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Monthly Archives: June 2021

An Ojibway from Northwestern Ontario, Maggie Blackbird resides in the country with her husband and their fur babies, two beautiful Alaskan Malamutes.  When she’s not writing, she can be found pulling weeds in the flower beds, mowing the huge lawn, walking the Mals deep in the bush, teeing up a ball at the golf course, fishing in the boat for walleye, or sitting on the deck at her sister’s house, making more wonderful memories with the people she loves most.

Beverley: Which genre or genres do you write or prefer to write? And why?

Maggie: I write a contemporary and historical romance about Canada’s Indigenous People.  I write contemporary and historical because those are the stories I’m most drawn to write.  Much can be done in contemporary and historical romances.

Beverley: Who influenced you the most in deciding to become a writer?

Maggie:  My two favourite authors:  Johanna Lindsey and Rosanne Bittner.  I love reading their books, so I wanted to be able to write stories just like they do.

Beverley: What gets your creative juices flowing?

Maggie:  Music. Music is my biggest inspiration.  I can easily dream up stories and ideas just by listening to a song.

Beverley: Do you have a favorite cartoon character? Why?

Maggie:  I can’t say I have one in particular, but I do love the Muppets, especially the Electric Mayhem Band.  Why?  They rock.  What’s not to love about puppets playing in a rock band.

Beverley: Who would you love most to meet ‘in person’ and why?

Maggie:  This is an interesting question.  I haven’t thought about this one too hard before.  I’d say Jake E Lee.  He’s my fave guitarist.  As for why, because in his interviews, he comes across as a very nonchalant and eccentric guy.  He’d be fun to talk to.  I love people who don’t live by society’s standards, but find their own path to take.

Beverley: If you had an unexpected free day what would you do with it?

Maggie:  Go golfing.

Beverley:  What are you working on now?

Maggie: I ’m doing self-edits and getting ready to submit a time travel/historical romance to my publisher starring a university student from this time period who meets her Ojibway ancestors of the past and the warrior she’s dreamed about since she was a young girl.

Blurb for Knight Moves:

After receiving his grade twelve diploma and marking his eighteenth birthday, René Oshawee cannot fight the temptation seventeen-year-old high school junior Billy Redsky blatantly offers now that what they share has become taboo.

When their secret romance is blown into the open, Billy’s foster parents send René to Toronto to complete the last of his schooling under the supervision of a family friend, leaving Billy behind at their Ojibway community.

Now Billy and René must make the biggest decision of their lives—fight for the true love they know they’ll never find with anyone else or go their separate ways.

Excerpt from Knight Moves:

The waitress wove her way through the crowded restaurant. She held a slice of birthday cake. Under the dim lighting, people dined at the many tables covered in white cloths and the chairs outfitted in red felt coverings.

René curled his fingers together and set his elbows on his place setting. The flickering candle in the yellow holder caught the glow of Billy’s smooth skin. He was seventeen but passing for nineteen because the hostess, at the beginning of their meal, had asked if they’d wanted anything from the bar.

With his hair cropped over his ears and light spikes to his bangs gelled slightly to the side, there was a true maturity to Billy now. The sprinkling of whiskers above his mouth offered a masculine depth to his boyish looks.

“Here you go. Happy birthday,” the waitress announced.

“Thanks.” Billy flashed her his cheeky grin. “Great meal. The best prime rib I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll be sure to tell the chef. Now, are you sure you don’t want anything from the bar for an after-dinner drink? You turned nineteen today.”

“It’s okay,” René replied. “Some coffee would be nice, though.”

“Right away.” The waitress left.

“C’mon, we could’ve had some beers.” By the twinkle in Billy’s dark eyes, he was jesting.

“You’re driving. Neither of us is old enough. With the luck you generate, the bartender would’ve told her to card us, anyway. Coffee’ll suffice.” An itch to reach across and take Billy’s hand crawled along René’s palm. God, this sucked having to hide what they felt for each other.

In the past, he hadn’t minded. Why playing closet this evening irritated him, René wasn’t sure. “Your present.” He reached insides the breast pocket of his suit and withdrew the small, wrapped package.

“You did have it on you.” Billy moved his chair in closer since they sat on opposite sides of the table instead of adjacent from each other. Another way to hide their secret. “Let’s see.”

René placed the package down.

Still grinning, Billy scooped up the gift. He peeled away the blue paper the clerk at the jewelry store had used for wrapping.

The intensity of René’s beating heart was his foot triggering his kick drum in the basement.

Next, Billy cracked open the white box. His lips formed into an O. He gaped at the black velvet case.

A hint of sweat rose at the nape of René’s neck.

sing his thumb, Billy tipped back the lid, then slapped his hand over his mouth. “What the…?” His fingers held the sterling silver chain. The locket in the shape of an army dog tag dangled in the air. “What is…?”

“See for yourself.” Gushes of delight sprinted through René’s veins.

“Seriously? You got me this shape ’cause of—”

“You did say we were good little soldiers in Oshawee Army, didn’t you?” René couldn’t help the supple laugh gliding from his throat.

