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Moose Tracks on the Road To Heaven Sneak Peek #1

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So, in the weeks leading up to the release at long last of my five-years-in-the-writing novel Moose Tracks on the Road to Heaven (which is scheduled for pre-order in mid-December, with publication February 3, 2015!) I’m going to be posting the cover (coming soon!) along with a few snippets and sneak peeks from the book itself.

This first sneak peek comes from the Prologue and centers on the main character, Elena, during one of her childhood brushes with Death (not as ominous as it sounds, since the novel is a humorous, quirky, poignant story about family, friendship, love, loss, and coming to terms with what it means to live when someone you love dies).

enchanted forestThis bit of scene was inspired by an actual event at an actual place from my childhood – The Enchanted Forest in Old Forge, NY (now it’s advertised as “The Enchanted Forest Water Safari” – where the fun never stops!) Back then it was only a “fairytale” based theme park with lots of little tableaus, live entertainment by way of animal shows and acrobats, and a few rides.

pony-rides-for-kids-southern-fairOne of the rides I loved when I was four or five was a “pony” ride like this one, where you could sit on a real, live pony and ride around in a circle seven or eight times. I’ll let the sneak peek fill in the rest:

 

From Moose Tracks on the Road to Heaven, by M. Reed McCall

“Let’s go back to the subject of Death.

Elena’s two youthful run-ins with the Reaper hadn’t caused any permanent emotional scars (though there were a couple of physical ones); instead, she’d carried with her a bone-deep awareness of life’s impermanence, along with a tendency at moments of deep fear or distress to murmur a phrase that broke her father’s heart and earned teasing from certain of her sisters each time she uttered it: “Am I going to die, Pa?”

The first brush with Eternity happened the summer after she’d turned four, at the bustling Adirondack theme park called Fairytale Adventure. She’d been bucked off the live pony-ride – an attraction where children rode tethered ponies round and round a circle for a pre-set length of time. Unbeknownst to anyone, Elena’s pony had been in the harness for too long. A sore had developed near the edge of his saddle. An insect might have landed on the raw place, or perhaps Elena had accidentally touched it. She couldn’t remember.

Whatever it was, that instant had been followed by a jumble of sights, sounds, and not very nice feelings as she’d sailed through the air and landed with a crunching thud a dozen feet away. She’d later learned that her skull had narrowly missed a rock when she’d finally reconnected with earth. She didn’t know any of that at the time, though. She only knew that her shoulder ached something fierce, her collarbone having snapped upon impact.

However, if all else was muddled, the memory of looking up and seeing the worry in Pa’s handsome face had stuck with her, vivid as blood upon snow. He’d scooped her up and carried her tucked against his chest all the way to the park entrance, where they would find their van and go on to the hospital.

As he moved her swiftly through the crowd, that desperate question had slipped out in a whisper. Pa had met her gaze, his striking blue eyes filled with such love for her, and he’d answered in a calm and reassuring voice that no, she wasn’t going to die. And so Elena had nodded in grave acceptance, blinking away any lingering tears. He was her Pa – the best Pa in the whole world – and he always told her the truth.”

There you have it: Sneak Peek #1. Stay tuned for more snippets in the coming weeks, posted ONLY on this blog, for you, my wonderful followers. 🙂

Faithful Companion

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Our sweet English Shepherd, Cassie, resting her head on her toy after playing with Mama for a while…

“Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.”
~ Mark Twain

“To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable.”

~ Edgar Allan Poe (“The Black Cat”)

Lassie 1977

My beloved “Lassie”, circa 1977, at the Homestead

I had one dog growing up. Her name was “Lassie” (original, I know, but she was a full-blooded collie, though the runt of the litter, and the sweetest, most faithful, loyal and intelligent dog I’ve ever known).

Cassie is my dog now…a full-blooded English shepherd, who is also sweet and loyal. We also have two cats, and I had cats all my life growing up, but there is something about a faithful dog that tugs my heartstrings.

Anyone else have or have loved  a pet they still cherish?

