The Story Behind the Story with Barb Curtis of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome another author from our province.

Barb has agreed to tell us about her novels.

 

Read on, my friends.

 

 

 

A happily-ever-after-crafter at heart, Barb Curtis’ love for writing began with a quick-witted style column, and her background in marketing led to stints writing print and web copy, newsletters, and grant proposals. The switch to fiction came with the decision to pair her creativity with her love for words, and crafting characters and settings she could truly get lost in. Barb lives in rural New Brunswick with her husband, daughter, and dog. You’ll find her restoring the family homestead, weeding the garden, and whistling the same song all day long.

Titles

The Sapphire Springs Series:

Forever With You – Book 1

Only For You – Book 2

Falling For You – Book 3

 

 

Synopsis / Back Cover Copy  

 

Forever With You

 

Jay Wynter wants to be successful on his own merit. That's why he left Sapphire Springs and his family's winery to build a career from scratch. But now that he's successor to Wynter Estate, Jay must return to his small hometown to face everything, and everyone, he left behind-especially his high school sweetheart, who happens to be his stunning new business partner . . .

Leyna Milan knows family legacies come with strings attached, but she's determined to prove that she can run her family's restaurant. Of course, Leyna never expected that honoring her grandfather's wishes meant opening a second location on her ex's property-or having to ignore Jay's sexy grin and guard the heart he shattered years before. But as they work closely together, she begins to discover that maybe first loves deserve a second chance . . .

 

Only For You

 

After having his heart broken on national television, Tim Fraser knows only one way to stop the gossip about his love life-a new girlfriend. The problem is, he's done with romance forever. A fake relationship with his friend and Sapphire Spring's sweetest baker, Emily Holland, seems the perfect solution to getting rid of his newfound fame, but their fleeting fauxmance is stirring up the kinds of feelings Tim has sworn off for good.

Emily has secretly lusted after Tim for years, but pretending her feelings are all for show never factored into her fantasy. Still, her decades-long crush makes it impossible to say no to Tim's proposal. But with each date, the lines between pretend and reality blur, giving Tim and Emily a tantalizing taste of life outside the friend zone . . . if they can find the courage to give real love a chance.

 

Falling For You

 

Just when recently evicted yoga instructor Faith Rotolo thinks her luck has run out, she inherits a historic mansion in quaint Sapphire Springs. Though Faith never imagined putting roots down anywhere, small-town life is growing on her, as is her fixer-upper house. If only her handsome new contractor, Rob Milan, would stop spoiling her daydreams with the realities of a major rehab…and his generally grouchy vibes.

A single dad of two, Rob doesn’t have much time for fantasy wish-list ideas his clients can’t afford. Then again, Faith’s creative energy might be exactly what he needs right now. But while Rob and Faith work to give her home the second chance it deserves, their spirited clashes wind up sparking a powerful attraction. As work nears completion, and Faith’s house becomes the shining jewel of the neighborhood, will she and Rob realize that they deserve a fresh start too?

 

Story Behind The Story

 

I wrote the Sapphire Springs series because they’re the types of books I like to read in order to escape, be it from the bad news in the world, or simply the rat race most of us struggle with on a daily basis. I take comfort in reading and writing Happily Ever Afters, because no matter how much conflict is happening in the story, you can rest assured, knowing the ending won’t disappoint. I’m also a sucker for a good Hallmark movie, and was aiming for that same level of coziness, but with characters a little more relatable to me, in that they might mutter the occasional curse word, drink too much on a Friday night, or (gasp!) kiss before the credits roll.

 

 

Website  www.barbcurtiswrites.com

 

 

 

 

A question for you before you go, Barb:

 

Music or Quiet?

Music is a big part of my writing process. I create playlists for each book – not necessarily sound tracks, per se, but songs that inspire certain chapters or scenes. I love putting on a pair of headphones and losing myself in the story. I find it hard to concentrate while listening to music with lyrics though, because before I know it, the inner rock star comes out and I’m singing along, forgetting all about what I’m supposed to be writing. What works best for me is listening to instrumental jazz, because it meets the criteria of music that I love, but that doesn’t distract.

 

 

Excerpt of Falling For You (Sapphire Springs Book 3)

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Two months was a long time to be off the grid.

An eviction notice clung to Faith Rotolo’s apartment door by a grimy piece of scotch tape and her key no longer fit the lock.

