New Blog Address

To read about my latest book, The Winds of September, please go to www.frances-bennett.blogspot.com.

How Communities Came Into Existence

The Journey
Press Release Author: Frances Bennett / Bookstand Publishing
Industry: Media
Press Release Summary: The Journey is a historical fiction
novel that describes a way of life for settlers that few of us can gather in. Read about 1899 Americana History, a story of homesteading, conquering a wilderness, and naming a community in order to receive mail. Read excerpts and place an order at http://www.francesbennett.blogspot.com/ http://www.bookstandpublishing.com/m/francesbennett
Reviews at http://www.amazon.com/. Press Release Body: The Journey ISBN: 978-1-58909-454-3
Contact Details: Frances Bennett 1359 Hwy. 3121 Spearsville, LA 71277 phone: 318 7783896
E-mail; francesbennett7@gmail.com. Frances Bennett never dreamed that the articles she began writing for a Union Parish, Louisiana paper in 2004 would lead the way to a book publisher. For the weekly article, she searched her memory and wrote of nostalgic things such as school days in the 40’s, and how things were done when two grades occupied the same room in the little sawmill town of Urbana, Arkansas. But Bennett soon realized that her memories wouldn’t sustain the column for long, so she began a serialized story from her mother’s bible records and things her maternal grandmother told as they sat in front of a crackling fire on cold winter nights. As a nine year old, Bennett tucked it away in her heart and relived it all before she fell asleep.
The continued story was an instant success, and through questions to Bennett and her editor as to whether she was writing a book, the seed was planted. From this came, The Journey.
The story begins in 1899 when newly weds, Lona and Charlie Stegall, along with two of Charlie’s brothers, leave North Carolina on a wagon train headed for Union County, Arkansas, where another brother has settled. They cross rivers and bury the dead to finally arrive at their destination. Frighteningly beautiful descriptions of happenings fill the pages of The Journey during Lona and Charlie’s lifetime on a homestead that was carved from a wilderness.
Frances Bennett is an artist and a Christian writer. She is the mother of four with six grandchildren and one great grandchild. In 1951, Frances rode with a friend to attend a gospel meeting at the Antioch Church of Christ near Spearsville, Louisiana. She met her future husband, Billy Bennett, at the Sunday morning service. At that time, the white church building on a hill was made from lumber and the church dinners were held underneath shade trees. Billy and Frances married in June of 1952, and still live on the farm they bought in 1954. They worship on that same hill, only now, from their home they look across fields and see a red brick church.
Frances writes a column for a local parish paper. The Journey was her serialized column at one time, and begins with the story of her maternal grandparents wagon train migration as newly weds in 1899 from North Carolina to homestead in Union County, Arkansas. She used childhood memories of conversations at dusky dark as a tightly rolled rag smoked to keep mosquitoes at bay, things her grandmother told, and her mother’s bible records to spin the historical fiction column. It was an instant success, and through positive feedback and questions as to whether she was writing a book, the seed was planted. From this came The Journey.
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Check out the NEW GREAT BOOKS PAGE

I am honored for Peter N. Jones to include my historical fiction book, The Journey, on the GREAT NEW BOOKS THAT ARE A MUST READ list on newgreatbooks.blogspot.com /. It is always interesting to see what different people percieve about the book, and Peter's review is certainly worthwhile reading. Frances Bennett

For you South Arkansas and North Louisiana folks!

My historical fiction novel, The Journey by Frances Bennett, Spearsville, La. is at the following bookstores:

Harrison's Christian Bookstore, El Dorado, Arkansas.
Jefferson's Bookstore, El Dorado, Arkansas.
Bernice Drugs, Bernice, Louisiana
Read about it on my blog, http://www.francesbennett.blogspot.com
http://www.bookstandpublishing.com/m/francesbennett
Reviews at, http://www.amazon.com

Frances Bennett will speak on June 8th regarding The Journey.......

The Union County Arkansas Genealogy Society will meet at 2 pm in the Barton Library of El Dorado, Arkansas on June 8, 2008. Frances Bennett will be the speaker as there was quite a bit of genealogy work before her historical fiction novel, The Journey, was published. Frances will relate childhood memories and happenings through past years that led to her becoming a writer, also the part that her newspaper column, Reflections, played in her decision to write a book. A review and description of The Journey will be included in the June 2nd mailing of Tracks and Traces, a genealogy paper that goes to almost every state.

