Don, my soon to be husband and I devised a plan to elope. There was no reason for a rushed ceremony; just merely a way to have a small nest egg saved up before having a big wedding in the future. Don was in the Navy, and if he were married, he would get married pay. Our plan was simple. We were going to get married, not tell anyone and start saving a little extra money.

 Don was on leave and due back to the ship right after the first of the year, so we decided to get married before he left. We chose December 30th. We’d worked out all the details; we would drive to Tennessee, get married, and be home by early afternoon. What could possibly go wrong?

I woke early that Friday morning as Don was supposed to pick me up by seven for our secret rendezvous.   I was ready on time, but Don was nearly an hour late picking me up. This was long before cell phones and I thought maybe he’d changed his mind. Thankfully this wasn’t the case.

The delay was because a house blocked the road. That’s right, s single-story, dark brown, brick ranch - was being moved to its new location on that very morning, the owners choosing to do so early so as not to inconvenience anyone. The good news is the house is still there, and every time we pass it, we remember the day it found its new home atop the hill.

After that minor delay, we were on our way.

We told my mother that we were heading to Bardstown to see Don’s father and would be gone most of the day. We arranged for my sister-in-law to join us as a witness. We drove to her house and waited across the street for my brother to leave for work. The moment the coast was clear, we picked up her and my nephew, who was just a baby at the time. We dropped my nephew off at his great aunt’s house and were on our way to Tennessee to become husband and wife.

The drive was uneventful, and we all arrived in high spirits. There was a line at the courthouse; apparently, several other couples had hopes of getting married that day as well. When our time came, we stepped up to the desk and told the lady we were there to get married. She smiled and asked for our birth certificates. This was the second thing that nearly derailed our plans, as we’d not thought to bring them. Before you chastise us for not being prepared, please remember we were very young. I had barely turned eighteen, and Don was twenty-one. It was way before the invention of the Internet, so we had not been able to research what was involved. 
After a couple of tense moments, the woman decided that we could use our driver’s licenses since they had our pictures on them. We were lucky because, at that time, Kentucky was one of the few states that required photos on their driver’s licenses.

Our identities established, she then requested the paperwork for blood test results—glitch number three. Of course, we had not thought to have any blood test taken. Things like this must happen regularly, as the lady directed us to a clinic where we could get our blood drawn.

We drove across town and finally found the clinic in a rather run-down section of the city. After arriving and feeding yet another parking meter that seemed prevalent in the large city, we entered to find a sea of patients waiting to see the doctor. As we entered the building, every person turned their head to check out the new arrivals. It was a tad creepy as they continued to watch as we checked in and took our seats.
 At the time, I felt it was because somehow everyone in the room knew of our secret mission. Looking back, I believe it was because we were highly overdressed for the area. Don was looking pretty dashing in his leisure suit. My sister-in-law had donned a nice dress for the occasion, and I had on a new outfit, the first one I had ever purchased on my own.

Purchased with money from the new job I’d just started,  I had on new blue jeans with a soft fur trim that lined the outside of the back pockets and a stunning black velour angel sleeve top. It was 1980, and this was the first fashionable outfit I’d ever owned. Having just turned eighteen and living a fairly naive life, it never occurred to me that fur-trimmed blue jeans and a black top may not be the best choice of wedding attire. But hey, this was our pre-wedding wedding, so it was okay.

Luckily, we were only at the clinic for a blood draw and called to the back within a few short moments. They put us in separate rooms across the hall from one another, where we sat on exam tables and waved to each other like a couple of kids. The nurse came into my room first, asking a few questions before tying the tourniquet around my arm. As she lowered the needle toward my arm, I asked her when the results would be back. As the needle approached the crook of my arm, she replied: “oh not long, we should have them back in the morning.”
 I jerked my arm away and pulled the rubber vice from my arm. “But, we are getting married today.”

After a few moments of chaos, we were sent across town yet again to a blood draw center that could accommodate a same-day blood draw. After arriving and paying yet another parking meter, we made our way to a nice waiting area where a very friendly receptionist assured us it would not take long to complete the process. After only a few minutes, our blood was carted away to the testing area with the word STAT boldly labeled across each glass vile. The woman said it would take about an hour, and since it was now nearing lunchtime, suggested we take this opportunity to go and get something to eat.

I am not sure how much Nashville has changed since then, but in December of 1980, it was not easy for three hungry, highly stressed people to find something to eat. We drove for quite some time before finally finding a Burger King. We ate burgers and fries, then hurried back to the lab to get our test results. We had been gone well over an hour, and the results from our blood tests were still not back. After waiting yet another hour, the receptionist finally called down to see what was taking so long. It turns out that our blood was missing! They placed a trace on the tubes, and we had no choice but to wait for them to be located.

