Posts in "Uncategorized" category

Rebelle Flagship

Bring us your weary, your tired, your huddled masses in search of good fashion, quality product, and enduring style….

It’s so iconic, it’s almost a part of the scenery. It’s not a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of scene, it’s too big and solid and bold for that. It’s more of a turn-the-corner-and-of-course-it’s-there kind of comfort. Like the perfect glass of sweet tea. Your grandmother’s quilt. Your daddy’s hand on your head. It’s just there.

Except, it’s more than just there. It’s a treasure trove. One I’d liken to searching through your great-grandad’s barn to find a dusty trunk, prying open the lid and finding the gifts of generations. That’s shopping at Workman’s these days.

When I was younger, my mother, beautiful and elegant, would drive around back to the top of the bluff and park up close. My sister and I would pick our way down the steep concrete paths to the top of the store, where the ladies’ department was housed. My mama would shop for tight, high-waisted, cowgirl jeans (y’all know what I’m talking about), the button-up to match, and coordinated belt while we’d play on the long set of steps that led downstairs to the mens’ section and the boot room, where my Papa would purchase his special-sized Carhartt’s and the same pair of boots once a year (round-toe, rubber-soled, soft brown leather).

We’d look up from that top step to peek at my mother in her turned-out glam and then turn to tap dance downstairs and back up again, pretending we were dancing cowgirls. Because, of course, we were. It was good, and safe, and warm.

I’m not a cowgirl. Two horse “incidents” later, I traded in reins for a briefcase. But man, I can rock a pair of boots. I spend my time writing about cowgirls, who rock boots like nobody’s business. In Oklahoma, especially in Tahlequah, I think a small part of us will always be cowgirls and cowboys, college allegiance aside.

I went in to Workman’s myself a little while ago. I was having my headshots redone and needed something that made me feel like a dancing cowgirl. I was hesitant. I was worried it would be dated, that I’d end up with something that Reba would have worn in the eighties (which, let’s be real, isn’t that bad of an idea). I needn’t have been worried.

Some things were the same. Everyone smiled when I walked in off Main Street. The long staircase was still there. The friendly helpfulness was apparent. It smelled the same. But it was different. Y’all, Kasey, Miranda and Carrie could all come shop here. The styles are pure cowgirl. But then, not. There is fun, and functional, and stylish. Young, youngish, and younger. There is something for everyone. And it’s cool as all get-out.

Garth, Luke, and King George could go downstairs. A farmer. A hunter. A cowboy. You need it, they’ve got it. Apparel, clothes, belts, boots. You want it, come get it.

I walked out with the coolest options, perfect for roping that iconic, staid bravery of those that tamed the Wild West. Suede and silk. Wild print and fringe. Strong and tested brands.

Durable. Stylish. Cool.

Workman’s currently sits on the site of an old gas station where Robert Workman worked his way through college. After college and working his way across the U.S. to Alaska and back, he purchased that gas station and garnered a contract with JC Penney to build a store on that site. A whole bunch of dynamite later, the gas station was gone and the rocky hillside had a hole. JC Penney’s scheduling issues caused them to back out of the contract and Workman’s opened for business on May 10, 1968.

Robert Workman and his son Charles (Chuck) Workman continued to operate the family business until Robert was diagnosed with cancer and passed away in 1996. Chuck continued the family business until May 2016, when his daughter, Angela, took over.

As a third generation owner, Angie is proud to shoulder the huge honor of continuing the family legacy. As a kid, she and her sisters would hang out at the store after school, and even today, their children are coming to do the same. Workman’s has always been, and continues to be, a family tradition.

You may have noticed some old turned new changes at Workman’s. Angela’s goal for the process is for the store to be appealing to new customers who have never visited, but also ensure the character remains for customers who have shopped there for over forty years. She’s psyched to carry on the legacy of Workman’s: the hometown store where you can find most everything you need at a reasonable price.