The waitress strode over carrying their coffees. Bad timing. Heat of annoyance gathered on René’s face.

“Oh…a present.” The waitress giggled.

“Um…yeah…” Billy palmed the gift.

Once she’d left, he clicked open the locket. His reddish-brown skin morphed to the shade of pink excitement. “It’s…it’s us. This was taken at Christmas. Downstairs. In the rehearsal room. Moxy took it.”

“Yeah. I asked her to give me a copy when she got the film developed.” Pride filled René, pure satisfaction over Billy loving and understanding what the gift meant.

“Is that why you rested your chin on my shoulder? I see the metal horns you flashed are missing. It’s only our faces.” Billy kept inspecting the locket.

“C’mon, she would’ve wondered why I leaned in the way I did.” Again, the urge to stroke Billy’s hand and caress his fingers impaled René like a sword.

“I’m putting it on right now.” Billy unfastened the clasp. Even with a collar, he managed to secure the chain around his neck. Regret flickered in his gaze, as if he loathed tucking the locket beneath his navy-blue shirt.

“Remember, it stays hidden.” The same regret hovering around their table coated René’s tongue with its bitter essence.

“I understand.” Billy rubbed his chest where the locket lay. “They’d wanna check out whose picture is inside. I…” His eyes finished what he couldn’t say in the restaurant. I love you .

“Me, too,” René whispered. He lifted his coffee. If only the world was different and they could behave like a true couple.

He glanced around at the straight couples holding hands, gazing lovingly at one another, sitting adjacent with their knees brushing. Longing tugged at his heart.

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Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married. She vows never to let a man take over her life again. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women.
Mac is has been responsible for training women in special ops techniques so they are prepared when they are challenged to save other women. When he meets Sara sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.
Sara graduates and now she and her team have to save Sara’s daughter from a serial killer. Can Mac step back and trust her in a dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues, or will they go in opposite directions?



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Sara sat upright in bed. Cold sweat dripped down her back and between her breasts. In the dark, her hand inched across the sheets of the new queen-size bed. A sliver of moonlight slipped through a crack in the thick drapes and landed on the empty pillow. 


For a second she could smell his aftershave. She shivered, yanked her hand back from the pillow and pulled her knees to her chest. She clutched the covers tightly to her body. 


Don’t be ridiculous Sara. He’s not here. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore. 

She’d cleaned the room enough times, over the last eighteen months, to get rid of any scent of him. She’d even bought a new bed, mattress and sheets. 

He was dead. But in the dream he came back. Even in the dream Gordon had the power to return her to that pathetic, abused woman she’d turned into over the years of their marriage. For almost a year and a half Sara had worked to break the chains of abuse that kept her from living her own life. She’d come a long way. She hadn’t had the dream for months. 


She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet landed on Gloria’s soft, furry back. Sara reached down and patted the dog’s large head. “Good old Gloria, always there for me.” 


The dog raised her head and licked Sara’s hand with a short whine, before she flopped back down to sleep.

Sara pulled on her robe before she crept downstairs. Hot chocolate would go good right about now.

She grabbed the milk carton from the refrigerator and took a swig from the container. Two years ago she could never have done this. Gordon would have punished her if he’d caught her. 


“Here’s to you, you bastard, wherever you are.” She toasted the milk carton before she took another swallow.

It ticked the hell out of her that she’d been so stupid. He’d made her a victim and she’d allowed it. 

We had a huge snowstorm last week for two days and about seven or eight inches of heavy wet snow. Followed by several days of cold, windy, rainy days. Our last lockdown is starting to open up June 1st.  


WE raced home last March 20th to cross the Canadian border before it closed. And it’s been closed ever since. I’ve done quarantine, isolation, masked, shutdown and social distanced. It’s been fourteen months. Between Covid and a cold winter I’ve been affected like so many other people. I’m hoping with summer approaching I’m going to get back on track. I’m beginning to feel more motivated. Enough that I’ve set up at schedule for the next month. I’ve rethought Lydia’s story and come up with some draft notes. That’s a good start. And I plan on writing one hour a day for four days a week. Not lofty goals but more than I’ve done for quite awhile.


I also plan to edit Death Awaits, one hour a day four days a week. Since I haven’t managed any amount of successful writing for a long time, I’m hoping these are reasonable goals and I can fit them in with summer activities like gardening.


I’m hoping my muse is also ready to put in an occasional appearance and help me with writing Lydia’s story.


I’m still having issues with motivation and difficulty in focusing. I don’t have a new book or one even close at the moment, but I’m hoping to change that soon. In the meantime, check out my website and my published books.




This month, again, my PR is being cut back again. I’m hoping to put my energy into writing instead.


I am doing a book tour with Silver Dragon June 14 to July 14.


Beverley Bateman Blogger

I am managing to keep up with my blog and some great author guests. You can still follow me follow me there Tuesday and Thursday at for writing tips, hints and guest authors. Check out the exciting authors and their new books this month.


Welcome to Summer!