Well, the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention in Columbus, Ohio, is coming up fast (April 28-May 2). A number of Siren-Bookstrand authors will be there, taking in the scene, meeting people and just having fun in general.

If you’re going to RT, here’s an added perk: You have a chance to win a fabulous basket of goodies! Entering to win is easy. All you have to do is find the gift basket from the Siren-Bookstrand Authors in Club RT and fill out the small tickie with your name and contact vitals. The winner’s name will be drawn Saturday. So just what will you win? How about this:

• A $50 gift certificate from Siren-Bookstrand Inc.
• A bag of Ghirardelli chocolates from Emma Wildes
• A funky necklace, from Raina James
• A hand-crafted scarf created by author Mary Lou George
• Angel and the Lawman, by Barbara W. Starmer
• Believing is Seeing, by Corinne Davies
• Blind Date After Dark Series (collection of Mr. Right, The Perfect Tool and The Mistletoe Mistake), by Lara Santiago
• Captured, by Julia Rachel Barrett *
• Cowboy Love, by Sandy Sullivan
• Badlands (collection of Mail Order Bride for Two, Two Wanted Men and Double Chance Claim), by Elle Saint James
• Drawing Blood, by Mary Lou George
• Forbidden Heart, by Kara Wills
• The Jewel Box, Three Tales of Erotic Romance (collection of Three For All, Sinful and The Family Jewel), by Raina James
• The Lady Makes Three, by Morgan Ashbury
• Magic & Love collection, by Morgan Ashbury
• Pale Stars in Her Eyes, The Starlight Chronicles 1, by Annabel Wolfe
• Rogue's Run, Galactic Gunslingers 1, by Lara Santiago
• Shadow Hunter, by Kara Wills
• Undercover Lover, by Jane Leopold Quinn
• Watcher, Sexual Studies 1, by Kate Watterson

* denotes ebook download; all others are trade paperback editions

The books in the basket cover the gamut of genres, from thrillers, westerns and contemporaries to scifi, paranormals and fantasies. There's sure to be something in there to please everyone. So don’t be shy -- fill out the ticket in Club RT to enter the draw for our basket, and come meet us at the book fairs, both Wednesday and Saturday, and at our table in Club RT. See you in Columbus!

Labels: Club RT, gift basket, prizes, Romantic Times Booklovers Convention, Siren-Bookstrand

There can be no doubt whatsoever that spring has sprung. This is not to say that we might not still get a few cold days, or even a dumping of snow. This is southern Ontario, after all, and I’m old enough to remember snow in May.

I know it’s spring because each morning, just before dawn, I hear birds singing, and they are birds I only hear once spring has arrived and they sound so beautiful! What kind of birds are they, you ask? They’re ... singing birds.

I know it’s spring because the lawns are all growing. Ours is green and, yes, in need of being cut already. Mr. Ashbury isn’t the fan of outdoor work he used to be. He tells me he’s getting too old to cut the grass, so I may have to revert to hiring either a grandson, or a service.

I know it’s spring, because down at the place where I bought my winter tires, they have a sign that advises motorists to “get summer tires now!” I guess I will, in a few more weeks. Like I said, I can remember snow in May.

I know it’s spring because all through the neighbourhood, green shoots are spearing up in gardens, and some lucky residents already have blossoms of crocus and daffodils and narcissus. Notice I said “some lucky residents.” Sadly, my gardens remain barren.

In the fall, my daughter and three of my grandchildren planted bulbs. I know they did, because I was on the porch supervising them. They planted all the above mentioned flowers, and tulips, too.

One of the things I love most about spring is the flowers. When we lived out in the country, in the house that had been my mother’s I didn’t need to worry about spring flowers, for they came up in abundance. We had daffodils and narcissi. We had crocus and grape hyacinth. We had tulips, and lily of the valley! And then, just as those blooms began to fade, we had lilac.

Some days when the breeze was blowing in the right direction, wonderful fragrance filled the air, and my house. It’s been several years since I’ve had spring flowers of my own.

I had great hopes for this spring. I had purchased several boxes of bulbs, and watched as they were planted. But alas, so far, nothing is poking out of the ground.

I would have preferred to have planted the bulbs myself. Unfortunately, my yard is so uneven that manoeuvring over it is difficult. About the only way I can manage, as I would to weed flowers in the summer, is to lie down on the grass and kind of inch myself along, like a worm. Not a problem, and actually I kind of enjoy myself when I do the weeding. But that inch-worm imitation isn’t something to do in the late fall when the ground is cold and wet.