Workman’s is the official flagship store of our Posse Wear collections. A partnership years in the making, it’s the perfect place to house the brand that flies the flag of sassy rebelle peacekeepers. The Posse is proud to call Workman’s home.

Workman’s… An institution.

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A kinder, gentler Cash

Y’all!
You’re in for a treat! Cash-lovers of the world, rejoice! I found another one. And this one’s nice. Casey Peeler’s Full Circle series chronicles Cash and Charley. It was the first of her writing that discovered. So because I love you all I stalked her and convinced her to let me show you guys.

Casey is a gal that loves boots as much as we do. Growing up Casey wasn’t an avid reader or writer, but after reading Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston during her senior year of high school, and multiple Nicholas Sparks’ novels, she found a hidden love and appreciation for reading. That love ignited the passion for writing several years later, and her writing style combines real life scenarios with morals and values teenagers need in their daily lives. While she writes for the younger genre, anyone 13 to 100 can appreciate her writing style.
 Try out her style by joining Casey’s mailing list and getting a FREE download of Our Song-

I feel like her latest release pretty much describes our photoshoots, so y’all will probably love.

Check out Tutus & Cowboy Boots and let Casey know what you think. Tell her you’re part of the Posse!


Cadence Lewis has been dancing since she could walk. Living in New York with her parents she has the chance to go to the best dance school in the country, but when her father does the unthinkable she’s forced to leave her dreams behind and move to a small southern town with her mom. Cadence is having a hard time adjusting to her new life when she meets Jade Carpenter. Jade starts to show Cadence that small-town life isn’t so bad, but when Cadence has a chance to go back to New York she is on the next flight and will do anything to get her old life back.

Download Part One of Tutus and Cowgirl Boots for FREE!

Follow Casey on social media:
www.authorcaseypeeler.com
casey@authorcaseypeeler.com
www.facebook.com/caseypeelerauthor
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7106874.Casey_Peeler
Twitter & Instagram: @AuthorCasey

So Many Boots, So Little Time!

Drumroll please, Clark…

After sifting through 125 images, discarding, resizing, editing, adding, stretching, playing with fonts, layers, embossing, colors and eating an entire half-gallon of cookies and cream ice cream… this emerged.

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It was not what I intended. At all. And the first attempt looks nothing like the end result. Which pretty much sums up the book itself. And like the book, I love it. I also love the story that the rest of the pictures from the photoshoot tells. And all those pictures will have their day. Today, though, this one fought its way to the forefront. The money shot, if you will.

So Many Boots, So Little Time releases October 18th and will be available for pre-order soon! I hope you love as much as I do!

Desperado… You’d Better Come To Your Senses. Or Not.

So. Much. Fun.

On a crisp Spring day, we donned sequins, feathers, hats, and of course, boots. What happened next was pure magic. What is most fun are the outtakes. I just had to share.

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Something incredibly fun is coming soon, inspired by the Posse. Get the inside scoop early and download the novella, Blame It All On My Boots (Cash and Lilly: The Prologues) by signing up to be a member of the Posse. We’ve got your back.

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The Great Spaghetti Christmas

Candy-Cane-Craft

The Great Spaghetti Christmas

Kalan Chapman Lloyd

-a short story-

For Mom, and Nanny, and Grandma

Somewhere in Oklahoma…

Okay, in Brooks, Oklahoma.

Mary Susan McCollum was a legend. Rightfully so. Every year, in the second week of November, she would begin her Christmas baking.

Twenty rum cakes, recipe memorized and secreted in her own memory, were wrapped in wax paper, placed efficiently and tidily in tin boxes and stored under the bed of the farthest, driest, coolest bedroom of Mary Susan’s house, belonging to her favorite grandson’s visits. Once a week counting up to December the twenty-fourth, they were whisked from under the bed, soaked again in the forty proof that Mary Susan made her husband acquire (as decent ladies did not frequent the liquor store), and placed back under the bed with the hand-stitched orange and blue quilt.

