EMERALDS--LEGENDS & MYTHS

May’s birthstone is the emerald. The green color of the emerald is a sign of spring, which is most likely why it was chosen as May’s birthstone. I don’t own one of these green and fiery gems but wish I did. Every gem seems to have myths attached to it so I did a little research on emeralds.

The word emerald comes from the Ancient Greek word for green, “smaragdus.” The Ancient Romans, including the Emperor Nero, used emeralds as looking glasses because the green was soothing to the eyes. Even now, many sunglasses have green lenses. The first known emerald mines were in Egypt dating from at least 330 BC to the 1700’s. Cleopatra had a passion for emeralds.

Peter Ustinov as Nero in the movie, Quo Vadis.

The Inca’s had been using emeralds in their jewelry and religious ceremonies for 500 years before the Spanish invaders plundered the emerald mines in the sixteenth century. Legend says that emerald was one of the four precious stones given by God to King Solomon, and that the four stones were said to endow the king with power over all creation. Another legend is that an emerald placed under the tongue gives a person the ability to foresee the future.

[Note: the above is from www.gia.edu]

          It’s said that the emerald dampens lust. Hmm! As a romance author, maybe I should rethink using emeralds in a story. Hindu legends from India state that if one made offerings of emerald to the god Krishna, they would be rewarded with Knowledge of the Soul and the Eternal. The emerald in Hindu teaching is associated with the planet Mercury, while in Western culture, it’s associated with Venus.

An emerald the size of an ostrich egg was worshipped as a goddess in the Peruvian city of Manta during the Spanish conquest.

[Note: the above is from www.gemsociety.org]

Emeralds were first known and sold in the markets of Babylon around 4000 BC. Aristotle advised hanging an emerald from the neck to ward off epilepsy.

Colombian emeralds are the most expensive, followed by those from Brazil and Zambia. Emeralds are believed to hold physical and mental healing powers. It’s believed they can lift depression, cure insomnia (if only I’d known during my six years of severe insomnia during the 1990’s), cure ailments of the heart, eyes, pancreas, backbones, kidneys, and intestines. All that and they’re beautiful too.

 

Colombian Emeralds

Emeralds are associated with love and fidelity (A contradiction. See “dampen lust” above). They are also said to provide wisdom, harmony, patience and peace. An all-around good gem to have.

Now I want to go out and by an emerald. How about you?

Another theme this month is “questions I wish I’d asked my mother.” Unfortunately, my mother and I weren’t close and I can’t recall ever having a serious discussion with her. We were so different and I believe she didn’t know what to do with me. My mom died in 2010, in her mid-80’s, from Parkinson’s and dementia. Even though we weren’t close, I do miss her at times. She gave me a precious gift I will always cherish: she instilled in me a love of books. She was a high-school dropout who I never saw read a book for herself. Yet when I was a toddler I remember going to the library with my mother. We’d check out books and she’d read them to me. Those are my best memories of her.

Since we’re on the subject of emeralds, an emerald engagement ring figures in my novel A Groom for Christmas. My heroine, Graceann, is a jewelry designer. The book's cover shows her wearing an emerald and diamond ring.

For a Christmas treat in May, here’s a glimpse of this award-winning sexy, sweet, story.

 

A GROOM FOR CHRISTMAS is a new twist on the classic Hallmark Christmas movie full of family, humor, love, and a little bit of redemption. 

Family pressure just might make her do something crazy... 

When a young woman hires her hometown’s former bad boy to be her pretend fiancé for the holidays, she finds she can’t wrap up her feelings as easily as a Christmas gift. 

New York jewelry designer Graceann Palmer has two days to find a fiancé to bring home to Pennsylvania for the holidays so her matchmaking mama will quit fixing her up with jerks. The Falcon, a motorcycle-riding, leather-clad former high school crush, helped her out once before. Maybe he'll do it again. 

Jake Falco, man of many mysteries, is back in town on a mission—one the people of Spirit Lake most likely won't appreciate. When Graceann presents him with her crazy scheme, it gives him something he's always wanted—a chance to get to know Graceann. It also gives him the perfect opportunity to add fuel to his project of revenge. 

But as Jake and Graceann grow closer, their engagement-of-convenience begins to feel like the real deal—until Jake’s secrets are revealed. 