Southern Hospitality

For seven years. I wrote a weekly column for The Bernice Banner. I turned in short family related stories before I began a serialized account from my mother's bible records and things my maternal grandmother told about leaving North Carolina in 1899 as a new bride on a wagon train bound for Union County, Arkansas. This historical fiction story, The Journey, was an instant success. Through questions as to whether I was writing a book, the seed was planted and by the time I had turned in chapter 72, my mind was made up. Through Bookstand Publishing, I had The Journey published in book form. Frighteningly beautiful happenings fill all 232 pages of this Christian book.
I no longer have my column, but I am presently working on The Winds series. I have completed what I plan to be the first book of four, and I'm on chapter 40 of the second book. (I am updating these posts. Today is 2, 22, 2012, and I have already published The Winds of September, and the second book, The Winds of Time that came out in Oct. 0f 2011.) These are fiction, and describe the life of settlers who migrated from a Texas soddy to homestead in the Appalachian Valley of Tennessee. Same family, different stages of their lives. To purchase a signed copy of The Journey, ISBN #: 978-1-58909-454-3, The Winds of September, ISBN #978-1-58909-584-7,or The Winds of Time, ISBn# 978-1-61862-032-3, send a check or money order in the amount of $23.00 to:
Frances Bennett
1359 Hwy. 3121
Spearsville, Louisiana 71277
http://www.bookstandpublishing.com/book_details/The_Winds_of_Time
http://www.bookstandpublishing.com/book_details/The_Winds_of_September
http://www.bookstandpublishing.com/m/francesbennett
http://www.amazon.com (Search: The Journey by Frances Bennett)
francesbennett7@gmail.com

What Some People Say About The Journey

Many people say that once they started reading, they couldn't put it down until they finished. I've been asked if Lona's necklace is a family heirloom, and who has it now. Some people plan to visit the Philadelphia Cemetery in Union County, Arkansas that I write about in The Journey where a lot of Stegalls' are buried. The death of eighteen month old Ila Bessie has been compared to the death of a two year old boy in a family where the mother lined his footprints in the garden with turnip green leaves to try and preserve them. Heart wrenching and joyful stories come to me from memories that The Journey has evoked in readers. For a signed copy, send a check or money order in the amount of $23.00 to:
Frances Bennett
1359 Hwy. 3121
Spearsville, Louisiana 71277

ISBN: 978-1-58909-454-3
Read reviews and buy at: http://www.amazon.com(The Journey by Frances Bennett)
http://www.bookstandpublishing.com/m/francesbennett
francesbennett7@gmail.com

Second part of letter in The Journey from Lona to her folks

The horses cut up so, he knew something was out there. Whatever it was stayed at the edge of the woods. I made sure my windows were closed that night. We'll battle anything that tries to steal our bacon.
It is warm tonight, and the lamp draws candle flies and bugs, but I couldn't wait until morning to write. I try to be in the garden at daybreak while Charlie is still inside. Of course, my stooping is limited. I'm on my knees a lot, but that's where I feel I should be as I watch the first pink rays of morning light settle over everything. Gods Creation!

Send a check or money order for $23.00 to buy a signed copy of The Journey,
ISBN-13: 978-1589094543

Frances Bennett
1359 Hwy. 3121
Spearsville, Louisiana 71277 or:

http://www.bookstandpublishing/m/francesbennett.com

francesbennett7@gmail.com
To read reviews: http://www.Amazon.com (The Journey by Frances Bennett)

Part of a letter in The Journey from Lona to her folks in North Carolina

April 12, 1902
Dear Mama,
I wanted to surprise you, so I haven't mentioned having a picture made, but here it is. This is the next best thing to being there with all of you. As you can see, I'm getting pretty big........I haven't seen any cougars lately, although I have heard wolves at night. They seem to be most active when there is a full moon. So far, we've been able to keep the hogs safe. Charlie slept in the barn one night........