After nearly two hours of panicking, the blood was found, and the results finally arrived. Don paid the fifty-six dollars, and we were on our way. Unfortunately, instead of being on our way to the courthouse, we had to drive back to the clinic so the resident doctor could verify the results and declare us fit to be married.

We arrived at the clinic, walked through the gauntlet of gawkers, and spoke with the receptionist, who called the nurse to take our paperwork to the doctor. Forty minutes and Thirty-six dollars later, we exited the building, paperwork in hand that attested that we were in good health and genetically fit to become husband and wife - all signed by a doctor we never saw.

It was late by the time we returned to the courthouse, and all the judges had left for the day. Physically and mentally exhausted, I blinked to keep the tears at bay.

Seeing my distress, the clerk took pity on us and offered to call over to night court and see if there was anyone who could perform the service. Luckily she located a judge who agreed to see to our joining.

We made our way to the courtroom and opened the door, instantly surprised to be met with a room full of people who turned to stare at the persons who’d suddenly disturbed the proceedings. We quickly closed the door without entering, fearing we had unknowingly arrived at the wrong courtroom. Within seconds the door opened, and we were greeted by a distinguished man with incredibly large ears, who assured us we were indeed in the right place.

The man introduced himself as Judge Doty and beckoned us to follow him. I was a bit scared walking through the crowded courtroom and into the judge’s chamber.

 Judge Doty was a sturdy, kind-faced older man with dark eyes that looked like they’d witnessed many years in the judicial system. He seemed rather pleased to be doing something as mundane as performing a simple marriage ceremony. When Judge Doty asked which one of these pretty ladies the bride was, Don clutched my hand possessively and proudly stated that I could cook too. He knew this for a fact as I had made him a spaghetti dinner only a few short months earlier when he was home on leave. What he neglected to say was that I had used boxed noodles, sauce from a jar, and he never even touched the homemade meatballs that I had slaved hours to cook.

Judge Doty began the ceremony only to be interrupted by a phone call. To our surprise, he answered and assured his wife he would bring home a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk. A few seconds later, he answered a second phone call. This call was of greater importance as it ended with the promise of a fishing trip to take place the following day. When the service continued, Judge Doty got to the part where a ring was needed, and in one smooth motion without exchanging words, my sister-in-law removed her wedding ring and passed it to Don, who then slipped it onto my waiting finger. Apparently, in our haste to get married, we had overlooked this minor detail. At long last, and without any further interruptions, he officially declared us husband and wife – which was formally certified after handing over a forty-dollar ceremony fee.

Upon surrendering the borrowed ring and returning to the hubby’s van, the first major test of our marriage was soon at hand. The van was nearly out of gas, we were over a hundred miles away from home, and Don was nearly out of money. Between all the parking meters, blood tests, doctor’s signatures, and ceremony fees, his cash was almost depleted. He had a bit of money in an account at home, but that was way before the invention of the universal debit card. I had not thought to bring any money, and my sister-in-law only had a couple of dollars on her, so we were frantically trying to figure out how we were going to get back home

As it turns out, Don had a money order in the van for the amount of six dollars which he had yet to fill out. He took the money order to a bank across the street - went into the bank, walked up to the teller, slid the money order under the window, and told her he needed money. It was at that time that the guard saw him at the window, watched him pass the note, and assumed he was robbing the bank.

Apparently, the bank had been closed for several minutes, and somehow no-one had remembered to lock the side door- I am not making this up! After a few tense moments, my new husband was able to convince everyone he was not a bank robber, had just gotten married, and needed to cash the small money order in order to get his new bride safely back home. The teller, who’d already closed out her drawer, took pity on him and gave him cash for the money order out of the money she had in her own purse.

With the funds from the money order and the small amount of cash on hand, Don was able to purchase gas which he prayed would be enough to get us all safely home. During the drive back to Kentucky, I, having reached my limit, proceeded to crawl into the bed in the back of the van and sleep most of the way home.
Needless to say, we arrived back at the aunt’s house to pick up the baby much later than initially intended. As we reached the back door, my brother greeted us, humming the hymn to the funeral march.

It turns out my nephew had gotten sick, and his aunt had called my mom looking for us. When my mother questioned why we would take my sister-in-law with us to visit Don’s dad, her aunt had jokingly stated: “maybe they eloped.”

