AUTHOR ELLE HARTFORD ON HER MOST PRECIOUS COLLECTION & ADVICE FROM A CAROUSEL HORSE

Elle Hartford writes the award-winning Alchemical Tales series, a blend of cozy mystery and cozy fantasy. She has also published a spin-off series, Pomegranate Cafe Romance, and numerous short mysteries in anthologies. For other writers and authors looking to go “wide,” Elle is excited to offer coaching services and support. She made all the self-publishing mistakes, and you can learn from her experience! Find out more at her website. 

My prized collection is a set of small carousel horses. Friends send me pictures of carousel statuettes they find in thrift stores, and every once in a while I’ll bring a new musical edition or porcelain figure home, but these eleven horses will always be my favorites.

 

Why? Well, I did write a book about them . . . 

 

But the story actually starts earlier than that:

 

It was four years ago, and we were just getting out and about again after the worst of the pandemic. My then-boyfriend and his family had a tradition of spending the winter holidays in the Poconos, in Pennsylvania. I was happy to explore a new place with them, and especially excited when we found a large antiques store.

 

You know the kind of antiques store that’s really a whole collection of booths and jumbles, crammed into an old factory building or barn? The kind that seems to go on forever? That’s exactly what this was. I worked my way methodically through each stall. At the very end, when I was almost back to the cash register again, I came upon a glass case with shelves full of carousel horses.

I’d loved horses as a kid, and I’d just rediscovered a love of myths and magic during the pandemic. Looking at these carousel horses, I could see how each had a theme or a story behind it. They were all perfectly unique. There was one little black horse in the collection with a phoenix painted on its side, something that reminded me of Russian legends of the firebird and the horse of power. I’m not always a decisive person, and it was so hard to choose a favorite of the lot, but it was so alluring . . .

 

I bought it. That was the first carousel horse I ever bought–and probably the first time I’d ever had the guts to ask for a case to be opened at a store!

 

But then we were back in our rented rooms, and I was looking at this little black horse, and it was beautiful–and yet somehow lonely. There had been another horse in the collection, a gorgeous white horse with a golden mane and lotus-like saddle . . .

 

I went back and got that one, too. After all, the black horse needed a partner! I was very tempted by the rest of the horses in the collection by that point, but to buy all eleven would have been an extravagant expense. I felt bad enough dragging my boyfriend and his family back to the same store. In fact, I tried to make my purchase quickly so they wouldn’t have to wait–even though they’d all dispersed once we got into the store, anyway (everyone has their own method for going through a pile of antiques!) I got out of the store first, statuette clutched in my hands, ready to move on to the next adventure. I could be happy with my two beautiful carousel horses. But where was my boyfriend? What was taking him so long?

 

You see where this is going, perhaps?

 

I had no idea, myself. I was shocked when, several days later, I unwrapped an elaborate Christmas package to discover two more carousel horses, one a transparent red, one a deep jewel blue. Another matched set, from the same collection.

 

And then on Valentine's Day–a white one with roses, a little black knight.

 

And then for my birthday! At that point, my boyfriend had gotten tired of keeping the secret. He gave me the rest of them all at once. When we’d gone back to the store that day, he’d realized how much they meant to me, and he’d decided to buy whatever I left behind. 

 

By the way, he’s my “then boyfriend” because he’s now my husband.

 

Those carousel horses captured my imagination, and more than that, they represented a sense of fun and love every time I looked at them. It was not long before I was writing a magical mystery for each one. Now, that collection of short stories is called The Carousel Capers, and it’s a prequel for my series of cozy fairy tale mysteries, The Alchemical Tales. This month marks three years since The Carousel Capers was published. Every single one of those horses will always have a special place in my heart.

 

The Carousel Capers

 

Life is no fairy tale in the magical small town of Belville. When Red buys her dream storefront in the quaint Market Square, she knows she’ll be putting in hard work to make it a success.

