Book Feature: Rhonda Cratty’s Family Life Novel, OUR FAMILY QUILT!

Hi, readers!  We have a real treat in store for you today, a spotlight on a book by Rhonda Cratty, a talented author! 

We wish you lots of success on your non-fiction novel, which also has emotional tales about family!
 
Let's check out the details, shall we?
 

Here is the book blurb.

Join and experience creativity and nostalgia through Grace, a master quilter, as she shares her creative gifts with her young granddaughter, Audrey. Together their lives unfold around their family quilt. The love between grandmother and granddaughter keep a family’s generations turning despite minor setbacks, disappointments and celebrations of life. As friends and family of this charming mountain town in Colorado come together for life’s moments. Creating an inspirational, heartwarming story to share with those you love.

Our Family Quilt immerses readers in:
•Family Life
•Contemporary Women
•Quilting ideas
•Creativity for everyday living
•The secret world of Grandmothers and Granddaughters and the people they love…

 

Rhonda is also giving us a peek at her book today!

 

Prologue

The quilt folded into the box with the ease of well-worn fabric, the fibers soft from years of use, embedded with memories and love. My hand brushed over this fabric of time as I tucked the tissue gently around it and placed the lid on the box.

 

Last summer I found the perfect Christmas paper to wrap the quilt in; the paper itself is red, green, and white in a log-cabin pattern. The artist must have been quite the quilter, as tiny stitches could even be seen. I used invisible tape to secure the ends and tied the package with strips of fabric.

 

Using a piece of red fabric and a piece of green fabric approximately eighteen by twenty-two inches, I began by folding it in half, noticing that my hands now looked like my grandmother’s had the summer we made our quilt. I wanted three red and green flowers for the package. I cut the material at six and a half inches, and then in half again at three and a quarter inches. I could hear her voice reminding me to measure twice before cutting. Now, I had two pieces of fabric, one red and one green, measuring three and a quarter by twenty-two inches.

 

I started to draw my flower templates, and my eyes blurred as I thought of the hours I’d spent making templates with my grandmother. “Be accurate,” she would say. “Templates are tools, and your work will only be as good as your tools.”

 

With my fabric folded and all three flower templates pinned into place, I cut out two of each size at once, for a total of six petals.

 

As I cut out thirty-six flower petals with her scissors, I had to smile. Her sewing scissors were sacred—the only time I ever saw her speechless was when she found my son using them to cut a toy car out of its cardboard package. Her face flushed from white to pink as he busted the car out of the package, running to her with a smile and a hug. He played with his much-loved car all afternoon while I took Grandma’s much-loved sewing scissors to be sharpened.

 

Getting a needle and thread from her sewing basket, I stacked up four petals for the base of the flower, then took four petals and folded them into a heart shape. I usually don’t use a thimble, but that day I slipped hers over my middle finger as I took one of her needles and thread and tacked down a heart-shaped petal to the petal shape underneath with a simple stitch. The thimble seemed warm as I took another petal and placed it on the opposite side from the first petal and tacked it down. I tacked down the third petal and then the fourth with an X stitch—perfected with handwork we did together while the summer days sped by. Digging into the bottom of the much-used sewing basket, I found the perfect button to stitch on top of the petals.

 

I stitched all three flowers onto the strips of fabric I had tied around the box. I patted the box. This would be the last time our family quilt traveled between my grandmother and me. A lifetime of memories, good and bad. Would the life of our family quilt continue?

 

I moved the gift to the table, embedded with three light grains followed by four dark grains on a diagonal, next to my great-grandmother’s framed recipe for apple crisp, with my quilted purse, and I went to get dressed for the hospital.

 

 

There's definitely a heartwarming story here!

Purchase Links:

 

 

Universal Amazon:  https://bookgoodies.com/a/B01N8WSCV7 
B & N:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/our-family-quilt-rhonda-cratty/1125268466 
BAM:  http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Our-Family-Quilt/Rhonda-Cratty/9781537796857 
CreateSpace:  https://www.createspace.com/6421349

Thanks for letting us know all about your family life novel! It sounds interesting! :)

About the Author:

 

Living in Colorado, Rhonda enjoys walking, hiking, and cross country skiing in the mountains. When she is not writing, she enjoys traveling, quilting, crocheting, cooking, reading and painting.

Find more information and work by Rhonda @ https://www.acreativespin.com

 

Author Links:

Website:  https://www.acreativespin.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/rhonda.cratty

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/rcratty

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/Rhonda-Cratty/e/B00J29HQI4/

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16097682.Rhonda_Cratty

Pinterest:  https://www.pinterest.com/rcratty/ 

Google+:  https://plus.google.com/u/0/118055573368120944247

  

Rhonda's Books:

 

  

POETRY SPOTLIGHT: D.L. Owens

Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a poetry spotlight. In these poetry spotlights today and in the future, we will be showcasing poetry by some very talented poets. These poets have graced us with their presence.  

With us today is poet and author D.L. Owens. Here is a little taste of her poetry.

