An Old Familiar Place

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