Sunday, January 30, 2022

SCHEDULE: January 31 - February 4, 2022


 Mon., January 31 - ART:
American Impressionist Painter
Edmund C Tarbell
Tues., February 1 - BOOK REVIEW:
Mydworth Mysteries, A Shot in the Dark
by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Wed., February 2 - INTERVIEW:
Children's Author
Gülistan Yildiz
Thurs., February 3 - ENTERTAINMENT:
The Club
(Netflix)
Fri., February 4 - BOOK:
Charming Deception
by Carol Ann Kauffman 

Friday, January 28, 2022

BOOK: Blue Lake by Carol Ann Kauffman

Blue Lake is the first novel I wrote. That was back in 2010 and 2011. When I finished it, I immediately started Belterra, the prequel in a way. The writing went smooth and easy. These were the days my husband was still working while I was already retired. Long expanses of us disturbed writing were very conducive to churning out long novels. 

Marketing, however, was a completely different animal. Those were the days of sending query letters by mail to the big publishing houses with a short sample. And waiting. And waiting. Sometimes somebody asked for more. A few asked for the whole book. Months and months would pass before they finally got around to saying, “I loved the story and the connection between Richard and Nicole, but …”

I even framed two of the letters, one from Elizabeth Barrett and one from Loretta Banks, telling me they loved my work, not to give up, they were sure I would find an agent, and so forth and so on. 

I wasn’t getting any younger in the meantime. Then I found Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing. Now you can say what you want about Amazon, but their view for kindle was fantastic. Put all the books ever written in one place, make them reasonably priced, and digital so storage is not a problem, and make them available to everybody who wants to buy them. As a person who made four piles of books four feet high and put a tablecloth and a vase of flowers on top, this appealed to me.

Over the last ten years and thirty books, I have published books through smaller publishing houses. At the time, it was a giant, thrilling experience. But  if you want control over your work, if you want to okay the artwork for the cover, then Kindle Direct Publishing is the way to go.

You will still need to find a good editor that you are comfortable with, and a cover artist who doesn’t get her feelings hurt when you want to change something.



Blue Lake is the story of a young, British actor who falls in love with an older American widow while working on a film at an Albuquerque, New Mexico studio. 

“The love Nicole and Richard share is strong and has survived many lifetimes, but never without sacrifice and heartache. Some call it reincarnation. Some call it fate. But whatever it is, it keeps them apart until they're ready to jump in and help each other on this amazing journey called life.

This time Fate rubs her hands together with glee and laughs as she plays a cruel joke on them by placing them on different continents, twenty years apart.

Nicole was born in Ohio. She doesn't remember her past life. She had a career, got married, and was later widowed. Richard entered life twenty years later in the UK and became an actor. But fate cannot keep them apart. What they have is more than love, more than attraction, or devotion. They are eternal soulmates.

When they finally do meet in Albuquerque, they remember their love and feel overwhelming joy, but the twenty-year age difference plants the painful thorns of doubt, worry, and fear. Their unlikely but undeniable love pulls them closer and closer, while careers, family, and other relationships push them farther and farther apart.

The ten-year period they spend together in this lifetime takes them on many exciting adventures from beautiful New Mexico, across the Atlantic to England, Ireland, Italy, and Aruba. Nicole and Richard have an incredibly strong connection, but they must face not only happiness and joy but the dark side of life and love as well.

Come. Start the adventure with Richard and Nicole, where everything changes, but love remains the same.
Are you ready? Jump!”











 VISION AND VERSE DISCLAIMER

Note:

Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.

Thursday, January 27, 2022

ENTERTAINMENT: Being the Ricardos Amazon Prime)


Like everyone else in the 50's, I loved Lucy. More than that, I loved Lucille Ball. I remember seeing old movies on TV where Lucille starred in supporting roles as a blonde. She was an excellent serious actress. She was also an outstanding dancer. 

I was pleasantly surprised by Being the Ricardos. There were times in the film I forgot Nicole Kidman was playing the role of Lucille. She had the tone and delivery spot on. It showed Lucy as not only an outstanding actress, a smart businesswoman, and a woman in love with her husband.

As a child, their divorce shocked and disappointed me to the core.  It was up there with no Santa. I thought there were perfect together. This film brought home the funny lady's heartache.



