pushed relentlessly against a summer that seemed endless. Eighty degree days slipped gradually into seventy degree weeks, with a few scattered frosty nights. Trees remained green or shook off tired brown leaves to cover the ground. It seemed that all the beauty and wonder of fall might be postponed for another year. Last Friday, I saw the first hints of color – weeks later than I ever remember – and by Monday the hillsides were dotted by trees in fall shades. We seem to have lost our vibrant reds though, a result of the drought we had in September. The trees are clothed in subtler shades this year, soft mustard yellows, dusty rose, and delicious tones of pumpkin. I associate these colors more with the oaks, which often save their display for November. But this year, the maples have copied their tones tending toward pastels rather than splashes of brilliance.

Normally the turning of seasons reassures us, tapping into our genetic memories of a thousand brilliant autumns before this one. It was jarring when fall did not appear at its appointed time this year. The brown leaves falling hinted at trees dying and the awful suspicion that something was vitally wrong with the world around us. Even now, when fall colors have finally emerged, they are different, subdued, and hesitant. Tonight’s pounding rain may bring them down.

Our last two winters have been warm with very little snow. White Christmases seem to be a thing of the past. Living in the northeast has lost those sharp seasonal boundaries that regimented our lives so recently. What will children growing up today remember of autumn and winter – insipid ghosts of those former seasons? I, for one, welcome the colder temperatures and windy days, snowflakes, frost, and ice, for they comfort my soul. They reassure me that some things are still unchanged on this planet that we call home.

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img_0286-1On September 21, Harper Voyager UK is releasing Before Winter, the third book in the Wolves of Llisé trilogy. Before Winter arrives as “digital first” and Harper Voyager has also discounted both of the first two eBooks: Among Wolves and Grim Tidings, so you can acquire the whole set inexpensively!

Although I placed the trilogy in an imaginary empire, the narrative has a strong French flavor. This story has allowed me to air my political and social views about the importance of education, health care, and the plight of the poor. But there has been another thread running through all three books: my characters are not only Christian but Catholic. Perhaps, that seems like an odd quirk coming from a Presbyterian!

Catholicism has always played a strong part in my life. My father, an architect who specialized in Catholic schools, brought priests home to dinner on a regular basis. As a very small child, I knew them simply as kindly men, who brought me stuffed bunnies and promised to build me a treehouse, as soon as my father drew up the plans!

That gentle early impression led me to spend my first two years at a Catholic College. I spent my last two at a Presbyterian school but emerged as a kindergarten teacher, welcomed back to Catholicism when I was offered a job at our local Catholic School. It was the icing on the cake that my father had designed the building!

I felt completely at home with the ritual of Mass, welcomed it really because it seemed to call to something basic and traditional inside of me. I tried hard to show Devin’s love for his church. I, also, have a set of rosary beads. I found them with my mother’s jewelry after she died. I immediately wanted to keep them, but wondered where they had come from. I still don’t know, but I realize she must have cherished and valued them, too. I use Anglican Prayer Beads almost every night and I wanted Devin to cherish his rosary just as much as I did mine.

Writing books gives authors the rare privilege to tentatively show readers what matters most in their own lives. We bare our souls a bit with each new story. I hope you can find something in my characters that touches your heart, as well. I have given my heart to them to share with you.


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Among Wolves final Cover Grim Tidings4  img_0286

I expected a certain amount of relief when I finished Before Winter, the last book in The Wolves of Llise trilogy. Yes, it’s nice to have finished all the edits and proofreading but I feel a sense of loss, too. I have lived daily with these characters for three years, had them brewing in my head for lots longer than that and it’s hard to shift gears to start something else.

My computer is filled with ideas – everything from full manuscripts to first sentences and catchy titles. I have one completed YA novel, a nearly finished historical novel, ideas for three middle grade novels, and about a zillion picture books just waiting for me to touch them with my magic keyboard and bring them to life! There is no lack of ideas. I’ve just lost my momentum.

