Linda Sheehan

Welcome to Uncaged! Your new novel, Decanted, will release on May 13th. Can you tell readers more this book? What is the most difficult scene for you to write? What is the easiest?

Thank you for the chance to promote my book in your super-cool publication! Decanted tells the tale of Samantha Goodyear, who quits her-high pressure job in Manhattan to work grape harvest in France at an ancient and celebrated domain. There, between picking grapes in the cellar and crushing them in the vineyard, she meets the heir to the dynasty, who teaches her about the art of making wine and the art of making love. Wrapped through Samantha’s adventures (that eventually take her to Napa to make a wine of her own), is the story of her great-aunt Vivian, an artist’s model in 1930’s Paris, who inspired her niece’s love of wine.

You are a co-owner of Poe Wines – a winery in Napa. Drawing from your own personal experiences, you included this culture into the book. What do you want readers to take away from this book?

Sex scenes are the hardest! How far do you go, how steamy can you get before you offend some readers? The funniest scenes are always the easiest for me because I love to crack myself up while I’m writing.

What are you looking forward to doing when the pandemic is over that you haven’t been able to do.

Hug and kiss good friends without seeing that terrified look in their eyes that I could pass on the dreaded virus.

What was the first book that made you laugh and/ or cry?

The ending of Gone with the Wind made me cry for days when I was fourteen.

I find that people from all walks of life: actors; film producers: sports stars: scientists; politicians; are into wine, and love learning about this industry. The culture here is unique and exciting, and I wanted to give readers a fun and inside look at what makes it tick, and see what the process of making wine is really all about.

What are you working on next that you can tell us about?

My next novel, Fore Play, is a comedy set at a swanky Los Angeles golf club known for its decadent parties, ruthless social climbing, and star-studded membership, where

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I love riding and jumping my horse Valentino in the arena that has an amazing view of the Napa Valley.

THE CULTURE HERE IS UNIQUE AND EXCITING AND I WANTED TO GIVE READERS A FUN AND INSIDE LOOK AT WHAT MAKES IT TICK.

| FEATURE AUTHOR | If you could have one all-year season, which would it be and why?

Summertime! Because it always brings back memories of those fun days sailing on Long Island sound all summer long.

How many hours a day do you write? On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

I can write for five or six hours straight before the computer makes my eyeballs feel like rocks. My novels have taken about three months to bang out, and another three months to edit.

Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

Audiobooks make long drives fly by, and I’ve even sat in the garage when I’ve arrived home to finish them. But curling up in bed with a great book is my true passion. I’m currently reading The Billionaire’s Vinegar which is a total page turner.

What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

I’d like to share the words of Napoleon Bonaparte who said, “Show me a family of readers, and I will show you the people who move the world.” Readers can follow me on Instagram at lindasheehanauthor, or my website at lindasheehanauthor.com

Enjoy an excerpt from Decanted

Decanted Linda Sheehan Contemporary Women’s Fiction Releases May 13

From author Linda Sheehan, who’s part of a Napa wine dynasty, comes a story of grapes, wine, first crushes, and juicy redemption. Dreading the desk job that awaits her after high school, eighteen-year-old Vivian Goodyear takes off for pre-World War ll Paris, where she supports herself as an artist’s model.

Flash forward to modern day Manhattan where, inspired by Vivian’s courage, her grand-niece Samantha leaves her pressure cooker career to work the grape harvest in France. There, between picking grapes in the vineyard and crushing them in the cellar, she gets lessons in the art of making wine and in the art of making love. But when her world is turned upside down, a link from Aunt Vivian’s past could right it in a tale of being on top, sinking to the bottom, and coming up for glorious air.

Excerpt

prologue Montmartre, Paris June 1936

Marciel erased the asymmetrical portion of the figure model’s right breast and corrected it with his pencil. Though he’d been studying nudes since his first days at L’Académie, it still surprised him how few women had two bosoms that matched each other in size and shape. But the model’s anatomy wasn’t the reason he’d sent her away the previous day before her session had ended. It was rather that she lacked that special