The Comfort (and Power) of Books…

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Contemplating, reading, imagining, and living various lives through the pages of books as verbalized by some notable authors…accompanied by lovely illustrations by the incomparable Norman Rockwell. What could be better on a cool autumn evening? I think I’ll light a few candles, brew a hot cup of tea, and do some reading myself…

 

boy reading adventure

Boy Reading of Adventure by Norman Rockwell

It is what you read when you don’t have to that determines what you will be when you can’t help it. ~Oscar Wilde

 

 

Boy-Reading_art1920s GE ad

Boy Reading from 1920 GE ad by Norman Rockwell

 

 

 

 

 

Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life. ~Mark Twain

 

 

Most beloved American Writer by norman rockwell

Most Beloved American Writer by Normal Rockwell

 

 

In books lies the soul of the whole Past Time: the articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream. ~Thomas Carlyle

 

 

Books are one of the great loves of my life, first introduced to me at the knee of my mother and father, as they read to me day after day, and then serving as a faithful comfort in times of joy, turmoil, happiness and distress. They whisk me to other times and places and allow me to live vicariously through the characters and places they inhabit. It’s the only form of time-travel accessible on a regular basis (for all our interest in the activity as espoused by shows like Dr. Who and Outlander) How about you? Do books hold a special place in your life? Any favorite titles?

Grandpa’s Crows

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Crow in the tree edited

Crow in the tree at the cemetery

Well, technically for me, they’re “Pa’s” crows, because the man whose crows are the subject of this post is my father…but my kids and the other grandkids (and there are a lot of them…I’m one of seven girls, and we each have between one and four kids of our own) got used to calling them Grandpa’s crows.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it seems to me that crows get a bad name. They’re often associated with death or darkness, they’re maligned for having one of the least pleasant voices of the bird kingdom, and many people consider them pests. But they hold a very special place in my heart, for a variety of reasons, most of them tied to my father, otherwise known to our family as “Pa”. Continue Reading…

On Coffee – and my latest book

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coffee framed“As soon as coffee is in your stomach, there is a general commotion. Ideas begin to move…similes arise, the paper is covered. Coffee is your ally and writing ceases to be a struggle.”

Honore de Balzac (1799-1859)

Oh, how I wish the last sentence of this was true for me. Well, it is some of the times, but not always. Usually, I pour myself a nice cup – like the picture above (I just got that cup this year, when visiting farther north, because of the moose on it…more on that in a minute). I bring it over to my desk. Sometimes, I take a sip, but often I’m waiting for it to cool a little. And then, if I’m writing, like I was this morning, I get so engrossed in what I’m doing that I forget all about the coffee and by the time I look up, it’s stone cold.

So, I guess in that way, de Balzac’s statement is true: I just don’t need the coffee actually in my stomach to make it happen. 🙂

So, I decided to purchase that moose cup because I liked it – and I use visual focal points as inspiration when I’m writing. Coffee cups hold a special place in my heart: when I was working toward publication the first time, way back in the 1990’s when traditional publishing houses were the only way to go, I had a coffee cup of the NYC skyline. I looked at it to set my goal and continually remind myself that I was honing my craft toward signing a contract with a major player in the industry. I did and ended up writing seven books with HarperCollins/Avon. But the publishing landscape has changed and broadened, thankfully, and now there are other wonderful opportunities as well.

But back to this cup;  it plays off the title of my upcoming general fiction/women’s fiction novel Moose Tracks on the Road to Heaven. I’ve just added a book description for it to my page of Contemporary books. You can read by clicking on the title above or the link here.  I’m still working on the release schedule, cover, etc. – but the manuscript is finished, being edited, and should be released into the world by next spring. Exciting times for me as a writer, as I haven’t had a brand new book out since 2007 (BTW, the three historical romance novels out there under the name “Mary McCall” are not by me but by a different writer altogether).

My new book is a complete departure from the medieval historical romance I wrote previously and it’s very personal, as it’s inspired by my own background and some personal events and people. There are still more historical novels in me, I’m sure, and I will likely be adding to my title list in both genres…but for now, I’m going to celebrate this book, which was more than five years in the writing! 🙂

The Persistence of Love

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charming

Artwork from Teresa Medeiros’s Charming the Prince

My Lief is Faren in Londe                                 

 My lief is faren in londe                         (My love has gone away)

 Allas, why is she so

And I am so sore bonde                        (strictly bound)

I may nat come her to

She hath myn herte in holde                 (she has possession of my heart)

Wherever she ride or go

With trewe love a thousand fold.

