Author Archives: Heather Frey Blanton
I am moving and will be closing down ladiesindefiance. To keep in touch, please visit me now at authorheatherblanton.com and sign up for my newsletter and blog.
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I’ve MOVED all your favorite blogs over to my website. And I’m planning to keep on writing them, but with a little more fire! Speaking my mind here at wordpress is iffy. They can shut down blogs with which they disagree. I don’t think that’s right.
It’s very easy to follow my blog. At my website, just click on the BLOG tab and then click on the Log in in/Sign up box in the upper right hand corner:
I’ll announce the winner November 18 at my website! Thanks for all the support, y’all!
Well, that’s a little dramatic, I suppose. But I did want to let y’all know about my new website which now also hosts my blog. Truthfully, though, I did make this move to stay one step ahead of the censors and the Cancel Cultures loons.
When I see the president of the United States muzzled because some socialist geeks at Twitter don’t like him, when I see every day people lose their jobs because they say something politically incorrect, when I see the lamestream media flat-out lie about the violent protests in cities across America–I’m done. I will own my own piece of the internet and speak my mind.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t live in La-La Land. Eventually, Google will attempt to bury conservative voices, and Amazon will choose to quit selling Christian works (whether blatantly or through manipulation of the algorithms). History shows, however, that the voices protesting tyranny never completely go silent. I will stand for the flag. I will kneel only to Jesus. I will write from a Christian perspective. The battle is the Lord’s.
If you agree with anything above or if you just enjoy my blogs and my books, I hope you’ll come over to https://www.authorheatherblanton.com/ — my brand new website! It’s soooo pretty! You can subscribe to my newsletter there, follow the blog, chat with me, or do all of these things.
This blog will be live for another few months, but we are preparing to let it fade to dark. I sure hope you will keep in touch!
Well, let’s just get to it, shall we? Big social media and big tech think that it is completely appropriate to censor the president because they don’t like his opinions, and they are muzzling speech that in anyway goes against the CV-19 Fear narrative.
The handwriting is on the wall. Has been for sometime.
I’ve pondered and prayed about what’s coming and here is my conclusion:
I will not stop standing up for what I believe in. I will not stop speaking my mind. I will not stop writing fiction that includes the Gospel.
So, to that end, I have a new release out. I hope you’ll read it. I very much hope you’ll tell a friend about it. And, also, I have a new website that allows chatting and zooming and such. We’re still getting it set up, but one day I hope to be free of the social media shackles and just talk to you guys directly.
The new book is called Carolina Homecoming. You can check it out here. It’s on sale! Only .99 for a limited time. Hurry and get your copy before the price goes up. The paperback should be out in a week or so!
Here is the blurb. The story is a Western-themed retelling of the Book of Ruth!
Even in the shadows of the Blue Ridge, war will find them.
Widowed by the Civil War, Ruth Grant insists on accompanying her grieving mother-in-law Noemie back to her roots in the beautiful but isolated foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. This escape to a place barely touched by war will prove to be anything but peaceful for the two strong-willed women.
Montgomery Boaze is the wealthiest farmer in the upstate. He also happens to be a handsome widower. When distant relative Noemie returns home and butts heads with a mutual enemy, Montgomery appoints himself her and Ruth’s protector. Not such a difficult task since he adores his kin…and finds the beautiful, young widow bewitching.
Together, the three will become entangled in a battle over land, loyalty, and love that has nothing to do with North versus South.
And I hope you’ll check out the new website, https://www.authorheatherblanton.com/
Till next time, y’all, stand strong! God bless!
The other night my teenage son #2 and I were watching Last Man Standing. For some reason, he started trying to sing a tune but he couldn’t quite get it. “What’s that song that goes ‘Pretty Woman, pretty woman…?'” I realized he was trying for Roy Orbison’s tune, Pretty Woman. I started singing, “Pretty Woman, walking down the street. Pretty Woman–”
And as I’m about to belt out, “The kind I’d like to meet,” he, with the supreme confidence of the Ultimate Being (AKA, a teenager), jumps in with, “Lookin’ at my feet. Pretty woman, don’t take my sheet.”
I thought I was going to die.
Literally, tears of laughter came from my eyes and I couldn’t breathe. Then he started laughing because he knew he’d somehow royally goofed up. And that made it worse. My son has a laugh that sounds like the needle got stuck on a .45 rpm of Farm Noises.
I nearly passed out from oxygen starvation.
After I dried my eyes, though, I got to thinking how fragile history is. I think Reagan said liberty was only one generation away from extinction. I was horrified and humbled by how much my children don’t know and how self-absorbed they (and this generation) are.
No wonder God’s Word regarding his law says, “You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up.” Deut 6:7
I think we should also make the effort to teach them about the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution. Before it’s too late. Violence across America is, in my opinion, being carefully orchestrated. Yes, there is a good cause in the mix, but it’s being used like a chess piece to accomplish a nefarious goal.
Suddenly we can skip social distancing to protest, but some of us still can’t go to church?
I think our country and everything we value is under attack. Teach your children about the Lord, but don’t forget to teach them about the blessings of Liberty–how precious and fragile they are!
