This New Year’s Eve there is a blue moon. We’ve haven’t seen one on this day for twenty years. The moon isn’t really blue. Blue Moon simply refers to the second full moon in the month.
I'm Jennifer Childers and I live in North Carolina with my husband and son. I have been in nursing for 25 years. I have worked in child abuse prevention programs and as a guardian ad litem.
George Bush Sr. gave me an award for my volunteer work.
I try to keep a balance in life: work, play, quiet time. I like history, and the twilight zone moments that creep into life when you don't expect it. In today's paper the headlines read: "Jennifer Childers gives birth in ambulance". It wasn't me! What are the odds of two women having the same name in this small town?
I was going to use Candace Black as my pen name as I wanted to write for children as well, and thought Childers a better kid book author as it had "child" in the name. I couldn't put another name on my first book so I stuck with Jennifer, maybe Candace will make her debut elsewhere, it might be fun to keep her as my sexier, sassier alter ego.
Stop by facebook and say hi. There are a few Jennifer Childers' there. I am pictured with my son. We are wearing twin red t-shirts.
Your story, Kindertransport takes place around the time of World War II. Can you tell the readers about the real Kindertransport and what it entailed?
After Kristallnacht, Britain agreed to take 10,000 German children for a silver bond to pay for resettlement. Children between the ages of 5-17 went to England, most being high-risk children who were already living in ghettos. Many joined the military when the war started; most never saw their parents again.
How much research went into creating your story and how much of the book is realistic?
I read "an idiot's guide to Nazi Germany and other books to get a feel for what it was like for the average person living under the Reich. As Americans we don't think about so many restrictions on speech, the press. Its hard to imagine a group of people coming in and literally affecting every aspect of your life.
Buy Kindertransport at The Wild Rose Press
What books have influenced your life most?
Stephen Kings, The Stand, gave me a lot to think about.
A short story called The Scarlet Ibis has an excellent point about: Die living refuse to live dying.
The best self help book I ever read is Robin Norwood's, Women Who Love too Much.
What are your current projects and works in progress?
"The Forgotten Bathory", "Hope" a sequel to "The Program."
Tell the readers where they can find you:
Jenchilders.com or candaceblack.com
I am also on facebook and myspace and authors den
Is there anything else you’d like to tell the readers?
Loving yourself is the greatest gift you give the world. You can't give to anyone else before you do.
I just wanted to let you know "Kindertransport" is available at The Wild Rose Press. http://www.thewildrosepress.com/kindertransport-p-3543.html
I filled a syringe with morphine.
Could innocent blood ever be washed away?
Would my hands ever be clean again if I continued on this course? The gas would make them choke, gasping for breath as life was strangled to nothingness. Morphine would make them euphoric, and an overdose would put them to sleep, peacefully, with no pain. A sleep from which they would not awake, but they would be safe from the evil that awaited them otherwise.
I filled the second syringe. I thought of each child as I punctured the rubber stopper, the needle sucking up the lethal fluid filling the tube. Little Wilhelm. My treasured leader of the pack. The braces on his legs never stopped his imagination from soaring. Lara. An artistís soul expressed with the one good hand she had. Art reflective of the beauty living in her heart. The twins. Isnít intelligence measured with creativity? I would sorely miss their energy.
My hand slipped and the needle grazed the knuckle of my thumb. I swore and bit my lip. Perfect. I’ll kill myself before I get a chance to euthanize my children. Then, after I enter Heavenís gate, if He lets me inside them, God can tell me I am an idiot and a murderer.
I rubbed my shoulders. They hunched with an invisible weight that made my back ache.
Review: In the months before full scale war breaks out in Germany Erika Lehmeier is trying to find a way to help the six children she cares for escape death. Hitler has decreed that people who have no worth to society, the ones he calls feeders, have to die to preserve the sanctity of the Aryan race. Erika knows the strengths and goodness of the children and can't bear to see them harmed. The only one she can turn to is Rickard Sankt an SS officer. Will he help her or lead them all to certain death?
