An Editorial Comment

I have posted this same essay or article several places already but want to share it here also and keep it available since it is published in my own domain. It airs my heartfelt sentiments and I feel needs to be seen everywhere small prss publishers and authors may frequent. GMW aka Deirdre O'Dare and Gwynn  Morgan

RIP Amber Quill

By now almost everyone in the small and independent publishing world has heard the news that Amber Quill is closing its doors. While it comes as a shock to everyone, not the least to the authors who have published there, it is primarily a sign of the times.

How many mom and pop stores have closed when a Big Box superstore came to town? WalMart has killed hundreds of small local stores all over America. Good or bad, it is a fact of this era. Amazon is the nine hundred pound gorilla in every area of publishing outside of the New York hub and probably gaining ground there as well. Big dogs do not like competition and they do not subscribe to the traditional ethics of us small folk in determining how they get rid of any ‘lesser’ beings who dare to intrude on their profits.  It is not my intent to rant on the political aspects of the modern economy but I do want to point out that a firm finding itself unable to continue in this climate deserves no shame or scorn.

I am sure there will be rumors and snarkisms flying at this point. I’m here to warn you, watch out what you say. I have been with Amber Quill for twelve years and have a total of sixty two story and novella length works with them, five novels and eleven collections or anthologies in print. I did not stay there and submit to them the bulk of my work for this span of time because I had no other choices. I stayed there because I felt it was my best choice among the many e-publishers, a lot of whom have come and gone during the time I have been a published writer, since 2001. Many left a bad taste in the mouths of all who had associated with them. I am sure I do not need to name names! We all know who they were and who some still are.

At any rate, back in 2002 several authors who had been stung in just such situations banded together to form a company, vowing to do it right. In my opinion they did an admirable job. Amber Quill has billed itself “The gold standard in publishing” and I do not feel that was an exaggeration. In twelve years I have never had a late royalty check or a suspicious accounting statement of the period’s sales. I have not had to front any cost of creating my books and found the editing, formatting, cover art and all other services to be truly outstanding. From this and personal contact with them, I know how the owners have worked, the heart and soul they all put into it. I also feel their personal anguish at this time when they realized it was no longer economically feasible to continue with the enterprise they had birthed and nourished. As much as I grieve for myself and my fellow AQ authors in this loss, I hurt more for them. Yet I hope they can take pride and consolation in knowing they have done a truly outstanding job for the duration.

That being said, I do not want to hear any innuendos, no snarky, sly remarks and no scathing put downs period. Anything said in that vein would be completely false and ill-deserved as far as I am concerned. The owners and staff of Amber Quill has fought a good fight and created a memorable enterprise, one which will continue to be a gold standard which others will have to strive hard to emulate. Even in the difficult business of closing, they are acting with the highest ethics and sensitivity for all involved. I call that a true class act. RIP Amber Quill; you will be remembered by many with deep love and respect. To all those who must now walk away, go in well deserved peace and harmony. Hold your heads high and be proud; you have done more than many ever will.

All Good Things Must Eventually End

I have to share some saddening news which is going to have a major impact on my writing and publishing for some time. I regret to report that Amber Quill is closing their doors. Production of new releases has stopped as of January 1, 2016 and the web site will come down as of March 31. If you want to get any of my backlist titles or those of other AQP writers, you will need to act quickly before they are removed from the firm's site and all other sales venues.

There is a small irony in fact the day of the final closure will be exactly twelve years from the day I got the first email, equivalent of the author's infamous "the call", to let me know I was going to be an AQ author with my contest winning story, Karola's Hunt. Since then Deirdre O'Dare has had sixty three stories and novellas, and eleven printed anthologies or collections published and as Gwynn Morgan, four re-released novels.  It's been a wonderful experience in every way.

The pressure applied to all the small and independent publishers by the giant Amazon who can afford to do loss-leader prices and 'free' releases and many other tricks that a small firm cannot afford or compete with  brought this to pass. I am deeply saddened and shocked. Thus, the two stories I have talked about recently will not be released, at least for some time.

I am going to try to find another firm that will bring them out sometime this year and also homes for some of my backlist titles as well. I know, though, that it is getting harder to find small press firms these days and competition for slots is very keen. Over a hundred authors with multiple titles are being orphaned by Amber Quill's closure so that is a tidal wave of material seeking new venues.