Her heart rate surged as she dug around her purse for her cell so she could call Nick—the friend of a friend whose apartment she’d been staying at before she went to Fiji. Her fingers clasped around the phone. She pulled it out and pressed a button.

Dead.

“Ugh.” Just great. She spun on her heel to race back downstairs, where her car took up the better part of two parking spots.

Settling behind the wheel, she plugged her phone in to the charger, patiently waiting for it to come to life while the air conditioning washed over her, a respite from the mid-August heat. To her horror, it vibrated with notifications and incoming messages for what seemed like eternity.

A hundred and three emails?  She glanced at the parking meter. The handful of coins she’d shoved into the slot before heading upstairs would only buy her another couple of minutes, and notifications were still pouring in.

She scrolled through her mailbox quickly. Junk mostly, save the occasional email from her father. And then lo and behold, she found the answer she’d been looking for: Nick had sent a brief message a month ago. He’d skipped out on the rent—took off to go on tour with his band. She’d need to find a new place to stay when she got back.

“Ugh, Nick, you flake.” Faith glared upward past the lush elm tree toward the bare second level windows. Thank God everything she owned lived in a storage locker in North Buffalo. She drummed the pads of her fingers to her chin. It’d be impossible to find another apartment with the influx of students arriving to begin the fall semester in a couple of weeks. Either she moved into a hotel until she found a place or she crashed at her father and stepmother’s house.

A hotel might be more welcoming.

She moved on to missed calls and voicemails. Some lady named Maureen Carver, a lawyer in Sapphire Springs, had left a message asking if Faith could please contact her. Then there were two more, the urgency factor escalating in each one.

Hmm. Faith tapped her foot and pinched her bottom lip. Her mom had grown up in Sapphire Springs, but other than that, she knew very little about the place. The town had barely been spoken of in the twenty-three years since the accident that claimed her mother’s life.

What would a lawyer want with her?

Curiosity won out and had her clicking on the lawyer’s phone number instead of looking for a hotel. Her heart rate quickened with each ring.

Surely she wasn’t being sued for a yoga injury. She’d made people sign waivers.

Oh! She’d bumped that car a few months back. Nudged it, really—didn’t even leave a mark, and she’d left an apology note with her phone number so they could call her directly. Couldn’t be that.

“Maureen Carver.”

Spoken like a woman who meant business.

Faith drew in deep breath before speaking. “Good morning, Ms. Carver. This is Faith Rotolo. My apologies for the delay in responding to your messages. I’ve been out of the country a couple of months.” That sounded half-assed professional, if she did say so herself.

The cheeky gerbera daisy on her dusty dashboard bobbed back and forth before Maureen broke into a hearty laugh that continued for several seconds.

“Faith Rotolo. Well I’ll be damned. I thought you flew the coop, girl.”

The friendly tone had Faith’s shoulders relaxing. “Sorry about that. I’ve been in Fiji teaching a yoga retreat. Cell phones weren’t permitted.”

“Two months without a cell phone? Sign me up.” Maureen spoke over shuffling papers and ringing phones. “In all seriousness though, you became a bit of a fixation for me. I placed bets with the girls at the office over whether you really existed. I even searched for you on social media.”

Seriously? A lawyer creeping her Instagram?

Maureen continued. “Even your father’s receptionist didn’t return my calls. My imagination went wild. Nobody in your life seemed alarmed over where you disappeared to. I actually debated filing a police report.”

Okay, if she was dead in a ditch, somebody would miss her, wouldn’t they? Her father probably would if he took time out of his busy schedule to notice.

Maybe.

 Maureen gave a hearty laugh. “Anyway, all that to say that I’m relieved to hear a voice on the other end of the line. You’re probably busy catching up on personal business, so I’ll get right to the point. Would you be able to come to my office in Sapphire Springs for a meeting?”

Faith drew in a breath. Sapphire Springs had been all but off-limits since the accident. She’d never been back since. Dad either, as far as she knew. The town held too much sadness.

Her eyes travelled past the blinking light on the expired meter, and scaled the low-rise brick building. “I guess so… I mean—”

“I can come to you, if that’s easier,” Maureen persisted.

And meet where, exactly? The back alley where she’d soon be living amongst pigeons and stray cats? A black car pulled up beside Faith’s lime green Volkswagon Beetle. The driver laid on the horn and gestured to her parking. Before he sped off, he flipped her the finger.