Jennifer Childers tells a fascinating story of atrocities committed by people who believed in a leader who brought them to prosperity. By the time they realize what is going on they couldn't refuse to follow his demands if they wanted to live. There are always those, like Gregor, who thrive with a license for cruelty. The writer reminds us in many ways that he and others of his ilk aren't representatives of all German society. Most readers know the history of the death camps where Jews and other unwanted adults were annihilated. This is a heart wrenching tale. I don't think the plans to destroy a whole generation of adults and children with any kind of mental, emotional or physical defect is as widely known.
Excellent characters and dialogue throughout show the wide variation in the German citizens' reactions to what is going on around them in the world. Erika, Rickard, Father Julian, Olga and many others show the diversity and the love everyday Germans have for their country. Ms. Childers has done an exceptional job crafting this mixture of fact and fiction into a book that will captivate the reader from first page to last.
Overall rating: Sensuality rating: Very sensual
Reviewer: Dee Dailey
Travis couldn’t believe how Brynna looked—energetic, so alive. She wore her favorite jeans that hugged her in all the right places, and he liked the way the green long-sleeved shirt brought out the color of her eyes. He scrubbed a hand across his face as a dangerous curiosity danced inside him. Why was she here? That hadn't been part of the plan.
She wore her golden-red hair loose and tumbling carelessly down her back, enticing his fingers to slide through the stands. Blood pounded in his temples as he absorbed the idea of working with her again. He had loved her so much. Who was he fooling? He still loved her. It had been so difficult to let her go, and now she was here, speaking civilly to him—a complete contrast to the last time they'd spoke.
He accepted the blame for their marriage ending. He’d screwed up big time. The moment he had opened the hotel room door in London, he should have closed it again. Instead, he allowed his loneliness to rule, and invited Tanya in for a nightcap. They polished off two bottles of wine and in the morning he woke up in bed next to her.
He would be the first to admit his guilt, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember sleeping with her. Making it even worse, he didn’t even like Tanya or her crass ways of doing business. So, he not only hurt the woman he adored, but had insulted another, all in one night.
Tanya couldn’t wait to tell Brynna about the one-night stand. Her way of getting back at him for rejecting her, he supposed. Brynna packed up her belongings and moved out, though mentally she'd moved out months before that.
“Earth to Travis.” Brynna snapped her fingers. “Quit the daydreaming. We have work to do.”
Travis blinked, coming back to reality and looked at the woman he would always love. God, she was as beautiful as he remembered. Both delicacy and strength were in her face, and her skin held a smooth color of peach-tinted cream. His eyes lingered on her lips. He wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms, but he hadn’t the right. Not any longer.
“Are you going to help me or not?” She clearly wondered why he was staring at her.
He nodded and set down his camera cases. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”
Her brow arched “I know I haven’t been reliable lately, but we co-own ‘Smith and Jones’ or have you forgotten?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. I’m just surprised to see you is all. You haven’t joined the team on an assignment in a long time.”
“I wanted to be here for this one. I . . .” Her gaze met his. “I need this.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Is there going to be a problem?”
“Of course not.” He never wanted anything is his life as much as he wanted to work with her one more time.
“Good, because it’s going to be a long night. Who else is showing up?”
His cell vibrated, making him jump. The theme music from the Ghostbusters’ movie broke the silence. He didn’t move.
“Are you going to answer that?”
That snapped him out of his trance.“Yeah, of course.” He walked away as he flipped his phone open. He spoke to the caller briefly then turned to Brynna. “That was Kenneth. The others already said they couldn’t make it, and now Kenneth bailed. He forgot about his nephew’s Christmas concert.” He tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “It’s just you and me, kid. Like old times.” He held his breath waiting for her to respond.
“I’m okay with that. Working together is the one thing we do well.”
"Sorry, I didn’t mean it as a dig.” Her chin jutted out with resolve, disproving her statement.
“I guess I deserve it.” He gave her a loose-muscled shrug to show her remark hadn’t hurt, yet her words stung like needles and his voice betrayed him.