I will do my best to keep you all posted as things unfold and hope my readers will stand by for a short while until I can find a new home for Deirdre O'Dare's work. Im ay offer a short freebie here now and then if I can manage to do so.

Go in peace and harmony, all!

Looking Ahead to 2016

I hope most of you have had a chance to check out Thank You, Ranch Romances by now. Its been out for a couple of weeks and is still on the first page of the main Amber Quill page.

As of December first, I have turned in two of three stories that will be coming out in the new year, one perhaps as early as January. In A Mule for a Princess, you will get to see how Orr and Jase from The Mule Man are faring as they make a cameo appearance in the new story. However, the new hero of this one is young Bobby Estrada who finds a new career working with mules and an hiw own amazing prince charming in dashing Irishman Doyle O'Brien whose niece is the "princess" who finds just the right little mule for her own.  In A New Leash on Life, two men who almost became lovers in school meet again and the old obsession is still there but they have some rocky times before they can actually rekindle that relationship and take it farther. Justin and Barry both have to overcome old habits, fears and doubts to actually get a new leash on life--together.

A third tale is still a work in progress at this point. We're doing a five story collection of tales inspired by the titles of Rolling Stones songs. Mine is Jumpin' Jack Flash  and the characters that have emerged for it are leading me on a wild adventure here so expect a somewhat off beat story, even by Deirdre O'Dare's standards! It opens at a carnival in a small town in Arkansas some years ago and from there---well, no spoilers here but trust me, it will be a wild, fun romp of a story. Way too soon for covers or release dates but you will be the first to know when they come.

Thank You, Ranch Romances is in the wings

My special story and the other four in the "Getting Connected" PAX group will be on the market NLT Sunday. I know the other four are great tales, too, but I am really excited about my own. I love "nostalgia" tales whether they are about the sixties (Midnight Cowboys) or even farther back, like this one. I'm a history buff, but this sub-genre falls just short of real history. There are lots of people around still who recall these times and to me, that's where "contemporary" ends and history begins. If it's before the memory of any living person or at best a very few who have lived far past the normal or average span, then it is history!

Ranch Romances is near the trailing end of that time frame. I'm not quite as old as dirt yet and so I know quite a few people do recall the 1940s, especially the tail end of them. It is kind of shocking though to realize just how many changes have come in this sixty some years!

Here again is the cover I am really enamored with. And below one more little excerpt about Darnell's arrival in New Mexico. To read more, you have to buy it ;-).

Excerpt:

Wade didn’t want to get the kids’ hopes up too high or too soon. He had not told them about his effort and didn’t even announce that someone was coming. For now, everything went on as it had for the last twenty-some, long weeks. However, once the telegram came to tell him that D. Davis was indeed on the way and would arrive in less than twenty-four hours, he could hardly keep from saying something. Buck had gotten the yellow envelope, such an unusual occurrence that he was fidgeting like a little kid when Wade came in from checking fences so he could move most of the herd to the upper summer pasture.

Winnie met him at the kitchen door, stuttering with her excitement. “D-d-daddy, you got a special letter. Uncle Buck says it’s gotta be important ’cause a telly-gram is always real serious. What does it say?”

Wade ripped the envelope and pulled out the short message. “We’re going to have a visitor,” he said. “She may stay here and take care of the house for us if we like her and she likes us. But don’t get too fired up about it, okay? Don’t want to scare her off right away.”

He looked down at Winnie’s wide eyes, saw the hesitant smile tugging at her little mouth. “Oh! Like a new mama?”

Wade shook his head. “No, not like that, just a lady to cook and stuff. Maybe. Don’t be counting those chickens before the eggs are laid.”

The next morning, he fired up the old truck to drive down to the depot in Frontera. He thought about taking the team and the wagon. He’d done that a lot during the war when gas was rationed, but he figured an eastern woman, even if she said she could handle primitive and remote, might be put off by such transportation. Not that the truck was anything to brag about. Still, it did have a cab and a padded seat and roll-up windows. Not quite like the fancy new cars coming out of the factories now, but it was the best he had.

