SIA MCKYE OVER COFFEE

REBECCA YORK: Become A Writer? No Way!

2012-01-27T23:31:00.000-06:00

My guest is USA Best Selling romance author, Rebecca York. Those of you who have read her wonderful stories know she writes, romance, suspense, and paranormal. Very talented lady. Rebecca has written a new detective series, Decorah Security. I have the opportunity to read (Squeee!) and review these three stories. Dark Moon is the first in this series and where I'm starting. So stay tuned for them. I love the touch of paranormal in these.

As prolific an author as Rebecca is, there was a time the idea of writing the stories playing out in her head was an impossibility in her mind. Why? I'll let Rebecca tell you about that.

Welcome, Rebecca! I've enjoyed your books over the years. I'm so glad to have you visiting today!

Sia, thanks so much for having me.

I’m theperson who thought she could never become a writer. Since I’m dyslexic, I had a hard time learning to read (partlybecause they were only teaching the memorize-the-whole-word method), and I’m aterrible speller. Stories buzzed aroundin my head, and I acted them out with my dolls, but I never thought I couldbecome a writer because I got slammed for my deficiencies by so manyteachers. (I’m the kid who was calledup to the front of the room so the teacher could yell at her in front of thewhole class.)

Kids reactto that kind of treatment in various ways. It hurt, but it also made me stronger and determined to succeed.

After I gotmarried and had children of my own, I wanted a part-time job. When I took a seminar at my local communitycollege aimed at women who looking to enter the work force, I kept coming outhigh in writing interest. Also, onething they emphasized in the seminar was that if you wanted to work part-time,you’d have to go out and dig up a your own job.

Which ledme to my idea of writing a newspaper article about the seminar. Luckily for me, my husband volunteered tocorrect my spelling and typos. Andluckily for me, he’s been proofreading for me ever since.

It took meabout twenty-five hours to write that article, but I sold it to a local paperand went on to write hundreds more articles. I read some of them in a writing seminar at the same communitycollege. Other people in the class werewriting novels, and I wanted to try one, too. But the idea of working on such a large project scared me. I told myself that a chapter of a book was nolonger than the articles I’d been writing. At the same time, I decided to make sure I could plot at least a quarterof the story before I started writing. Even back then, I was more comfortable outlining before I jumped intothe writing.

I wrote myfirst book, a children’s science fiction novel called INVASION OF THE BLUE LIGHTS (now available as an e-book), in thatseminar. I read chapters in the classand revised. Then I revised a lot morebefore I sent the book out. It wasrejected four times, until an editor at Scholastic held it for nine monthsbefore sending me a two-page single-spaced revision letter. I was smart enough to know that was a goodletter and revised the manuscript according to her suggestions (adding some newscenes of my own). She bought it, and I became a published author.

I’ve beenwriting actively for the past–um–40 years. And I’ve been very lucky in my career. I went from kids’ science fiction to romance, to romantic suspense, toparanormal romantic suspense (with a significant side trip intocookbooks). Recently, I’ve also writtena couple of fantasy historical novellas for Carina Press. DARKMAGIC was out last year, and SHATTEREDMAGIC will be out in late summer.

I can seethe publishing industry changing. There’s more opportunity for authors to follow their own bliss ratherthan write to a publisher’s specifications. In line with that observation, my most exciting recent project has beena new detective series called Decorah Security. I’m putting the stories out myself on Amazon, BarnesAndNoble.comand other e-book outlets

I wanted tolaunch with three titles. While I waswriting two Harlequin Intrigues (SUDDENINSIGHT, out in January, and SUDDEN ATTRACTION, out in February), Iwrote a Decorah novel, DARK MOON, anovella, CHAINED, and a short story,AMBUSHED. They’re all tied to a security agency run by a crusty old NavySeal, Frank Decorah. His agents haveparanormal powers or take on paranormal cases. (Each of them are linked to Amazon where you can read the blurb and purchase)

All threeare available wherever e-books are sold.

I’m alsocurrently working on an exciting new romantic suspense series. Because it’s still under wraps, I can’t saymuch about it yet.

Howdo you feel about the e-book market?
Are you trying out some of the books available electronically?

Sudden Attraction

They were never supposed to meet. Hidden on a New Orleans plantation were secrets Gabriella Bodreaux was never supposed to uncover, either. And after Luke Buckley saved her life, she couldn't get him out of her head...and she couldn't get out of his.

At the slightest touch, they established the most intimate connection of their lives. So vulnerable, so dangerous...so right. Now they knew everything about each other—almost.

He came with a secret identity, but wasn't the type of man who would run away from trouble. He could keep her safe. But when being together meant exposing themselves to more danger than either could prepare for, they had to reconsider just how "chance" their meeting really was....Excerpt

Do check out Sudden Insight and read the excerpt.

Buy: Amazon Barnes and Noble, eHarlequin

~*~*~*~

Eversince she can remember, Rebecca York has loved making up stories full ofadventure, romance, and suspense. Asa child she corralled her friends into adventure games or acted out romanticsuspense stories with a cast of dolls. But she never assumed she could be anauthor because she couldn't spell. Her life changed dramatically with theinvention of the word processor and spelling checker--and the help of herhusband, Norman Glick, who spots spelling errors from fifty paces away.

She and her husband live inColumbia, Maryland. They have two grown children, Elissa (alibrarian) and Ethan (aForeign Service Officer), and two grandsons, Jesse and Leo. Rebecca holds a B.A. in American Thought and Civilization from The George Washington Universityand an M. A. in American Studies from The University of Maryland. She heads theColumbia Writers Workshop.

FindRebecca: Website (which is worth checking out1) Facebook, Twitter.