  





 

Wednesday, January 26, 2022

INTERVIEW: Nonfiction Author Claudia Clark


Claudia Clark
Berlin, Germany


 

Good morning, Claudia, and welcome to Vision and Verse, the site 

for Art and Authors. Can you tell us a little about what you've written? 

Dear Barack: The extraordinary partnership of Barack Obama and Angela Merkel

 

What is your favorite genre to write? 

Nonfiction

 

Favorite food. 

Pizza

 

Tea or coffee? 

Coffee

 

Pizza or ice cream? 

Pizza

 

Wine or beer or soda or what? 

Coke

 

Where would you like to visit? 

Australia

 

Favorite musical artist. 

Beatles

 

Do you listen to music when you write?  What? 

In my spare time,  I play flute/piccolo in community bands. My ambition to be a successful musician outweighed my talent, so I listen to the music of James Galway or Jean-Pierre Rampal for inspiration when I write.



What makes you laugh? 

I like older comedy shows like I Love Lucy, and the George Burns and Gracie Allen Show. 

                                                                                                 


Me, too. I love those old comedies.

This is an ART and AUTHOR blog, so I am obligated to ask :Favorite work of art or sculpture. 

Claude Monet’s : Beach in Pourville



How old were you when you started writing? 

11 or 12


 

Do you plan out your book with outlines and notecards? Or just write? 

Outlines


 

Describe your perfect evening. 

Dinner at a nice restaurant with my husband and another couple followed by a night at the theater, musicals are my favorite.


 

Where do you get your inspiration? 

Hiking in the mountains.


 

What do you do when you get a writer's block? 

I put the writing aside and focus on something else for a while—find a new hobby or take a new class.


 

Who is your favorite author? 

Toni Morrison


 

Best book you ever read. 

Poisonwood Bible

 


Last book you read.

The Chancellor: The Remarkable Odyssey of Angela Merkel by Kati Matron.

 


What would you do for a living if you weren’t a writer? 

I absolutely love animals, so I would probably do something working with them—maybe in the capacity such as Jane Goodall with her work with chimpanzees, or a wildlife refuge in Australia working with koalas or kangaroos. 


 

Who is the one person who has influenced your personal life the most and why? 

My mother—she influenced me to write from a very age. She read my stories, took me to writing conferences –even when she could barely pay the fees, and encouraged me.



If you could sit down and have a conversation with ONE person, living or dead, real or fictional, who would it be and why? 

Marie Curie. I have prided myself as a feminist since I was five years old. Unfortunately, I am absolutely horrible in math and science, and that has created turmoil—I advocate women can do anything, but I, personally hate math and science.  Nevertheless, I have nothing but respect for women trailblazers—especially in those fields. I would love to get a first hand account of all her experiences and obstacles she faced.


                                                                                      



What advice would you give someone who aspired to be a writer? 

To have a tough skin, and a lot of patience. Writing is a very tough business and rejection is par of the course, but if you have faith in your skill and passion, to keep at it, and your break will come.

 


Do you have some links for us to follow you?


Website: https://www.claudiaclarkauthor.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Claudia-Clark-Author-2185350048200575

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CClarkAuthor

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/claudiaclarkauthor73/

Linked IN https://www.linkedin.com/in/claudia-clark-7682492/








VISION AND VERSE DISCLAIMER

Note:

Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.

Tuesday, January 25, 2022

BOOK REVIEW: Holmes in America by Karen Vaughan




Holmes in America by Karen Vaughan is one of those hard-to-put-down, high energy, suspenseful books you dream of finding. This Canadian police procedural had great characters, a smooth flowing plot, and tons of excitement. I highly recommend.







VISION AND VERSE DISCLAIMER

Note:

Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.


Sunday, January 23, 2022

SCHEDULE: Jan. 24 - 28, 2022


 
Mon., Jan. 24 - ART: 
Parker's Celebrity Ladies
by Texas Collage Artist Parker Kaufman
Tues., Jan. 25 - BOOK REVIEW:
Holmes in America 
by Karen Vaughan
Wed., Jan. 26 - INTERVIEW:
Non-Fiction Author Claudia Clark
Thurs., Jan/ 27 - ENTERTAINMENT:
Being the Ricardos
(Amazon Prime)
Fri., Jan. 28 - BOOK:
Blue Lake
by Carol Ann Kauffman








VISION AND VERSE DISCLAIMER

Note:

Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.

