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Good morning
world. I thought I've done enough blogging for a while, so I ducked out of this
interview and left the stage to Anne Hoskins, the heroine of my latest book.
Here you go with Anne and Carlie Rosey.
An
interview with Carlie Rosey, talk show host, and Anne Hoskins, the heroine of A
Blanket for Her Heart.
Carlie: My guest today is Anne Hoskins. Formerly a
resident of Jamestown, Rhode Island, and the inadvertent heroine of A Blanket
for Her Heart. Welcome to the show Ms. Hoskins. How was your flight?
Anne Hoskins: It was very smooth. Thank you so much
for having me. I'm delighted to be here.
Carlie: You
must be overwhelmed with all the attention and publicity you're getting lately.
From obscurity to stardom-you've had a remarkable trip.
Anne: I wouldn't call myself a star. I'm just a
heroine of a book. Shouldn't you be talking to the author? He's really the --.
Carlie: I invited RC Bonitz but he had another
commitment today. I wonder, does he resent you getting the top billing?
Anne: I never
thought of that. I don't see why he would. After all, anything that--.
Carlie: I've
heard it said that you basically dictated the book to him. Are you saying
that's not true?
Anne: I
didn't say anything of the sort. Though, actually I did have to hold his hand
so to speak and guide him through some of it. He'd get this sort of starry-eyed
look about him when we discussed some of my personal scenes. I'd have to snap
my fingers to draw his attention back to--.
Carlie: Are
you suggesting he was falling in love with you?
Anne: Ha ha.
Paul wouldn't have liked that scenario very much. You know Paul- the hero? He
would have lit into RC if he'd hit on me at all. Though, now that you mention
it, he did get a little dreamy-eyed when we were alone some--..
Carlie: When
he was writing the love scenes I suppose?
Anne: No no,
not at all.
Carlie: You're
blushing. I thought the book was about you and Paul. All about the changes you
faced in your life of course, but Paul was certainly a major player throughout
the story.
Anne: Oh yes,
we certainly became lovers, but you're right about the story focusing on me. Paul
inspired me to give wings to my life, but I really had to be the one to lead
the way. The whole process was so personal. RC was wonderful though, very sweet and underst--.
Carlie: I
heard A Blanket For Her Heart is doing very well. Tell me about your next
project.
Anne: Actually,
I don't really have one. I'm extremely busy at the moment with my new life. RC
hasn't mentioned a sequel but I'd be willing to --.
Carlie: Would
you? Well that's a story for another day. I'm afraid we're out of time now. Thank
you for joining me today.
Anne: Thank
you. I have someone waiting for me in the green room, so I'll say goodbye.
Remember, keep talking about A Blanket For Her Heart.
A BLANKET FOR HER HEART will be available FREE 5/24
and 5/25 at Amazon. Kindle version only. Pick up a copy for the weekend. Check
out an excerpt below.
A BLANKET
FOR HER HEART- EXCERPT
~ ONE ~
First
light formed leaf shadows on the cabinets as she entered the kitchen. Those big
trees had been there for years, but they were old now, tall and thinned out,
blocking less of the early morning sun. Winter sometimes seemed better, on
sunny days when bright rays slid through barren branches to flood the breakfast
table. Not always though. Not when winter’s cold was dark and penetrating.
Bright
and sunny, just comfortable, the day was starting well. She’d been up since
three, reading and pacing, waiting for the light so she could start her day
outside. Early was a pattern lately, into bed and out of it, bored to numbness
when sleep was so elusive.
Her
friend Molly thought it was time to see a doctor, but there was nothing a
professional could say she didn’t know already. Physically her health was
perfect.
"I
need a new bed, that’s all," she told her friend. "Besides, I’m
always thinking of what I’m going to do in the morning."
"What’s
so important?" Molly asked, and she offered the usual list of things.
That
was what she did, things. This thing, that thing, nothing. Tend her garden,
read Jane Austen or some travel book; wash the dishes, paint, or whatever.