something—that elusive élément magique that would inspire him to take his sketch to canvas. Between touch-ups of the drawing, he checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past hour. Phillipe had assured him that his new model would be there at two p.m., and it was already half-past three. He decided to give her ten more minutes, before he’d pack up his pastels and easel and head to the Place du Tertre to take advantage of the waves of tourists that flocked to Montmartre in summer. His gift of capturing the outer beauty, as well as what lay beneath the surface of his subjects made him one of the more successful portrait artists on the hill. Those commissions put food on his table, but did nothing to further his chances of getting recognized by the only people that mattered to unknown artists like himself—the dealers at the galleries on Paris’ Rue Laffitte. Another look at his watch reminded him that while time was running out for the model, it was running out for him as well. He’d turned thirty last month and had yet to get one of his paintings up on a gallery wall. Picasso was a celebrated artist by age nineteen. Chagall made a name for himself in his early twenties. Marciel had shown exceptional promise while a student at L’Académie. He received high praise by his professors for his painting style that, by adding in a tilt of the head or a smoldering gaze, could turn an ordinary looking woman into a mythological heroine, a sinister creature, or an object of unbridled desire. Then . . . maybe it was the ever-growing stench of human waste on the city streets, or his anxiety caused by the Nazi cloud that loomed over Europe, or perhaps the talent and creativity of his youth had passed its shelf life. Whatever the reason, the passions within him that had ignited the canvases of his earlier works seemed to have vanished over the past two years. And unless they reappeared soon, his only recourse would be to return to his family’s domaine in the south of France to join his father and sister in the cave making Grenache and Syrah. Gaining attention as an artist in Paris was becoming harder all the time as Montmartre continued to be a magnet for aspiring painters who flocked to the district with dreams of becoming the next Cézanne, Matisse, van Gogh, or Degas. It also made it harder to get suitable models who would take their clothes off for under ten francs. The ones in demand worked for artists with bigger names and fatter wallets, leaving the prostitutes and gypsies for those struggling like himself. The last girl Phillipe had sent him was as skinny as a chicken carcass pecked over by buzzards. The one before that was over forty and fat as a Yorkshire pig. But the agent had assured him that this girl, though young, would set his brush on fire. Now, he’d give his friend hell for her being a no show. He put the cork back in the bottle of the Burgundy he’d opened to use as a prop for the painting, and hoped the wine would keep its character for a few more days. While he returned the bottle to the shelf, there was a gentle rapping on his door.

New York City, three years ago

A dome of unyielding heat and humidity blanketed the Manhattan skyline, unseasonable even for midAugust. But as I sat with my friends at the dark mahogany bar of Spence’s Fines Wines & Spirits, the cool air that rose from the cellar below Columbus Avenue made that summer evening feel like a crisp fall morning. “Here’s a wine well-suited to toast a grand lady on what would have been her ninety-sixth birthday,” Spence Walker said as he climbed up the cellar steps, emerging with a bottle in his hand. “A Tannat from Gascony.” He flipped the blade from his corkscrew and ran it around the lower lip of the bottle’s neck to remove the top of the tin capsule. After twisting in the screw and popping the cork, he poured the deep purple liquid from the grapes of Southwest France into four glasses. I rotated mine on the counter and raised it high in the air. “To Great-aunt Vivian! Who encouraged me to trust my instincts, to take chances, and to taste.” “To Samantha’s Aunt Vivian,” Spence, Stephanie, and Cameron said as their glasses met mine then touched each other’s. “Some great-aunts teach their nieces to knit and bake cookies. Mine taught me how to tell the dif-