Like all of us, my characters can choose to stay grounded in this world, hanging on to hurts and grievances–or they can reach for something better. The ultimate Groom offers perfect love–unselfish, sacrificial, peaceful.
Doesn’t seem like it should be a hard choice, but when imperfect human love has let you down, surrendering to Jesus requires a lot of faith. True Love, though, is formidable. It pursues. It casts out fear.
Can my heroine relent, strip off the old gown, and give her heart to the One who will never leave her or forsake her? If she does, I suspect the right kind of earthly love will come along…
What about you? You still wearing that old gown? I pray A Distant Heart inspires you to set the thing ablaze and step into your true identity: the Bride of Christ!
Miss Sally, the mysterious and secretive owner of Burning Dress, established the ranch with a very particular mission—to make sure her charges leave with a profitable skill, and to share the love of Christ with their hurting, wounded souls.
Cecelia Huggins, broken by a bitter divorce, has come to Burning Dress to take control of her own destiny. She wants to work and learn. She doesn’t want friends, and she certainly doesn’t ever want to fall in love again.
Jax Taylor is foreman of the Burning Dress and he’s the perfect man for the job. Most of the ranch hands are women who are healing from some pretty tough blows. Just like them, he’s pushing past his own hurts and would rather lose an eye than fall in love again.
Miss Sally has had some tough cases before but Cecelia and Jax maybe the toughest. How do you convince two stubborn hearts that the only way to find rest for their souls is to give in to love?
Grab your copy of A Distant Heart today!
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>> TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK IS THE STORY
BETWEEN MISS SALLY AND SAM HAIN IN A DISTANT HEART. <<
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And here’s one of my favorite scenes from Hope in Defiance:
“Hope, I pray you’ll forgive me the wine choice.” Carefully, Edward poured a shimmering red stream into Hope’s glass. She bit her lip, and leaned forward, eyes wide with anticipation. She reminded Lane of a kid peering at candy in the mercantile’s window.
“It looks lovely,” she said, reaching for it.
“I so wanted a merlot from Château de Goulaine, but it was impossible.” He poured Lane’s glass, then his own and sat down. “I remembered your fondness for pinot noir from Dopff-Au-Moulin, and, lo and behold, I was able to get a crate shipped in time. Very exciting.”
“Very,” Lane muttered, sniffing the wine. He thought it smelled a little like peat moss. He sniffed again. Nah. Peat moss soaked in an oak barrel stuffed with raspberries.
Edward raised his glass and swirled the liquid around and around, staring into it like he expected to find something. “No doubt, Mr. Chandler, it will taste quite foreign to you, since you’re used to stale—”
“Have you ever had wine?” Hope cut in. “I find it is either something you love or hate.”
Lane glanced up from the glass, to Edward’s slightly quirked eyebrow, to Hope’s warm expression. She wouldn’t let Edward embarrass him if she could help it. He appreciated the effort.
“Only what I had in a little church in El Paso once,” he told her. “I think I was about five, so I don’t remember it.”
She raised her glass and swirled the burgundy-colored liquid. “Wine is complex and there is a great deal of effort that goes into creating the flavor.”
“Not just the flavor.” Edward took a sip, swallowed, and savored it with his eyes closed. “Wine is an experience. An explosion of subtle flavors. Oak and cherry.” He thought for a moment. “Hint of vanilla. Possibly a touch of cumin. Velvety. And it finishes off gently.”
Lane had to force himself to keep from slapping his forehead. These two sure took their wines seriously.
Hope had a sip and considered it for a moment as well. “Oh, yes, that’s lovely. A little buttery.” She paused. “Yes, there’s the vanilla, and possibly a touch of mushroom.”
Both of them turned to Lane, expectantly. He was pondering the mushroom observation when Hope dipped her chin, nudging him.
“Well,” Lane picked up his glass, “here goes.” He took a tentative sip. Fought to control a grimace. He nearly burst out with, ‘People enjoy this?’ But managed to cut off the comment.
“Before you say anything,” Hope raised her hand in a pleading gesture, “try to think about what you tasted.”
Lane focused on all the odd flavors in his mouth, but couldn’t settle on anything. A little flustered, he took another sip. Since he knew what to expect, this one wasn’t as jarring. After a moment, he nodded, almost amazed. “Yeah. Oak.” There was a sweetness, too. “There’s the grape. And vanilla.” He set down the glass and nodded, but it wasn’t something he’d be inclined to make a habit of. They were still staring at him. Edward’s subtly raised brow was an expression of triumph. Did he think Lane was too much of a Texas hayseed to appreciate wine? Did Lane care what Edward thought? “It’s a fine drink, I suppose, but I’ll stick to my whiskey.”
“Yes, I understand,” Hope looked down at her napkin quickly. “Wine is an acquired taste.”
“And not everyone will do so,” Edward raised his glass to Lane and smiled. “Pity. At least you tried.”