Relax with a Historical Fiction Novel, The Journey, set in Union County, Arkansas

Life in the 1890's was quite different, especially when you traveled by wagon from North Carolina to Southern Arkansas to homestead and raise a family. Read about the adventures of my maternal grandparents as they fought to carve a home out of the wilderness of Union County, Arkansas. They lived in a log cabin on land where cougars roamed. Four years after they homesteaded, my pioneer grandmother finally received an old yellowed letter from Laura, her friend on the wagon train who had settled in Missouri. The letter is included on this blog. To order a signed copy of The Journey, send a check or money order in the amount of $23.00 to:
Frances Bennett
1359 Hwy. 3121
Spearsville, La 71277
Or buy online at: http://www.bookstandpublishing.com/m/francesbennett
francesbennett7@gmail.com

The rest of a letter from Laura to Lona in "The Journey"

Jeff travels for miles to haul lumber for our cabin that he has underway. I try to let the baby get as much fresh air as possible. It's continually damp in the soddy. Jeff works from daylight to dark. If anything happened to him, I don't know if I could make it out of here.
A traveling doctor delivered our baby. When he heard about my first pregnancy, he came two weeks before my due date and stayed. It was warm weather, so he slept outside. He told Jeff of a surveyor's job that was open. Jeff applied and got it. That was a blessing from God. As Jeff works, sometimes he's close enough to the station where freight wagons unload to pick up supplies.
We have a good well of water, and I'm grateful to Jeff's half brothers for their help. The digging went on for months, with Jeff hauling water for our use from a creek that was miles away. That's one reason we're this late getting a cabin started.
Lona, I've wished so many times that we had settled Arkansas. I guess we're here to stay. I realize it will be years before this country is settled. Everybody's not as crazy as we were, but every now and then, wanderlust gets in a man's blood, and here comes someone else.
Write and tell me all about your life in Arkansas. Somehow, some way, I know we'll see each other again.
Lots of love from your friend,
Laura Spalding

A portion of a letter from Lona's friend Laura in "The Journey."

Lona placed a pillow behind her back as the wagon creaked along. She had been waiting for some word from Laura since they went separate ways from the wagon train. She eagerly opened the letter and read, and read.
Our home is a soddy, so during the warm months, Jeff and I sat outside a lot at night under a full moon. We talked and planned, but Jeff didn’t know my thoughts were never far from Rosetta and that tiny little grave in a North Carolina mountain side. It was slowly eating away at my soul, and I knew I couldn’t go on this way, grieving and at the same time, trying to make my peace with this harsh land. I gradually overcame the grief, and when I found out I was pregnant, even though we lived in a soddy, I was finally at rest as much as is possible out here.
The prairie winds howl most of the time. The grass is tall and rich, and what few cows we have are mud fat. You have to like yourself pretty well to live here. It’s rare to see another person. Some trappers occasionally travel through, and usually say they were attracted by smoke coming from the cook stove pipe that sticks above ground. I’m only too glad to feed them, just to be able to talk with another human being.

Final Post For Childhood Memories That Evolved Into 'The Journey'

We stayed on that winter, and sat in front of a fireplace as my grandmother talked. I
was mesmerized by the things she told concerning her childhood and early years of
marriage. I knew from the expression on Mother’s face that she had not heard this either. My older sister was twelve, and usually was in a world of her own as she sat at a corner table and read by a coal oil lamp. Mammaw rocked and talked as firelight shadows danced on the walls. I could have listened to her all night. “When me and Papa came out on that wagon train from North Carolina,…..” She told of families burying their dead along the
way, and how frightened the women and children were when some Indian braves visited the wagon train. It seemed to comfort her to tell of her and Granddaddy’s experiences.
I knew she missed him terribly, and this was her way of preparing herself for the day when she would have to leave her home. She told a lot that winter. I tucked it away in my heart, and then I went to bed and relived it all before I fell asleep.
We made it through the winter, and one day we looked up and wildflowers were everywhere. Green grass was plentiful, and it seemed to be defying Mammaw’s decision to leave the farm. But we all knew what it would be like for hungry animals, and Mammaw wanted no part of that. As weeks passed, ripe muscadines hung in clusters from the arbor, and I ate until my lips were sore.
Summer eased into fall, and we knew it was time. Mammaw stood on her front porch with moist eyes as the last of her livestock was carried away. I heard her mutter to herself, “Lona Stegall, you just get a grip. If you can give birth to nine babies in a wilderness, you surely can make this change.” It broke my heart as I watched her struggle. I hid underneath the front porch and sobbed as the bawling of cattle gradually faded in the distance.
My grandmother lived among her children for a while. When she boarded a plane to visit three of her daughters in California, someone asked her if she was afraid to fly and she answered, “No, I figure if it gets there, I will too.”
Mother had one brother, and later on, he built Mammaw a house close to his family. By now, she was ready to settle in one place. After I married and had children, she visited in my home, mostly during gospel meetings. She lived to be ninety-nine. With her spirit, she was a firm believer that life is what you make it.



