Sweet Saturday

Welcome back! While I've enjoyed sharing my Christmas novella with you, this week I'd like to return to my Japanese historical novel The Samurai's Garden. I've spent the last two week promoting this book by visiting the blogs of several other authors. Many, many thanks go to Nancy Gideon, S G Rogers, Catherine Bennett, Lindsay Downs, Lisa Orchard, Diane Burton, Jennifer Lowery, Babette James, and Marsha Ward for hosting me on their blogs! 

So now that I'm settled back at my virtual home, I'm busy working on my next projects (I'll share some of those after the holidays!) as well as looking for new ways to promote my November releases.

Recently, we observed Veterans Day, and I joined with others in paying tribute to our men in uniform. It occurred to me that Hiro Tanaka and his friends provided the same kind of protection for his village as our soldiers do for us. Here's an excerpt that explains how he accomplished this:

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During one of Hiro’s unexplained absences, Hanako noticed a stranger standing silently at the edge of the field. The last time strangers came, Hiro and Ginjiro had fought them off. But this man looked more dangerous than the two ruffians who had attempted to abduct her. She looked around for Ginjiro, wondering how she could signal a warning to him. Her hands trembled as she attempted to appear unconcerned, continuing to tend to the radishes, but her eyes were not focused on her work. Faster and faster, she moved toward the end of the row away from the stranger. Quick, furtive glances assured her that the man had not moved from the edge of the field. Finally, she spotted Ginjiro, working in the next field with the ox and the ancient plow. She gave up all pretense of calm and raced to him. He looked up in surprise as she approached him.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

Hanako struggled to catch her breath as she gasped out a description of the man at the roadside. Ginjiro’s expression tightened, and he checked for his sword before heading to where she had seen him. He trod slowly, looking around for signs of other intruders, until he spied the newcomer. Then his face broke into a wide grin, and he re-sheathed his sword before running to greet the man.

Hanako breathed a sigh of relief. If Ginjiro knew this person, he was probably not a threat to her. But why would an acquaintance of his travel here? Perhaps he was a relative.

Ginjiro brought the silent man to her and introduced him as a former comrade. He had answered a request to come and help the town defend against the ronin. The newcomer was immediately invited inside for tea. Since the new house had a larger kitchen and dining area, Hanako usually prepared and served meals there. She got out her fine china cups and special tea. As she worked, she caught snippets of their conversation.

The newcomer, Watanabe-san, was younger than Hiro and Ginjiro. Like Hiro, he walked with a proud, erect posture that bespoke a life of privilege and importance. She suspected that he, too, came from a long line of samurai. She wondered what business he had with Hiro.

Hanako strained to hear the men’s conversation as she prepared the tea and a light snack. Ginjiro’s voice carried more clearly, and she could make out his words. Being a lower-level samurai, he was respectful as he spoke to the younger man.

"Watanabe-san, we are honored you came here to assist us. The ronin have caused much damage here and in other nearby towns in the last year."

"Yes, Tanaka-san told me about their evil deeds," the newcomer replied. "It is a shame that some of our kind have chosen to use their skills in dishonorable ways. It was an honor for Tanaka-san to invite me, and I was intrigued by his offer of payment."

Payment? Hiro was paying men to help fight the ronin? Hanako nearly dropped the teapot.

"I have never owned property, and since I am a younger brother, I will not inherit my family’s estate. My older brother would provide for me, of course, but a chance to have my own land was an enticement for me."

Hanako brought the tea in to the men, bowed, and left to complete dinner preparations. But she left the sliding shoji screen open just enough so she could hear more of their conversation.

So Hiro has promised land in exchange for fighting power. Such a brilliant idea. But is he purchasing this land to give to them?

"I have spoken to Fukazawa-san and Kobayashi-san, and they should arrive within the week," the newcomer continued.

The rest of the conversation was lost to her. There are more men coming! He is recruiting an army! The village will be protected! She let the rest of the conversation flow as she prepared the finest meal she could provide.

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The Samurai's Garden is available at Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords.

Thanks for stopping by! Please leave a comment, and find more excerpts by visiting the blogs of other authors. Those links can be found at Sweet Saturday Samples.

Sweet Saturday

Welcome! I'm so glad to be back to Sweet Saturdays. I've been working on some new projects so that I'd have more to share, but this week I'm busy with edits for The Samurai's Garden, which has been accepted at Astraea Press and is slated for release in November. So I'd like to introduce you to a few of the characters I'm working with. In this scene, Hiro, a former samurai now working on a farm in northern Japan, meets a former comrade:

Ginjiro’s winding path took him past the woods where Hiro stood, and he teetered as he noted Hiro’s presence. His eyes scrunched as he tried to focus. "Friend, could you help an old soldier?" he slurred.