Sugar cookie dough, famous for that “can’t quite put my finger on it” flavor, which happened to be lemon zest, was mixed, rolled, wrapped in that same wax paper and stored in the icebox to await its final step on December the twenty-third. Both the rum cakes and sugar cookies were bundled with care, with hand-written notes, and trundled into the truck of her husband for delivery.

Mary Susan would not begin the elaborate process of her cakes and pies for her annual Christmas Eve fete until several days before, for fear their moisture content might drop and cause a comment from some family member with a taste for eggnog. No, she left the cherry cheesecake, pumpkin and pecan pies, and German chocolate cake until the week leading up to Christmas and Mary Susan’s county-famous Santa’s night event.

Without baking to do, Mary Susan would fill her time pressing linens, arranging and rearranging the carefully collected, tissue-paper stored Tiny Bright ornament collection on the boughs of the tree she sent her husband out to chop with bare hands and antique ax. Done so, because teeth marks from a saw did not allow for the correct and proper water absorption.

She set out gooey, thick, sugar-coated candy orange slices for her favorite granddaughter. Unwrapped and lovingly arranged the ceramic nativity scene handed down from Mary Susan’s own grandmother. And then last, after the, albeit still important, but less intense labor of Thanksgiving was dispensed with, she would exchange the bedding in each of the three bedrooms for a festive concoction of themed blankets, pillows and dust ruffles.

Christmas Eve, falling this particular year on a Tuesday, was well-prepared for in the McCollum house. As aforementioned, the annual celebrity-d, celebrated event included family, local officials and their own invitees, long-standing, third generation family friends and any random likely rabble-rouser that Mary Susan happened to run into. Because Mary Susan, while well and proper a lady, couldn’t resist the soul recognizance of a fellow rebel. So yearly, with great excitement, bodies would crush into the McCollum house to celebrate the birth of a Savior, eat Mary Susan’s cooking, drink Mary Susan’s eggnog, and be more than merry.

The menu, without fail, was the same every year, planned, plotted, and sketched out on lined notebook paper, right down to the exact moment the glorious, gluttonous, free-range, buttery turkey would enter the oven to begin its road to glory. 9:12 am to be exact, if anyone was interested in the details. In addition to the turkey, there were Parker House rolls whose dough was started the moment Mary Susan awoke several hours before dawn on the day of the party, thick piles of mashed potatoes, butter floating atop in their silver serving dishes inherited from Mary Susan’s great-grandmother, crackly green beans with bacon, a candied confection that somewhere in its midst, contained lettuce. She book-ended the feast with stuffing created from homemade cornbread and the juice of the turkey, green-rice casserole, which, in more or less sophisticated circles (depending on who was talking) could be referred to as broccoli cheese casserole. Sweet, syruped iced tea, lemoned water and the expected eggnog and after-dinner coffee were drinks of choice.

On the Sunday before “The Eve” as she liked to referred to it, Mary Susan was curled in her overstuffed kitchen chair, sitting below the sunrise with a cup of English Breakfast steaming before her, curls of the smell of lemon rising up, when the phone rang shrilly. Startled and immediately worried with such an early call, she rose to answer the phone to her excited son-in-law, who exhaustingly informed her that her daughter had likely broken her leg on a sly, stray toy tractor that morning when she arose, much like her mother, to partake in a ritual started generations back.

Her son-in-law went on to explain his fears of their family of four entertaining the local emergency room waiting room, and not in a cute, cherub, way. Mary Susan had promised to meet them at the hospital, interrupting him mid-sentence.

Children procured, Mary Susan and her husband brought them home to Mary Susan’s beautifully appointed home. So concerned with their family’s well-being and the afternoon football game, respectively, neither she, nor their grandfather, gave a moment’s thought to the logistics of a three and five year old in the house while trying to preserve its austerity.