Can a relationship that began with lies and secrets bloom like a rare Christmas rose into happily-ever-after? 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00G03I5UI/?tag=carmaraut-20

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-groom-for-christmas-cara-marsi/1117185595?ean=2940148677871

http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/a-groom-for-christmas

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-groom-for-christmas/id840962553

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Never Say Never to Research! Guest Blog by E. Ayers

Hi, everyone, I love being a guest on this blog because I happen to think this is one of the best blogs for readers and writers. I want to discuss that nasty little word research. No matter what an author writes, it seems at some point that author must stop long enough to do a little research. But how accurate is that research?

For the last three years, I've spent quite a bit of time doing research on the history of our "Wild" West. It all happened by accident. I wrote a contemporary romance, A Snowy Christmas in Wyoming, which is a little east-meets-west-type of story. It was loads of fun, but I had no idea that I was going to open a big can of worms. I never intended to write historical. I know several authors who do and the stuff they've had to research... Nope, not me. Never ever would I write that! Well, never say never in this business. It all happened by accident. I wrote a contemporary romance.

The contemporary that I wrote mentioned an old diary. People began to ask for the diary. When enough readers asked for it, I thought I might as well write it. So I began. But as usual, it's easy to get sidetracked. Debra Holland asked me to be part of her Christmas anthology, Sweetwater Springs Christmas, and I said yes. So I wrote about a young man who leaves Creed's Crossing, Wyoming to ask his long time pen pal, Adie Reiner, to be his wife. And as I wrote that story, I realized I had another one brewing between her older sister and a Crow Indian. That story became A Rancher's Woman.

Sounds simple, right? Quite the opposite. I was buried in research. I'd write a few sentences and then spend hours looking up something. It's been a fascinating journey for me. Having lived my life in the eastern portion of the United States, I can talk about the colorful history of the east. To make matters worse, history in school is taught mostly from the standpoint of important battles. But east is east and west is west, and I probably read three lines about the railroad being laid, a single line or two about the Pony Express, and not much more on the early settlers of the west. I had to learn everything from scratch! Plus, I hadn't been in the beautiful state of Wyoming in years. I actually managed to contact someone within the Farm Bureau who was wonderful. He was also a rancher, and he gave me all sorts of answers to the strangest of questions. Oh, yeah, I really did, I asked what color the dirt was. When he quit laughing, we had a long discussion on soil types.

I didn't want to write about pretty dresses. There are plenty of authors who do that. I wanted to write about real life. I found it in photographs, letters, and all those wonderful things that historical societies collect. Plus many companies have fabulous records. Even simple things such as pens needed hours of research. Did you know that the railroads employ historians? The Bureau of Indian Affairs was wonderful - once I reached the right people within that organization.
So after hundreds of hours of digging, and some awesome contacts, I wrote A Rancher's Woman. The Diary of Clare Coleman is still being written. That one is more difficult because it starts in the 1840's and records are sketchy.

I just finished writing A Rancher's Dream, which follows A Rancher's Woman, and that second novel should be available around the end of this month. As I wrote these, I realized that my grandmothers would have been the same age as the young teenage girls in the stories. My one grandmother and her son, my father, grew up on a self-sufficient farm. That gave me a slight edge as I’d heard all those old stories.
I know that what I've written is historically accurate, and it's a slightly different glimpse of the past than what most romance readers might expect. That's because I didn't leave out the day-to-day chores, the lack of plumbing, or all the other stuff that is not mentioned in most books about our west. And those gals who went west were tough! They had to be to survive!

What do we do when it gets a little too warm? We turn on the air conditioning. If it's cold, we use the heater. They didn't have that luxury. If it was hot, they still had to cook over a wood stove and churn cream into butter. They didn't jump in the shower to cool off! And they certainly weren't wearing corsets under silk dresses as they milked the cows. Maybe reading Roberta Gellis spoiled me. If I'm going to read historical fiction, I want it accurate. And I feel as though I owe it to my readers to write with the same care and accuracy as Roberta Gellis. (Thank you Ms. Gellis for giving me so many hours of reading pleasure and for being such an inspiration to me!)

So that dirty little word, research, has become part of my life. The diary is no longer on the back burner. It's become a labor of love. But using the Internet is tricky. I can't take a single source and assume it's correct. I try to find several sources. Wikipedia has been my friend, but I make certain I have other sources and not just the ones Wikipedia cites that will back up my info. Even photographs can have errors. They might say the photo was taken in 1880, but really it was taken in 1903. I've learned to look for those flaws.

