‘Her Lost Love’ in Dutch… meet the Arden Family in 1943 by Jina Bacarr
November 11, 2026 by Jina Bacarr in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as Christmas, Dutch, romance, time travel, veteran, veterans, Veterans Day, WW2
Thrilled to bring the Christmas Spirit of the Arden Family on the US homefront in 1943 to my Dutch readers! My time travel romance — pubs 7 December 2026.
Haar verloren liefde. Her Lost Love.
Here is the blurb in Dutch: Op een koude winterdag in 1955 stapt Kate Arden de trein in om thuis Kerstmis te vieren. Maar wanneer ze uitstapt, bevindt ze zich niet langer in 1955.Ze is terug in 1943 – het jaar dat Kate ten huwel…
‘On a cold December day in 1955 I got on a train to go back home for Christmas
This is the story of what happened when I got off that train.
In 1943.’
Kate travels back in time to save the man she loves…
On this Veterans Day, we celebrate the men and women who have served our country. Her Lost Love remembers those left behind. Haar verloren liefde: Amazon NL page and Boldwood NL page available now for pre-order
Here ‘The Arden Family’, an old family photo with ‘Kate’ on the left with the white bow in her hair with the gang. The inspiration to create the Ardens from Posey Creek PA during the war here in the US.
I made a video — English with Dutch subtitles!
Happy Veterans Day! Bless you all… and to the families of WW2 vets, their sacrifice will be forever in our hearts and our children’s and their children’s.
Best,
Jina
‘Flight of the Stolen Children’ pubs 13 December
Steeped
October 30, 2026 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as Dianna Sinovic, ghosts, short fiction, writing
The wind gusting outside woke Tabitha. She sat up on the couch, blinking in the dim light of late afternoon. She’d only meant to close her eyes for a few minutes, resting after sweeping the porch of dried leaves the breeze kept depositing there. And now it was … maybe five-thirty?
Angie would be home soon, if she didn’t have an evening meeting or dinner out with friends. Tabitha tried to remember her daughter’s schedule. At eighty-two, it was enough to recall her own to-do list each day, let alone someone else’s.
Tabitha felt around on the couch for her phone, but it was probably on the kitchen counter, next to the teapot. And her eyeglasses? Reaching for them, her arm brushed her teacup on the end table, sending the cup and the glasses flying into the darkness.
A shutter banged against the house, and a stair on the flight to the second floor creaked.
“Hello?” Tabitha said. “Angie?”
She strained to hear anything in the silence that responded. From the far corner of the living room, a shape moved.
“Who’s there?” Her voice wavered with uncertainty. She didn’t believe in ghosts. An intruder then? Tabitha gripped a couch pillow. If nothing else, she could use it knock the thief off balance when they attacked.
Unprompted, her mind flooded with memories of Caroline. As a young friend, when they were both mothers of small children, sharing a pot of lapsang tea while they gossiped. As a middle-aged companion taking that Caribbean cruise when Tabitha misplaced her favorite scarf. As an older woman hiking with her along the river towpath, trekking poles in hand.
Caroline, who passed on last month, before Tabitha could say farewell.
Yes, it’s me. The shape from the corner advanced.
Tabitha sucked in a breath. Was she dreaming? “But you’re dead.”
The form morphed into a faint, flickering image of her friend. You never kept in touch. Though not spoken aloud, Caroline’s words held a sharp bite of accusation.
“I did,” Tabitha protested. She let the pillow slide out of her hands, back onto the couch. “I called. I visited. Just not … later.”
Not when I was at my sickest. Caroline drifted across the room and back. A slight weight pressed on Tabitha’s hand—her eyeglasses. And from the end table came a soft clink of cup to saucer. Her friend couldn’t stop tidying even beyond the grave.
She slipped the glasses on, but Caroline’s image remained blurry. “I was scared,” Tabitha said. “I couldn’t offer you anything that would heal you, so I stayed away.” A coward, she acknowledged to herself. “I’m sorry.”
A light flipped on in the foyer.
“Mom?” Angie stood just inside the front door. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” She turned on a floor lamp, banishing the shadows from the room. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Tabitha said. She searched for Caroline and caught a slight shimmer near the windows. “Just dozing.”
A warmth enveloped her, a sense of serenity. You’re forgiven. The flicker died away. Have a cup of lapsang for me. Only the scent of the smoky brew lingered.