She shrunk a little in her seat and eyed the meter reader turning the corner onto her street. What prevented her from meeting Maureen other than this prickling dread over visiting the town where her mom had grown up and being hit with painful memories? She didn’t have kids to think about, or a boyfriend to check in with. Not even a cat for crying out loud. “No, I guess I could come to Sapphire Springs. I can be there this afternoon.”

 

 

Thank you, Barb, for being our guest this week. Wishing you continued success with your stories.

 

 

 

And thanks to our visitors and readers.

Wow! Ten years for the Scribbler this month.

 

Ten years ago, the South Branch Scribbler came into being and what a ride.

 

I have so many things to be grateful for:

#1. My lovely wife, Gloria, who supports me.

 

Cool & talented guests from all over the world.

 

As of today – 773290 Page Views.

 

Over 400 posts. Mainly Authors and their stories.

 

Since the first of this year:

Zev Bagel of Shediac. Author

James Fisher of Miramichi. TheMiramichi Reader

Mary Lay of Great Britain. Author

D C Malcom of New Brunswick. Author

Susan Bernhardt of Wisconsin, US. Author

Kayla Geitzler of New Brunswick. Poet/Author

Sonia Nicholson of British Columbia. Author

Bruce Bishop of Nova Scotia. Author

Christopher Sweet of New Brunswick. Author

Susan White of New Brunswick. Author

Mark Scott Piper of California, US. Author

Sarah Butland of Nova Scotia. Author

 

Some artists. Some musicians. Some short stories - 

Check this one out.

Funeral Food

One of my favourites.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to my guests, readers & visitors.

More to look forward this year.

 Especially this.

Here’s a few books I enjoyed in the last year or so and you might want to take a peek at them. And a few I want to read.

Here's a few I haven't read yet but I will very soon.

 Enough for this week.

Join us next week and meet Barb Curtis of  Blackville, NB.

If you are an Author/Poet and want to share your work on the Scribbler, I am scheduling posts for the summer. Contact me at sbscribbler@gmail.com

Here's some reading pleasure for you.

Go here please.

The Story Behind the Story with Zev Bagel of Shediac, NB, Canada.

 

This is not Zev’s first time as a guest on the Scribbler and we hope it won’t be the last. He shared an excerpt from one of his novels – Bernie Waxman & The Whistling Kettle. Check it out HERE.

Zev and his artist wife, Nicole Tremblay, were also guests on a joint posting. Please go HERE to see it again.

This week he will share the Story Behind the Story with his latest work.

 

Zev Bagel lives in Shediac, where he can look out of his window onto Shediac Bay – an inspirational setting. His short stories and poems have been published in several anthologies, and he is the author of four novels to date: Bernie Waxman & the Whistling Kettle, which was shortlisted for the Atlantic literary awards, Secrets, Solitary, winner of the David Adams Richards Award, and his latest, The Last Jew in Hania. As Warren Redman, he has published seventeen books of non-fiction, including the Canadian award-winning The 9 Steps to Emotional Fitness. Many of his poems are inspired by the work of his wife, artist Nicole Tremblay.

Title: The Last Jew in Hania. 

 

Synopsis: May 29^th, 1944. The last of the 2,300 year old Jewish community of Hania is rounded up. Nazi soldiers load them onto a cargo ship, their final destination Auschwitz. They don’t get far. Just off the coastline of Crete, the vessel is torpedoed and sunk. Every one of the Jewish community is lost. Except for one young woman, Olympia Surmon, and the baby she rescues. The synagogue, Etz Hayyim (Tree of Life), is left in ruins for over fifty years. The Jews are forgotten. Olympia is a lost soul. The baby grows up not knowing who she is.

In January 2010, Judith Hamilton arrives in Crete from her home in Canada, determined to trace the roots of her family, in time to witness an arson attack on the local synagogue. She uncovers the dark truth about the lost Jews of Hania, and becomes embroiled in a mysterious plot that threatens her own survival. Based on real events, The Last Jew in Hania brings new life to a community that perished apart from one survivor.