Granted, her paintings were beautiful and she did so many one always sat
unfinished on the easel, but she hadn’t sold any. Furniture restorations
brought in some income, but she usually didn’t do that many pieces.
Fifty-four
years old and not counting, she lived like a hermit with few friends. She did
know one neighbor, but she’d never married, and had always lived alone. Molly
often told her she’d be happier if she did more with her life and she struggled
with such thoughts these days.
She
turned on the TV, hoping the movie channel might have something good.
Sly
Stallone in his first Rambo. So
stimulating. Thought provoking. Annoyed but too bored to care, she settled back
in the sofa and within minutes the images barely touched her mind. By
seven-thirty, she’d had enough and punched the off button with the remains of
her wrist. Dry cereal and milk, half an orange, and coffee for breakfast; she
dumped the dirty dishes in the sink twenty minutes later and abandoned the
kitchen.
The
patio garden looked like an impressionist’s palette. Her one green thumb coaxed
flowers to brilliant life year round. Indoors in winter of course, but she had
plants ready to bloom as spring temperatures began. Each morning she spent two
hours weeding and pruning, winding her fingers through the dirt to carefully
arrange it to her whim. The stump of her left arm served as well as her right
hand, caressing dirt and flowers with the same gentle touch. It was a touch returned
by the earth, giving her the best hours of each day in quiet occupation of her
mind. She put a dozen pansies in a juice glass and remembered she hadn’t
thanked Molly for picking up the flats this year.
After
gardening, she returned rake and hoe to the garage and cleaned up at the slop
sink in the corner. She wiped black dirt from her knees and delivered a good
scrubbing to the right hand. A brush screwed to the wall just above the sink
did the job. Small stitch scars in her stump got an easy wipe. The skin was
smooth and quite soft for all the abuse it got. Both hand and stump got a dose
of hand cream, spread liberally, but only lightly rubbed. A wipe with the old
towel she kept handy finished the job.
Lunch
was the usual. Peanut butter and grape jam on white, red wine, and a handful of
Lorna Doones. Sometimes it was cream cheese instead of peanut butter, chocolate
chips instead of Lorna Doones, but that was about it as far as variety went.
She took two glasses of merlot this time instead of one. That was not unusual
lately.
Afterwards,
she wrapped a dishtowel around the left arm and secured it with two rubber
bands to wash the dishes.
"You’d
be amazed what I can buy through the mail now, Hannah. Rubber bands, seeds,
books, clothes, all sorts of things. You’d probably be selling things on a
website these days yourself." She wiped the breakfast bowl with the left
arm towel and set it on the drying rack. "Not like me though. I hate that
ridiculous computer. Molly talked me into buying one, but I can barely turn it
on right.
"I’m
having trouble with that painting I've been working on too. It looks so bland,
not even that maybe, so much as gray and dismal. I should probably trash the
thing. You know what? I think I’m going to catch a little sun this afternoon."
It
was one sided, this conversation with her dead grandmother, but quite all
right. She knew it was imaginary, though sometimes it almost seemed she got an
answer.
Her
father got an occasional remark as well, but little more. It was Hannah she
talked to, Hannah she often wished were truly at her side. Their chats had
served to keep her company, at least until now. There was no one else to talk
to most of the time.
Except
Molly, or Grace, when one of them came around. Which didn’t seem to be that
often lately. The house was still too, her world so very silent these last few
months.
Dishes
washed, towel removed, she headed for the bathroom, stripping off her pink tee
shirt as she went. She dropped it in the hamper, brushed her teeth and hair,
and relieved herself quickly. Then it was out to the patio, where she pulled
one white lounge chair into place and stretched out to take the sun on her
back. She’d heard all the cancer warnings, but never did the sun thing very
long. Besides, everyone needed some vices in their life.
Face
down on the lounge, wearing only shorts, she was drifting into sleep when
something made a sound behind her. She turned. A man smiled weakly, then
stared, eyes wide, as she dashed for the house.
"Please.
I need help," he called as she slammed the door in his face.
Here is the buy link.
Marian- Thank you for posting this again. I had great fun writing it so another read was just dandy! Bob
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