Her features softened and she closed the distance between them. Her light caress on his forearm made him flinch and her hand fell away. “I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t either.” He reached for her, but had second thoughts and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to shut you out.”
He swallowed the lump of emotion lodged in his throat.
“Come on.” Her eyes sparkled with the possibility of adventure. “The ghosts are waiting to be found. ”
Tell us a little about the author. (Bio, tidbits, likes, dislikes. If you use a pen name, why did you choose to do so?)I live in Oklahoma City with my husband of over 30 years. I have two grown children, Jessica, who is a wonderful artist, and Casey, my son, who is either always at work or in school. I have a feelance editing business and also teach fiction writing classes in the Oklahoma City metro area to all age groups. I've worked extensively with one of the local school districts in their Indian Education Department as a tutor and fiction writing workshop presenter. I love to talk writing with other writers and readers. I'm a classically trained pianist and used to teach that, too. Now, I seldom get to practice like I should.
You write romantic tales from the heart. Fire Eyes was a soulful tale about love, loyalty and friendships that last a lifetime. It’s now an Epic Finalist! How does that make you feel?WOW. You know, sometimes when I read it I have trouble believing I wrote it. LOL I sometimes get so engrossed in my characters, and what they are saying and doing that I will go back and read over what I've written and actually won't remember parts of it. But I really do love this story, and for it to be a finalist in the EPIC Competition is just unbelievable for me.
If you'd like to own a copy of Fire Eyes, here's the author's link at: Amazon
I have to say you did it again with your story, Time Plains Drifter. Thank you, Karen. I appreciate that!
Tell the readers about this unique time travel with ruggedly handsome angels and demons with deadly tricks to twist fate.
Substitute teacher Jenni Dalton is flung backward in time 115 years with seven of her students when a comet passes close enough to Earth to rearrange the bands of time. They find themselves in 1895, Indian Territory with no way back to 2010.
U.S. Territorial Marshal Rafe d'Angelico was murdered, along with his brother, sixteen years earlier, in 1879. Now, he finds himself a reluctant angel, brought through time to help Jenni Dalton and her students escape the Dark One who is after one of them. But which one? And for what evil purpose?
Rafe only knows he doesn't want to be an angel, now that he's found the woman he wants to spend his life with. Keeping one step ahead of Satan's man who's teamed up with Rafe's murderer proves to be the hardest thing he's ever faced--until he's forced to choose between saving the woman he loves and spending eternity in a Hell of his own making.
Will love be strong enough to save the Time Plains Drifter?
*This is a PNR Paranormal Romance Reviewers Top Pick for Nov. 2009 and will be posted on PNR Inklings in December.
What inspired you to write this story? This story came out of a desire to write something that my agent (at the time) would be able to sell. My first western was way too long, and the second one I wrote was shorter, but still not short enough. This book, Time Plains Drifter, was an idea that came to me from the desire to write something really different that would be intriguing and different. At the time I started it, I didn't realize how hard it was going to be for a "pantser" like me to make it all come about as it should with the time travel AND paranormal elements.
You have a wonderful book cover, too.THANK YOU! Who’s the cover artist? This cover is really special to me, because my daughter, Jessica Pierson, was my cover artist. This is the first cover she's ever done for me, and I'm so glad we got to work together on a project. We've talked about it since she was a little girl, and it's one of those "dreams come true."
Night for Miracles is a Cactus Rose release for The Wild Rose Press--perfect tale for the holidays. Tell us about Nick and Angela.
Eve, just at dusk, she takes in a wounded gunman and thre
e children that are traveling in the raw cold. Nick Dalton, the outlaw, is wounded as much emotionally as he is physically. Angela discovers that things are not always what they seem, and that Christmas Eve will always be A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES.
Your heroes usually need mending by the heroine. What’s the story behind hurting these strong adorable guys? lol
LOL, Karen. I'm not really sure what that says about me. LOL I think for me, it's a gambit of putting the hero in a position where he MUST depend on the heroine. Lord knows, he wouldn't in any other circumstance. My guys are usually so hurt and closed up emotionally that being dependent on the heroine is the catalyst that makes them realize they can find love again--or for the first time.