Friday, January 21, 2022

BOOK: January Black ice by Carol Ann Kauffman


 January Black Ice

 A Mystery Romance


A strong-willed, sharp-minded woman, Mary Catherine Collier, is a journalist and obituary writer for a local newspaper. When the city’s rich and most influential lawyer, Detrick Bittmor, summons her to his penthouse apartment, she can’t say no. Cat, as she’s better known, has a soft spot for the old lawyer with a nasty reputation. There’s something about this man she finds charming. 

Detrick entrusts her with a puzzling personal matter, he wants to find out who the mysterious young man is who sits on a park bench every day at noon and stares up at his apartment windows. The man resembles a young version of himself, and Detrick suspects that he could be his son from an affair he had many years ago.

He wants to find out the truth because this man could be his only heir.

Somewhat reluctantly, Cat takes on the challenge. She befriends the young man, but will it be love at first sight or will she stumble upon a secret that could put both their lives in danger?


Excerpt:


Chapter One

Park Bench

Cat outline

 

 

 

“N

ame, please,” asked the unknown polite man in the wrinkled suit behind the front desk of the Palazzo Castellano in the heart of beautiful downtown Heaton Valley, Ohio. I looked for a nametag. These guys are always more agreeable when you call them by name. No nametag.

“Mary Catherine Collier.”

“Oh, the obituary writer for the Herald?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you’d be…older.” He squinted at me as if I were out of focus.

“I’m here to see Mr. Bittmor,” I answered as quietly as I could, not for his sake but for mine. My head was killing me.

“Do you have an appointment?” He scanned an appointment calendar in front of him. “Collier…Collier.” 

“Would I be here so damn early in the morning on this cold, gray, snow-clogged, icy, miserable day if I didn’t?” I was seriously considering leaping over the counter and choking him. Not a death-grip. I’m not a violent person. Just a little squeeze.

“Shall I take that as a yes?”

“Yes,” I smiled instead of choking him, a much better option I thought, mainly because I still might need his help in the event the cantankerous, old Mr. Detrick Bittmor was less than cooperative.

“Ahh, yes, here you are. ‘Cat’. Mr. Bittmor will see you in the lounge, madam.” He pointed toward the bar. What decent, self-respecting bar is open at seventy-thirty in the morning? And who the hell is madam?

“Madam?” I squealed. “Just what do you think I’m delivery this morning, buddy?” I tried to pull in my bristles, but it wasn’t working. I needed sleep. I needed warmth.

“I have no idea, madam. I’ll bring you some coffee as soon as I ring Mr. Bittmor’s suite.”

“What happened to Fred? I liked Fred.”

“Fred retired. “ 

“Thank you, ur…”

“Rodney,” he answered with a nod and the teeniest smile, making old wrinkly Rodney appear slightly less creepy, for the moment.

“Thank you, Rodney.” I happily strolled into the lounge, found a table where there was enough light for me to see what I was doing, pulled out my notebook and pen, and patiently waited…for the coffee, not so much for Bittmor.

 

Detrick Bittmor was the city’s oldest living lawyer-turn-recluse. He’d made his fortune defending the good, the bad, and the downright guilty. It didn’t matter to Bittmor. The only thing that mattered was if you could afford him. 

Bittmor lived in the penthouse suite, which occupied the top floor of the Palazzo Castellano Hotel. It overlooked the heart of the once bustling and beautiful city of Heaton Valley, Ohio. Founded in 1806, the city center was set in the middle of Central Park, complete with monuments, statues, and meticulously maintained lush greenness and graceful, curved brick walkways that spread all the way to the Mahoning River. There were two major areas flanking the park, the downtown circular retail section, affectionately called ‘the doughnut’ by the residents, and the Heaton Valley Athletic Club, which housed the convention center, a gym, a restaurant, a smaller, less expensive hotel, a few boutiques, and some little craft shops. 