Had they given a moment’s thought to such matters, they might have hauled the kids to a hotel and fed them pizza for two nights. As it was, by 9 a.m. on Christmas Eve morning, Mary Susan’s house was greased with adorable little handprints, overrun by primary-colored playthings, overflowing with the stench of overfull trash cans, and overthrown by the tyrannical habits of small people.

With the notion of a Christmas tradition sixty-seven years in the making being eradicated by nightfall, Mary Susan sank right down into the tufted carpet and thought about crying.

It was there, several hours later, and a few hours before the guests were to arrive, that her husband, Capp, found her, still in her pajamas, pancake batter on her nose, hair askew, covered in a rumbly-tumbly fashion by her two favorite grandchildren. All asleep, soft smiles upon their sugar-covered mouths, with an empty antique candy dish and tented books beside them.

Mary Susan cooked spaghetti when she was tired and short on time. It was a poor man’s meal. A working mom’s go-to. Within a bachelor’s skills. She, like a lot of her contemporaries, always had fresh meat, noodles and sauce on hand. Enough to feed a small crowd, at a moment’s notice.

And so she did.

With the lemons of life chunked thickly at her feet, Mary Susan threw herself into the shower, threw on her best holiday attire, and narrowly avoided a child throwing a fit as she threw together a meal concocted without plans, without thoughts to impress, but out of necessity and love.

All one hundred and twenty-seven and a half of them showed up, drank the eggnog supplied by the closest convenience store, ate the rum cakes and sugar cookies, filled their plates with spaghetti and said not nary a word of critique.

And so, after the last reveler had retired, and Mary Susan had tucked in husband, hobbling daughter, son-in-law, and the tiny pink-cheeked elves, she retreated to the kitchen to retrieve her box of recipes, plans, and itineraries. She quietly slid them onto their appointed shelf in the hall closet and left them, for next year.

Or not.

 

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There’s a Sale at the Book Boutique!

 

All Christmas Ad

My mama says my first word was “sale.” I love a big red sign with big white letters screaming 50% OFF! I also can’t stand the idea of waking up at the %$#@ crack of dawn to shop. There’s not enough coffee in the world to make me want to call that fun. Not judging you if you’re that kind of person (some of my best friends are crazy like that, you know who you are), but I’d rather shop in my pjs.

In honor of the craziness which is Black Friday (and the rest of December), I’m going to help you with your list. From now until the first of the year, all my books are on sale!

EBooks are on sale at ALL eReading sites (Amazon, Barnes & NobleiBooks, Kobo). Home Is Where Your Boots Are is available for FREE as an eBook. These Boots Are Made for Butt-Kickin’ is knocked down to .99 as an eBook and Blame It All On My Boots is FREE too. Mo(u)rning Joy is also discounted to $1.99. 

Print books are on sale BIG at Lulu.com. Home Is Where Your Boots Are, These Boots Are Made for Butt-Kickin’ and Mo(u)rning Joy are all 50% OFF the regular price. You can gift to all your people and not feel the least bit guilty. And make sure you check out Lulu’s homepage for additional discounts.

If your favorite peeps have an iPad, Kindle of any kind, Nook, or smartphone/tablet/eReader you can gift them all my books for less than $3. All you need to gift the eBooks is the recipients’ email. Need help? Shoot me an email and I’ll walk you through it.

buy-now

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The MisAdventures of Miss Lilly is also available as audiobooks through Amazon, iTunes, and Audible if your people like to listen! First timers to Audible get either one of the books for FREE!

I hope this Christmas season brings you Jesus, hope, craziness, joy, shenanigans, love, familial dysfunction, and above all, eggnog. After all, these are the things that make the world go ’round.

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In love, tinsel, and cowgirl boots,

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Lilly’s Christmas Gift Guide

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In case you need help with your holiday shopping for all your favorite, hard to buy for people, here’s Lilly’s list!