After gathering my nerve, I called my mom, who demanded to know where we had been. There was no reason to lie, so I told her Tennessee, and when she asked why I said: “why do you think?” The next thing I heard was a dial tone. At that point, I was very glad I had taken that much-needed nap.

 My brother congratulated us, we had a celebratory glass of wine, and left.
After once again gathering the courage to call my house, my younger brother answered the phone and wanted to know why mom had been crying ever since hanging up the phone with me. She refused to answer and told him to tell me if I wanted to speak with her. I knew where she lived. An hour later we parked at the church next door to my parent’s house. Feeling as if we were facing the firing squad, we slowly made our way across the yard and up the incline to the house.
​
My mom was still crying.
My dad, not typically known for his patience, was so calm it was frightening. He wanted to know why we had eloped. Don spoke up and simply said, “because we love each other.”  
Dad then asked the million-dollar question. “Are you pregnant?”
 We, of course, told them no, which was the truth. Dad visibly relaxed, well at least a little, and left the room for a moment. Many years later, I was told by my brother that he’d seen dad with a loaded pistol in his waistband before he himself had been ordered to leave the house. I do not know for certain if this was true, but I think it was a very good thing that an impending pregnancy was not the reason for our hasty elopement.

When dad returned to the room, both he and mom attempted to make us see the error of our ways, pressing us to get an annulment. They claimed that neither of them objected to the marriage, just the way we’d gotten married. They wanted us to get an annulment and then go back the following weekend to get re-married with them beside us. I was afraid if we agreed to this, they would find a way to keep us from a second ceremony. Dons refusal was because he was not about to relinquish his well-earned prize. He had nearly been shot at the bank just a few short hours earlier, and he was not about to let that experience be for naught.

After a stalemate, it was decided that I would retire to my room for the night, and Don would go home. All parties involved would discuss it further the following day when hopefully calmer heads would prevail.

 I know some probably think it utterly absurd to sleep alone on one’s wedding night, but by this point, Don and I were so exhausted it seemed like the right thing to do.

The final agreement was that we would follow our initial idea to keep the marriage a secret and plan for the big wedding in the summer. As with our elopement, things did not go as intended. We never had the big wedding, nor did I get the white dress. I am happy to report that I did get a wedding band that was eventually replaced with a lovely diamond set on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Good things come to those who wait! ;)

When we first got married, several people expressed their disapproval. They called it puppy love and told us it would not last six months. I am happy to report that their predictions did not hold true - we just celebrated forty-one years together.  

I guess truth be told, one does not need a fancy dress, a shiny bauble, or even a lot of money to get married. You only need perseverance, a trip across the state line, and enough money for gas to get you home…. 
 
 