Books with more of Dianna’s stories
What does this writer do when I finish a book? Binge on new series ‘Youth’ on HBO Max and Chocolate by Jina Bacarr
October 11, 2026 by Jina Bacarr in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as authorlife, kimono, writing, Youth HBO Max
Yep. Finished ‘Flight of the Stolen Children‘ from edits to copy edits to proofread. Now it’s in the hands of the gods… Team Boldwood.
So what does a writer do next after pulling all nighters for the past year?
Binge, baby, binge.
I love checking out the new shows and this one on HBO Max hit a bulls-eye with me.
Youth is a fab-u-lous new show I hope is around for a long, long time. I love it. Alex (Sharon Horgan) is a 50-year-old literary agent, divorced, a mom. And single. In episode 3, she’s attending the Frankfurt Book Fair (my publisher Boldwood Books is there this weekend showing our books).
Which brings back memories…
I’ve been to Frankfurt many times (Café Kranzler’s Pêche Melba was to die for!), but I’ve never been to the book show there. I have attended the US Book Expo (once known as the ABA) over the years and when I saw ‘characters’ dressed up to promote a novel in HBO’s ‘Youth’, it reminded me of the book show where I dressed in formal kimono to promote my book featuring Japan (I’ve had five nonfiction and fiction books about Japan published).
So here is a pic of me in kimono at the book show… in case you’re wondering how I put it all together [sash (obi), fan, head pieces, and special underwear], I studied the art of kimono with a sensei, teacher, from Japan for months to make sure I got it right!
Thank you, Ms Horgan, for my fave new show!
I’m so looking forward to Sunday’s new episode. The housecleaning will have to wait…
Jina
======================
‘The Flight of the Stolen Children’ is Book 2 of Lia’s Story
Book 1:
Check out: ‘The Stolen Children of War’ — Book 1 in Lia’s Story. Book 2 ‘Flight of the Stolen Children’.
A story told in Book 1 of this 2 book series about children hidden in plain sight in Occupied Paris 1943. In the circus.
Shore Leave
September 30, 2026 by Dianna Sinovic in category Columns, Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as fishing, short fiction, terminal illness
Mist hovered over the lake like a shroud. Hope stood at the point, past the flagpole and orange mums ringing its base. Nothing moved on the dark water. Too early for even the trawling fishermen. No one to witness.
Fall was brushing the trees on the opposite shore with touches of bronze and copper, but the brilliance was lost on her. Her mother had three months left, gone by the end of the year. She shivered.
How will I survive without her? Or, more accurately, she thought, why? What was there to live for? Giles had never wanted kids, so they’d had none. Last she heard, he was in Florida, with his second wife—and three children.
“You look too forlorn for such a stunning start of the day.”
With a yelp of surprise, Hope turned to locate the voice. On a camp chair hugging the water sat a woman whose face and salty hair put her into her seventies. She had a fishing line in the water, a travel mug in one hand. It was her gaze that anchored Hope in place.
“You don’t have to do it, you know.” The woman sipped her mug and continued to watch Hope. “There are alternatives. Always are.”
Hope raised her chin. How dare the stranger interfere. “Mind your own business.”
But the woman’s words fizzed in her head, distracting her. She forced herself to face the lake again. To be done with it.
“Dear, grief comes to all of us at some point. We open our hearts to love—and thus to its inevitable loss.” The woman sighed. “I’m Claire. I don’t mean to make light of your situation.”
A vee of Canada geese crossed overhead, settling onto the lake surface with a jumble of honks. Come, the lake called to Hope.
She closed her eyes, the wetness of tears spilling onto her cheeks. “It’s so hard,” she said.
“I didn’t say it was easy.” Claire spoke softly, gently, as though a whisper in Hope’s ear. “But you are strong enough to bear it, I think.”
Hope shifted, expecting Claire to have moved to her side, but no, she was still seated at the lakeshore. “You don’t know me.” She passed the back of her hand over her eyes to dry them. “I’m a coward. I can’t even take one step into the lake.”
The fishing line tugged once and then raced out along the water’s surface. With a swift grab, Claire picked up the rod and worked the line, her attention no longer on Hope. But Hope was also now focused on the interplay between the fish and the fisher.
“Probably smallmouth,” Claire said. “It’s a fighter.”
And so was Claire. The woman might be half a head shorter than Hope and twice as old, but there was power in her arms and shoulders. The minutes ticked past, and Hope moved nearer to Claire, as though pulled by another reel.
