An Old Familiar Place

  She made a fresh pot of coffee and treated herself to a warmed-over fried peach pie, a momentary distraction from what she intended to do. From what she wanted to do. Traipsing across the creaky old wood floor of the kitchen, she inspected a detailed job of cleaning that had added to the delay. Then with courage intact, she took her pastry to the window seat, slipped her shoes off, and sat in her favorite place with stocking'd feet propped on the cushions. No longer stalling, she sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, ready to begin a long journey of some sort. Rachel Payne was not sure where this exercise was going to lead, but she would read first and write after she had absorbed. It was cold outside, the sun cheerfully cutting rays across the frosty window where she sat. Rachel breathed a prayer of thanks for the beauty of the day, for God's provision, and now for Sam's delight in getting to attend Sarepta School. Thomas would be proud of his youngest, the last so

Joab went live at the Publisher... just a few weeks ago—February, 2013. Yesterday, March 16, marked the first of nine signings scheduled for the next few weeks. My friends met me at Panera Bread in Trinity, Florida, where we stayed together for hours, signing, drinking coffee and tea, even eating some good food before the day was over. I knew what to expect, because my "Café Eclectic Friends" are faithful, always there for me. Every one of them came except one and, yes, he called in!   Thanks, guys, for being there, for buying my books, and for cheering me on. Two of the books have taken to the ocean today and are heading for the Caribbean. A couple will end up in Canada at some point; one will arrive in Maine; one has already gone to North Carolina, and the rest will remain in Florida for the time being! Mind you, these are Yankees reading my Southern stories! You are invited to any and all of these events, or just pick one nearest you. I'll have loads of

Sometimes it's with tears that we are brought to remembrance of what our forebears endured in the fight for Southern Independence. I've read a lot of history about the four years that spanned the War and about Reconstruction and the miserable years that followed. And if I had not been blessed with access to letters from my great-great grandfather, T.G. Clark, to his wife— my great-great grandmother, Marjory Brown Rodgers Clark (Rachel in my stories) — and their two sons, Jonathan and Albert Henry, written during the winter of 1861-62 and the first half of 63, I might have been sceptical. But they had no reason to glaze over the facts while they sat on some camp stool beside a blazing fire in the mountains of Kentucky, feet propped upon partially burned logs for a measure of warmth on a night so cold it was impossible to stay warm any other way. From that training camp near Paducah, they started their long trek through the snow and freezing rain tow

JOAB went live today. I'm always left with this numb feeling when I hear those words. Now what? Well, first I have to wait until I receive my author copies so I can read the "book" for the first time. It's always so much more enjoyable to read a book than to scroll through a manuscript. Then I can let everyone know that JOAB is available at the publisher and just about any on - line bookstore worldwide. I should receive my author copies in about a week. Then I'll let everyone know. I am thankful, excited about the future and what will become of JOAB and the other books in The Trilogy. I love my "real" family, and this experience with my fictional family since 2005 has been incredible. They will always be with me. I hope I have brought honor to the "Clark" legend. My forebears died for The Cause , for the Confederacy, their country, my country— The Old South . I will always be grateful for my heritage, for those who

Forgetting Those Things . . . Breathes there a man with soul so dead, who never to himself has said,  "This is my own, my native land." Walter Scott By the time Joab reached the train station in Washington, D.C., he was as tired as he’d ever been. He had slept little, had eaten even less, and riding in slatted cattle cars for hundreds of miles in below freezing temperatures, he had near frozen to death. And what was more troubling, he had it to do over again back to Memphis. There was one thing for sure, he must use a few of those dollars he earned at Manassas Junction for food. Where, he had no idea. He cleaned the car and shuffled some hay about, jumped Star to the ground and rode to the station. A light snow covered the dirt packed roads of the Nation’s Capitol, and the trees were bare except for the myriad evergreens. It was early morning and the lamplights were still flickering. He crossed the bridge over the Potomac River and searched the horizon for th

We’re Almost There! I talked with my publishing agent this afternoon. All lights are green . It's a "GO"!  I've signed off on   everything and JOAB will be  released n a few short weeks. Third in The Faithful Sons Trilogy , this novel of the Old South will take you back to a time when emotions changed almost as quickly as a mockingbird flits from tree to tree. I hope I have captured some of those emotions and that you will open the pages with great expectations. Whether you're from the North or South, your heart will be warmed by memories passed down from generation to generation. Memories of a time when our country was at war with itself and of the years that followed as the South picked up the broken pieces and started all over again. `````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Rachel and Joab sat on the front porch swing that day, reminiscing about the war years, thinking about how the South had taken a beating, but more import

"Sense of Place" I was elated when I learned I would be getting an endorsement for JOAB.  JACK LAMAR MAYFIELD, OXFORD, MS  I met Jack Lamar Mayfield last year in Oxford, Mississippi. My friend from high school days, Emmie Lou Mooney Greene, a prominent Oxonian herself, introduced me to him and we spent several hours getting a grand tour from an historical perspective. I fell in love with the beautiful university town situated in the rolling hill country of northeast Mississippi. Of course, I had been to Oxford many times, but never having known such things as Jack Mayfield shared that day. Jackie, as known by his friends, is a fifth generation Oxonian. His family came to Oxford shortly after the Chickasaw Cession of 1832. He is a former history instructor and writes a weekly column for the local newspaper The Oxford Eagle . His column is entitled "Sense of Place" and is solely about the history of Oxford and Ole Miss. He is the author of a book