When dialogue creeps in my head, as it does constantly, I hear Devin’s and Marcus’ voices. I think of new quips for Gaspard, waving his wine bottle in hand. I want to probe the depths of Angelique’s soul, and find out what really makes her tick. And where is Armand’s orange cat? That remains unresolved and I am a cat lover, so I want to know. I want to explore the other provinces of Llise! They  are still a mystery and as tantalizing as anything else I have lined up for attention on my computer.

With just under a month until Before Winter is released in eBook, I want to bask a little in the glow of having finished three novels! But I will still dream of Llise and imagine what will happen to my beloved characters next. Could Before Winter be the ending or is it just the beginning? Only time will tell!




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It’s hard to believe that I am deep into the structural edits of Book #3 in The Wolves of Llise series. The Harper Voyager team designed this gorgeous cover. It’s my favorite of the three books! I love the colors, the hint of frost on the fall leaves, and that brass button that is given to Devin in Book #2 as a token of entry to Madame Aucoin’s home. Fall is my favorite season by far and this cover epitomizes it!

This  book was a long time coming. Months passed with a few feeble attempts on my part to begin and then finally in December when there were dozens of other things demanding my attention and an unexpected hospitalization that only just had me home for Christmas, my head was suddenly full of dialogue, scenes, and new characters. I felt as though my head would burst before I could lay everything out on paper. Before Winter emerged fully grown on the computer screen. Words tumbled out, the count growing with each day, and I spent the next 3 months deep in the northern provinces of Llise. Four days a week, I took my breakfast upstairs to my office, skipped lunch, and emerged staring vacantly around 6:30 in the evening. I barely saw my husband and daughters, because my writing devoured most of my day. 
Writing can be as addictive as adrenaline – coursing through your mind and body until you can’t think about anything else. It becomes so important that you forget to eat or drink or sleep or pay your bills on time. The creative process provides its own energy, burning bright and true. It can also burn you out but you are unaware you are being consumed by it while you are in the throes of giving birth to a novel. It’s no secret that I usually get sick after I’ve finished a book.  It’s worth it though. It’s just the price I pay for putting my thoughts into words on paper.

Before Winter is the third book in a trilogy, but I am loath to leave these characters behind. There is still so much of Llise to explore. Already I am toying with where a fourth book might take these characters I have grown to love and have created with my own mind and hands. Creation is heady stuff! I’m not about to stop now!

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I’m happy to have Among Wolves included in this giveaway by other Harper Voyager authors. If you haven’t bought a copy yet – here’s your chance to get one free!
Family is such a comfort. There’s your blood family and then there’s the family you create through shared experiences. There’s no better shared experience than writing, and many of the authors from Harper Voyager have become close. We love to support each other.
And we love to do things together! Like chat about science fiction and fantasy books.
And super lucky for readers, we like to give away books together, too!
Please check out this collection of magnificent science fiction and fantasy books! Then use the rafflecopter below to enter to win a paperback copy. Or if a book sounds too good to miss, links are included so you can go ahead and purchase.
We will choose three winners/each winner will receive four books. (Note: Winners must provide a US address.) The contest runs from Saturday, March 4th until March 15th. Please remember to tweet about the giveaway for extra chances to win!
And be sure to join us for our monthly twitter #SFFChat at 3:00 pm and 8:00 pm EST on Monday, March 6th. We’ll be chatting about every aspect of being a writer: querying, editing, drafting, marketing, and much more. We want you to join our SFF Family.
Giveaway Books

“What on earth would I gain from that?” I asked him. “Risk my own neck by violating my banishment just to leave you? The sentence placed on me if I return is execution. If I’m entering the mountains again, I’d damn well better get something out of it.”

Exiled from the Silverwood and the people she loves, Mae has few illusions about ever returning to her home. But when she comes across three out-of-place strangers in her wanderings, she finds herself contemplating the unthinkable: risking death to help a deposed queen regain her throne.