I’d like to take a few moments to share a bit about The Orphan Train Saga.
In the mid-1850s, there were over 30k children living on the streets of New York City. My goal with each book is to show the situations leading up to the enormous homeless children population. Each book will show how that child came to be living on the streets or in the asylum. Through their stories, I’ll show why so many parents were unable to care for their children and the conditions that spurred one-man- Charles Loring Brace- into action. His goal, to help save the children that so many in the city looked upon as nothing more than cockroaches littering the streets. With help from his high society friends, Reverend Brace formed the Children’s Aid Society. The CAS was instrumental in sending the children out on the orphan trains.
  Each book in The Orphan Train Saga is written with the hope that the reader will see that the orphan train program, though far from perfect, was a necessary tool to help get the children out of the city, thus offering them a chance at having a better life.
 Though many in today’s society are appalled at how some of the children were treated, it is important to know that most of those placed out had good lives. Due to the high death rate from disease and infection, it is also important to note that most of those children would not have lived to see their eighteenth birthday had they not been sent out on the trains.
 Before you make up your mind that this was a political evil, it is also important to note that this was NOT a government program. In fact, the placing out program (orphan trains) was the catalyst that helped to invoke government programs aimed at helping keep families together. The Placing Out Program was the beginning of the modern-day foster care program and helped to put other many other programs, such as child labor laws prohibiting factories from hiring children in place of men.
 Over two-hundred-fifty-thousand children were sent west to find new homes. My goal is to keep those children’s memories alive and further educate the reader by throwing in snippets of forgotten history to help keep the books exciting.
The books are void of swear words, and I try to keep graphic scenes to a minimum.
Though I initially believed this historical fiction saga geared towards adults, I have a fan base ranging from eight to ninety nine according to my latest fan mail.
 Now for a bit about my saga…
 Discovery is the first book in the saga where Cindy and her mother discover the journals hidden in the attic. In reading the journals, Cindy, her mother Linda, and the reader learns of the life that stole her grandmother’s love. Traveling back in time to when her grandmother was just a child, we learn of her father’s death during the trip to America from Poland in search of a new life. We learn of the institutions in which the children live. In having Mileta’s mother drop her at the front door, I show the ease with children could be tossed aside. Something reiterated when Mary tells Mileta her mother dropped her there on Christmas day with promises to return. Another child holds firm to the hope their papa will return one day. During Mileta’s journey on the trains, a couple attempts to adopt her while in route to Detroit. This scenario did occur during at least one of the original placements. A child was adopted and later replaced with another child along the way.  Also, in Discovery, we meet Tobias and are introduced to the infamous Purple Gang. A notorious Detroit gang so ruthless that even Al Capone was afraid of them.
Shameless, the second book in the saga, tells Tobias’ story. Shameless is set in both New York City and Detroit. The reader will join a young Tobias at his “home” in the graveyard of St. Paul’s Chapel, take a disastrous ride on an ill-fated subway- which will later be known as the Malbone Street Wreck- one of the deadliest crashes in the United States as well as the deadliest in the history of the New York Subway system.  Shameless also probes deeper into the Purple Gang and of whisky running during prohibition. We meet a new cast of characters, including Franky (book 4) and Slim (book 5.) We meet Mr. Twichell, a good friend of Mark Twain,  who shares words of wisdom with a young Tobias. We get to see more of the placing out process and what happened when placements didn’t work out. We learn the finer points of picking pockets and travel to Chicago and have a brief encounter with Al Capone. We’ll follow as Tobias meets Mileta and see what motivates his fierce protection instincts and sets the tone for the first five books in the saga.
In Treachery, the third book in the saga, you’ll delve into the life of Anastasia and see if she is as rotten as she’s lead us to believe in previous books. Or, if she is merely a product of circumstances which landed so many children onto the streets. Treachery is full of history and dives headfirst into the lack of child labor laws as Anastasia worms her way into working at the Triangle Shirtwaist factory. Then hold your breath as she barely escapes the 1911 fire that claimed the lives of 146 garment workers. You’ll bear witness to the plight of unwed mothers in the early 20th century and discover what lengths mothers would go to see their children safe.
Guardian, the fourth book in the saga, releases on October 20th, 2020, with Franky’s story. Travel to Chicago and meet Judge, who takes in Franky and gives the boy and the reader a brief tour of the windy city in 1926. Next, you’ll arrive back in Detroit, where Franky is one step away from being caught up in the Purple Gangs. During the course of the book, the reader will take a ride with Jimmy Hoffa, meet a young Audie Murphy, and travel to Italy when a grown up Franky recounts his brief stint in Anzio during WWII.
There will be eighteen books in the saga and they are so intricately weaved together you’ll want to read them in order. Along with those planned within the saga, I’ve already begun working on several “extras”-spinoffs if you will- that will allow the reader to see what happens to some other characters they will meet along the way. Loyal, book five in the saga, will be released in 2021.
If you are looking for romance, you may find yourself disappointed. If you are looking for brief snapshots of real 20th-century history wrapped within the stories of children who want nothing more than to survive in a world where so many around them are perishing, I believe you will fall in love with The Orphan Train Saga.
 
You can order signed copies of the books on my website. You may also order print books at either Amazon or Barnes & Noble. Each book is available on Kindle and can be read for free via Kindle Unlimited.

#Theorphantrainsaga #Historicalfiction #20thcenturyhistoricalfiction #Cleanread #Theorphantrains #Purplegang #booksetinDetroit #Booksetinnewyorkcity #booksetinchicago #Westbyorphantrain #Kentuckyauthor #Michiganauthor #prohibition #THegreatdepression #Bookclubs #pickpockets #Orphanchildren #Quiltstories #Hiddenjournals

Hello everyone,
I wanted to make a contest in exchange to help gain reviews, however Amazon does not allow it. If I were to get caught they would remove all reviews from my books.
I know you probably get tired of me begging for reviews (trust me, I hate asking) but I wanted to take just a moment to explain why they are so necessary. You enjoy my books so please take a moment to read this. While I appreciate everyone that sends me a message telling me how much they love the book, I need the world to see those messages.
So why should you leave a review?

