Chocolate...Just a Little Bit of Magic ~ by Josie Riviera

As an author, I like to think readers enjoy my books. I hope that it

gives them a form of escape, even if just for a little while. I have visions of them sitting in a comfy chair, blanket draped over them, with a warm drink and…chocolate!

Why chocolate? Well, it’s a lovely visual of a way to spend an afternoon without the calories. Hah! A real joy and a bit of self-care we all deserve during these challenging times.

Truthfully, I may be a little obsessed with chocolate and all of the

ways it can be enjoyed.

Surprisingly, chocolate in its earliest form goes back to 450 BC in Southern Mexico when the Aztecs discovered cacao beans. They believed the beans were a gift from the god of wisdom, Quetzacoatl. As a drink, it was used as a puree along with corn and spices. Though bitter, it may have been the first chocolate drink.

In 1502, Christopher Columbus delivered the beans to Spain, and thus, Europe, believing them to be good for trading. Plantations were started, and the laborious work of cultivating and growing the crops was left to low paid workers and slave labor. Now, approximately two-thirds of all cocoa production takes place in West African nations.

Along came the Industrial Revolution in the late 19th and early

20th century. The chocolatiers we all are familiar with and who continue to be powerhouses in the industry – Henri Nestle, Randolphe Lindt, Milton Hershey and Cadbury – began perfecting the processing and recipes that we all enjoy today.

There are so many wonderful ways to enjoy chocolate! Here are a few:

• I recently tried a Tuxedo Cake. It’s made up of multiple layers of chocolate with a white chocolate cream filling. You can find a recipe HERE

• Hot Chocolate: Enjoy it as simple as when we were children--adding marshmallows, whipped cream, and crushed peppermint sticks.

• Or something more adult?

• Here is a list of 30 different varieties from Country Living Magazine. LIST
Surely one will tempt your taste buds. 

Have you ever tried something you were afraid to try because it mattered so much to you? I did, when I started writing. Take the chance, everyone, and just do something you love.  Cozy up with your favorite (chocolate) beverage, and lose yourself in the joyful seasons of love. I love chocolate so much that I even wrote about it!

A Chocolate-Box Christmas

Love is sweeter with a touch of mischief.

A Chocolate-Box New Years

Some recipes don’t turn out quite as you predicted…

A Chocolate-Box Valentine

It’s your last love who truly matters.

Josie Riviera is a USA TODAY bestselling author of contemporary,

inspirational, and historical sweet romances that read like Hallmark movies. She lives in the Charlotte, NC, area with her wonderfully supportive husband. They share their home with an adorable shih tzu, who constantly needs grooming, and live in an old house forever needing renovations. You can connect with Josie through the following links:

WEBSITE (Sign up for her newsletter and receive a free ebook)

FACEBOOK VIP TEAM

FACEBOOK

GOODREADS

TWITTER

BOOKBUB

Valentine's Day, Always ~by Lexa Fisher

Photo by Wyron A on Unsplash

Yes, Valentine's Day has passed, but love goes on, doesn't it? 


Valentine's Day is a special day for love. I send only a few Valentine's day cards and I love to make my own. Red, pink, and even purple are favorite colors for cards this month, as are flowers and, of course hearts.


A couple of years ago my favorite card supply store started featuring a once-monthly noon class to make lunch love notes. Now, I not only put them in my husband's lunch, but tuck them around the things he takes to work as a surprise that he very much enjoys finding. 

Hubby also gets into the act with my hobby by making me stencils on his 3D printer. He bought me the Glaminator for Christmas--a laminator specially for adding foil to cards as seen here.

A few special cards this year started like this.

And from all of these pieces, these cards resulted.

For me, love is trust and integrity, and I emphasize this in my books. Love may be finding a missing piece of yourself in someone else. When you're a romance writer, love is special every day of the year.

As I finish up this post, I've just spent half of one day in urgent care with my husband, most of the next day in the ER where he had emergency surgery, and all of the next day in the hospital with him. 

Yes, love is EVERYDAY, 24x7. And hubby is on the road to recovery.

Writing--My Retirement Plan

Writing--My Retirement Plan~by Lexa Fisher
(and a dirty little secret)

Photo by Alejandra Quiroz on Unsplash

Several years ago I began contemplating how I could keep my brain active after retirement, which is still a few years away. It had to be something challenging, something that would inspire me to continue learning. I landed on writing--a topic about which I knew nothing. It seemed like the perfect answer, and one that would keep me mentally active for years.

Not being a procrastinator, ten years ahead of my planned retirement date I bravely enrolled in a popular fiction writing class at the University of Washington. The classes were well organized and the instructor incorporated many examples to illustrate the lessons. 