I doubt that planting the bulbs myself would have made a difference, anyway. This doesn’t really surprise me. Sometimes, I can have the worst luck getting simple things to work out. I also bought a raft of bulbs that I thought would go well in the squared off “garden” my beloved had made for himself a few years ago. I envisioned having a “cutting garden” and imagined my house continually blessed with vases of fresh flowers set about here and there throughout the spring. Unfortunately, the sod would have had to have been turned (I did say the garden had been made a few years ago), and no one was interested in that job. Those bulbs sit in my basement, unloved and unused.

My determination to have at least some spring flowers is strong, and I think I know one way I might still be able accomplish this. I think I’m going to head to the garden center and buy already blooming tulips, daffodils and whatever else I can find in pots (my absolute favourites are the white narcissuses that have the red and yellow accents). Then I can plant them, not in what would have been my cutting garden, but at least in the garden that borders the house itself.

As I was considering this situation, I couldn’t help but recall how a dear friend of mine, now departed from this life, solved a similar dilemma for his wife one spring.

He went to the dollar store, bought plastic flowers, and jammed the stems into the ground. She came home to what appeared to be a profusion of colourful flowers — until she got close, that is.

I’ve never told Mr. Ashbury about this. I don’t want to give him any ideas.

Love,

Morgan

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

Labels: flowers, Morgan Ashbury, planting, spring, Wednesday's Words

I have a question. Why is it only women have the guilt gene?

You may know that I have as much respect for men as I do for women. I came out of the '60s and '70s without any feminist overtones to my personality. Sure, I might make a joke from time to time about women who seek parity with men lacking ambition, but I don’t really mean it.

Men and women are different is so many ways. The best of us complement each other, and I believe that is why we each have been designed the way we have by the Original Manufacturer. I do believe men and women are equals; but they are different.

For the most part I celebrate those differences. The only real imbalance, it would seem to me, is that women got an overabundance of the guilt gene, and the men, none at all.

If you’re a man, and you awaken early on a Saturday morning, and emerge from your bedroom to a home that is in dire need of tidying and cleaning, chances are you will have no difficulty stepping over the mess to get to your coffee. You might eventually raise yourself up to set things to rights, but in your own good time.

If you’re a woman facing the same scenario, you will begin to tidy on your way to the bathroom, no matter how badly you need those facilities. Coffee will be a cherished goal for you, a reward to be collected once the job at hand is done.

If you’re a man, and the wind has come in the night and toppled the umbrella you thought imbedded securely to prevent toppling, blowing it dangerously close to where it might sink out of your life forever, you might have no trouble whatsoever shrugging your shoulders and carrying on to your golf game with a clear conscience.

If you’re a woman, you’d waste a lot of energy and worry on trying to figure out how to rescue that umbrella, and feel guilty as hell when you realize you simply don’t have the strength to do so.

We women tend to feel guilty if we do anything for ourselves that could even remotely be considered selfish. But that’s not the worst of it. We feel guilty for working, and we feel guilty if we don’t work. We feel guilty if we do too much for our kids, and we feel guilty if we don’t do enough.

Most women seem to excel at taking care of others all the time. What causes this great giving of the female soul? It’s guilt, to some degree. We seem to be the ones who feel it is, not only our sacred obligation, but our destiny to take care of others.

Society does play into this, I assure you of that. Women don’t drive the engine on this particular vehicle all by themselves. Don’t believe me?

Have you ever gone to visit people—I’m thinking people you don’t know well. You find yourself in their homes for the first time and the place is a mess. Been there? I challenge you to deny that the thought that went through your head was, “Gee, this woman isn’t a very good housekeeper.”

It could very well be, as one former acquaintance once said to me, that women like to feel guilty. Feelings of guilt, this person said, morphed into feelings of righteousness, and women live to feel righteous.

I’m not sure if I totally agree with that, or not. The unfortunate part is that I have known women who are like that, which kind of works against us all.

Now, I’m not for changing the roles between men and women, overmuch. I love the maleness of men, their strengths, which do come with their weaknesses, as do ours. I’m not asking for any kind of cultural or social revolution, and I for one certainly don’t want to burn my bra.

But if we could shave, oh, about a quarter inch of guilt off of us and put it on the men—why, I think that would be a fine thing, indeed.

Love,
Morgan

Feed the flames of your passion…with a novel by Morgan Ashbury

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

Labels: guilt, men, Morgan Ashbury, sexes, women