Memories from my childhood that I've posted is an article I wrote and titled, A Pioneer Spirit. It was published in the January 2007 issue of Good Old Days magazine.

Childhood Memories That Evolved Into "The Journey"

Mother and Mammaw struggled each day to keep things going. Mammaw had already sold her hogs, and come late summer, after the hay and dried corn were used up through the winter, and the fresh grazing was gone, the rest of the livestock had to be sold. I heard them talking quietly, and I knew Mammaw couldn’t stay on the farm. As they talked, I crept to the kitchen safe where the cornbread, cakes and pies were kept. I got a big piece of cornbread and wrapped it in a rag. I had my own jar of buttermilk that sat on a back porch shelf during cold weather. I carried my food to the corn crib, and after making sure a chicken snake wasn’t looking for a warm place out of the wind, I settled back among the dried ears of corn and for a nine year old, I did some serious thinking. I felt guilty about wanting to leave the farm. I guess somehow, I associated this with Mammaw having to leave next fall.

Childhood Memories That Evolved into "The Journey"

Shortly after this visit, my grandfather passed away. I remember Mammaw kneeling by the old brown leather sofa he lay on after he died. She put her cheek to his face, and although I was only nine, I knew this was a private time. I turned and quietly left the room.
Several weeks later, she began visiting her children. I could hardly wait for our turn. After she arrived, I sat close by and watched her crochet. She smelled of wood smoke, ham gravy, and bed linens that had sunned all day. I had no idea that later on, my Mother, my sister, and I would live with Mammaw for a while and that our nightly visits in front of a roaring fire would set the stage for my historical fiction novel, The Journey.
After we moved in with Mammaw, the following winter was hard. We walked through sleet and snow to catch the school bus. I look back now and know there was beauty everywhere, but the magic of visiting the farm while Granddaddy lived was gone. This was home now, and the harsh reality of everyday living was disappointing. I missed my old school mates, and the distant thump of pumping oil wells.
One January morning, my sister and I trudged through melted snow on our way to the bus stop. I looked at the field of frost covered corn stalks with their dried blades rattling in the cold wind. This was Granddaddy’s last corn crop. Last summer, he had lifted me astride a mule named Kate, and I rode up and down the rows for a while as Granddaddy laid by the corn. My red straw hat perched atop my head, but even then, sweat ran down my face and made tiny brown ringlets spill out from under my hat. Kate was sweating too, and the seat of my overalls was wet. I would have stayed on that old mule all day, but Granddaddy said, “Let’s not make Kate work any harder than she has to. You run over yonder and sit in the shade. It’ll soon be dinner time.”
I sat underneath a big walnut tree, and my overalls were dry by dinner time. We put Kate in the lot, then watered and fed her. Granddaddy wouldn’t work her on such a sweltering evening. I was already making plans to visit again when it came time to gather the crop. I would get to ride Kate as she pulled the wagon, and this time, it wouldn’t be as hot.
I sloshed along in my galoshes under a clear sky, but patches of snow still clung to the hillsides. Red mud was everywhere, and the walk took longer. The bus was waiting, and when I tried to run, my feet went flying. A long woolen scarf was wrapped around my head several times and tied. This cushioned my head, but my backside hit hard in the red mud. Nothing was hurt except my pride, but tears stung my eyes as I crawled on the bus. We had a strict driver, so no one dared laugh. As I settled into my seat, I thought, “Cussed old school, I hate it anyway.” Then I worried all day that I could have had such an evil thought.