1. I am an Indie author which is another word for self-published. I hire an editor, have a professional cover made for my books and have a team of beta readers who read through my manuscript to help ensure I put out a book which is well written, aesthetically appealing and (hopefully) free from mistakes. I take pride in my work and want to give you the best reading experience possible. Some indie authors are not as diligent and therefore give self-published books a bad rap. By leaving a review you are not only telling me how much you enjoy my work, you are telling potential readers how much you enjoy reading my work. (**I was with a “real” publisher with my first two books, I like the control –over content, covers- and publishing dates- I have with Indie publishing.)
2. There are certain magazines and venues I would love to advertise in, however, some of them do not even consider the books (or author) until they’ve reached a certain number of reviews. There are also book fests and signings I would like to take part in that look to reviews before offering an invitation.
3. Each morning when I wake I do two things. I check my sales (This usually makes me happy) and then I go to Amazon to look for new reviews. Sometimes I smile (like when I have a new review) and other I do not (when there not any new reviews.) Please won’t you take a moment to make me smile?

 
What to say? That is the best part, you get to say whatever you want. It’s your review! Write a little or write a lot. Just remember unlike golf, the higher the score (in this case star count) the better.
 
Where to leave a review? There are four heavy hitters. In a perfect world you would decide what you want to say and copy and paste on each platform.
 
Amazon: if you did not purchase the book from Amazon you will not be considered a verified purchaser. That’s okay, just include in the review that you bought the book at a signing event and feel free to name the event. *To be eligible to leave a review on Amazon they require you to purchase $50 in products each year.
Barnes & Noble: to my knowledge Barnes and Noble does not have any rules for reviews at this time.
Goodreads: as far as I know if you have an account (they are free) you can leave a review.
Bookbub: (another free account) Bookbub is a great place for authors to advertise, but again they look to see how many reviews the author has before offering them a bookbub deal. **make sure to like and follow me on bookbub to be told of new releases and book deals.
If you have already left a review, thank you. If you want to leave the same review on the other sites, THANK YOU! One more thing, if you take the time to leave a review please double check to make sure it gets posted. Sometimes they don’t ever show up.
 
 #Pleasereview #Bookreview #yourreviewmatters #indieauthor 
 
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“Sir?” Tobias asked before Marv moved away.
“What is it, kid? Change your mind about the pie, did you?”
“No, sir. It is just, I was wondering, do I really have enough money for a new set of clothes?”
Marv eyed the remaining bills and laughed. “Son, you could buy yourself an outfit, new shoes, get yourself a real bath down at one of the bathhouses, and still have some coins left. How does that sound?”
It sounded amazing, considering rain was the only water he’d felt on his skin since he’d left home. He’d not changed his clothing in the same length of time either. “I think I would like that, sir.”
Marv raised his hand, and a salesman hurried over from the other side of the store. Dressed in a suit, the salesman was eager to help until he saw his client. The man looked at him the way his momma looked at the roaches climbing the wall in their apartment.
 “Mr. Kramer, the young lad here would like to buy a new set of clothes. He doesn’t need anything fancy, just something that will keep him warm as the weather cools and make him look a little more acceptable.”
Kramer gave Tobias a once over and wrinkled his nose. “That would take some doing.”
“Now none of that, Kramer. The boy has money. I’ve seen it,” Marv chided.
Kramer sighed his acceptance and turned his attention to Tobias. “Very well then, son. If you will follow me, I think we can find you something with less… aroma.”
He followed to where the trousers were and waited as Kramer took out a length of cloth and wrapped it around his waist. Kramer kneeled and placed the tape near the upper portion of his inner thigh.
Tobias took a step backward. “Hey, none of that funny business.”
The man closed his eyes, pinched at the bridge of his slender nose, and exhaled slowly. Opening his eyes, he spoke. “I assure you I am not in the habit of funny business, especially with the likes of you. If a young man wants a pair of trousers to fit then, he must do one of two things. Either he allows himself to be properly measured or he tries them on. To put things frankly, you sir, stink. One can smell you from across the room. No decent person will have anything to do with you in your present state. And I assure you, no one wants you in their trousers.”
Tobias considered telling the man he was under a fine lady’s petticoat not more than a few hours ago but decided against it. So far, no one had questioned where someone like him had acquired so much money. Most likely, they knew if they made a fuss over it, he might decide not to spend it in their store. He nodded his acceptance, knowing if Kramer did try any funny business, he was in the correct position to kick him in the teeth. When Kramer finished, he told him to stretch out his arms. Tobias did as told, and Kramer stepped behind him and took another measurement. He turned in time to watch the man throw the length of tape in the trash. He wondered if the man did that with every customer and knew the answer to be no. It was at that moment Tobias pledged that one day he would be able to shop in a store such as this with no one questioning if he belonged. 