For Mama

HH Skull

A blinged-out cow skull, because if it’s not pretty, platinum, shiny or diamonds, why bother? From Harriet and Hazel

For Nonnie

Barn Owl

A watercolor of her favorite barn owl. By North American artist Christy Dekonig

For Poppa and Daddy

drone

A drone. So you can check cows without ever having to leave your chair.

For Tally

Rustic Cuff

This fancy “Stayin’ Alive” 2.0 cuff from Rustic Cuff

For Fae Lynn

Boots

A new pair of Lucchese Classics in her favorite colors.

For Char

Old Gringo Purse

A sassy cross body made out of a boot top. What could be better? Sora Boot Handbag from Old Gringo

For Jacque

Ruby's Rubbish Tshirt

This awesome t-shirt from Ruby’s Rubbish. Jac’s is known for her sassy mouth. Might as well wear it on her chest.

For Brandy

Necklace

This short and long green petals necklace from Chelsea Collette Collections. It’s long on drama, which we know Brandy tries to hide.

For Amber out in San Fran

DD

This lovely Double D Ranchwear shirt. So she remembers where she came from.

For Charlie

Burberry

A Burberry pencil sleeve. Something expensive and useless. Classic Charlie.

For Spencer

Luke

A Luke Bryan CD. In hopes that he’ll get a clue about the ways of a Southern boy.

For Cash

Cash

A fancy gym bag. For all his yoga. And hiding things.

Enjoy all your shopping! And as always, you know everyone on your list wants to be gifted Home Is Where Your Boots Are and These Boots Are Made for Butt-Kickin’!

Blame It All On My Boots

The epic love story… that wasn’t.

Blame It All On My Boots eBook Cover

All’s fair in love and cowgirl boots…

Young Love. New Flames. Sweet Revenge.

When good girl Lilly Atkins meets bad boy Cash Stetson, everyone thinks they need a divine intervention.

Sophomore Lilly is intrigued when everyone’s favorite player, Cash Stetson, has her in his sights. Everyone’s telling her to turn and run, but when she glimpses something good underneath that dangerous charm, she just can’t help herself. Will he make a good girl go bad?

Senior Cash’s reputation is state-wide, and not just for his wide receiver skills. But something about little Miss Lilly Atkins and all her sweetness make him want to stake a claim. Everyone knows that bad boys never go good.

Will Lilly and Cash stay hotter than a two dollar pistol?

Or will they go down in flames?

You can get the pre-release of Blame It All On My Boots by signing up to be a member of the Posse!

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Something Wicked This Way Comes…

 And it’s oh so much fun.

Juice

Ever wondered what happened way back when to make Lilly want to shoot Cash Stetson?

Me too.

It’s coming. And if you want it early you have to become a member of the Posse to get it exclusively early and free before the rest of the world. You know you wanna.

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How To Make An Audiobook

Butt-KickinAudioCover copy HomeIsWhereYourBootsAre AudioCover

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have no budget. It’s zero.

So even though I asked Carrie Underwood’s publicist if she would ask Carrie to narrate my audiobooks for me, I knew I couldn’t afford her. But I’m the kind of gal that needs to be told ‘no’ to be able to move on with my life, so I had to ask.

I knew I needed audiobooks for The MisAdventures of Miss Lilly. They’re too hilarious not to be available as performances. So I dug into research. And by “research” I mean I listened to a million and two audiobook samples. And took copious notes.

I noted two things about the narration performances:

One, when the person reading the book was a professional narrator, there was a sense that they didn’t completely understand the whole of the author’s point at each increment. They did bang up jobs, don’t get me wrong, but it was a “dramatic read” of the book, complete with fake accents in some cases, and it didn’t always convey what it needed to. Not always! Some were dead on and perfect. But I could tell a difference.

Two, when the author read their own book, the majority of them seemed to be bored. I don’t think it was because they were so over the words they’d written, edited, and bled over. I think it was because they maybe thought they needed to play it cool to be professional. It bothered me. As a listener, I don’t want you to be too cool for your message. I know the words were in your head and they had inflection to them when you wrote them. I want to hear that.