I've had some training in working with old photos. Find something that you know is a certain color, and then, in theory, you can pick out everything else in the photo which is that color. I often felt as though I was looking for Waldo! Depending on the tribe, the white man's influence on their clothing changed. They wouldn't be wearing shirts or blouses made of flour sacks until they were confined to a reservation.
We gave them bags of white powdery stuff that had no taste. They didn't know what to do with it. They dumped that flour out and used the bags for all sorts of things. It's really sad. Plus every tribe has its own language. Some were similar and some were as different as Portuguese is from Swahili. Just toss out most of what you probably were taught or thought. Chances are it's wrong!

Creating a historically accurate book takes extra time. As an author, you must check, double check, and check the information again. And then it has to be applied to what you are writing. Sometimes that research yields hardly anything applicable and other times it showers you in useful info.
If the author is researching something for a contemporary novel, be creative! I know of an author who joined a dating service and made it quite clear she only wanted someone who could feed her information for her novel. She got lots of that and a few marriage proposals! Never be afraid to ask. Most people are more than willing to share their information.

When I wrote A Cowboy's Kiss in Wyoming, I needed medical help. Fortunately, I knew several doctors in a large sports medicine practice. I learned more about hip replacements than I would ever need. But that entire office was so willing to share information. And as a way of double-checking, I contacted a physical therapy group in Wyoming and got the same information with a slightly different slant. Apparently, those cowboys don't believe their doctors when they are told to stay off the horse for at least six weeks. Stubborn men! Why don't they listen?

Research is research. It makes our stories better. If you are an author, just jump in and don't be afraid of it. It's amazing what you will learn! And sometimes it’s fun. If you are a reader, do you prefer to read stories that are historically accurate or do you only want a romantic story that skims over all the not so glamorous aspects of life years ago?

When E. Ayers isn't busy writing, she's often doing photography. She'll be away from her desk most of the May 23 with her camera, but she's promised to respond to everyone as soon as she returns that evening. 

Her historical western A Rancher's Woman has been added to a Native American encyclopedia and is a USA Today Recommended Read. It is available in e-form and in paper. You can visit with her on her blog. Her westerns are sweeter than her contemporary stories but nothing is ever extremely hot. She writes down the middle.

How a song became a story

Did you ever hear a song that just stuck right in your brain and never let go? More years ago than I want to post here I heard Tommy Makem and The Clancy Brothers sing The Whistling Gypsy (also known as The Gypsy rover). It's been decades and I still can't get the song out of my head. So what's a writer to do? Why, I put it in a story.

It's an old Irish air that I moved into modern day Texas. I'm posting the lyrics here so you can see what the genesis of the story is.

The gypsy rover came over the hill

Down through the valley so shady

He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang

And he won the heart of a lady

She left her father's castle gate

Left her own fond lover, left her servants

And her estate

To follow the gypsy rover

Her father saddled his fastest steed

Searched these valleys all over

Seeking his daughter at great speed

And the whistlin' gypsy rover

At last he came to a castle gate

Along the river Claydee

And there was music and there was wine

For the gypsy and his lady

"He is no gypsy, my father", she said

But Lord of these lands all over

And I will stay till my dying day

With the whistlin' gypsy rover

Ah dee du, ah dee du da day

Ah dee du, ah dee day dee

He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang

Till the green woods rang, till the green woods rang

And he won the heart of a lady

Erin Braddock, daughter of wealthy and powerful rancher Rance Braddock, has been to hell and back. So has wandering cowboy minstrel Grady Sinclair. But the moment they meet chemistry ignites between them, erasing everything else. The sex is scorching, explosive, addictive. They can’t get enough each other. The same talented fingers that coax seductive music from his guitar coax powerful orgasms from her body. Seduced by his music as well as the sinfully sexy man himself, Erin runs away with him. Nights she sits in the bar listening to his come-to-me voice promising her the erotic delights he delivers on when they’re back in their room. But will the past follow them or can they build a future together, in and out of bed?

Erin woke to the grey light of dawn filtering in through the blinds at the windows, the color of the sky before the first rays of sunlight painted it. She blinked her eyes twice, not sure at first where she was. The room was totally unfamiliar. Had she somehow woken up in an alternate universe?

Then she realized in quick order that a warm male body was spooned against her, a strong male arm was around her waist, and a very masculine leg was draped over hers. And it all came crashing back like a building imploding. The party. The noise. The crowd of people. The desperate need to escape. Smoky’s and the singer with the let-me-fuck-you voice. 