#TheOrphanTrainSaga #booktwo #Shameless #newrelease #Whattoreadnext  #Historicalfiction #Orphantrain 

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As most of you know, I am an indie author. What that means is I self-publish all of my books. (I originally published my first two books with a traditional (or what some refer to as a “real”) publisher. However, even with a traditional publisher, it was my job to promote my books. I decided if I was going to do most of the work, I should receive most of the money, so I decided to go the indie route. This is not to say I would not consider another traditional book deal, but indie is where I am and I thought I'd take a moment to explain what that means. 

 I realize there are a tremendous amount of self-published authors out there that are intent on getting their books out as quickly as possible. For those that can do it and get it right, kudos to them. In many cases, some self-published authors are more content with quantity over quality. That is not my goal. I prefer to take the time to fully research, edit and proof my books to make sure they are of the highest quality I can provide. I have built a fantastic team which consists of beta readers, proofreaders, my cover/advertising and visual design artist, editor, interior design lady and I have an assistant who helps with some social media posts. I have an online research guy (also known as my hubby, or Prince Charming) who searches newspapers.com to find me articles, which I pour through to see what if any content I can use. In the end, I am the one who must read the research books and newspaper clippings, as I never know what information the voices will decide to use. This all takes time, so it is not realistic for me to publish a book every three months. Not if you expect quality and cohesiveness, something I take pride in.

Along with writing, I must market, post status updates, contact bookstores and other venues to get signing events and answer fan mail (which I thoroughly enjoy.)

It is the goal of myself and my team to make sure I have a clean error-free book when it goes to print. That is not to say we catch everything, but we give it our best. (I am always looking for eagle eyes that are both quick and thorough.)

As an indie author, I must purchase each copy I give away for “free.” It always amazes me when I see big name authors showing photos of the stacks of hundreds of “advance reader” copies their publisher sent them to pass on to readers. At this time, that is simply not within my budget.

I get emails in my inbox daily asking me to pay for this review service, or this service to get more facebook, twitter and Instagram likes. While I do some marketing to help get my book out there, and contests to encourage honest  reviews, I refuse to pay for reviews and likes. While my numbers are not as high as some, my numbers are organic and real.

Reader reviews are incredibly important for everyone, but especially for an indie author. Each time you take a moment to review, you are helping me. You are telling potential readers that my books, even though indie published, are worth their time to read. You are telling Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Goodreads, Bookbub, or wherever you take the time to post, that my books are worth them mentioning to others.

By posting a review, sharing my status updates, telling people about my books, you are joining my team and doing a part in helping me succeed. I cannot do this alone, and I am deeply appreciative of each and every one of you.

What else can you do? Ask your local bookstore if they will carry DISCOVERY, and The Orphan Train books that follow. The same goes for your local Library. The more people who read it, the more they will tell their friends. Tell your book clubs, shout about my books to your reading groups on facebook. Comment on this blog post. I am sure there are other things, but these are a few which come to mind.

Please know, I am not posting this to complain. I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE what I do. Okay, I love writing and meeting/talking with my fans, but the other stuff comes with the "job," and it is a job. For me, writing is the easy part. Marking and navigating all levels of social media is a constant challenge. I laugh, as for years I floated through life looking for the easy button. I wanted a job that paid well but where I did not have to work evenings or weekends. I can honestly say I have never worked longer hours or had a job that was more difficult. Yet I have a level of personal satisfaction I never knew existed. I didn't choose writing, writing chose me, and I am eternally grateful.

Thank you and happy reading!
Sherry

#indieauthor #writingisajob #marketing #Theorphantrainsaga #Discovery #pleaseleaveareview #Awriterslife #Indie #Pleasehelp 
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​​In 1840 the population of New York City was just over 300 thousand. By 1920 the population of the city had grown to over 5 ½ million, and yet the size of the city itself remained the same.  With the great influx of people, the infrastructure of the city proved inadequate. Families were crammed into tenement buildings. In many cases multiple families sharing units designed to house a single family.
​
 The sewer and trash systems proved inadequate and because child labor laws were nonexistent men and boys were competing for the same jobs. With too many mouths to feed children were often pushed from the family home and wound up living on the streets.

By the mid-1850’s New York City had over 30 thousand children living on the streets, many of them as young as four and five years old.  With so many children living on the streets, people soon became sensitized to them, walking over them much the way one would walk over a sleeping dog. Instead of being sympathetic, people would turn up their noses at the way children looked and smelled. Children would sleep in doorways, in boxes and crates. In the wintertime, children would sleep on the vents in the city streets just to stay warm.