So, because I couldn’t afford to hire a professional and then “direct” them on how to read my book, I knew I was going to have to do it myself. I’m not so arrogant to think that I was the best person for the job.

#CallMeCarrie

But I was the only person for the job.

That decided, I knew I didn’t want to just read the book, I wanted to act it. So I practiced, and practiced, and practiced. I recorded my voice, I recorded myself (bless me), I consulted my husband (bless him), until I knew I was kind of ready.

I am lucky enough to know good people who own a record company. Not a huge one, but one that houses skills and talents outside my wheelhouse. They agreed to produce the books. I died a happy death. This is important. I’m sure your computer has a great microphone and sounds decent, but nothing beats a soundproof booth and the technical skills of a professional. And a closet full of clothes does not a soundproof booth make. #TrustMe

With two audiobooks with good reviews under my belt, I’m sure I know what I’m doing [insert sarcasm here]. I’m going to share with you my tips and tricks of the trade. You can thank me later.

1. Do not record the whole book in one session. I know when you book studio time, it’s better for the studio to book you a whole block of 8-10 hours. Don’t. You lose yourself, your momentum and your voice at a certain point. I recommend 2-2.5 hour sessions. I found that with about a ten minute warm-up, I really hit my stride, and then started to wane around the 2 hour mark.

2. You have to read aloud the portion you’re due to read before the session. Read aloud. Not just read. I recommend at least twice. That way you know what you want to do with it. You’re acting your book, whether it’s fiction or non, you know sometimes you meant to be droll and sometimes you meant to be irreverent. An audiobook is the only place you can truly nail that for everyone. You need to play with different inflections. What may seem like a waste of time (because you wrote the book!) is truly invaluable. You cannot be overly prepared.

3. A week leading up to your session, drink tea with honey, lemon, and lavender oil. Suck down honey/menthol cough drops like your life depends on it. Reduce the dairy in your life. Guzzle water. The morning of your session, no coffee, no dairy, gargle with salt water, and drink two cups of the tea concoction. Cough drops one after the other. An hour before chew gum that’s not sweet. I also recommend a round of “red leather/yellow leather” to warm up. And I always sing to warm up on the way to the session. Vintage Reba McEntire. This all sounds completely ridiculous. This all works amazingly.

4. Don’t bring your manuscript in hard format. Bring it on an e-Reader. Nothing more annoying than flipping pages heard in the background. It’s very hard to edit those out.

5. Don’t wear anything that may clink. Wear light, comfortable clothes that make no sound. You’ll probably start to sweat ten minutes in. No? Just me, then.

6. Get excited. Really. This is your book, man. Bring it. You can be cool in the car on the way home.

7. Make sure your producer is the real deal and will tell you when you flub stuff up. You don’t want a yes-man telling you that you hit it out of the park when you really stunk it up.

8. When you flub, pause and restart prior to the flub. The producer has to splice your mistakes out and bring it all together. Be kind and make it easy on them.

9. Slow down. No really. Read slower than you think you should. Enunciate. But not too much. You’ll create a lisp. No? Just me.

10. Once the files are done, I recommend using ACX as a distributor. They’ll link up to Amazon, Audible, and iTunes quickly. Your book must already be available on these sites to use, so make sure your print or eBook is already available. All your chapters must be a separate file, and you have to include an intro and opening and closing credits. You must give credit where credit is due. And if you get fancy and have anyone else join you in the recording you must note them.

11. Wait. It takes several weeks for ACX to approve your files and get it out there. Make sure you have an audiobook version of your cover uploaded. I usually just crop my eBook covers a little and resize to a square.

12. Once ACX approves you, the book will be available through each vendor, usually one at a time. ACX will also give you 25 free audiobook codes to give away for beta-listeners.

13. Start all over!

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Got any questions about the process? Need help or recommendations? Email me at kalanclloyd@gmail.com

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