 

But what Red doesn’t expect is a tiny antique carousel horse statue turning up in her mail. And she isn’t at all prepared for the slew of criminals and friends, greed and mystery that follow in its wake! It turns out that the carousel horse has a deep, dark secret. If she wants to head off doom, Red will have to brave ghostly forests, watery depths, wild mine cart rides, and even a fancy party or two.

 

In this series of short stories, each chapter focuses on a new carousel statuette–and a new mythical horse. Join Red and her friends as they try to take the reins of this galloping mystery before they find themselves left in the dust!

 

An ebook copy of The Carousel Capers is available for free as a gift for Elle’s newsletter subscribers:https://dl.bookfunnel.com/azwto4v5pf

You can also purchase the deluxe print edition here: https://books2read.com/thecarouselcapers/

#CRAFTS WITH ANASTASIA--#SCRAPBOOKING WITH AUTHOR GEOFFREY MEHL'S MANDY OWENS

Geoffrey Mehl is a former journalist, graphic designer, editor, and marketing and public relations executive. An environmental advocate and avid gardener, he is also the author of three best-selling landscaping books. Today Mandy Owens, the star of one of his novels joins us to talk about the challenges of scrapbooking when you’re a reporter working undercover with a spy. Learn more about Geoffrey (and Mandy) and his books at his website. 

The Problem with Souvenirs

As we made our way to our diner booth, I winced whenever someone asked if I’d brought souvenirs or mementos. I’m sure Tommy was pretending to ignore it, but that placid expression gave him away.

When seated, I put the envelope on the table. No reaction. Fiddled with it. Nope. Again. Nothing. He was good.

“Want to know what’s in it?”

“In what?” he asked while Frannie poured coffee.

“The envelope.”

“That one? No.”

He was getting under my skin and into my head. “Why not?”

Tommy sipped coffee. “Not my envelope.”

I slumped. “So you’re going to pretend you don’t care, just to prod me into telling you it’s a collection of mementos and souvenirs.”

Oops. Thankfully, he didn’t gloat. “The scrapbooking thing, at Iverson’s. Lot of talk about that.”

Which was true. Two weeks ago, construction work along Railroad Avenue, two blocks south of the Puffin Diner, turned up a metal box containing a link to the past of Jacks Ford: a scrapbook from 1887 with photos, maps, letters, memorabilia. What made it precious was that in 1888, the locomotive of a logging railroad that ran down the center of the street exploded. The resulting fire burned the entire town to the ground. The bankrupt logging company vanished.

Among the images in the miraculously saved box was one of the infamous locomotive.

Muriel Iverson, who owns Iverson’s Arts and Crafts, ensured the scrapbook got to eager hands of the Jacks Ford Historical Society and everyone in town came to see it. A clever businesswoman, Muriel fanned scrapbooking buzz and organized a class.

Tommy and 98 percent of the men in town were indifferent. “So, you’re joining the class?”

Waffle, egg and bacon platters arrived. “Yes. You said yourself that we’re supposed to blend in, be a nice, normal, ordinary couple. While you’re at Ferguson’s Hardware ogling all the noisy toys with starter cords, I’ll do my part as a good citizen.”

He drowned a waffle in syrup. “Shrewd. You brought stuff from when you were a kid?”

“Gosh, no. Muriel specified recent. I’ve got things from some of our adventures.”

A slice of bacon went into his mouth like paper into a shredder. I ignored ice forming on my eggs and reached into the envelope just as he cocked an eyebrow to accompany a “such-as.”

“Here’s those forged credentials from Karl Felchin that we used in that thing with the Federal Reserve. And a scrap from that dress ruined by rain in Argentina. This was fun — the casino chips with the transmitters.”

“The Las Vegas job?”

“No, the cruise ship off the Greek coast.”

“Of course.”

“Here’s one of those cute little tranquilizer darts you and Sergei used to attack the gunrunners in Kenya...”

He wordlessly ate.

I studied the items next to my breakfast. “This isn’t going to work, is it?”

A faint smile suggested the concept had flaws. “If you’d like, we could call Lucy and have her rush us some assorted mementos. Snapshots, theater ticket stubs, some foreign currency, a couple of travel brochures. Probably only take a half hour or so.”