                                                               ~Anonymous, 14th century

So, here is my thought for the night: Society, fashions, expectations, hobbies, habits, food preferences, occupations, geography, social statuses, and even life expectancies change from age to age, but love, is love, is love…has been since human beings uttered the first love poem or song, and will be beyond the future we can see. This is in part, at least, why I enjoy writing – and reading – medieval romances, and why they’ve never seemed “too long ago” or “too strange and far removed” for my sensibilities as they are for some.

Love, with all of its sweet tension, its yearning, its agony and its glory, is always new and intoxicating for those who first taste of it, though centuries may come and go.

Now, isn’t that a beautiful thought? 🙂

Early Autumn Tradition

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I’m the kind of person who loves traditions.

When I was a kid, I loved – no, I guess needed – routine. I liked to be able to count on things, and I thrived on the sense of security my parents and large family of sisters (there were seven of us total, no brothers) provided. Change rattled me, so much so that when two of my older sisters left suddenly, according to my six-year-old perspective (one for college, and one who basically eloped), it threw me for a tailspin emotionally that almost prevented me from finishing my first grade year.

That sounds ominous, I know, and perhaps makes this blog post sound like it’s going to be about doom and gloom, but it’s not.  Everything worked out, and life went on more or less smoothly in the long run (well, I’m still a little odd, but that’s just me, LOL).

applepicking edited 2014

Apple Orchard near my home, picture taken in September 2014

This blog however, is about a tradition I’ve enjoyed for decades and that is one of the perks of growing up and living in upstate New York: Apple-picking! I’ve gone apple-picking every single year of my life. In fact, the joke around my house now is that if we don’t go apple-picking, I don’t make any apple pies that year. Except it’s not a joke. ‘Cause that’s my rule and I’m sticking to it. 🙂

I’m not fussy, though. We don’t have to go to a full blown “real” apple orchard like the one pictured at the left. In fact, before I was married we hardly ever went to a commercial orchard. No, we’d take a drive north to Buck Hill and the state land there, where there was a wild apple orchard, created by nature. The apples were almost always smaller than apple orchard fruit, or pocked and imperfect in other ways – but they also had no pesticides on them and they were tart and crisp, resulting in pies, applesauce, and other baked goods that tasted amazing.

Front Apples edited

Pa took this picture of the apple tree in the front yard, full of fruit

10 apple tree with apples on it in fall editedl

Shaking the tree for fruit

with the applepicker edited

Me with the apple-picker and a bag full of fruit

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Kitchen at the Homestead, with the long table and Pa at his usual place, just before supper

My parents eventually planted two apple trees in their yard, one in the front, and one in the back, of different varieties. These ended up being very similar to those we’d find in the wild (probably because my father never sprayed them with chemicals). Still plentiful like in commercial orchards, but smaller and imperfect on the outside.  The picture on the left is from quite a few years back, when my father was still alive, and one sister and I  gathered with our families one weekend at the Homestead to pick apples and have supper with Pa and Ma.

Here I am, getting ready to use the apple-picker lying on the ground near me (more on that handy tool in just a minute) and finally just below is one of Pa in his place at the table, talking to my sister before supper.
Okay, so here’s more about the apple-picking tool: When I was dating my soon-to-be-husband, he’d come to visit me at the Homestead, and we’d pile into the van to drive up past Steuben and a Revolutionary War monument there where a tall, wild apple tree with gorgeous golden apples grew. My husband earned a reputation for his skill at wielding that awkward-but-very-useful apple-picking tool….a long wooden handle topped with a curved, coated wire “basket” of sorts, with little spiky fingers of wire to help grasp the high fruits, pluck them from the branch, and bring them safely to the ground. Maybe it’s because he’s tall and has strong arms and back (yeah, I love my guy!), but he could get to just about any apple I asked him to get for me. 🙂

applepicking with Pa

Pa and me, having a good time – and sampling the fruit – at an orchard years ago)

Over the years, apple-picking has become a beloved tradition that is more about the family and memories made together, than it is about the fruit we gather and pies  or other baked goods that result.  Pa’s death brought those memories into even sharper focus, knowing there will be no new ones to add to the collection.