He got there about ten minutes before the eastbound arrived. The Sunset Limited was not the absolute top, but it was a classy train, one of Southern Pacific’s fine fleet that ran across the southwest to California. The big engine rolled in with a billowing cloud of steam and smoke and a piercing whistle. It came to a halt about half the train’s length past the platform. Not too many folks got off.

Wade waited, beginning to wonder what Miz Davis might look like. Would she be young, middle-aged, or grandmotherly? Tall or short, thin or hefty? No solitary woman appeared, though. There were three couples, one pair with two kids, and a couple of men that seemed to be alone. He waited.

Then one of the men started toward him. “Would you be Mr. Walters?”

Wade snapped around when he heard his name. “Yep, that’s me. How did you know my name? Where’s Miz Davis?”

Though the young man’s clothes were worn and the suitcase he carried had seen better days, he was neat and clean. He had a kind face and gentle blue eyes that contrasted with his very dark hair, hair that shone like a grackle’s wing in the strong morning sun.

“Miz? No, I’m Darnell Davis. I’m the one you sent a ticket to, the one who hopes to be the person you need for your family. I didn’t intend to mislead you. It just never occurred to me that you might think I was a lady.”

A mixture of anger and disappointment filled Wade for a moment, but on its heels came an odd sense of inevitability, the same hand of fate feeling that had overtaken him when he first saw that section in the magazine. Still, he had to voice some of his doubts and suspicions.

“Can you really cook, keep house, take care of children? That’s hardly a normal man’s work.”

Although Wade could read the fear the young man felt, young Davis squarely met his gaze. “Yes, sir. I can do that and do it well. As I told you initially, I did the housewife’s role while growing up since my mother was working, and there were four younger children in the family when my father disappeared. I’ve had about ten years of experience keeping house, and then I went through cook’s training in the army as well.”

“Then why couldn’t you get a job back east?”

Cover is Here!

Woo-hoo. I got the cover today and it is just perfect. I think you will like it too. It really has the feel and nostalgia look that I was hoping for and is just perfect for this 1949 set story. Here is the first public look anywhere!! Watch this space for more on this story which will be available at the usual new release 35% discount on November 22 and for a week following that date!

November's Release--Soon!!!

I still do not have a cover for Thank You, Ranch Romances but it should be along any day. Again this month we have two PAX collections coming out. The first I believe was released this past Sunday. It is a set of "beach comber" stories. Since that is so not my milieu, I did not get in on that one!

However the "Hooking Up" or "Getting Connected" group just triggered an instant idea, as I think I already explained. That collection will be released on Sunday, November 22. Since the first one is now 'on the street,' I am sure the staff at Amber Quill will be busy with the next one and that means I should have a cover very soon and I promise to share it the minute it hits my in-box. I'll also share an excerpt or two and links where you can read the story behind the story essay like I almost always do for each new release. I guess I say that about all my tales, or nearly so, but this one truly was special to me and I really want to share it with all my fans and regular readers so please keep your eyes on this space!

In the prior post, I introduced Wade. Now you get to meet Darnell:

Darnell sat, head in his hands. Although suicide was a sin, probably even worse than the other issue that had sent his life into a long downward spiral, he’d begun to think it might be the best option he had left. What could a twenty-seven-year-old man without a job do? He had little chances of getting one due to the Bad Conduct Discharge from the US Army. That felt like a scarlet letter branding him. Faggot, pussy, pervert. The hateful words gnawed at his soul. The younger siblings he’d worked to help Mama raise after Papa went missing were all scattered and doing okay as far as he knew. He would not go crawling to any of them for help. Mama had passed away while he was doing that terrible stint in Uncle Sam’s service. Where else could he go?

He’d just spent his next-to-last dime on a cup of coffee, and it was nearly empty. He’d gone into the diner to ask about a job—the placard in the fly-specked window read “dishwasher wanted” —but they said they’d just filled it. Hell, he couldn’t even wash dishes! And he’d done that and more during those hard years of his teens while Mama was working two and three jobs at the end of the Depression and the start of the war to keep a roof over their heads and a little food for them. He’d worked some, too, but a lot of the time took care of Dylan, Dinah, David, and baby Doreen.

