I also pulled into the design the aspects of Native American research from my writing which I’ve adopted into my own life.  The number four is an important number in many NA cultures as well as the number 7 which I also have plans to use.  Then there are circles.  I have an outside circle 26 feet of hedge.  Inside that, is another circle–a pathway to walk around.  Inside that there is yet another circle.  This circle is split into 4 areas with paths (4 of them) leading to a smaller circle in the center which will be close to a grassy knoll.  And yes, there is yet another much smaller circle inside that where we’ll have a small fire pit to enjoy in the evenings and maybe roast marshmellows!

Circles have so many meanings.  Life travels in a circle such as the seasons from birth of Spring to death in Winter to life reborn once again in spring.  Our lives travel in circles, meeting and merging then separating and one of my favorite that I live by:  What goes around, comes around.

I should also mention that around my garden area, my husband will have his vegetable garden.

Okay, so how does this tie in with writing?  Aside from being a wonderful place to take my laptop and write (when done of course), it made me think of my characters in my newly re-released books (White Wolf, White Nights, White Flame, White Dreams).

First, in the mid 1800′s, growing your own food was part of survival.  Jessie and her brothers (White Wolf) would most certainly have grown some of their own food.  They lived by the goodwill of the land.  And on the Oregon Train, Jessie, Wolf, along with James and Eirika (White Nights) ate what they could find along the trail.    Unlike Native Americans though, living with the land, on the land and surviving their trek across the land was new to many if not most of the travelers looking to start anew in Oregon.  Those who understood the land and nature, the good, bad and ugly were the  ones to survive and/or lead others on their westward trek.

The Lakota Sioux on the other hand were very well versed in survival.  Unlike many other tribes and cultures, the Sioux didn’t “garden” for their food but instead harvested what Mother Earth provided.  They understood the seasons, the circle of life.  And even though they didn’t ‘work’ the land, they honored and respected and took care of the land–their mother.   After Emma arrives in the village of Striking Thunder (White Flame), she learns to love and respect not only The People, but the land which provides for them.  Raised in a city, living outdoors at the whim and mercy of nature is an eye opener.

In White Dreams, Star Dreamer leaves the land she’s known all her life for the city, turning her back on all that she’s ever known.  But even in a city, she realizes that nature and all that she holds dear is close at hand.

In our past, we depended on the land for the animals raised, crops and food grown and also for travel–those who left their homes and bravely set out without knowing what was in store for them.  Today, we don’t notice the land in the same way–we drive on asphalt, see buildings, houses and shopping malls instead of crops (most places) and gardens.  We don’t barter what we grow for what someone else grows.  If the weather turns bad and ruins crops, prices might go higher but we are not truly affected.  Our ancestors went hungry or went without money if their crops were destroyed.

Having a garden isn’t part of our survival now.  We go to the local supermarket for our fruit and vegetables.  We want flowers?  Again, supermarket or other store-bought sources.  We travel and pay money to view gardens or go on the  internet or buy books.  It’s a fact of life.  But it’s also sad.

There is nothing so rewarding or even calming than digging in the dirt, letting the life-giving dirt fall between your fingers.  The feel, the smell, the connection is still there I believe but life is so busy, even crazy, that we forget to just stop and smell the flowers or touch the leaves, or admire the textures of Mother Earth.  Our yards if we are lucky to have a yard are planted to be “care-free” and sometimes planted with conforming to the neighborhoods instead of our own hearts.

Tomorrow, a 40 odd square foot of my backyard goes under the blades of a rototiller and then my journey of getting down and dirty begins.  And as I spend time with Mother Earth, I’ll think often of my ancestors who didn’t ‘garden’ for a hobby but depended on what bounty they grew for their survival.

So let’s hear from you.  If you could have any type of garden (food, herb, English Country, formal, etc.) what would choose and why?   What would you plant?  And what would a garden of your choosing represent to you.   Do you think that working in the soil means anything to people in this day and age?  Does it meet some kind of instinctual, emotional, or ingrained need inside us or have we as a race (those who don’t grow food commercially) gone beyond the need of connecting with our Earth Mother.   And of course, any other comments are welcome.

Happy Reading (and Gardening).  Check out my website in a week or so to see progress of my Medicine Wheel Garden.  Also, news of a new contest coming soon.

Susan Edwards

Coming April 2012

White Dove, White Deception, White Vengeance & Summer of the Eagle

Find more about Susan and her books on her website: http://susanedwards.com or her blog http://susanedwardsauthor.blogspot.com/ .  Or you can follow Susan on Twitter http://twitter.com/susan_edwards or on her Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Susan-Edwards/40226247104

His lips hovered centimeters above hers, his breath warm on her cheek, his eyes locked on her mouth. She expected him to lean down, to take charge, to kiss her. But he didn’t. Instead he held himself in check with a rigid control, as if he were fighting a battle. And winning.

“I don’t want just one night, Lauren. I want it all back again—us, the way we were. We both know that’s not going to happen.”