I carved off a hunk of waffle to crush the egg yolk into an oozing mass of disappointment. “I feel like I’m walking into one of those big box stores. Hi, I’m scrapbooking today and I need ten dollars worth of assorted souvenirs to prove I have a life.”

He chuckled in a patient way. “Or you go with what you have, probably raise some eyebrows. Sorry I can’t add to your collection.”

The bacon still had crunch to it, and the blend of syrup and egg yolk on the waffle was palatable. “Back in your espionage days — before you were Robin Hood — you never kept mementos? All the stuff at the cabin is just window dressing?”

Tommy gestured to Frannie for coffee. “No, I didn’t, and yes, it is.”

Frannie arrived with the pot. “Going to Muriel’s class, are you?”

My smile must have been weak. “Not entirely sure.”

Like us, Frannie has a past and was always understanding. She said, “I’ve got some assorted junk if you need materials.”

I slipped my collection into the envelope. “That would be sweet, thank you.”

Frannie promised to return soon. I drained two packets of creamer into the coffee and confronted Tommy’s mischievous grin. “No souvenirs? Ever?”

“No. We never called them souvenirs. We called them evidence.”

Nine Lives

When reporter Mandy Owens witnesses the bizarre murder of a pathetic conspiracy freak, she’s snared in a deadly conspiracy to plug the leak of an incredibly dangerous government document. But the powerful forces in the dark world of finance have tangled with the wrong person. She’s got connections. Reunited with spy-turned-adventurer Tommy Kane and a shadow world of talented misfits, the trail leads through a string of murders to a group of financiers and government officials. But there’s a problem: the mysterious leaked file is a ticking bomb that could destroy the international banking system within minutes and must be defused with a billion-dollar wager, all in.

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#CRAFTS WITH ANASTASIA--TEAPOT COLLECTING

The Santa teapot that started it all 

Guilty Pleasures

Merriam-Webster defines guilty pleasure as “something pleasurable that induces a usually minor feeling of guilt.” Collectors can certainly identify with this. Most will tell you that they spend far too much money (as well as time) on their collections, be they books or dolls or model railroad trains.

Fish teapot bought in the Bahamas

My guilty pleasure is teapots but not just any teapots. I collect whimsical teapots, ones that come in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

I never collected anything prior to teapots, and my collection came about in a rather odd way. About twenty years ago, I was shopping at Christmastime with a friend. As we wandered around a department store, I saw an adorable Santa teapot and made a casual comment about how some day, if I ever had lots of disposable income, I’d like to collect whimsical teapots. Several weeks later that Santa teapot arrived as a Christmas gift from my friend.

Pincushion teapot

The wonderful think about collections is that if you have one, it’s always very easy for friends and relatives to buy gifts for you. And that was the case after receiving that first teapot. I didn’t set out to collect teapots; I had very little disposable income at the time, and that which I had went to more important things—like family vacations.

However, somehow word spread that I was collecting teapots, and before I knew it, I was receiving whimsical teapots for every conceivable occasion. I now have a collection of about fifty teapots ranging from handcrafted miniatures to normal sized ones capable of brewing several cups of tea. I also have dozens of teapot Christmas ornaments, a couple of teapot candles, and even a teapot pincushion.

Teapot candles

In the past two decades I’ve bought only two teapots myself. On a cruise to the Bahamas, I purchased a fish teapot, and while visiting Disneyland for the first time, I bought a Minnie Mouse teapot. The remainder of my collection has all been gifts, and the collection keeps growing…and growing…and growing.

Minnie Mouse teapot bought at Disneyland

The funniest part of all this? I’m a coffee drinker! The only time I drink tea is when I’m sick. But I do love my teapots, and truthfully, they don’t really qualify as a guilty pleasure, just a pleasure, since I spend neither time nor money collecting them.

