From the pages of Barb Raffin...

From The Pages Of
Barbara Raffin

Archived Thoughts From The Author:

From 12/06:

This month, I have a real treat for both the readers and writers among you.

First, THE JEWELS OF THE QUILL are having a big Christmas giveaway. Visit our web site www.JewelsoftheQuill.com for details.

Second: Who are THE JEWELS OF THE QUILL? We are a group of authors who joined forces to create an author cooperative promotional group to promote in places we couldn’t afford to do individually such at Romantic Times Book Club. That’s the treat for the writers among you. Join forces. There's power in numbers.

And if you writers want to know how to create a writers' promotional cooperative, check out the web page of the woman whose brainchild the Jewels was and who keeps our web site fresh and our giveaways exciting. Karen Wiesner has a book with Writers’ Digest that lays it all out. You can find her link through www.JewelsoftheQuill.com.

Last but first in our hearts, for the readers among you, I give you twelve talented authors who write in a variety of genres. From Romance to horror, futuristic to historical, mystery to young adult, we have written just about anything you’d want to read. We have even combined our talents to write a series of anthologies, the first of which, TALES FROM THE TREASURE TROVE, vol.1, won an EPPIE. That’s EPIC’s version of the Oscar. And that’s just one of our more than 150 awards.

Please join me and my fellow ‘Dames’ (we are all divas at heart) in celebrating December with our Holiday Giveaway. Here’s hoping you’re a winner!

SNAPSHOTS OF ME AND SOME OF MY FELLOW JEWELS OF THE QUILL!

Liz Hunter & Me giving our "Fame, Fortune, & Reality" workshop at the WisRWA spring conference. Guess who demonstrated the "bad" attitude aspect.

Jane Toombs and Barbara Raffin at an Iron Mountain, Michigan Signing 2003

Liz Hunter & Barbara Raffin Book Signing at the Appleton, Wisconsin Barnes & Noble

Liz Hunter at the WisRWA Conference 2005

Liz Hunter at the Rivers Bend Signing 2004

Karen Wiesner at Book Isle Signing

Nancy Pirri at Book Isle Signing

Chris DeSmet at the WisRWA Conference 2005

Jewels Past and Present at Book Signing

Standing L to R: Julie Skerven, Jay Roycraft, Sherry Derr-Wille, Barbara Raffin, and Liz Hunter.

Seated L to R Karen Wiesner and Nancy Piri.

Book signing at Book Stop in
Green Bay, WI
front row: Liz Hunter, Carrie Masek & Jane Toombs
back row: Karen Wiesner, Peggy (store owner), Jaye Roycraft, & Me

Book signing at Fireside Books and Gifts with
historical author Shari Anton, former Dame Jaye Roycroft, and current Dames Carrie Masek, Me, & Liz Hunter

From 11/06:

I’ve lived within shouting distance of the Menominee River all my life. Okay, I’d have to shout pretty loud these days. But it dawned on me just recently how constant that river has been in my life.

As a child, I explored the rocky riverbanks, my imagination taking me along the wooded trails atop the rocks on my imaginary horse. Yes, I was one of those little girls who loved horses and forever dreamed of racing cross country astride my black stallion. Of course my horse was black because I loved The Black Stallion series of books by Walter Farley.

Oddly enough, I never owned a copy of any of his books until a few years ago. I found my black among the dusty shelves of the local library. How I wound up acquiring my first copy of The Black Stallion in adulthood is grist for another story. For now, suffice it to say Walter Farley is in part responsible for me becoming a writer. All those wonderful books of adventure with the Black Stallion lacked one thing. A girl as his sidekick. That’s how I came to write my very first book, The Piebald Stallion featuring a girl as his human sidekick. Blatantly and without a pinch of shame, I ‘borrowed’ from Walter Farley and wrote my own girl-and-her-horse adventure. I believe Mr. Farley would have excused a twelve year old taking such liberties. Maybe he would even have been proud to learn he inspired a child to become a writer.

But back to the river.

The Menominee will never be known for its beauty. It’s a muddy old river, wide and deep and not the least inviting. At least not inviting of toes looking to dangle in cool water on hot days. There are few places along its path where the brave venture to swim. But it has invited its share of kayakers, canoeists, and pontoon boats. More than the occasional fishing boat putters its currents and the shore often clears to a cluster of fisherman. Now and then, there are bonfires and parties. But I’ve been involved in little more than a few pontoon boat rides and one infamous fishing trip where my father got tired of baiting my hook and insisted I learn to bait it myself. After losing about half a dozen minnows to my ineffectual baiting technique, Dad was back to baiting my hook. Hey, I was a little kid. Give me some slack.

Muddy or not, the Menominee was my wish place. Though I grew too old to ride imaginary horses, I never grew too old to lie on moss covered stones among the ferns and dream. It was good practice for a future career built on imagination.

I abandoned my beloved river in my early married years, even though I still lived within shouting distance of it. Aaah, the stages of life and where they take us. I left my dreams on the stony banks for a good many years, too many. Then we bought our first house and moved without giving my old friend, my muse much if any thought.

All the years I spent walking or cross-country skiing behind our house, across the neighbors’ fields and the farmer’s potato field to the rise overlooking the Menominee, I never thought about how that river seemed to follow me. Even as I frequently drove past it on my way to and from town, admiring its beauty where it had been dammed into a vast reservoir—where autumn crowned it with its most colorful leaves, I didn’t think how permanent a fixture it was in my life. It was just…there.

As time passed, I made friends with some who lived along my river’s banks. I took rides in their boats and watched the land slide past. From their windows and decks, I watched the river flow by, glinting in the sunlight. I began to see my old friend in a new light. I began to see it didn’t follow me but, rather, I had followed it—had let its path take me through the stages of my life. And now I see where it had taken me—to a place where I once again yearn to be that child with all her innocence playing games with her imaginary horses—where dreams come easily and the future stretches ahead of me. Aaah, time I return to my keyboard and my stories.

A number of years ago, a dirt dam let loose and drained the backwater reservoir. Note the water level between the two pictures of the Old Iron Bridge and contrast a full reservoir in the autumn photo to those showing the bottom of the drained riverbed. It was strange yet magical to walk the dry bottom of my river.

Autumn along the riverbank.