“Do you need help?” Hope said. How absurd was that? She didn’t fish, didn’t eat fish. “Not that I know what to do.”
“You can just watch … or not watch,” Claire said. “It’s catch-and-release. I’ll have the fellow free again very soon.” She spun in the line until the fish was at the water’s edge. With a quick grasp, she removed the hook and let the bass slide back into the lake. “Done.”
It was now full morning. The mist on the water had dispersed, and the sun turned the lake surface into glinting diamonds. Claire stored her fishing gear, collapsed her chair and swung it over her shoulder. She turned her fierce gaze back to Hope.
“How about you, dear?” she said. “You’re done here, too? No use lingering when the rest of the day beckons.”
Just as Claire had freed the bass, Hope no longer felt the lure of the lake water. She stood straighter and stepped away from the shore. I can do this. Her mother still needed her, even if the remaining time was short.
Dianna’s Books
Ghastly Ghouls and Haunted Houses
September 28, 2026 by Alina K. Field in category Quarter Days by Alina K. Field, Writing tagged as ghost stories, Halloween, historical romance, Holiday story collections
I’m Back with another Quarter Days Post
It’s only the end of September, but pumpkins are everywhere in stores. Just in time for carving Jack o’ Lanterns, or for folks who don’t celebrate the scary season, in time for that harvest table display.
I’ll be celebrating Halloween with a ghostly new release: The Duke, the Diamond, and the Ghastly Ghoul.
This year, the group of writers I regularly publish collections with decided to forgo Christmas and stretch our muses’ wings with ghost stories. And voila, Moonlight Madness, a Bluestocking Belles Collection is now available to preorder for the October 15th release.
Not one ghost, but two!
In The Duke, the Diamond, and the Ghastly Ghoul, a young duke visits one of his properties, a haunted abbey that his disreputable predecessors steered clear of. He’s determined to prove that ghosts aren’t real and the story of a missing diamond is a hum—until a strange lady appears on his doorstep, and the spirits of Wotton Abbey, a young noblewoman and a monk from the Abbey’s past, awaken seeking to right past wrongs.
I like working with story prompts (like a duke, a diamond and a ghastly ghoul) and these three came to me via a friend’s Facebook game at a release party. You know the type of game: choose an item from a column based on some biographical fact like the first letter of your name, your month of birth, etc. Fun and silly, but when these items came up, I said to myself, I’m going to write that story!
Being that I’m more geared to Hallmark movies than the Halloween movie franchise, my story and the others don’t fall into the horror category. They won’t give you nightmares!
The Stories
Here’s a bit about the entire collection:
Jude Knight – Moonlight Becomes You in which a lady sees, but cannot hear, a ghost who attempts to warn her about a man who will die if she doesn’t find him soon.
Alina K. Field – The Duke, the Diamond, and the Ghastly Ghoul in which a house party at a haunted abbey brings together a duke, a ghost-hunting lady, and two ghosts determined to right old wrongs.
Aileen Fish – Mad about the Marquess in which a lady known for communing with the dead is forced to bring unwanted messages to the marquess next door from his dead father.
Rue Allyn – True Love’s Kiss in which a hunter seeking his kidnapped son in the forest stumbles upon a fairy with a similar mission. Together they may succeed if they stop squabbling.
Caroline Warfield – Not Again, Harry in which a lady takes shelter in a creepy old house only to find haunting, prowlers, strange artifacts, and a man from her past. A wish-granting mouse complicates it all.
Sherry Ewing – Finding My Way To You in which a ghost meets a determined lady who leaps at a chance to alter his past in spite of his efforts to convince her to leave the past where it belongs.
Barbara Monajem – The Haunted Hoyden in which two friendly ghosts help a lady to rescue a handsome, wounded man—who proves to be just what she needs to escape a dastardly plot.
Elizabeth Donne – Always With You in which a man pressed-ganged into service in the Royal Navy promises his wife he will come back to her. Whether it’s in this life or the next remains to be seen.
Here’s the universal preorder link for Moonlight Madness: https://books2read.com/u/4Dwnjr
Authors, do you find writing prompts helpful for generating story ideas? Let us know in the comments!
Happy autumn, everyone. I’ll be back in December for another Quarter Days post.
(Image of ghostly lady is from Depositphotos.com)
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THE STOLEN CHILDREN OF WAR
It is 1943 in Nazi-occupied Paris, and nobody is safe. Nobody, except perhaps one small group of people, who’ve always existed outside the law…
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