 

 

The Story behind the Story: When my wife and I visited Hania in Crete some years ago, we came across an old synagogue which had been recently refurbished after a fire, and discovered the incredible history of the Jews of Hania. The story stayed with me. Apart from some archival material and the briefest of information about the tragic events of 1944, I could find nothing substantial that had been written. It was a story that had to be told. We returned to Hania for a longer visit, when I delved more into the atmosphere of the place and its people, and the book gradually emerged. Wanting to bring the Jews of Hania to life, rather than simply relate the tragedy of their loss, I invented a baby, and a contemporary Canadian character, Judith, who returns to Hania to search for the roots of her family. The result is a historical fiction, which I hope serves to honour and celebrate the lives of the Jews of Hania, as well as brings to light the terror of the Nazi regime and the crimes committed in its name; the kind of crimes that, sadly, are being committed to this day in other contexts.

 

 

Website: www.zevbagel.ca

 

 

 

Here’s an excerpt:

 

Hania, Crete, Monday, May 29th, 1944

 

Boots clattered on the street below the rabbi’s bedroom window, breaking into his fragile sleep. His small house shuddered as fists beat upon the door. A bombardment of shouts burst upwards. The rabbi began to recite the Shema, the Hebrew prayer.

He heard his daughter Roza, already a widow, go down the creaky stairs. He heard the door open. He heard the contempt in her voice.

“What do you want? Can’t you leave us alone?”

Rabbi Ilias Osmos stirred his bones from his narrow bed. He dragged on his robe, straightened the yarmulke on his head, and opened his bedroom door. Squinting down from the top of the stairs, he saw the German officer looking up at him. Behind the Nazi, Roza clutched her gown around her slender body. More soldiers stood just outside the door.

The officer was pleasant at first; almost apologetic. He sat at the kitchen table, his hat with its shining insignia placed at a right angle in front of him, explaining that he had been instructed to collect the list of names of all the Jews in Hania.

“For our records, you understand.”

“And what will you do with the names?” asked Rabbi Osmos.

“I am simply instructed to collect them for the record.”

“Suppose I refuse to give them to you?”

“I will arrest every Jew I can find and ask them myself. It’s not too difficult; you all live together in this hole.”

“It is not so easy to gather all the names. Where do you expect me to begin? It will take weeks.”

The officer leaned forward.

“Look, you old yid, don’t play games with me. You have everyone’s name written down somewhere. I’ll tear your house down and then the synagogue until I find what I want.”

Bile rose in the rabbi’s chest. He fought back the bitterness. He had been abandoned to this. The community leaders had left him to face these invaders alone. Rabbi Osmos had done his best to placate them. Only a few weeks ago he had attended the funeral of the Nazi consul.

The rabbi swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak, but the German beat him to it.

“And then I will start shooting Jews one by one until you give me the names of every Jewish man, woman, and child in Hania. I will shoot the woman here first. You will be the last. I will start this morning. You have one hour.”

The officer stood, replaced his cap, clicked his heels, and flung out his arm.

“Heil Hitler.”

He turned sharply and strode past Roza, who was flattened against the wall. The rabbi finally exhaled. Two soldiers remained in the house.

The rabbi went to his desk in the corner of the room. He opened the lower drawer, extracted a book. There was one newborn whose name he had not yet entered. He gestured to Roza, who sidled over to him. He whispered urgently.

“Go find Revekka Elhais. Tell her to hide the baby. Tell her the Germans are coming for us.”

Roza’s way was barred by one of the soldiers.

“My daughter must go to find the register with some of the names I do not have. She will be only five minutes.” He turned to Roza.

“Be quick,” he said. “You will find the book under the bimah. Be back here in five minutes.” He prayed she understood.

 

 Zev is one of the Participating Authors at the Greater Moncton Riverview & Dieppe Book Fair on April 22nd, 2023. 10am - 4pm. 701 Coverdale Road, Riverview. He will be there with all his books.

Visit the GMRD website and check out his profile and website.

 

Thanks for being our guest this week, Zev. And for the excerpt. Wishing you continued success on your writing journey.

 

And thanks to you, our visitors and readers.

 

What is the one book you would never do without?

The Story Behind the Story with British Author Mary Lay.

 

Let’s welcome Mary to the Scribbler.

It’s always a treat to have a guest from “across the pond.”

When you visit her website, you will read this:

“Welcome to the era of Art Deco, Jazz bands and flapper dresses!”

Sounds good to me.