(Lois Winston is the author behind the Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries as well as other works of fiction and nonfiction. She’s also the de facto owner of this blog, but don’t tell Anastasia that!😉)

FAVORITES, FAILURES & FRUSTRATIONS--GUEST AUTHOR L.G. O'CONNOR AND TRANSFERWARE

L.G. O'Connor is both a corporate strategy and marketing executive for a Fortune 250 company and the author of an urban fantasy/paranormal romance series and a romantic women's fiction trilogy set in suburban New Jersey. Raine MacDonald, the hero from the first book in the series, appears monthly on Joyce Lamb's USA Today Happy Ever After blog where he shares his favorite recipes in the column Recipes from Raine's Roost (aka Jillian's Kitchen). Learn more about L.G. and her books at her website. 

Parts of my life have been defined by distinct and driving passions. Similar to falling in love, a passion makes your eyes light up and your heart race. It can be like an all-consuming lover and can take the form of a hobby, sport, or your life’s work, to name a few. For a good twenty years, the only thing it took to unleash mine was a simple sign that read “Antiques.”

I found my passion for antiques in my mid-twenties during a trip to Scotland with my boyfriend at the time. There’s no doubt that Scotland is on my list of “favorite” things, but more important is my twenty-year journey that started there on the rocky Kirkcaldy beach outside of Edinburgh. The mid-afternoon rain had just drifted out to sea, leaving one of the most incredible rainbows I’d ever seen.

My companion and I wandered down toward the water’s edge to get a photograph from a better vantage point. As we drew closer, we noticed what appeared to be broken seashells littering the shoreline. Instead, what we had found were colorful shards of transferware pottery. We gathered enough to fill our pockets with the intention of making jewelry. Later, we discovered something intriguing: the last local Scottish pottery had been closed for over fifty years, and these shards were nothing more than their ghostly echo.

That experience triggered our hunt for the history of the potteries and an unbroken example of the wares produced there. Although Staffordshire, England was the most well known pottery producer and exporter of 19^th century transferware, Scotland also produced wares but for domestic use. We visited a local museum and a few local antique shops until we found a beautiful pale blue and white transferware platter made by Kirk, one of same local potteries responsible for these little reminders of the past.

Little did I know that trip would spur my love of antiques and turn me into an avid collector for over two decades. When I hit my mid-forties, a few things changed, one of them was my decorating taste. I wanted cleaner lines and less 90s Martha Stewart chintz. Plus, I had literally run out of places to display my finds. Then my husband and I downsized from 4,000 square feet to the perfect 1,700 square foot cottage, making the situation even more dire. As a result, I had to cull my collections down to only my favorite pieces, all of which I still love and can’t live without. Some are on display here in my new dining room.

Above are some of my favorite pieces which are kept inside of my 1830s Pennsylvania corner cupboard. Studies in beauty, they all hold stories and mini history lessons.

Although my heart still picks up tempo when I see the odd sign for antiques, in late 2009 I transferred my energy to a new and unexpected passion during a half day class at NYU called “Jumpstart Your Novel.” Since then, writing has been my new and all-consuming lover, leaving little time or desire to continue to add to my collections on a regular basis.

Those shards and that first 19^th century Scottish blue and white transferware platter led to a rich collection of British ceramics and my cherished pieces. Even though I’ve moved on to a new passion, nothing can take away the pleasure my collections still give me.

Caught Up in RAINE

Forty-two and widowed, romance writer Jillian Grant believes hospitals equal death. Plagued by loss and convinced more is imminent when her aunt ends up in critical condition after heart surgery, she has come to equate the absence of pain with happiness. When she spots a hot, young landscaper working on the hospital grounds with an eerie resemblance to the male lead in her next novel, she convinces him to pose as her cover model.

Working multiple jobs to put himself through college, twenty-four-year-old Raine MacDonald is no stranger to loss. Behind his handsome face and rockin' body lies family tragedy and agonizing secrets. When circumstances put him back in the path of his abusive father, fate delivers Jillian as his unwitting savior. Thing is, when he thinks of her, his thoughts are far from platonic.

Despite their age difference, Jillian and Raine discover they're more alike than they could ever imagine. But torn between facing her own fears and grasping a chance at happiness, Jillian makes a soul-shattering decision that threatens to blow their world apart.

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