| FEATURE AUTHOR |

ference between a Grenache and a Syrah,” I said before taking a sip. “Whoa!” I licked my lips to negate the intense drying sensation that had taken over my mouth. “She might have loved this wine, but it’s sure not my style.” “Let it wake up a bit,” Spence suggested. “You’ll be surprised by how it develops. It’s bold, but Vivian once told me it has the power to take you to unknown places.” “That sounds like my aunt,” I agreed. “Yup. That lady had one adventurous palate,” Spence said. “Wasn’t she considered a bit of a rebel back in her day?” “Yup. A rebel with a mind of her own.” I gave the wine another swirl. “After she finished high school in the 1930s, her parents assumed she’d attend Mrs. O’Grady’s secretarial school for women. Wrong! Instead, she took her savings and booked passage on the SS France bound for Paris. Thought she could make a living by selling her clay sculptures. When that bubble burst, she enrolled in art school with the money she earned as a life model.” “A life model?” asked Cameron. “You mean a nude model? That little old lady was a nude model?” “She wasn’t always a little old lady. You’ve seen her on that canvas hanging over my mantle. The artist who painted it thought her face and form expressed a complex range of characteristics that seeped onto the canvas: sexuality, innocence, bitterness, sweetness, softness, acidity—” “Just like great wine,” said the willowy and beautiful Stephanie. “Yeah, just like great wine. She told some radical stories about her life in Paris right before the war,” I said. “The nightclubs, the fashions, the artists and writers she hung with, the fear that their world was about to come crashing down. But it was strange that she never talked about her life when the Nazis took over the city.” “It had to be a nightmare,” said Stephanie. “I’m sure. I just know that after the occupation, she moved back here and became a stylist for Vogue. She also wrote a nationally syndicated column about food and wine.” “That Vivian was quite the Renaissance woman,” Spence said as he took another sip of the Tannat and let it linger on his tongue. “And she sure knew her French wines.” While he spoke, he kept his eyes on the shop’s front window as if waiting for Vivian to walk in with her determined but abbreviated gait. “With just one whiff, she could name what was in the glass and where it was from, be it a Petit Verdot from Bordeaux, a Syrah from Provence, or a Chenin Blanc from St. Émilion.” Though my great-aunt had died six months before, it was still hard to believe she was gone. When I graduated from college and took a job at Weatherhouse Accounting, Vivian invited me to move into her coop on the Upper West Side. I was soon making enough money to share a decent space with my friends in BedStuy, but I just wasn’t comfortable with a lady that age living alone. The reality that she wouldn’t be around forever hit when she handed me a list of what would go to whom upon her death. The apartment she got for a steal in the 1970s would go to my parents, the funky art deco jewelry would go to my mom, and the furniture, the painting, and a case of some wine she’d been storing would go to me. Not long after, I got a call on my cell from the NYPD. Vivian’s heart had stopped beating while she was selecting her favorite salad mix of Russian kale and curly endive at the Seventy-ninth Street market. “I sure hope I’m as spry as Miss Vivian was when I’m ninety-five,” Spence said while he held up his glass of the almost-black wine to look through it. “Fat chance of that though. My eating habits are awful. Coffee for breakfast, no lunch, tasting wine all day long, fast food for dinner. Did you know I used to surf? All summer long. But the only exercise I’ve done for the past twenty years has been shuffling cartons and stacking bottles on these shelves.” “I can remember being in shape. Great shape, too.” I felt the waistband of my jeans cutting into my belly and silently cursed that new hire Austin for leaving those Krispy Kremes on the coffee counter each morning. “When I had time for a five-mile morning run, evening spin classes, TRX—” “You still have a primo body for a girl who rarely

sees the light of day,” the always supportive Cameron said. “And that face still looks pretty, even under those office lights. If I had even the slightest interest in the feminine sex, I’d never let you leave the house.” While speaking, he looked my way with eyes puffy from lack of sleep. Those bags and his ever-increasing slouch from being affixed to a computer made the 4 Decanted guy who was once the captain of his Varsity diving team look far older than his twenty-eight years. “You’d never let me leave the house? That’s creepy, Cam. Creepy.” “Where’s your sense of humor, Sam? You need to chill. Or what you really need is a good—” “I know what I need. But who has time for sex after working from seven in the morning ’til eleven at night all week long? Of course, my mom neglected to mention that I’d be working these hours when she convinced me to major in accounting. I guess I’m just destined to look like an overweight cadaver after thirty-five.” “Seems like it’s only a matter of time before we all look like cadavers after enough of these eighty-hour weeks crunching numbers,” added Stephanie, who was new enough at the firm to still have her sunny glow. She took another sip of the wine. “Spence was right about this getting yummier though.” While we were talking, she’d been entering her tasting notes on the Tannat into one of her favorite wine-sharing apps. Then she added a picture of the vintage’s label and tagged us as her drinking partners. I checked the time on my cell. “Playtime’s over for me. Another late night awaits. Got that bear of a presentation tomorrow for the Bannex Box Company. I’ve already created thirty-two schedules and sixteen spreadsheets. Getting close though.” “Wait. Isn’t Bannex Favia’s account?” asked Cameron. “She’s all over those folks.” “Favia’s on vacation, so Van Ness gave the assignment to me. He likes what he’s seen with my plan to expand the firm’s reach. So instead of schlepping to Duluth and Cleveland to audit paper pulp and carton factories, I’ll be traveling to wineries in Sonoma and châteaux in France. It’d be a great way for me to parlay myself, and maybe all of us, into the wine industry. After all, how many times have we heard him say he wants his hires to think outside the box?” “Only maybe . . . three times?” asked Stephanie. “A day, that is.” “More like three times an hour,” Cameron said with a yawn. “See you in the morning, guys,” I said. “You go, girl! Knock the socks off those carton kings!” Cameron called out as he held up a glass of a crisp white from the Phelz region in Germany. “Will do. Bye, Steph. Here, you take the Tannat, Spence. I shouldn’t be drinking tonight anyway,” I said as I slid my glass down the bar in his direction. “Hey, Sam, I’ve got the distributor for Domaine LeMont in Beaujolais stopping in around seven tomorrow evening,” Spence said. “I haven’t carried their wines for years, but since Wine Snob named them the best in the region, I’ve been getting calls for it. So come on by. I’d like your young taste buds to try them.” “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” I said as I unlocked the door and let myself out of the shop.

