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Showing posts with label Margaret Tanner. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Margaret Tanner. Show all posts

Sunday, September 12, 2010

A Lady From Down Under


Can you guess where today's guest lives? If you said Australia you're right. Maragaret Tanner, thanks for coming today.

Hi, Elaine, thank you for allowing me to visit your blog.

Could you tell us a little bit about yourself?

I live in Australia and am married with three grown up sons and a gorgeous little grand daughter. I work as a typist in Radiology. I have ten books published with two publishers, Whiskey Creek Press and The Wild Rose Press.

I had boys too, Margaret. When my granddaughter came along, I was thrilled. What prompted you to write your first book?

I have always loved writing. I started out writing pathetic sad little poems, then short stories and finally I graduated to the love of my life, except for my husband and sons, writing novels.

Even sad poetry impresses me. I couldn't write a poem to save my life. How long does it take you to produce a book?

From when I first start writing in long hand, (as I always do), a throw back to when all we had was typewriters, then typing it into my computer, several lots of revisions, I guess about six months or so. I can write quickly, it is the research and revising that takes up the time.

What’s the easiest part of writing? The hardest?

The easiest part of writing for me is, just writing. The hardest part, revising.

Revision! It's tedious, isn't it? Tell us two things about you that would surprise us.
I am a chocoholic, and I have been known to swear when I get angry.

Don't tell anybody, but I'm a chocolate freak too! Would you share your links with us?

http://www.margarettanner.com/

We’d love to read an excerpt from your latest release. Don’t forget to share a buy link with us.

FRONTIER WIFE:
North East Victoria – 1879

Tommy Lindsay wiped her damp forehead with a lace handkerchief. Perspiration ran in rivulets between her breasts, pooling at the waistband of her gown and leaving a damp patch. She coughed a couple of times to clear the dust clogging up her throat.

“I don’t like it here.” Her little brother, Jamie, kicked one of the leather sea trunks and she was tempted to join him. “Why doesn’t someone come?”

A few boxes and trunks stacked on the hotel verandah held all her possessions and those of her two brothers. Just thinking about how the once proud Lindsay family had been reduced to such pernicious circumstances caused tears to build up at the back of her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t afford such a luxury, not with a young brother and a sick older brother to worry about. She had to be strong, resolute.

Warrior, a thoroughbred black stallion, stomped and snorted restlessly.
“Easy, boy.” David patted the stallion's glistening neck. “How much longer do we have to hang around, Tommy?”

“I don't know.” Her voice trembled even though she fought to control it. “Uncle Henry’s lawyer said someone would take us to the farm. Do you think he might have forgotten? Maybe he got the days mixed up?”

Sick dread washed over her. Oh, God, what if this desperate undertaking of theirs failed? It was sheer madness sailing thousands of miles across the sea to start a new life in an alien, hostile country, but what other choice did they have?

“Sorry for being so grouchy but my leg is aching, makes me irritable.” David grimaced as he rubbed his thigh.

His skin looked even more ashen than usual. Perspiration beaded his upper lip, not entirely caused by the fierce Australian sun searing them from a cobalt blue sky.
One glance at them and anyone who wasn’t blind would pick them out as newly arrived immigrants. Their skin was pale, not just because they were blue-eyed blondes, but they came from England’s gentle, temperate climate. David once felt the burning South African sun, but his tan had long since faded beneath the pallor of prolonged illness.

“I'm hungry.” Jamie’s bottom lip quivered.

“Someone will come soon,” Tommy reassured him.

“Why don't they hurry up?” He scuffed his boot across the verandah boards and tugged at the swathe of corn-colored hair flopping across his forehead.

A tall, slim young man sauntered up to them. “Are you the Lindsays?”

David took a step forward and shook the other man’s hand. “Yes, I'm David Lindsay. This is my sister, Thomasina, although she’ll only answer to Tommy.” He gave a strained grin. “And the young fellow is Jamie.”

“Pleased to meet you. I'm Jim Cavendish. Easy to see you're fresh out from the old country.” Smiling, he touched his hat as he glanced at Tommy. “I'll be taking you to your Uncle’s place.”

“Oh, Mr. Cavendish, you’re Uncle Henry’s friend. He often mentioned you in his letters.” Tommy greeted him with sincerity. He had been a good friend to a lonely old man.

“How you doing, boy?” Jim ruffled Jamie's hair.

“Will we see outlaws, mister?”

Jim laughed. “They’re called bushrangers out here. We might run into some. This is Ned Kelly country, you know? He glanced at David. “Fine stallion you’ve got there.”

“He's the best, aren't you, Warrior.” David stroked the stallion's neck, his voice soft, reassuring.

Tommy smiled as her brother's eyes lit up for a moment, before bleakness snuffed out the light.

They waited until Jim returned with a decrepit cart drawn by one horse. She tried to suppress a shudder. The Cobb and Co. coach bringing them to this frontier inn had not been too bad, but this cart looked ready to fall apart at any moment. She did not mind so much for herself, but worried about David, who had still not recovered from his injuries.