* * *
Lane fumbled his way through dinner, allowing Hope to point out which fork to use for the salad and so on and so forth. At least by dessert, he knew which spoon to grab, and was no stranger to coffee. The conversation of theater, literature, and politics, however, highlighted his ignorance and he didn’t say much. At least watching Hope light up at the discussions of W.S. Gilbert’s new play made the beating worth it. Even if, suddenly, Lane’s world felt very small.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Hope rose, and Lane and Edward followed. “I’m going to powder my nose.”
She left the table and Lane poked at his chocolate mousse. He had no doubt Edward was going to take the opportunity to say what was on his mind and waited patiently. This whole dinner was a charade, a plan, aimed at making Lane look stupid. Or at least ignorant. And not worthy of Hope.
“I don’t mean to be rude, old man,” Edward began, “but do you seriously think you should pursue a relationship with Hope?”
Well, ’least he doesn’t beat around the bush. Lane leaned back in his chair and eyed Edward with the same stare he’d give to a growling dog about to get a good, swift kick. “What I seriously think about anything is no concern of yours.”
Edward huffed. “Right there is an example of my meaning. You don’t care about Hope. What makes her happy. She’s called to greater things. What can you offer her here, in this grubby little town?” Edward snatched his napkin from his lap and tossed it on the table. “I would bet you’ve never even read Shakespeare.”
Lane didn’t deign to answer. Just held Edward’s gaze.
The man’s pretty-boy face took on a hard edge and he leaned forward a little. “You may be some sort of excellent marksman and rugged frontiersman, but let me tell you what I see. You’re a low-born, uneducated, uncouth, poorly paid cowboy.”
Cowboy. Edward said the word as if Lane was a worm. Scum floating on stagnant water. Lane’s jaw tightened and his pulse ticked up. Well, if the man wanted a fight…
“And what’s more, I’ll make sure Hope sees you in the proper light. When she does, she’ll be done with this nonsense of being a doctor in this filthy, hardscrabble town.”
“And go back to Philadelphia with you? As a nurse? As your wife?”
Edward grinned, showing perfect, pearly white teeth. “Yes.”
Lane had no time for a reply as Hope approached the table but didn’t take her seat. “Edward, I have enjoyed our dinner. Very much actually, but I need to get home. Thank you for going to all this trouble.”
Slowly, Lane rose to his feet, shadowed by Edward. “Yeah, it was one interesting meal.” Lane grinned as well, though it was as fake as Edward’s icy smile.
“No trouble at all.” He then shifted to Hope, and his expression warmed considerably. “My dear, we’ll do this again.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Now that we’re all friends, I’ll plan more festive dinners.”
“Please tell Lucy the duck was magnificent.”
“I certainly will.”
Lane lightly clutched Hope’s arm and walked away with her, but stopped just shy of the restaurant entrance. “You know, I didn’t thank Edward properly. Give me just a second.”
Without waiting for Hope to reply, Lane pivoted and walked back to Edward, who was still standing at the table, watching them. Lane offered his hand and as Edward took it, said, “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny…but in ourselves. Julius Caesar, Act One, Scene Two.” He winked at Edward. “Thanks for dinner, pard.”
Let’s be clear: I am no feminist. I do, however, write stories about strong-willed women who overcome some pretty stout obstacles. Often, my heroines are based on real people.
So, why am I not a feminist? Isn’t modern feminism basically the belief women should be treated the same as men? One dictionary defines it as advocating social, political, legal, and economic rights for women equal to those of men.
Hmmm. Let’s not give that platform a blank check. The FACT is women are different from men and when two things ARE inarguably different, they don’t always need to be treated the same. For example, only women can get pregnant. A woman shouldn’t be allowed to kill a baby growing in her uterus under the guise of women’s rights, or pro-choice or whatever pretty euphemism you’d like to use.
Furthermore, God’s Word draws a distinction between men and women, calling us the weaker vessel. Weaker. Not defective. Physically weaker.
Generally speaking, women didn’t sail the seas to find a new country. Women didn’t hack trails out of the wilderness to see what was over the next hill. Women didn’t trek deep into the heart of the mountains to trap beavers. When gold was discovered in California, women didn’t saddle their horses and ride hell-bent-for-leather to stake a claim.
Feminists would say slow female participation in these events was due to a society that held women back. Everything from unfair property laws to corsets, to educational barriers kept us from tackling great, ground-breaking, destiny-defining adventures. I say phooey. That is a bogus construct.
Women—namely, American women—have always done what they needed to do when they needed to do it. Especially if they really wanted to do it. Our female ancestors lived on the frontier, fought in the Revolutionary War, drove their own wagons west, panned for their own gold, opened their own freight lines, ranched on the edge of Indian Territory, won the right to vote. These endeavors were harder for them. Yet, rather than whine about their circumstances, like their physical limitations and ignorant men, they forged ahead.
And did all this without playing the victim, amplifying their own sense of self-importance (read “selfish” here), or casting off their moral compass, along with their femininity.
I believe the content of a person’s character is the true determining factor in their success. You can’t keep a good woman down and smart men eventually figure that out.
Speaking of strong-willed women, you should check out my book Grace be a Lady. Yep, it’s the tale of a feisty heroine who did what she had to do without selling her soul in the process.