Mary and Ma 2014 applepicking edited

Me and Ma at the commercial orchard near my home this past weekend…taking a ride on the tractor back to the apple barn!

And so each year the act of going apple-picking, whether at an orchard, at the Homestead, or in the wild, is both familiar and new – a kaleidoscope of images, feelings, laughter, and the comfort of sharing a simple pleasure with loved ones, and I’m so thankful for the many years I happy times I can think back on.

Traditions like these mark the moments in our lives, giving context to the whole and adding to the beauty of the tapestry. When times are challenging, such memories can bring joy that helps to balance out the rest.

As you can see, I’m a believer in the beauty and value of traditions. 🙂 Seasonal or otherwise, do you have any that you love?

A Gift from the Heart

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Pa sewn art

I stumbled upon this piece of “sewn art” in the attic recently. It’s something I made when I was around seven years old. My sweet mother had recently taught me a bit of hand-sewing, beginning with showing me how to thread a needle and complete simple tasks (like replacing buttons or making hems).

I’m not ashamed to say that as a child I adored both of my parents (and I still do). However, I’m not saying I never got angry or frustrated with them; I did so pretty regularly, all the way into young adulthood. But I kept my frustrations to myself 99.9% of the time, because I respected and loved them. Unlike in the world today, where many young people (whether on TV, in the classroom, or in one’s own family) often seem to have little compunction about speaking whatever they feel at a given moment without any kind of “respect” filter in place, I always tried to treat Pa or Ma with deference for who they were and are as people and the role they play(ed) in my life.

Maybe I was helped in that by being a pretty sensitive kid; the only thing a teacher, the elementary school principal (another story I’ll share soon), or my parents had to do to make me contrite (and sometimes even burst into tears with regret over whatever naughty thing I’d done), was to look stern and tell me they were disappointed in me. I never wanted Pa or Ma to feel that way about me, and so perhaps that’s why I wasn’t much of a rebellious child, teen, or even adult. Oh, I knew how to have a good time, and I did my share of stupid and even risky things in my youth, but the ways I tended to push the boundaries were pretty mild compared to some of my peers in the 80’s.

Anyway, back to this piece of “art”. I can distinctly remember sewing it as a present for my father for either his birthday or Father’s Day in the early 1970’s. I remember the effort the project took, but that I didn’t mind working really hard at it, coming up with the idea and then picking through Ma’s bags of fabric scraps to find just the right colors (regal, dark red and sparkly gold, so it would look important and wonderful when it was finished).

I painstakingly cut out the golden letters and “border” and then sewed it all together, placing a golden bow at the top. This was it: a most elegant and fitting gift for my beloved “Pa”. Looking at it from a more mature perspective, its drawbacks are clear, including how asymmetrical and ragged it is around the edges. But when Pa opened it, he reacted as if it was sewn perfectly and expertly from the finest fabrics…treating it like something precious and even doing me the honor of having it professionally matted and framed, and hanging it on the wall next to his bed.

It hung on that wall for more than four decades, staying exactly where he had placed it, until nearly a year after his death. At that time, my mother decided (with all of her children’s encouragement) that it was time to move forward and redecorate their bedroom. When work commenced and the framed piece was removed from the wall, I received it gratefully. But getting it back marked  the end of an emotional era for me – a time of innocence, love, and respect, both given and received. I cried a little when I got it home…and when the time is right, I can still cry a few bittersweet tears now for all it represents to me of the stern, exacting but also patient man who loved me so unconditionally and taught me so much.

As a child, I made this little banner as a true gift of the heart. As an adult, I realize that as imperfect, flawed, inexpensive, and silly as such gifts might be, they are indeed worth more than all the jewels and gold the world has to offer, and we should cherish them and the memories they evoke forever.