And if anyone can help Mona Alastaire of Lumen Lake, it is a former Woodwalker—a ranger whose very being is intimately tied to the woods they are sworn to protect. Mae was once one of the best, and despite the potential of every tree limb to become the gibbet she’s hanged from, she not only feels a duty to aide Mona and her brothers, but also to walk beneath her beloved trees once more.

A grand quest in the tradition of great epic fantasies, filled with adventure and the sharp wit—and tongue—of a unique hero, Woodwalker is the perfect novel to start your own journey into the realm of magical fiction.

Following the events of Elixir, Mabily “Mab” Jones’ life has returned to normal. Or as normal as life can be for a changeling, who also happens to be a private detective working her first independent case, and dating a half-fey.

But then a summons to return to the fairy world arrives in the form of a knife on her pillow. And in the process of investigating her case, Mab discovers the fairies are stealing joy-producing chemicals directly from the minds of humans in order to manufacture their magic Elixir, the dwindling source of their powers. Worst of all, Mab’s boyfriend Obadiah vows to abstain from Elixir, believing the benefits are not worth the cost in human suffering—even though he knows fairies can’t long survive without their magic.

Mab soon realizes she has no choice but to answer the summons and return to the Vale. But the deeper she is drawn into the machinations of the realm, the more she becomes ensnared by promises she made in the past. And in trying to do the right thing, Mab will face her most devastating betrayal yet, one that threatens everything and everyone she holds most dear.

Three brilliant novellas. One fantastic story.

Collected together for the first time, T. Frohock’s three novellas—In Midnight’s Silence, Without Light or Guide, and The Second Death—brings to life the world of Los Nefilim, Spanish Nephilim that possess the power to harness music and light in the supernatural war between the angels and daimons. In 1931, Los Nefilim’s existence is shaken by the preternatural forces commanding them … and a half-breed caught in-between.

Diago Alvarez, a singular being of daimonic and angelic descent, is pulled into the ranks of Los Nefilim in order to protect his newly-found son. As an angelic war brews in the numinous realms, and Spain marches closer to civil war, the destiny of two worlds hangs on Diago’s actions. Yet it is the combined fates of his lover, Miquel, and his young son, Rafael, that weighs most heavily on his soul.

Lyrical and magical, Los Nefilim explores whether moving towards the light is necessarily the right move, and what it means to live amongst the shadows.

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Porch Swings and Spring Peepers

frogJust at dusk I walked down to put several letters in our rural mailbox. It was so lovely and warm that I sat down on the cushionless porch swing. The spring peepers were trilling their songs in our pond off the patio. They sounded really lovely like distant bells. The problem is that little froggies shouldn’t be peeping in February. My tulips shouldn’t be up and my roses shouldn’t be putting out new leaves. Today it was 70 degrees. Tomorrow’s low is supposed to be 14. If you are a plant, an animal, or a human this weather is difficult to cope with. My sweet little peepers will probably flash freeze tomorrow night and I’ll have to fish their little bodies out of the pond with a rake – yuck!

Three geese flew overhead, honking. I heard them long before I saw them and then they flapped over the porch roof and were gone, their calls growing more distant. Then one goose returned going the opposite direction. First, I thought he was lost and had missed his connection with the first group. Then, my storyteller persona kicked in and I thought “Ah, he’s going back for his mate.” I wait in anticipation of seeing the happy couple fly back to join the other geese but it didn’t happen. He must have been lost, after all. His calls faded away long after he was gone from sight. So much for happy endings. It would have made for a much more exciting blog had they been reunited! I’m sorry if you are disappointed but I was, too.

Darkness fell and the porch swing made its familiar grating sound. Suddenly, something answered it very loudly from the corner of the front yard by the fence. It was a cross between a croak and a quack and it got rapidly closer. It answered the porch swing’s every backward swing. I wasn’t sure whether to stay or run. It was dark enough by then that I couldn’t see anything out in the grass but the sound continued, getting louder and louder as it made its way step by step to the porch. I decided it was still February and I should go inside. Some days just don’t go the way you’ve planned.

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