What are your current projects and works in progress? Right now, I have three things in the works. One is a contemporary romantic suspense involving a drug cartel and two DEA undercover agents, both of whom unknowingly have a connection to the heroine-- and boy, in danger.
The second thing I am working on is another western historical romance, Gabriel's Law. Brandon Gabriel is a half-Comanche gunfighter who is reunited with his childhood sweetheart, Allie Taylor, from the orphanage where they both spent several years. They're adults now, in an adult world--she's a white woman, and he's half Indian, but they are still in love. Can they find happiness together in the rough western area of Indian Territory? No matter what, Allie is determined to push forward with her dream of providing a working cattle ranch for orphaned boys to live on--whether Brandon stays or goes.
And last but not least, a little short story that would not leave me be until I sat down to write it, "Scarlet Ribbons." There's an old song by the same name that the story is loosely based upon, but it involves a cowboy's bid for redemption when he finds out he's the father of a little girl who's blind, and that her mother has waited for his return steadfastly--though he had no idea. It's a Christmas story with a paranormal element in it. I'm nearly done with it!
Tell the readers where they can find you: My main website is here:
Most of my information about my books and short stories is here.
I have another older website that is sadly in need of a good overhaul at:
http://www.westwindsmedia.com that deals more with my editing and teaching business.
I have three blogs that I semi-maintain:
This one is mainly about my books, writing, reviews, excerpts and news.
This one is mainly about the information and history of the old west, though it does have some news and excerpts on it, as well.
If you want to e-mail me, and I LOVE to hear from people, my e-mail is:
Is there anything else you’d like to tell the readers?
If you’d like to add an excerpt, blurb or video link... Oh, how I wish I was computer savvy enough to do a video! LOL I'll leave you with a couple of excerpts instead.
This is from my upcoming release, A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES. It's a holiday short story that will be available this Wednesday, December 2nd. To buy link at: The Wild Rose Press.
FROM "A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES": Here it is:
He spoke first. “What…what’s your name?” His voice was raspy with pain, but held an underlying tone of gentleness. As if he were apologizing for putting her to this trouble, she thought. The sound of it comforted her. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t want to think about it. He’d be leaving soon.
“Angela.” She lifted his head and gently pressed the metal cup to his lips. “Angela Bentley.”
He took two deep swallows of the water. “Angel,” he said, as she drew the cup away and set it on the nightstand. “It fits.”
She looked down, unsure of the compliment and suddenly nervous. She walked to the low oak chest to retrieve the bandaging and dishpan. “And you are…”
“Nick Dalton, ma’am.” His eyes slid shut as she whirled to face him. A cynical smile touched his lips. “I see…you’ve heard of me.”
A killer. A gunfighter. A ruthless mercenary. What was he doing with these children? She’d heard of him, all right, bits and pieces, whispers at the back fence. Gossip, mainly. And the stories consisted of such variation there was no telling what was true and what wasn’t.
She’d heard. She just hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. Hadn’t expected to see kindness in his eyes. Hadn’t expected to have him show up on her doorstep carrying a piece of lead in him, and with three children in tow. She forced herself to respond through stiff lips. “Heard of you? Who hasn’t?”
He met her challenging stare. “I mean you no harm.”
She remained silent, and he closed his eyes once more. His hands rested on the edge of the sheet, and Angela noticed the traces of blood on his left thumb and index finger. He’d tried to stem the blood flow from his right side as he rode. “I’m only human, it seems, after all,” he muttered huskily. “Not a legend tonight. Just a man.”
He was too badly injured to be a threat, and somehow, looking into his face, she found herself trusting him despite his fearsome reputation. She kept her expression blank and approached the bed with the dishpan and the bandaging tucked beneath her arm. She fought off the wave of compassion that threatened to engulf her. It was too dangerous. When she spoke, her tone was curt. “A soldier of fortune, from what I hear.”
He gave a faint smile. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Miss Bentley.” From the hint of chiding tolerance in his voice, she knew she wasn’t the first to censure him to his face. Nor would she be the last. Somehow, the thought unsettled her.