Photo by Amy Hirschi on Unsplash

Then came the anxiously awaited day for individual consultations on our projects. I found out that I was writing romance! Now here's the Dirty Little Secret--I'd never read a romance book in my life. At the time, my library consisted primarily of cozy mysteries, and that's what I thought I was writing. The story I worked on during class had a man and a woman, and a mystery for them to solve. And they fell in love. 

To prove her point that it was a romance, the instructor asked if it would be the same story without their relationship. My throat constricted and my voice quavered as I replied, "No, they have to find everlasting happiness as soul mates." My instructor just smiled.

Photo by Laura Ockel on Unsplash

Well, if I was writing romance, it was time to find a romance story to read. I soon picked up my first romance and haven't stopped writing or reading this genre. It's uplifting, and whether it is sweet romance (nothing past "second base"), paranormal, historical, or other romance sub-genres, there is always a happy ending. Heroine and hero struggle against the odds (and maybe solve a mystery along the way), and they always come out stronger together.

My instructor also urged me to look into Romance Writers of America, RWA. I soon joined a local RWA chapter and several online chapters. There are ample opportunities to continue learning about the craft at the annual RWA meetings, monthly meetings of my local chapter, and regular online classes offered through RWA and the online chapters. I've found the fulfilling mental challenge I wanted, and made many new friends.

Mysteries still appeal to me, and I can't help but incorporate a mystery in most of the stories that I write. After all, isn't love the greatest mystery?

Photo by Alejandra Quiroz on Unsplash

To view more posts, visit Lexa's Member Page

Unconventional Love by Grace Augustine

      

Courtesy of Pexels.com free photos

     Ben and Hildy sat at the park from mid-morning until the sun went down. It wasn’t uncommon to see the couple every Saturday, choosing just the right spot to spread out the blanket. There was always a book, always laughter, always a picnic basket filled to the brim with snacks to share.
     Theirs was a unique relationship. Ben, twenty years’ Hildy’s senior, had lived a hard life…one of prejudice at work, as well as church and many other societal situations. He’d worked hard in the coal mines until age got the better of him. Retirement sent him into a deep depression for which he was hospitalized. That’s where he met Hildy.
     Hildy, a sassy thirty-year-old, loved her work as a therapist on the psych floor of Trinity Hospital. She’d seen many come and go and smiled when she remembered her part in their healing. She’d stopped by Ben’s room the day he was admitted.  Her heart sank when she saw the uncommunicative, handsome older man sitting near the window.
     “Hi, Ben. I’m Hildy. It’s nice meeting you,” she greeted, taking the older man’s hand in hers and smiling brightly.
Her greeting met with no response. 
     “I can see we’re going to have to do something to cheer you up.”
     Ben turned toward Hildy and looked at her compassionate blue eyes. He shrugged his shoulders.
     “What’s the use?” The deep voice questioned. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
     “Oh, now, that is just a lie, sir, and you know it. Before I snap my fingers, you’ll be waltzing out of here. I promise.”
     Hildy continued meeting with Ben daily for the next two weeks. Each day she read excerpts to him from her favorite books. By the end of the second week, she noticed Ben smiling and engaging in conversation with her.
     “I have a surprise for you, Ben. Get your sweater and come with me.”
     Ben followed Hildy from the room. Soon they were walking hand in hand to the gardens at the hospital where they sat on a bench in the noon-day sun.
     Hildy opened her book and read several poems from Edna St. Vincent Milay. Her voice was sweet and positive and soothing. She glanced at Ben and smiled when she saw him smiling, eyes closed, as he took in every word she read.
     Each Saturday, Hildy led them to the same bench. Each Saturday, Ben held one side of the book and Hildy the other. Each took turns reading. Then, one day, it was time for Ben to be released from the hospital.
     “You’re going home today, Ben.”
     Ben sat with his elbows on his knees, hands folded, and head lowered. He wasn’t sure he should say what he was thinking but went ahead anyway.
     “Why did you do what you did, Hildy? Why did you read to me? Why were you kind to me? Not once did the color of my skin matter. Not once did my former profession matter. Not once did you judge me.”
     Hildy patted Ben’s arm then grasped one of his hands in both of hers.
     “Ben, I only see your heart. I see a loving, kind man who needed to be shown his worth.
     A tear fell down Ben’s cheek.
     “Hildy, I don’t want to say goodbye to you.”
     “Who says we have to say goodbye?”
     Every Saturday, for the past five years, Hildy and Ben met at the park at 10 am. They sat on a blanket, they laughed and read books, they shared a meal and their souls with each other. And, when the sun went down, Ben walked Hildy to her car and hugged her tightly.
     “I love you Hildy.”
     “I love you, too, Ben.”