All her doubts crumbled into dust. He wanted her still. “We don’t know that.”

She tilted her chin and closed the distance between them until her lips brushed his. He didn’t move, letting her tongue slide against the seam joining them but not allowing her entry. She wouldn’t beg but if he wouldn’t accept her kiss, she’d find another way past his defenses.

Her hands flattened over his chest, seeking his shirt buttons. He didn’t move as she undid them one by one. His stomach muscles tensed when she parted the opening of his shirt and touched bare skin. She affected him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. She was so close. If she could just convince him to let go, to give her a chance…she traced the curve of his stomach, up to his pectorals. Love me. Please.

Since I’m heads down in edits, I borrowed this directly from Samhain’s own site.  Now go vote!

Curtains up! Light the Lights! The SAMMIES are coming, all right!

 

The categories that require your vote are:

Reader’s Choice Best Cover Art eBooks 2011

Reader’s Choice Best Cover Art Print Books 2011

Reader’s Choice Best eBook 2011

Reader’s Choice Best Print Book 2012

 

Please go to http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/BQG585Rto cast your vote. Voters are permitted three choices per category. Voting begins today and runs through March, 19, 2012.The survey allows each participant to vote once. The blue links for each book/cover are hot and will take you to Samhain Publishing site so you can look at the cover or read the blurb for each book listed. Cast your choice for 1^st, 2^nd, and 3^rd place in each category. Then scroll to the NEXT button at the bottom of the page, this will take you to the next category. Repeat until you get to the last category. When you have voted for your choices, be sure to click on the DONE button at the bottom of the last page so your vote will count. Remember, each reader gets to vote once for the poll.

 

We’re asking everyone to participate by casting your vote. After all, these are the Reader’s Choice categories! Your opinion counts!

 

That’s right Samhellions, it’s time to vote for your Samhain Publishing favorites for 2011. The SAMMIE Awards ceremony will be held on Saturday, March 24, 2012, starting at 2 p.m. EST in the Samhain Publishing Cafe.(http://groups.yahoo.com/group/samhaincafe/)

 

Everyone, mark your calendars, shop for your dazzling Red Carpet outfit and get ready to celebrate our SAMMIE winners! We can hardly wait to announce the winners. Party! Party! Par-tay!

I think each of us defines what is romantic differently. I chose today’s Snippet because there are two different types of romance going on — Nate is observing the unspoken ways Jackson tells his wife Sarah that he loves her, and Nate himself is trying to show Sarah he loves her too though at this point he daren’t let her or Jackson realize it. Which makes his gesture not only romantic but a little sad too. That’s why I had to give them all their happy-ever-after together, even if it meant potential danger for them later. Can you guess what Nate might have said in the note to Martha?

Tangled Past
Copyright © 2011 by Leah Braemel

Jackson hefted the bundle from the dress shop and tucked it under his arm while escorting Sarah into the house. Nate kept his lids lowered in an attempt to hide how he watched the gentle swing of Sarah’s skirts. It wouldn’t do to be caught ogling another man’s wife.

He hadn’t lied when he said he would have been proud to take his vows as her husband. Though it left him disturbed that he still fantasized about being in bed with Jackson, Sarah had been appearing in those fantasies lately.

While the couple disappeared upstairs, Nate headed for the kitchen. He paused at the tiny bouquet of flowers in a cup by Sarah’s chair. Neither of them had missed the tears sparkling in Sarah’s eyes when Jackson had picked a flower the first day they were on the road and handed it to her. Though she’d not said anything, they’d both figured no one had ever given her flowers before. Each day since, Jackson had made it a habit of bringing her a flower home, sometimes delaying their return from the fields to find one.

Now he just had to hope Martha would understand the note he’d sent her to accompany the delivery of his purchases.

Don’t forget to visit the other Snippet Saturday participants:

Eliza Gayle
Rhian Cahill
Anne Rainey
Jody Wallace
Lissa Matthews
Mari Carr
McKenna Jeffries
Taige Crenshaw
Alison Kent
Delilah Devlin
HelenKay Dimon
Shiloh Walker
Zoë Archer
Lacey Savage

*HARLEQUIN COVER ART: Cover Art Copyright© 2011 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A. Cover Art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved. © and ™ are trademarks owned by Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its affiliated companies, used under license.

This is her follow-up note to the recipe.

… also calls for bacon which isn’t necessary.

I put in whatever veggies I have available. I usually use two or three – my preference. As to bay leaves I went off them when I was pregnant a few years ago and wonder if you like them?

As to chicken stock I use a bouillon cube (oxo). I had a vegetarian cookbook once and all the soups called for chicken??