Here's one last excerpt from my upcoming release, TIME PLAINS DRIFTER, which will be released this Tuesday, December 1st. To buy link is: Class Act Books.
Here's the short blurb: Ebook at Lulu
Trapped in Indian Territory of 1895 by a quirk of nature, Jenni Dalton must find a way back to 2010. Marshal Rafe d’Angelico seems like the answer to her prayers; he is, after all, an angel. Rafe’s only chance to save Jenni from The Dark One will be the death of him—again. Can their love survive?
In this excerpt, Rafe has prepared himself to be honest with Jenni and tell her who and what he is, fully expecting her to reject him. But she surprises him with her understanding and acceptance, and he realizes he's fallen a lot harder than he ever intended.
FROM TIME PLAINS DRIFTER:
He closed his eyes, letting the pleasurable feel of her wet mouth on his body wash over him, along with her voice. “Some things never change,”she’d said earlier. Her Oklahoma accent was a slow waltz to his mind, its lilting cadence urging him to accept what they had between them. Still, he couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t ever be dishonest with her, of all people.
“Don’t you want to know—”
She stopped him, placing two cool fingers across his lips, smiling at the tickle of his moustache against her skin. The smile faded as she absorbed the worry in his expression, the smoldering fire in his eyes, and made it her own.
“Not now, I don’t. You asked me—earlier—if I felt it. Whatever it is between us. I do.” Debating with herself, she hesitated a moment before coming to a decision. “I want you, Rafe,” she murmured. “I trust you.” She nuzzled his neck.“It doesn’t matter now, who—or what—you are.”
His hand closed in a fist around the shimmering satin of her copper hair, his chest filling with a sweet peace at her quiet words.
His mind churned as Jenni kissed him once again. Accepting him, for whoever he might be. She loved him. She hadn’t said it yet, but he knew it by the gentle way her lips grazed across his, then claimed his mouth completely, as if that was the only way she had to let him know how she felt. They breathed together, as one.
He answered her wordlessly, his tongue going into her mouth, fingers splaying and tightening against her scalp as he pulled her to him.
She came across his bare chest, the stiffness of the material of her own blouse gliding with gentle abrasion across his nipples. He groaned in pleasure and felt her smile against his mouth. She made the move again as she lifted her lips from his, emerald eyes sparkling into his searing gaze.
“We’ll talk later,” she assured him.
“It’ll be too late to change your mind about me then,” he said, half-jokingly.
“I won’t change my mind, Rafe.”
The sweet sincerity in her voice and the promise in her eyes reassured him. He pulled her down silently. As their mouths melded once more, he rolled, taking her with him, changing their positions so he lay atop her.
She gasped, yielding to him, her cool palms sliding over the fevered heat of his skin, across his chest and shoulders. He began to unbutton her blouse as he kissed her, his fingers moving deftly. He pushed away the first layer of material with his customary impatience, then started on the stays of her corset.
She twisted beneath him at the loosening of the undergarment. He pulled her upright momentarily, whisking blouse and corset over her head, dropping them in a heap on the floor.
In silent invitation, Jenni lifted her hand to him. She touched his side, and he flinched slightly as her fingers lingered over the very place the Bowie had gone into him earlier that day. Even though a red scar marked the spot, there was no pain for him, and he saw no puzzlement in her eyes...only concern.
“Does it hurt?”
It was as he had suspected. She’d seen what had happened, how bad it should have been...but wasn’t. And she had accepted it, unconditionally. They would talk later, as she’d said, but somehow, he felt he would find the words he needed to explain things to her. He shook his head slightly. “No.”
A vulnerable uncertainty crossed her face for a moment. “Well, then, Marshal—what’re you waiting for?” He unfastened her skirt and petticoat, then made short work of the stockings and underpants.
God. Rafe swallowed hard, reaching to trace the faded tan lines across her shoulders. He moistened his lips, his teeth sinking into the lower one momentarily. His pulse raced as his gaze moved over her face—then lower, to her breasts, her flat belly, and the triangle of soft hair, below.