A Life in Motion

Life in rural Wisconsin is always A Life in Motion.

A snippet of life on the farm with Cyrene.

A Life in Motion – May 2021 The Rehabilitation of Tsunami

Each month I’ll share part of my life on this small farm. Some fun, some serious, but always in motion. I’ll share my tips for gardening, show you my gardens and harvests, fixing and rebuilding areas in the barn, the new baby chicks that will arrive in the spring, adventures with my goats and horses and since I’m always cooking and trying new things, I’ll post a recipe that I thought worked out well each month with pictures. Hope you enjoy the column and get a glimpse of what life is like for us here in the country.

We are on the board for a horse rescue/adoption non-profit 501C organization called Racer Placers, Inc. For the most part, the organization takes in Standardbreds that have either retired from, injured or are not competitive in harness racing and have been sent to our organization to rehab, retrain and find these horses new forever homes in a second career. Many have gone on to be search and rescue horses, therapy horses, competitive distance driving, endurance riding, show horses, 4H kid horses and family trail horses. When there is space and the funds, we have taken in other breeds to help out, some from people who find themselves unable to care for them any longer and want the protection of an adoption organization, or some are in an inhumane/neglect situation and need to be removed.

Such was the story and the case of Tsunami.

Tsunami is a well-bred, double registered ½ Arabian, ½ Andalusian older gelding that was with two other Arabian geldings and were in a starvation situation. The county animal control where these horses were, knew they needed to remove the horses from the situation, but didn’t have anywhere to take them. One of our board members talked to the owner of the horses and finally got her to sign them over to Racer Placers, and Racer Placers went in with a trailer and picked up the horses. After proper vetting, the main issue was the horses were severely malnourished and on a scale of 1-9 for body score, with 1 being the lowest score – these horses barely made the score of 2. Ideally, you want the horses to be between 4-5, 5 being optimal. But there is a long way in between those numbers. For some reason, I looked into Tsunami’s eyes, and something hit me. For days I deliberated over him. and normally where horses are concerned, I go with my gut. But I wanted to make sure I wasn’t just lamenting over his situation. There was just something about him, and finally I talked to my daughter and told her I thought he would be the next best step for her, and with Ana temporarily out of commission (that’s another story) – we decided to bring him home. He had been rescued from starvation, but we had a long way to go. The vet informed us that if he had stayed in the place he was at, he more than likely would not have lived through the winter.

He’s never acted like he missed those two geldings he was with for all that time as he now has two mares. The other two geldings have moved on to great loving homes also although I’m not personally in touch with their adoption parents, I have been told they are doing well. It was a concern that he would show some depres-

where he was going to get the care he deserved and he was happy and curious.

Starting off, we made sure he got plenty of fresh water and hay. We slowly began grain rations, adding as we went along. We also added pellets, soaked alfalfa cubes and a quarter cup of corn oil. We fed small portions and slowly brought up the amount so not to get him sick.

Next was exercise. He needed consistent therapy to start bringing back his muscle which was horribly atrophied. Walking over poles, up and down hills, easy and slow lunging. Bending his neck around and stretching it inside, down and out – he loves treats, so this helped make his exercises easier and fun for him.

We did ride him very easy once he got the weight on. But we didn’t put too much pressure on him, we wanted him to have exercise, but not to overdo anything.

This continued for Tsunami’s first full year (2019) with us. We kept up the exercise and we got to a point where we could level out his feed, and actually bring it to a maintenance level.

In the spring of 2020, we added something that I believe brought Tsunami a great deal of good. We gave him something that he hadn’t had in at least 9 years. We created a brand new pasture from our small hay field, and sent the horses out to pasture. As we slowly introduced him to the lush, fresh pasture, Tsunami truly blossomed. It was a missing piece to help us get to our goal. His energy levels increased dramatically that marks his breeding. He would trot and gallop around the field with his tail flagged and

his neck arched, snorting and enjoying being alive. So after a full summer of lush pasture (2020), we felt like it was time to move to the next step of Tsunami’s rehab. Unfortunately, in January 2021, our barn roof collapsed from snow. There was a bit of a delay, as we moved to get shelters up, and storage areas for hay and equipment, fix fences and think about what to do with to re-purpose the barn since insurance was not going to help. During this time, our next level with Tsunami was put on a back burner while we navigated our new reality.