The children were in desperate need for an advocate, and that advocate came by way of Charles Loring Brace. Brace came from a well to do family with high social status. Arriving in New York in 1848 brace was appalled not only by the number of children living on the street but with the way society treated them. Brace made it his mission to help the city’s homeless children. He reached out to his high society friends, and using monies donated, founded the Children’s Aid Society in 1853. The Children’s Aid Society offered the children religious guidance and helped to teach the boys trades which they could use to help support themselves in an attempt to help the children become self-sufficient. While the Children’s Aid Society’ efforts helped, it could not keep up with the number of children which were abandoned on a daily basis. Looking for a more permanent solution, Brace thought to send the children out to stable farms where he envisioned families rich morels and food in abundance.

The children’s Aid Society started the “family placement” or “outplacement”  program in 1854 sending out its first group of children via two boats and two trains to Dowagiac Michigan. The placements proved a success and the program took off. The Orphan Trains (as they were later called) ran from 1854 to 1929. During the seventy-five-year period, it is estimated that over 250K children from New York and Boston rode the trains.  

Agents from the Children’s Aid Society went forward in advance of the trains help the towns select committees to help see to the children’s placement. Prospective parents did not have to adopt the child. However, they were made to sign a contract stating they would feed and clothe the child and see to religious training. The child was also expected to receive some education. The families were told that if for any reason the placement did not work out the children could be returned at the agency’s expense.
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It was the mission of all agencies to find good homes with people with strong morals. That is not to say that every home was a good home. As we all know while a home can have a Norman Rockwell Feel, no one knows what really goes on behind closed doors. Some children ended up with great homes with loving families, and others ended up being used as labor. While some children were worse off than before they rode the orphan trains, most of the children were much better off than if they would have stayed in the city. It is estimated that 87% of the placements turned out well. 

#theorphantrains #homelesschildren #orphantrain #OrphanTrainSaga #homesforchildren #TheOrphanTrainSaga 
#DowagiacMichigan z#ChildrensAidSociety 

​As  flea season revs up I feel the need to once again share Oliver's story. 
From July of 2017 
​Let me start by saying Oliver was ten-years old. He wasn’t on any medication other than an occasional Pepcid and his monthly heartworm and flea meds. Therein lies the problem. When I went to purchase Oliver’s flea treatment (Advantix) his new vet told me they did not carry it. They suggested that I try Nexgard and told me it was perfectly safe. I took them at their word, gave him the pill on July 13th and I suspect that why he is no-longer with us. I say suspect because it can’t be proven. He had some symptoms, which singly could be explained away. Last night he started having issues breathing and things escalated rapidly. We had contacted the vet and were in the process of leaving when Oliver died. After Googling this pill (something I wish I’d have done a lot sooner) I found this is not the first instance of this happening. I cannot change what happened, and to be honest, we have been concerned for his health for a while, but the fact that he had a great check-up in late April and he deteriorated so quickly gives me pause. Especially now, after finding the facebook page (Does Nexgard kill dogs) and seeing a video posted that mimicked Oliver’s last couple of hours. I am not trying to lay blame, more that I want to warn others to keep a close eye on their pets. If you are giving this drug, and see any unusual symptoms please have them checked. I’m not sure we could have prevented this from happening, but knowing what I know now, I sure would have tried.
#doesnextgardkilldogs? #fleatreatment #nexgard #mansbestfriend #standardpoodle 
Please feel free to share to help save others.