Yes I blinked when I read the “when I was pregnant a few years ago” section and then I couldn’t stop chuckling. Mom is 82. I was born when she was about to turn 30. (You do the math, I do not mention that number anymore.) Gee, mom, guess time really does fly. Now here’s Mom’s recipe:

Peggy Braemel’s Split Pea Soup

1 onion
2 carrots
1/2 tsp thyme
1/4 tsp basil
1 clove
1 bay leaf
1 cup split peas – green or yellow
5 cups of chicken stock

Cook the chopped onion in small amount of oil.
Add the carrots and herbs. Cover and cook two minutes over low heat.
Pour in the chicken broth and add peas. Bring to boil and cook for 1-1/2 hours.
Put through the blender and add a little evaporated milk. How much depends how creamy you want it.

Oh, and did I mention my 82 y.o. almost-blind mother sent this to me via her iPad? She was one of the first in the township to learn how to program the computers for the schoolboard so she’s never been afraid of embracing new technology — she loves her iPad that lets her talk with her brother in England via Facetime, or playing gin rummy or Scrabble online with him, and send emails to all of her friends. She’s a go-getter, that’s for sure.

How much of a leap was it to go from historical to steampunk?

Actually not much of a leap at all. Steampunk by definition is bringing today’s technology back to the Victorian era but making that technology run on steam instead of electricity or batteries. So I really wrote a book like any of my other historicals, but I added in some really cool sciencey stuff — like automatons, personal flying machines, and clockwork gadgets.

Tell me about Bennett, the hero – what makes him tick?

Well, I have a tendency to write very dark and/or scarred heroes and Bennett is no different. He feels he is to blame for the madness of the murderer loose on the city streets. Although his intentions at this creation were good and noble, he never anticipated the possible consequences. And so he struggles with wanting to make things right by catching the killer on his own, yet he doesn’t want to stop progress.

Do you find it easier or harder to write the hero over the heroine?

Hmm, I think it depends on the book. In most stories, one of the characters comes to me much stronger and fully formed. I know KNOW them. Then I struggle with finding the right counterpart to them.

Is there a scene, or a moment, you’re particularly fond of within The Iron Heart? Can you share a tidbit?
My favorite scenes in The Iron Heart are always the love or romantic ones between my hero and heroine, which really goes back to the fact that this is a ROMANCE more than anything else. The tension on the page when the two are together is electric! In this scene, Bennett has come to the little shop where Ella lives with her uncle. He wants to know why she snuck into his rooms back at his manor earlier that day.

“Good evening, Ella.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“I come into Lundun every night.”

“You don’t come to my uncle’s shop. What do you want?”

He moved closer to her, partly to intimidate her, mostly to breathe in her divine aroma. “I want to know why you were in my rooms the other day.”

Instantly she went rigid. Her mouth tightened. Clearly it was a secret he would not get from her so easily.

She set her chin and crossed her arms. “You came here just for that?”

“I did.”

“There must be more.”

He grinned. “You are avoiding my question.”

“Certainly you could have waited until the next time we crossed paths.”

“And when would that be? The next time you came to my house unexpected?”

She brushed dust from her skirt. “As you have often said to me: ‘I have my reasons.’”

Bennett laughed. Took a step closer. “This is true.”

He stood before her, just inches from her body. As expected, heat exploded in his bloodstream. Her mouth parted. “And what are your reasons, Ella? What were you looking for?”

“I told you that day. I was there for the same reasons as before.”

He reached out and pressed his palm to her waist. She gasped, but didn’t move. “Oh? And did you lie in my bed waiting for me?”

A slight nudge and she was back against the table. He brushed her hair with the back of his fingers.

“Did you undress and lay yourself across my blanket, your hair spread across the pillows like liquid gold?”

Her breath hitched. His trousers tightened.

“And while you lay naked, in hopes of surprising me, I foolishly took my time coming up from my workshop. Then looked for you in the front parlor.”

Bennett pressed his full body up against hers. Every inch of him throbbed, craved, hungered.

“When I didn’t find you…” his breathing grew heavy “…you redressed, fixed your hair, and came downstairs.”

He leaned forward and inhaled in the tantalizing scent of her hair.

“Is that what happened, Ella?” The words were a whisper.

Her eyes drifted closed. The tip of her tongue darted out and licked her bottom lip.

Bennett leaned his weight against her, pressing her to the table, angling his legs and hips to match hers.

Her breasts crushed to his chest, begging his hands to cup them. His mouth to taste them. His tongue to lick them.

Not just her breasts, he wanted to savor every inch of her skin, from her ankles to her knees to the inner nectar of her womanhood.

He wanted to devour her.

“Ella…” Lord, why didn’t he take her when they were on his bed? Now they stood in her uncle’s shop, where people passing outside could see. Mr. Cooper could enter at any time.

Yet, this hunger could not be denied. Not any longer.

“Come.” He cleared his throat. “Come back to Barrington Manor with me.”

What’s next for you?

I have a Spice Brief coming out from Harlequin in April – THE LADY’S BARGAIN.

If you want to know more about Leslie or her books, visit her website www.lesliedicken.com, follow her on Twitter (@LeslieDicken) or on Facebook.