As he stood, stiff as an old man, to start for the door, a magazine caught his eye. He would have sworn it was not there when he sat down at the table with his coffee but it sure was now. As he went to pick it up, just out of curiosity, it fell open to a page near the back. “Partners and Pen Pals” read the bold letters at the top. He skimmed down the page until one letter seemed to leap out at him.

“Widowed rancher needs a helpmate. Two small children have lost their mother. Struggling rancher cannot care for them, keep house, and also run his ranch. Applicant must be able to cook simple, healthy meals, keep house, and care for a five-year-old girl and an eight-year-old boy. Must be willing to live forty miles from a real town on a remote ranch. Some modern conveniences including new REA electricity and indoor plumbing. A fair wage or possibly marriage for the selected person.”

Hardly daring to hope, Darnell picked up the magazine. In his rented room, his for a few more days, he had paper, a pen, and maybe even a stamp or two. By the next morning, his response was in the mail. He found enough odd jobs to pay rent for another week while he waited for an answer.

Thank You, Ranch Romances--coming next month!!

The edits on this one are done and it's now firmly in the queue to be released with the Getting Connected PAX. (working title, so could change). So far I do not have a cover but  I have a hunch it will be spectacular because I gave Trace (Trace Edward Zaber, part owner of Amber Quill and a fabulous graphic artist) more ideas than I often do and bet he will run with them. As soon as it hits my email, I promise to share. For a sneak peek at the story, here is just a snippet from the opening. Enjoy!

Frontera, NM Spring 1949

To Wade, it seemed as real as yesterday since he still dreamed about it almost every night. He stood by the open grave and stared down at the coffin holding the earthly remains of his wife, victim of the flu and just being run-down, pregnant with her third child when the doctor had suggested she should have no more. Winifred had been a good woman but perhaps too gentle, small, and fragile for the life of a rancher’s wife in dusty southern New Mexico. Now she was gone.

Eight-year-old Ben clung to his right leg and Li’l Winnie, only five, to his left, neither fully understanding but knowing their mother was gone. The old biddies at church said he should not have brought them to the services, but what else could he do? None of them had really offered to care for the kids. Upon hearing Winnie’s sniffles turning to audible sobs, he woke up.

Three months had passed since that grim day, and nothing had gotten any better. In fact, almost everything had gotten worse. Ben had to go to school in poorly washed clothes that never saw an iron. Thank the powers that for now Winnie, only five, stayed home. Frontera did not have a kindergarten. She’d been growing fast all her dresses were too small. 

Unfortunately, it also meant someone had to take care of her. Old Buck usually did, since the aging, stove-up cowboy really wasn’t a lot of use on ranch chores. Despite that, Wade would not let him go. Where would the old man end up? With the war over and all the soldiers coming home, jobs were scarce. So a grumbling Buck watched Winnie. Wade felt sure the old man would never hurt or even growl at her, but he could tell it was not a good fit for either of them.

Inevitably, at that point his thoughts turned to the magazine he’d found on the table at Nettie’s New Diner last time he was in town. Although he rarely ate anywhere except at home, he was so sick of his own limited offerings he could not resist a decent meal. And there it lay, like someone had put the damn thing in his path on purpose. The cover was kind of garish, a cowboy on a big palomino and a gorgeous blonde gal in ripped up clothes that left little to the imagination. Across the top, Ranch Romances appeared in big red letters. Lower, in a different typeface, he read “Captured by Brutal Outlaws.”

Why would he even pick up such trashy, dime-dreadful junk? Still, when he went to lay it back down, it flipped open to a page that somehow caught his eye and would not let go. There were letters from men looking for women and women seeking men, mail order brides, handymen, and more. It must have been the devil put the notion in his mind, but once it was there, the idea would not let go. He could write in and try to find a wife or at least a housekeeper to take care of the kids…

Wade labored over that letter for several nights before he was finally satisfied with what he had written. He was not an ignorant man. He’d been through high school back in Kansas and could write with proper grammar and in a decent hand. That wasn’t the problem. Wording the request was. Finally, he just cussed, folded the paper, and stuffed it in an envelope. He put an airmail stamp on it in hopes it would get to the magazine and bring results that much quicker. Five cents was a lot to spend, but this was important.