Detrick Bittmor’s suite was his reward for negotiating a settlement in a case involving the federal government versus hotel owner, the now-deceased Elwin Foster, also known as Boss Foster, and his ring of underage Russian girls who were brought to town on the pretense of participating in a work-study program in hotel management, which turned out to be room and board and sex acts. Rumor had it Bittmor bought the hotel when Foster died, but the owner is listed as a holding company in Canada.

Rodney carried in a tray with white mugs and a pot of coffee. He carefully placed a mug in front of me and poured. It was hot and dark and steamy. I wrapped my cold, stiff fingers around the mug and sipped. Heaven…

I was pulled out of my religious experience by the clomp of Mr. Bittmor and his cane moving slowly but steadily across the wooden floor toward me.

“Cat! Thank you for coming so early in the morning. I wanted some privacy while we discuss my proposal.”

“Ahh, that’s sweet, Mr. Bittmor, but I can’t marry you. We’re both Pisces. That would be four fishes swimming around in opposite directions. We’d never get anything done.”

“No,” he chuckled, clutching his chest, “that’s not what I meant. I have a… matter I wish to discuss with you, something I think you are uniquely qualified to handle. It’s a very personal matter to me and I ask your utmost discretion. And I pay very well.”

“I don’t do anything illegal.”

“I know that. What I’m asking you to do is not outside the legal parameters of the law.”

“Your outside and my outside are two different playgrounds.”

“There a new resident in Heaton Valley, a young man about your age. I need some information on him.”

“That’s it? Sure, I can do that. All I need is his full name and date of birth and I can pull him up on the computer.”

“I do not have that information.”

“You don’t have his birthdate?”

“No.”

“That’s okay, most of the online databases will work with an estimate. You say he’s about my age? So we’ll go with between twenty-two and twenty-eight, does that sound about right?”

“He’s twenty-four.”

“Okay, twenty-four year old male,” I jotted notes in my notebook. “Name?”

“I believe he is using the alias, Carter Brooks.”

“An alias is probably a dead-end.”

 “He’s been here about a month. He’s working at the drugstore on the corner. He spent Christmas Day on that park bench, looking up at my windows. 

“Maybe he’s homeless. Did you send Rodney out to invite him in for Christmas?”

“No.”

“Did you at least send him food? It was Christmas, Detrick! You don’t let a guy sit alone and hungry on a park bench in the cold on Christmas Day!”

“I never gave it a thought. He eats his lunch on that park bench across the street and stares up at my apartment every day.”

“Mr. Bittmor, maybe this poor guy is just looking at the sky. The sky is a gorgeous, vibrant blue in January.  The clouds are beautiful. Wait until February when the sky is as cold and gray as the streets, the buildings, and our dispositions. See if he’s still staring up toward the sky then! Why do you think he’s looking at your penthouse apartment?”

“I’m suddenly very tired, Miss Collier. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” He held his head and the color seemed to drain right out of him.  “I think I need a nap.”

He attempted to get up. I reached out and touched his arm. “Detrick, I want to help you. But I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me. You know whatever you tell me will be completely confidential.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I called you. You are trustworthy, and that’s not an adjective I’ve tossed around lightly in my lifetime. Trust and loyalty, Cat, are hard to come by these days. I know whatever I tell you is completely confidential. I can invoke the client and his obituary-writer privilege, you know. Not a word until I die! This is just a delicate subject with me.”

I stared at the old man. He seemed much older than his seventy-two years this morning. But I got up at seven o’clock in the morning and slid my way through the ice and snow to get here, I had a headache, and I needed to buy new snow tires, so I wasn’t letting him off the hook.

“Who do you think this man is, Detrick?”

“I believe he’s my son.”

“Your son? I didn’t know you had a son.”

“I didn’t, either, until last July in fact, when I got this letter,” he said. His hand trembled as he passed the worn, fragile, often folded and refolded letter to me. I opened it and read…

 

 

       Dear Detrick,

            I am in the final stages of bone cancer and I need to make a confession. You have a son. I discovered I was pregnant the month after I returned home. He’s twenty-four years old and looks just like you. I told him his father was killed in Iraq in the Gulf War the year he was born. He’s studious and intelligent, quiet, deep, and broody. Does that sound like me? Or you? I am planning on telling him the truth because I don’t want him to feel all alone in the world. He may or may not come to see you. He’s done without you for twenty-four years, so he may not see the need. If you ever loved me, Rick, please be kind to him if he decides to come to you. He is a wonderful young man, full of curiosity and optimism. It’s not his fault we couldn’t make a go of it.