"You are not so old, Ginjiro, and I see your habits have not changed. Why do you continue to drink yourself into a stupor? You can hardly walk. Sit down and stop weaving about before you hurt yourself."

The inebriated man started in surprise. "You know me?" He tottered forward and squinted again. "Tanaka-san, is that you? What are you doing so far from the mainland? I thought you would have a successful career as a merchant or a politician in Tokyo."

"We will not talk about me. You need to sleep off your drink."

"No, I need to fill myself with the ale. It will dull the pain."

"Why are you in pain? You don’t appear injured."

"I’m talking about the pain of my sword when I perform seppuku.

Hiro’s eyes widened, and he stepped toward his former comrade. "No!"

"Yes, my friend. You are smart. You have the mind and the money to become anything you choose. But I am a warrior. Perhaps not a very good one, but I am a soldier. It is all I know. I cannot do anything else. I have looked all around trying to find a noble to take me on as a guard, but I am too small, too weak, too — stupid. I even worked for some disreputable men, but I was not able to stay. I am a failure as a samurai. I must die."

"Ginjiro, do not speak of yourself this way. You can find honest work. I can help you. Please — you must not kill yourself."

Hiro had fought in countless battles, but nothing had brought him the horror he had once experienced watching a childhood friend disembowel himself in the name of honor. Hiro himself had taken the code of the Bushido, but he failed to understand the need for the awful ritual required of the samurai soldiers for crimes real or imagined. It was the primary reason he had left the mainland in search of another calling. He could not face his former comrades who had become politicians and merchants, vocations as cutthroat as the life of a samurai. He needed to find a more peaceful life. Ginjiro’s words had recalled the violence he had tried so hard to escape. He could not bear to watch another comrade take his own life.

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Thanks for stopping by! Check out more excerpts by going to Sweet Saturday Samples and clicking on the links to other author blogs. But first, PLEASE leave a comment! I'm excited about this manuscript and am eager to find out what others think.

Sweet Saturday Sample

            Welcome back! This week I've decided to revisit my historical romance about the adventures of a former samurai soldier during the late 1870s. Here we meet Hiromasa's friend, Ginjiro, who has come to work on Hanako's farm:

            Just outside the doorway, Ginjiro froze in place, listening intently.  He had come to ask for instructions about crops in the west end of the field, but the voice he heard from inside was not Hanako’s.  Caution had him stopping to assess a possible threat to his mistress, but the words spoken in the cultured, melodious voice were not threatening, and he decided Hanako was not in danger.  He allowed himself to listen to the mystery woman’s voice and let himself be drawn in by the soothing tones.  During his years as a warrior, he had been in the presence of noblewomen, but the shrill voices of the pampered, empty-headed ladies had held no appeal for him.  Certainly none had held his attention simply with the sound of her voice.

            He had to see the owner of the voice.   Carefully, he bent his upper body toward the doorway, not wanting to give himself away. Hopefully her attention would be focused on Hanako, who customarily knelt at the table with her back to the door.  That meant the guest would be facing the doorway. 

            His upper body was nearly level with the ground, but he couldn’t quite see far enough into the room to get a glimpse of the voice’s owner.  Perhaps if he just took one more step…

            Carefully, he lifted his left foot and moved it toward the doorway.  Unfortunately, his right foot was in the way, and his eyes widened in horror as he realized that he was falling into the house. He landed face down, his limbs arranged in an inelegant heap on the floor.  Thank goodness he and Hiro had installed the tatami flooring, or his face would be covered with dirt. 

            Perhaps his tumble had gone unnoticed.  Perhaps he could just back out, and the women wouldn’t know …

            “Ginjiro!”  Hanako’s footsteps scurried toward him.  “Are you all right?” 

            Ginjiro nodded, wincing when the motion scraped his face on the dry reeds in the flooring.  Despite the discomfort, he kept his face to the floor, scooting backward, hoping to leave before she-

            “It seems the samurai has injured his head in the fall,”

            Ginjiro groaned, mortified to be caught in such an embarrassing position.  How on earth could he explain his clumsiness?

            His groan of frustration was interpreted as a sign of pain.  “Oh, Ginjiro,” Hanako cried,  “Forgive me, Ginjiro.  You must have tripped in that trench I dug for the plants outside the door.  And now you are hurt!”

            “Perhaps we should move him inside so that we can tend to his wound.”  The warm contralto voice that had mesmerized him before floated into his mind from his other side.  He turned his head toward the voice, and nearly yelped from the pain of the movement. 

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