And the best sex she’d ever had in her life.

Grady Sinclair.

Holy shit, what had she done?

She shifted slightly, wondering exactly what the morning after etiquette was in a situation like this. She’d never picked a guy up in a bar before. She’d gone home from a party with Cal but that was different. That had been more of her rebellion. And of course, look how well that had turned out.

She waited for the fear to sweep over her, the panic, the desperate need to escape, but all she felt was a throbbing in her pussy and an unbelievable need to feel this man inside her again.

So now what?

As if reading her thoughts Grady’s arm tightened around her and he pulled her close enough to him that she could feel his hard cock pressing against the crevice of her buttocks. For a moment she tensed, but when he shifted enough so his shaft rested against one cheek of her ass she relaxed again and let the heat bubble up inside her.

Without saying a word Grady moved one hand so it cupper her breast and the other to slide down her tummy to the curls covering her mound. His fingers drifted idly through it until he found the hot button of her clit and just like that lightening speared through her.  She clenched the muscles of her pussy against the sudden surge of need and a moan drifted from her mouth.

“Feel good, darlin?” he breathed in her ear. “Sure feels good to me. You’re already dripping wet.”

Erin wondered if she should be embarrassed at how quickly and easily she responded to him, but she felt so good she just couldn’t care.

Grady stroked her clit while a thumb and forefinger squeezed and tugged on a nipple, and twin sparks of pleasure ignited her nerve endings. Tug, tug, stroke, stroke, his arm holding her in place even as his hand probed her slit. She rocked her hips against his touch, silently urging him to rub faster and harder.

“That’s it, sugar. Ride my hand. Go on. Let me feel you.”

He nipped at the lobe of her ear as she pushed herself into his touch. The touch of his tongue licking a path along her neck was like a brush of flame dusting against her. She groaned in protest when he hooked one leg over hers and pulled it back so she was spread wide open. When she tried to squeeze her thighs together he tightened the pressure on her leg.

“Uh uh, little girl. Just like this.”

Rub, rub, rub. His fingers were doing wicked things to her cunt, stroking the lips, the clit, rimming the opening to her channel. Oh, god, she wanted him inside her. Needed to feel him there, with a desperation that threatened to consume her. But he was relentless, merciless, holding her open as he drove her to completion. She shuddered as the muscles of her pussy clenched on air and Grady squeezed her nipple and licked her skin.

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https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Desiree_Holt_Hard_Lovin?id=2tTrCAAAQBAJ&hl=en

Guest Blog by Renee Vincent: When You Say Emerald, I Say....

Ireland!

Of course, that comes to no surprise to anyone who knows me. I have a huge fascination with the place and all its natural beauty. Just one look at its rolling hills, lush green meadows, and wind-swept rocky cliffs, and I'm moved to tears. Literally!

If you don't believe me, ask my husband. When I watched PS I LOVE YOU, I cried more over the fact that the movie took me to Ireland than when the guy (Gerry, played by my favorite actor, Gerard Butler) died. I kid you not!

And then while watching the movie LEAP YEAR, I bawled like baby when the couple stood on the cliffs of Inis Mor because that's where my very own hero and heroine (from Ræliksen) stood, amid a gorgeous sunset (just like in that movie) professing their love to each other.

Yes, I'm a total sucker for the Emerald Isle. But I digress....

Despite the fact that I'm of German decent from both sides of my family, I can't help but be drawn to Ireland and its forty shades of green. This revelation came to me in the years I spent researching the Vikings and all their exploits onto foreign soil, particularly those who landed on Ireland's shores.

Even though the Northmen traveled and raided all around the globe, I became immensely interested in the interactions they had with the Irish, whether peacefully or otherwise, during the 10th Century. Because of this, I decided to write a love story between an Irish princess and a Viking warrior in a time when most of the kings were in an uproar about the "blond foreigners" taking control of their ports. That's how my first Viking romance, Ræliksen, came to be.

Fast forward ten years later, and I have a whole series of Viking romances set around the Emerald Isle. So, when someone mentions the word emerald to me, I think Emerald Isle Trilogy!

And did you know that it's on sale right now for only 99¢? Again, I kid you not! It was supposed to go on sale for the month of June (as that's my birthday month) but I think my publisher made a mistake. Shhh...don't tell her.