 

 

I grew up in rural Berkshire, then spent over 15 years in Devon and Cornwall before settling for now in the Cotswolds. I taught myself to read and write when I was 4 because I was convinced I would be allowed to go to school if I could do those things. I’ve been writing ever since, though not always stories. I’ve also had a variety of other jobs including a support assistant for an autistic boy, a giftware model maker, proofreader, and digital learning manager. I’m a Royal Horticultural Society trained garden designer, and also have qualifications in agile product development.

Much of my life has had similarities to the Miss Read stories, and they are definitely my go-to comfort novels.

 

 

Working Title: I am in the final proof stages of my third novel, Birds of the Storm.

 

 

Synopsis: It is the third in the series; we are following Caroline as she embarks on a journey of self-discovery through 1920s England. Caroline Munhead has spent two years catching up with her old school friends and taking her first tentative steps as a young woman. Now in 1927 she spreads her wings a little further and finds herself in north Somerset in a rented cottage. A new group of friends and a new set of challenges bring Caroline to an unexpected proposal. Will she make Somerset her forever home? Will a message from beyond the grave prove true?

 

Caroline

 

The Story behind the Story: This all started during lockdown in 2019. I would go out for our permitted 30 minutes of exercise and walk the streets of Cheltenham, looking at the buildings and wondering who first lived and worked there. Readers might not know, but Cheltenham is a Regency town, but with housing from different eras radiating out from the centre, and with lots of tree-lined streets and parks. I started to research some of the areas online and as I continued my walks, some of the characters came into focus for me.

I had read some of Elizabeth von Arnim’s novels but couldn’t find anything else in a similar vein. So, I decided to write my own. I wanted something easy to read, a gentle story of ‘normal’ people. I often think of these stories as a historical soap opera. There are occasional big events, but more often than not we are just spectators watching someone else’s life unfold.

Once I started, the first story, Catching Up, flew out of my fingers. Writing at evenings and weekends, it was done in just over 2 months. I couldn’t stop! The characters kept talking to me and I drove on with the second novel, The Price of Coal. That too was completed in 3 months. I took a short break and then continued with the instalment that is due for publication in March 2023, Birds of the Storm. There are two more complete novels, the ideas for number six, and also a companion book of short stories, because some of the minor characters have been rather cross that they didn’t play bigger parts and want to tell their stories too!

The narrative is driven by real events. That’s my starting point when I am thinking about the story first: what actually happened in that year and what effect might it have had on my characters? The event might become a backdrop, or it might influence the story – I’m never entirely sure when I start to write, and it’s not unusual for me to stray completely away from my original plot line as I discover some other true story that I can borrow from.

I pitched to a number of agents and publishers. I received three separate offers of hybrid contracts, but the more I learned about traditional publishing and how I could lose creative control of my work, I decided that I would self-publish. I work with a professional designer, Chandler Design Associates in Norfolk, and John there immediately understood the concept I had for the covers.

I’m under no illusions that I will be able to retire on my book sales alone! I see these novels as an achievement that I never imagined I would have, and a welcome supplement to my retirement plans. Of course, if someone is interested in turning them into a television series I would be interested, but I write mainly because the characters simply will not be quiet.

 

Website: marylaystories.com

A question before you go, Mary:

Can you tell us about the perfect setting you have, or desire, for your writing? Music or quiet? Coffee or tequila?  Neat or notes everywhere?

 

I actually wrote almost all of the five novels so far while sitting on my sofa. I have a very small flat, and no room for a desk – certainly no spare room to use as an office or library. In an ideal world I would have a small house somewhere in a cold country; Scotland, Canada, Scandinavia, somewhere like that. I find the quietness of snow captivating. A room with a desk that looked out onto a garden or countryside covered with snow, a log fire, a comfortable armchair and foot stool, plenty of reference books on the shelves and a small radio. I listen to classical music when I write, or nothing at all. I adore the Russian composers, particularly Shostakovich.

If someone could bring me a fresh pot of tea every hour or so, that would be appreciated. Either a good Assam, or a blend called Russian Caravan. There would be plenty of room for the tea pot as I don’t tend to write notes, though I am known to have piles of things – mostly knitting, books and piles of letters that I need to respond to.

 

 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Mary. Wishing you continued success with your writing.

 

 

And a Grand Canyon thank you to all you visitors and readers?

 

What are you reading?