When I first overheard a discussion regarding The Orphan Trains, my interest piqued. That discovery was over ten years ago when I first began writing. In the years since I read my first story on Orphan Trains, the plight of those children has called to me. I feel that it is a piece of our American history that most people do not know about. It isn’t taught in classrooms and wasn’t even before history became sanitized. Today's curriculum tends to lean more towards being politely correct than accurate.
With the influx of immigrants into New York city came poverty and sickness.  Abandoned and orphaned children lived and died in the city streets. Children as young as five were forced out of their homes, getting jobs as newsies, flower sellers, shoe shiners. Children sold rags and picked pockets, many joining gangs just to survive. By the mid-1800’s it is estimated there were over 30,000 children living on the streets in New York City.
In 1853 a gentleman named Charles Loring Brace helped found the Children’s Aid Society, his mission, to get the orphans off the street. Other institutions followed but were still no match for the cities ever-growing street children population. A solution to that problem soon came by way of placing the children out, sending the children to farming communities where the children could thrive. This is where trains came into place, sending children from birth to 18 to less populated areas and place them with farmers who could always use a helping hand. The trains were called “Orphan Trains” or “Baby Trains.”
While the idea held some merit, the actual process was less than perfect. Though some children did end up in happy homes, countless children did not fare so well. In many cases, the new “parents” were referred to as employers. Long before child labor laws were in place, the children were expected to work in exchange for food, clothing, and education. Boys were picked based on their strength and ability to work; girls were chosen for their ability to become servants, caregivers, babysitters and more. With crowds gathered to view the new arrivals, the children were placed on display with prospective “parents” picking their child from the lineup. The children were inspected like livestock to determine if they were healthy. Before the train’s arrival children were instructed to sing, dance, show their muscles or demonstrate other talents to help them to get picked.
Some of the orphanages had another system and would send word to the towns in advance. People could then send a note to the orphanage telling of their request for a child with certain hair or eye coloring, age, religion. These children had numbers pinned to their clothing to let their new parent know which child now belonged to them.
Though the trains were referred to as “Orphan Trains” many of the children who rode them were not orphans at all.  Many children were sent into the streets by parents who were too sick, poor or too ill-equipped to care for them. In the same token, many of the orphans in the orphanages or children’s homes had a parent or parents that would visit on occasion. Others were left at the doorstep never knowing why their parent abandoned them.
Though there were flaws in the system, in many cases the life the child lived was better than the one that was left behind. It is estimated that over 250,000 children rode the orphan trains during the placing out program which ran from 1854 to 1929. The first orphans were placed in Dowagiac, Michigan. Subsequent placements were made throughout the United States, even crossing over into Mexico and Canada.  My goal is to write a series of historical fiction to help make people aware of the early placing out that was the forefront to many of the programs (foster care, child labor laws, background checks for adoption, to name a few) that we have in place today. #orphantrain 

​The hubby and I have been doing a great bit of driving of late, heading into the city (Port Huron) for some appointments and then driving home again. It is an hour each way in clear weather, much longer if the weather is bad. But we enjoy each other’s company, so that makes the drive tolerable. Conversations vary, but when I am involved in a storyline I like to bounce ideas off him. My PC (Prince Charming) has never been a yes man, so he is quick to point out flaws in a storyline or add thoughts of his own. We toss ideas back and forth like a wrinkled sheet, until the folds even out, and the fabric of the story becomes smooth. Over the last few weeks we have been discussing a story idea that I was given (yes, by my voices) around the time I was writing Tears of Betrayal. The subject matter fascinated me then and has called to me ever since. I was new to writing at the time and wasn’t sure how to bring the story to life, so I pushed it to the back burner. It wasn’t until we started driving to the city a few weeks ago that the idea broke out of its cocoon and started whispering once more. Then, the whispers became murmurs, and now it is speaking clearly and telling me it is next. Well, kind of, as upon discussing this more and more I realize I need a Segway book to take me to the story I wish to tell. It works out well as both stories will take a tremendous amount of research to get them right.  While the stories themselves will be fictional, I intend on using real settings and real events in history to tell them. My research partner (PC) has already began pulling newspaper articles for me to pour through and the voices are eagerly filling my head with info for both books. It seems as if adding the aquariums to my office is working, my voices are exceedingly chatty when I’m around water.

Photo is of Miss Gracie (our latest rescue kitty and our new Betta fish, Dexter. 

​When we first moved to Michigan, I felt a bit displaced. I spent months using the kitchen table as a makeshift office and hated the fact that most of my writerly things were in boxes. We had an area set aside for my future office, but other renovations kept delaying the renovations of my office. One day in an act of frustration, I decided that we did not, in fact, need a guest room, and that room could be put to better use as my office. The bedroom set removed, I was left with an empty room. At first, I had trouble seeing the vision for this room, as I had already designed my office around the previous space, even going so far as purchasing the tile. This room was newly carpeted, so although I briefly considered ripping up the carpet, I couldn’t convince the Hubby it was something we should do. I spent days pouring through Pinterest, and slowly a vision took hold. It was bold, but I thought it would work well for the space. We’ve experimented with color a good deal in the renovations here at what we call The Northern Command Post, so when I told him I wanted to paint the ceiling, he went with it. Still, I think he may have had some misgivings in the beginning. How could he not, even I nearly hyperventilated when I handed the paint sample to the lady and asked for a full gallon. Truthfully, I debated that choice from the time I picked the color until the moment I saw it on the ceiling. But from that instant on I knew I had made the right choice. For the ceiling to work, I knew I needed bright white walls. Surprisingly, the white walls caused me more anxiety than having a bold color on the ceiling, but I also knew I could bring in color with accessories. My vision came together to give me a space that is unique and inviting, and most of all a place that makes me smile. #officemakeover #awriterslife #author #Michiganauthor #Paintedceiling #writersretreat