Mysteria Prosed Me

She snuck into my thoughts when I’d first learned to write

As I aged, her words began to form through me

Never needing to think what to write, just do it

Inhaling the moods and scents surrounding me

While words splatter to paper like a Picasso

Who is this person in my mind constantly awakening me

Always having something to say, never a dull thought

Where’s your paper, your Underwood, your cell phone

No more excuses not to make our words known

These gathered letters want to breathe your air

The Beginning of Me

The scent of my ink fills each room

Words falling on eggshell paper

With emotions from glee, glory to gloom

Underwood the earnest escaper

Started writing when words were few

When first love of first love had not anew

When lips had not yet touch a heated man

Or my hand grasped gently, walking hand in hand

Children playing outside, dirt mud pies

Inside cooking and scribbling notes on the side

Why is my mind taking me here and there

To places of endless make believe dares

I feel I want to go outside today

To hear the marble winner shout hoorah

Ride my bike to the neighborhood store

However, poetry keeps me here for more

Started writing when words were few

When I didn’t know blue from blew

Only understood words inside my little head

Wanting to live outside of me instead

Like a child eager to play

Is how my fingers would shout hoorah

Words would play tag the next word

On sheet after sheet, turn after turn

My humble style of writing started to age

As my view of life was doing the same

Hanging in clubs I’d fall asleep or wait

While friends found potential first dates

Sounds of tennis, basketball, football, too

Filled the air while my hands moved

Left to right on thick notebook spirals

Filling it with highlights of my life

Train ride with strangers

By the end they become friends

As they watch me write their life

On my notebook in pen

Moody writing just like I would paint

Never knowing what it will be

Will it be a short story, novel

Or a few pages of poetry

Endless Excuses

Where is the rain today; I need a certain mood
To work on a novel I’m writing; Mother Nature rude
Last week the rain came before I got off work
Week before that I was tired from dealing with a jerk
If it’d just rain I could finish this chapter called, Muse
Rain finally falling; clouds beautifully vogue the blues
Can’t find my pens and paper; where are they hiding now
Tablet energy zero, laptop adapter nowhere to be found
Guess it’s no writing today; Mother Nature slowing me down

Marking the Heart

Looks are mostly deceiving

They are definitely appealing

Second looks worth stealing

But what is uncontrollably the binding

Is that everlasting feeling worth finding

The one that won't ever leave you sighing

The sticker to the core of the hearts twining

The permanent glue that can never be pulled apart

The one that captures all of you from the very start

Leaving a stain, an embedded memory, a permanent mark

Just from lassoing your soul through the eyes of your heart

Love Is A Spell We All Fall Under

we sometimes just don’t know

how and when the spell is cast

or how and when the spell was broken

we usually know why

we just don’t accept it, for a long while

because the second love reaches its true end

doubts no longer cloud our thoughts, actions

our eyes see what was always there

we feel limp, lost, weak, lonely, foolish

waiting to be found, rescued, renewed

hiding inside and outside ourselves

feeling there is nowhere to go

when that certain love is no more, no more

but there are infinite places, faces, chases

which is why patiently is wished hastily

towards healing, growing for a new journey

with a love truer than the one that didn’t last

that kept adding drama to a once happy past

the true love won’t be from a bottomless sea

or the roughest of the lands damaging weeds

it will be love that weakens knees

with a touch, a smile, a gesture, a kiss

you will see it, feel it, breath it, bliss

it will feed sides of love you didn’t knew existed

and that other whatever every it was

will no longer be missed

Bittersweet, humor

We moved in together

Joined our accounts

Meshed our furniture

He bought the refrigerator

I bought the stove

Grocery shopping together

Friends over on Friday

Movies on Saturday

Church on Sunday

Everyday filled with us

Turn over in bed, he’s there

Shower, he’s there

Breakfast in bed

I wash the clothes

He cleans the stove

He uses my toothbrush

I keep buying new ones

Leaves the seat up or both down

Burns everything he cooks

Losing his manners a lot

He sings to me

I read to him

He prays for me

I pray for me

Thanks for giving us a look at your poems, D.L.! A pleasure to have you visit us on Writing in the Modern Age! :)
 

Poet Bio

D.L. Owens began writing poetry at the age of eight. She would write on anything she could get her hands on: toilet paper, card stock sleeves from her mother’s nylons, paper bags from the market, even the palm of her hands. This went on for a while until one day her mother realized this was not a phase. This prompted the purchase of a manual typewriter which quickly became her best friend. Years later, when D.L. (Lulu) became a proud mother of a beautiful daughter, she switched gears and wrote children’s stories and poetry.

Her poetry is comprised of the tempers surrounding her, from a baby crying for her mother’s touch to a couple smiling at each while holding hands. Her longer pieces vent from everything engrossed in her mind and from her dreams pouring into the pages like a love story. This “moody writer” writes poetry of all sauces with love and romance as a part of it. However, when it comes to short stories, novellas and longer pieces, she finds herself locked in a mixture of sci-fi, mystery, and fantasy with a taste of romance.

Her addiction to writing and painting takes up much of her time when she’s not spending it with family and friends. Lately, she has been creating illustrations for the books written for her daughter. When she’s not doing this she loves to cook, make greeting cards and take pictures of the glorious nature.

 

Links:

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/a_moody_poet
Amazon Author Central:  amazon.com/author/dlowens

Pinterest:  https://www.pinterest.com/tHe_mOoDy_pOeT/

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/a_moody_poet/
  iTunes:  https://itunes.apple.com/us/author/d.-l.-owens/id1126390032?mt=11
Artwork/Illustrations:  https://www.instagram.com/a_moody_artist/
Artwork:  https://twitter.com/a_moody_artist
Photography:  https://www.instagram.com/a_moody_photographer/   


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