Because the month of May's gemstone is a vividly colored emerald, I give to you an equally colorful—if not tantalizing—scene from one of the books in the EMERALD ISLE TRILOGY. This excerpt is one of my favorites, as it takes place in the bathhouse of a Viking settlement on the Aran Islands. I hope you enjoy it!

Excerpt from RÆLIKSEN, Book 1 (of the Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set):

The door of the bathhouse flung open and the two staggered in from under Dægan’s cloak, locked in each other’s arms. Once inside, Dægan kicked the door closed while still delving into her eager kiss and fumbling to find the cursed lock on the door.

Mara already started feeling the warmth of the wood and stone room soak through her, grateful for the oddity of the Norse’s bathing habits as they had put a stagnant, sweltering atmosphere to good use.

Unable to leave her kiss, Dægan whipped his sodden cloak across the room and removed his boots and kirtle, heavy, too, with rain, dropping them carelessly on the bench behind him. The slapping collapse of his wet garment seemed to slow his wild spontaneity to an attentive act of seduction. The glow of the amber flame, in the corner of the room softened the rigid bones of his face, but it did nothing to ease the callousness of his smile as he circled her.

Her braid, he moved to the side and breathed in carefully the smell of her body, the way the oils from yesterday’s bath harmoniously mixed with the nostalgia of the Erin rain. His breath came soft and hot behind her ear, while his hands snaked tenderly around her throat and down below her chin to undo the two brooches at her chest.

Without her realizing, he had released the jeweled clasp and chain, and let the drenched fine cloak fall heavily to the ground. Then he went to work, undoing the laces of her dress. He was talented with his hands, being able to trace the thin vertical line of her spine that connected her slender neck to her finely widened hips with one, while stripping her from her gown with the other, letting it, too, fall to the floor.

He slowly turned her around to face him, not shy in dropping his eyes to her glistening chest. There was another smile on his face, one of kinder birth than before, as he intimately seemed to memorize each curve of her blushing body.

Likewise, Mara let her eyes plummet to his waist, seeing his arousal as visible as a winter moon. But her innocent glance must have become an inseparable stare, for he stepped closer, asking, “Do I frighten you?”

Mara lugged her eyes from his midriff to his face. “Nay, Dægan…”

Her voice trailed as he slowly neared her face, eye to eye, mouth to mouth, until suddenly his lips pressed so gingerly against hers, endearing at first, then greedily as the kiss lengthened. He coiled his arm around her back as his other hand slid over the silken skin of her buttocks, pulling her close enough to nestle his hardened body against the soft of hers.

Dægan fell away from her lips. “May I?”

Mara lifted her brows in wonder. “May you what?”

Without taking his eyes from her, he dragged a bucket of water across the floor with his foot. “May I show you how sufficient a few buckets of water can be?”

Mara hesitated at the thought of him bathing her. It was quite a personal thing to bathe another, more so between lovers, and how difficult it would be to stand there and let it happen. “Dægan…”

He dropped to his knees, sliding his hands down the back of her legs, tarrying around her thighs. “Please?”

A nervous smile crept in slowly. “You make it very hard for me to forbid you of anything.”

***An Amazon Bestseller for Viking Romance***

EMERALD ISLE TRILOGY Boxed Set

By Renee Vincent

Read now at:

Amazon | B&N | KOBO | iBooks | Smashwords | ARe

One man risks his life to save her.

Another risks his heart to love her.

Who will be the victor?

Three of Renee Vincent’s bestselling and critically acclaimed historical Viking romance novels are now available in one spellbinding bundle!

Full of fast-paced adventure, unforeseen plot twists, and courageous, to-die-for heroes like you’ve never read before, this extraordinary boxed set is sure to satisfy every readers’ craving for the ultimate in historical Viking romance.

* * * *

RENEE VINCENT is a bestselling Contemporary & Historical Romance author who also pens humorous, sweet contemporary romance (with a smidgen of spunk) under the name GRACIE LEE ROSE.

From the daunting, charismatic Vikings, to the charming, brazen Alpha male heroes of modern day, readers will be whisked away to a world filled with fast-paced adventure, unforgettable romance, and undying love.

Her books have earned numerous accolades, including #1 Amazon Bestseller for Viking Romance, countless 5 Star TOP PICKS by Night Owl Reviews, a "5 Hheart Sweetheart" Award by The Romance Studio, a "Best Book of the Year 2011" nomination from Long And Short Reviews, and a Readers Choice Award for "Best of TMP 2012."

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