Love, Donna

 

 

I read the letter over and over. My heart hurt for this woman I did not know. I already liked her before I knew anything else about her. I looked up. The big, bad lawyer was weeping silently, his hunched-over shoulders shaking in unspeakable grief.

“She passed away in October, three months ago,” he whispered.

“And he showed up on the park bench last month? In December?”

“Yes.”

“Has he made any attempt to contact you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Front-desk Rodney could have lost the message.”

“I’m sure. Rodney gets paid very well for his attention to detail, my details. I saved him from the state pen. Rodney’s been in my employ for years, in many other capacities, this being the cushiest. He’s extremely grateful. And maybe a little fearful.”

“What is it exactly, Detrick, that you want me to do?”

“I want you to make friends with him. Get close to him. Find out…”

“Mr. Bittmor! I will not seduce this guy to get information for you. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I know damn well who I am, Mary Catherine, and I know who you are. He doesn’t need seduction. He needs a friend, a solid, dependable friend with a big heart and good judgment.” Detrick pulled a photo out of his shirt pocket. “This was me at twenty-five. Donna said he resembles me.”

I looked at the photo. I got a lump in my throat. For Donna and this young handsome man in the photo. For the lonely guy on the park bench. For this couple that loved each other but ‘couldn’t make a go of it’.

“Detrick, you old devil. You were so handsome!”

“Yes, and I knew it. He is, too, but doesn’t know it. I watch him walk, hands in his pockets, head down, lost and alone.”

“I don’t know about this. I won’t spy on him for you. Send Rodney.”

“No. I specifically want you to do it.”

 “I’ll go sit next to him on the park bench and I’ll tell him his long-dead daddy has resurfaced and wants to meet him.”

“No! Absolutely not, under any circumstances.”

“Again. What exactly are you asking me to do?”

“Meet him. Talk to him. Be his friend if he’ll let you. I don’t want you to deceive him. I’m trusting you with the most precious thing I have, my only child, my son, my only heir.”



“Who inherits as of now?”

“My first cousin on my mother’s side, Calvin Jenkins, per stripes, that’s his descendants in ‘legal will and testament jargon’. He’s five years younger than I am. He’s a lawyer in Montana. He has one son named Mark, who runs a sports complex, and a grandson C.J., who’s in and out of trouble and in and out of rehab. 

“We were close when we were young, like brothers. We went to the same law school. We used to spend two weeks in Canada together every fall at our family fishing cabin. Actually, we never fished. We ate and drank and slept. We played cards and smoked cigars. And talked. We’d come back all invigorated and ready to tackle anything the world threw our way.

“I haven’t seen Calvin in a year, but we talk on the phone once a week. We talk about the good old days, that are only good in retrospect. We discuss our ailments and failing health. 

“I’m not getting any younger, Cat. If Carter Brooks is indeed young Rick, and he accepts me as his father, he stands to gain a considerable amount of money when I die.”

“What if he asks me if I know you?”

“Tell him you do.”

“What if he wants to meet you?”

“Set up a meeting. Bring him here.”

“He may be hostile. He may feel you abandoned both him and his mother.”

“I know. But I didn’t know about him until last year.”

“I’ve got it! Have Rodney wheel you across the street to the park at lunchtime. Roll up next to him and say ‘Hello, young man! You remind me of myself at your age.’ And smile at him. Seriously, when did honesty go out of style?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why? Is the fierce and formidable counselor to the criminals… afraid?”

“Yes.” 

The sadness in his voice touched a cord inside me and before I knew what I was doing, I reached across and hugged this old lawyer-viper, who all of a sudden was warm and human, and vulnerable. He hugged me back.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” I gathered my things, put my coat on, and walked to the door.

“Bring me back a hair or a dirty coffee cup for DNA testing,” he called after me as I walked out, all the warmness evaporated as the scheming lawyer returned.







January through September are available now on Amazon.com. I am presently working on October. 









VISION AND VERSE DISCLAIMER

Note:

Vision and Verse does not store any personal information like email addresses, home addresses, etc. We do not give any information to third parties. And cookies? We eat cookies.