The barn will be an ongoing project for the summer, but shelters are up, fences are strengthened and

| A LIFE In MOTIOn COLUMn |

we started working on his next phase-strength and stamina. We wanted to build back his muscle, and this is going to take us most of the summer, as he’s an older gelding and he hadn’t really had any work to speak of in his last home for 9+ years. He has a bit of arthritis somewhere in the back end, we are thinking probably hips or stifles, but we put him on a supplement and put on support boots on his back legs, and the more often we work him, the more the flexibility is returning for him.

A couple other bad habits have gone away with patience and time. We believe in natural horsemanship and training, and nothing is achieved through brute force.

One was when mounting, as soon as a person was seated, Tsunami would jerk backwards and almost fall on his back end. Someone must have jerked on his reins when mounting and scared him. We slowly removed that problem with consistent positive praise and practice in each step of mounting. Today - that is a thing of the past.

Secondly, he nipped. I’m not sure why, but a few good taps to his nose to show that we didn’t allow that, and I haven’t seen him do it since. Again, nothing more extreme was needed for him.

What have we found? A horse that is willing to try anything you ask of him, even if he isn’t sure it’s a good idea. He is the perfect horse for my daughter’s next level, and he’s teaching her a lot and even with her uncertainty in the beginning, she has bonded wonderfully with him. It’s that “gut feeling” thing I talked about before. I enjoy riding him occassionally myself, as he’s had some nice training in the past and is easy to ride. With the new exercise regimen, many soft spots along his top line are filling in.

Sometimes, I get emotional looking at the progress that Tsunami has made over the last two years. I expect him to keep improving and surprising us along the way. I am so proud of him and his recovery. We couldn’t have done it without his own desire to live and his freespirit. During this time, he’s gone from a languid horse with no energy, to an energetic, middle-of-the-pack, sometimes a jerk horse (most horses have their “jerk” moments) that shows us he is becoming his true self. Who knew that looking at those pictures of him in the beginning that he was going to be this well-built of a horse? And he’s only going to improve. So here is to the next year with him and our other two as we come into another riding season. If your life has been blessed with horses, then you know the feeling. Even if you are an armchair fan, you can’t help but admire this resilient and magnificent creature. Until next month…

My recipe this month is a very easy recipe: Barbequed Grilled Stuffed Chicken Breasts. I love to use the grills, specially in the warm weather and an easy, tasty recipe means less to clean up inside and it’s nice to keep the oven off. This is a recipe that I got from a magazine, and then modified it to work better for us.

©Copyright 2021 Cyrene Olson www.uncagedbooks.com Cyrene@UncagedBooks.com

Barbequed Grilled Stuffed Chicken Breasts

For this recipe, I used our charcoal kettle grill.

Ingredients

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

4 slices of bacon – cooked to crisp, reserve bacon grease. 1 1/2 cups of shredded cheese – your choice. I used a Cheddar and Monterey Jack mix

1 cup of Italian style bread crumbs

2 TB Butter - melted

2 TB fresh chives 2 TB fresh parsley

2 cloves fresh garlic – minced Salt & Pepper to taste Barbeque sauce of choice

1) Cut your chicken breasts into 2 large pieces – I’m including a pic for an example, this is not me. Put a piece of plastic wrap on top of one of the slices and pound it down with a meat tenderizer to break up the muscle to make it easier to roll. Repeat with all pieces of chicken.

2) Cook the bacon until crispy, reserve the bacon grease and mix 2 TB of drippings with the melted butter. 3) In a separate bowl, combine bread crumbs and bacon, ½ of the grease drippings mixture, cheese, chives and garlic. Add 2-3 TB of water to the mix.

4) Salt and pepper the chicken breasts on both sides

to your own taste.

5) Brush the inside of the chicken breast with the dripping mix.

6) Spoon the stuffing mix on top of the chicken breast, leaving room on the ends.

7) Roll up chicken breast from the wider side to the thin side. Use kitchen string, small metal skewers or soaked toothpicks to close it up.

8) Grill for at least 18 – 20 mins until the thermometer reads 180° turning every few minutes.

9) Add barbeque sauce of choice the last 10 mins of cooking.

I would say that this will feed 4 easily. The breasts are very tasty, but they aren’t that big once they are cooked, so the healthier appetites may want two. As always, let me know if you try it!