Jamie jumped up and down in excitement now. The long sea voyage out from England and the coach ride had not bothered him over much. With the resilience of the young, he soon forgot the traumatic events of the last few months.

On their father’s death, they discovered their manor house and all the land surrounding it belonged to someone else. They were left in such dire straits she sold family heirlooms to pay for their passages out to Australia.

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/frontier-wife-p-4099.html

What a great beginning, Margaret. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Please come back and see us again.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


Hello! It's Margaret Tanner day here at the blog. I know you're going to love her work. Enjoy her excerpt and be sure to come back on April 30. I'm participating in Blogmania and have some great prizes to share. Now, here's Margaret.

WILD OATS – The Wild Rose Press

Phillip Ashfield uncrossed his cramped legs and stood up to reach into the overhead luggage compartment. What an imposition, having to manhandle his own luggage.

“Good God, man, when you’re in the colonies you have to look after yourself.” He remembered the advice he’d received from Tony, one of his friends from Eton. How true. Godforsaken bloody backwater.

If his father hadn’t been so ill, he would have refused point blank to come out to Australia. Had his mother not been so distraught about the old man, he would have ignored her entreaties to visit relatives at the back of beyond.

God, it was hot. The temptation to loosen his collar became almost unendurable. He wore the latest summer fashion for 1914, a three-piece suit with a shaped coat that had a vent down the back. His linen, as always, was the finest money could buy. Neither one helped keep him cool in these temperatures.

The door leading from the carriage slid open and, even with the swaying of the train, he started moving down the narrow passageway, glancing out the window as he did so. They would reach Dixon’s Siding in ten minutes. The conductor had assured him of this a few moments ago, but he was taking no chances of being carried on. If he missed his stop, God alone knew where he might end up.

“Damnation.” The train shuddered and slammed him against a window. As he straightened up, he watched without much interest as two horsemen broke out of the forest. No, it was called bush in Australia, he reminded himself. One must get the colloquialisms right. More advice from Tony. Young fools were racing the train.

“What the hell!” He almost went sprawling over a small battered suitcase dumped in the middle of the corridor.

Steadying himself with one hand against the wall, he gazed into a pair of the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen.

“I’m sorry, but you should have watched where you were going,” the girl said with a humorous lilt to her voice.

She looked about seventeen or so. Her hair, the colour of ripe corn, rippled about her shoulders in a tangled mass of wayward curls.

“Now look here, Miss...”

But she wasn’t listening. “Come on, Tommy! Come on,” she urged, her head and shoulders poked through the open window. She waved and jigged about so much Phillip feared she might fall out of the train altogether.

The two horsemen raced neck and neck for a moment or two until one started drawing away.

“Come on, Tommy, faster.”

Suddenly the riders veered to the right and disappeared behind some trees, and the girl drew back inside the carriage.

Ruffled hair, rosy lips parted in a sunny smile, and deep forget-me-not blue eyes, she surveyed him with an almost childlike candour.

“Sorry about the case. I was making for the door when I saw the boys. Are you getting off at the siding too? Well of course you are.” She answered her own question with a breathy little laugh.

His experienced male eye assessed the
simple home-sewn dress and serviceable black lace-up boots. A young farm girl returning from holidays?

“I’ve been staying with my Aunt in Benalla. It’s my first holiday in ages.”

“I hope you enjoyed the experience.” It sounded stilted and patronising, but he couldn’t help it. For the first time in his life he felt uneasy in the company of a woman.

“I’ll be getting off soon.” A small, suntanned hand reached for the battered case.

“Let me carry it for you, Miss, Miss...”

“Allison.”

“Miss Allison.”

“No.” Her laughter bubbled up once more, “Waverley, Allison Waverley.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Waverley. I’m Phillip Ashfield.”

“I’m pleased to meet you too, Phillip.”

The casual familiarity surprised him, yet strangely it pleased him, also.
The sudden almost nervous movement of her hand, alert teasing eyes dancing with laughter, gave him a feeling of wellbeing.

“Are you being met?” she asked.

“I hope so.” He reached out for the case and his fingers came in contact with the warm flesh of her hand. A blush stained her cheeks when he hesitated, a fraction too long, before pulling away.

“You won’t be able to carry both our cases, Phillip, the corridor is too narrow. I’m used to lugging things about. Jim says I’m as strong as an ox.”

“Jim?” he queried, wondering why he bothered to ask.

“My brother.”

“Oh, was he one of the boys racing the train?”

“Yes.”

“And Tommy? The one you cheered for.” He felt a sudden inexplicable surge of anger. “He your brother also?”

“No, Tommy is my…my best friend.” She gave a sweet, tender smile that somehow turned mere prettiness into an exquisite beauty.

Phillip felt a stab of annoyance and, for the first time in years, jealousy. How preposterous. He shook his head to clear it of such nonsense. Phillip Ashfield, only son of Lord and Lady Ashfield, who could trace their lineage back five hundred years, suffering the pangs of jealousy over a young colonial farm girl he had only just met.

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/wild-oats-p-3893.html