Childhood Memories That Evolved Into "The Journey"

After the visiting calmed down, my first stop was her bedroom. I stood quietly by the victrola, staring at the small white dog on the RCA label. I was missed within a few minutes and shooed out, but I didn’t mind. My exploring had just begun.
I went with Mammaw to gather eggs. She always cautioned me not to put my hand in a nest without first checking for chicken snakes. She unchained the crib door and I threw down some dried ears of corn. We shelled this off the cob and fed the chickens. I raced over and sat on the old iron rake that rested beneath a huge pine. I pretended I was driving horses and raking hay. She smiled, and went about her work.
After supper, everyone moved to the front porch for more visiting. I sat beside Mammaw in the porch swing. Shadows danced across the porch as clouds covered the moon, then scurried on by. The swing slowly creaked back and forth, and my eyelids began to get heavy.
I slept on the screened back porch and later awoke to the calling of hoot owls. Tall pines surrounded open fields, and I wondered which trees the owls were in. The wind blew softly, and limbs on a cherry tree scrubbed against the screen. I reminded myself that morning would soon come and there would be cherry jam on Mammaw’s hot biscuits.

Childhood Memories That Evolved Into "The Journey"

When I think of my maternal grandparents, Lona and Charlie Stegall, memories come flooding back of childhood visits to the farm that they homesteaded in Union County, AR. They became the parents of nine children, and lost a daughter at the age of 18 months. The other children grew up on the farm and moved away, except for Aunt Trudy who married and settled across the hollow. I looked out the car window and strained to see the roof of her house as we bounced along the corduroy road, headed for Mammaw's. My grandmother heard us coming and stood out front, her brown hair in a bun and laughing green eyes in a tanned face that was weathered from outside chores. She hugged me, and I felt the strength in her arms. I dug around in her apron pockets, and to a nine year old, anything I came out with was a treasure. To be continued!

The Dreaded Mississippi River Crossing

The Journey is exciting, historical fiction, that tells the story of Lona and Charlie Stegall joining a wagon train in North Carolina and coming to Union County, Arkansas to homestead. The wagons had crossed several rivers, but the worst was ahead. Even in 1899, the grapevine was alive and well. Lona stepped outside the wagon for a breath of fresh air before going to bed. She overheard excited voices and, under cover of darkness, went closer to listen. They would cross the Mississippi by ferry, and the voice went on to say, he sure hoped the horses didn't bolt and jump off the ferry like some had done, never to be recovered in those sink holes. Lona pretended to be sleeping when Charlie crawled into bed, but she lay awake for hours, and then dreamed of horses being sucked under by whirlpools and wagons floating down the river.
The next morning, there were dark circles under her eyes. By noon, the river was in sight. A big cheer went up from the wagon train. Lona strained to see Arkansas soil and promised herself if she ever reached their homestead, she'd be quite content not to look at another river.
Two wagons at a time were driven onto the ferry. The current was swift, and the ferry hit the other side too fast. Wagons groaned and horses fought to keep their balance. Children cried, and men cursed. Then it was Charlie and Lona's turn. Lona crawled up on the seat of the wagon and and took the reins. Charlie stood by the team. The ferry picked up speed with the current, and Lona looked down into that churning mass of water. Charlie hollered, "Get ready for a rough landing, Lona." The ferry landed with a hard thud, and Lona was thrown underneath the foot board. The wagons shuddered, chickens squawked and flapped, and the horses stomped and pranced. Lona scrambled to her feet in time to see Charlie's hat float away. She looked down into the river and screamed his name.

My historical fiction book, The Journey, is published.

The Journey is the story of my maternal grandparents, Charlie and Lona Stegall, who came by wagon from North Carolina to carve a living out of the wilderness of Union County, Arkansas. My grandmother gave birth to nine children, shot cougars, and helped my grandfather wrestle a living from the land. If you love to read about happenings in the 1800s, this is the book for you.

Purchase or read about The Journey on http://www.amazon.com/
or
Send money order or check for $23.00(includes shipping) to:
Frances Bennett
1359 Hwy. 3121
Spearsville, La 71277
francesbennett7@gmail.com