A YEARNING TO BELONG

2012-01-25T00:54:00.002-06:00

Karak Chai (recipe above in recipe tab)

My guest is multicultural author Zvezdana Rashkovich. She lived for many years in Portland, Oregon but her roots are Croatian/Serbian. Zvesdana's led a nomadic life both as a child and as an adult. She and her husband are currently posted in Dubai.

Zvezdana speaks of her road to publication. It's a fascinating story. Zvezdana will be checking in but keep in mind the time difference between Dubai and here.

When I was younger I had an inexhaustible faith in allthings. I thought my life would turn out exactly as I planned. Some of it did, butother imaginings became distant memories of a young girl. On many long idledays I would daydream by the banks of the Blue Nile…surrounded by the soothinghum of the river, the swish of cornstalks my stepfather had planted and by thetender warmth of African sunshine. Before Africa there was the Balkans…the landof my grandfathers…the comforting bosom of my grandmother.

I cannot remember a time when I didn’t want to write.Maybe my mother’s dramatic imagination, her quest for answers in distant placesand among unfamiliar cultures led me to believe that it was my idea. When infact, it had been hers all along, nourishing my mind, guiding and prodding. Herown unconcluded dreams somehow transferred…onto her daughter.

In any case I wrote. First little things. This and that.I wrote in Serbo Croat and when I learned English in a private school inTripoli, Libya words poured out easier in that language.

Throughout my teens, I wrote. Still have thosestories…some that surprise me because they were so well researched. But alwaysstories of girls and women challenged by some unknown location, a place theyhad to adapt to…to learn to love. Only later would I realize that these girlishscribbling were my way of coping with displacement, with isolation andestrangement from my own homeland after my mother married my Sudanesestepfather, thus creating an irreversible course in my life.

As time passed I stopped sitting by the Nile and insteadgot distracted by other events. Michael Jackson, Madonna, the boys who honkedat us in front of our all- girls’ Catholic school in Khartoum…my disintegratingfamily life as my stepfather left my mother, me and my two very young siblings.On a neglected farm…with little money and much heartache on our part. I wrote enormously long entries in my diaryduring that period. I still read them today and blush at some of the absurdity,worries and made-up scenarios that had frightened me.

I got married and moved to the USA. The city of Portlandin Oregon possessed a charm suited to my character at the time. It wasn’t asmulticultural as my previous life in the Sudan had been. But I was taken by thecity’s literary vibe, by the down to earth residents, the thriving art sceneand the rainy foggy days…subsequently conducive to the activities of readingand writing.

As I raised four children, attended college, worked as alegal and medical interpreter in the USA, that old craving still niggled at me.It flickered on and off like a neon sign at the back of my mind. Write it said in persistentyellow letters.

When my oldest child left to university, I got a newcomputer and desk, and settled them by my bedroom window in Dubai. Then, justlike that, overnight it seemed…it happened. I started writing a novel.

The realization that my lifelong quest was finally takenseriously, that I was doing that which I previously only dreamt of wasexhilarating but riddled with awkward, tricky obstacles of which I was notpreviously aware. To write a ‘first’ full-length novel was not as easy as I hadenvisioned. It was an extraordinary but also gut-wrenchingly demanding journeyon which I had embarked equipped with passion only.

Compounded with a busy life…children, husband, and allthe other things that fill our existence…it seemed insurmountable. Many thoughtit must be the hormones; the middle age crisis or that I had unreachableaspirations. Those who knew me well though, never doubted me. Encouraged,supported, and loved by my mother, children and husband I plodded on. One wordat a time.

My first novel, Dubai Wives, was a labor of visualizingsuch a story, planning, and observing. The characters were born out of a lifetimeof immersion in a multicultural, multifaith existence, juxtaposed against thecontradictory attitudes and lifestyles of Dubai.

A product of a nomadic background…a divided sense ofidentity…of third culture…I am fascinated, moved by stories of lives changed bytheir displacement, their yearning to belong…to adapt.

By those subtle and intricate threads that bind and uniteus wherever we happen to be on this planet.

Readers:
How have you dealt with the feeling of displacement? Perhaps moving to a different state or country, as a child, or adult, for a job, adventure, or military service?
What common ties have you seen regardless of where you live?

DUBAI WIVES

Dubai: Here, many say, anything is possible.

It’s a world of clashes, of contrasts. Incredible wealth and beautycoexist with unexpected poverty and heart wrenching wickedness.

Spectacular palaces hide within, surrounded by their flawlesslylandscaped gardens, shining domes, and dancing fountains. Possessively tuckedaway and watched over by grim security guards behind walls and ornate engravediron gates.

These walls are necessary because they guard their occupant’s secrets…

Dubai Wives weaves a complex multicultural tale of unraveling secretsand diverse, flawed characters. The lives of eight women collide in thisopulent, culturally vibrant city on a journey of sisterhood, friendship, love,betrayal and the heartbreaking choices of its residents.

We see Jewel, abeautiful but frustrated wife to her powerful Emirati husband, and Tara, adevout Muslim with a passionate secret, and Liliana, a tragic dancer in theseedy clubs of Dubai. A stirring tale encompassing, tradition,identity, and faith, Dubai Wives takes the reader into the hidden world behindthe walls of lavish mansions and into the back alleys of Dubai, from the hillsof Morocco to the glittering lights of the Burj Al Arab. It paints a portraitof a world where no one is who they seem to be...and where everything ispossible. EXCERPT

BUY: AMAZON, AMAZON.ca, BARNES and NOBLE, Chapters Indigo, ca

I was born in Croatia to a Croatian mother and Serbian father. My mother married a Sudanese when I was seven and their mutual fascination with travel and adventure led us all on a series of travels and expat posting first to Libya, then Iraq.

Later, we settled in Sudan after an overland trip by ship, car and train across Eastern Europe, Egypt and the Sahara. Here started my introduction and fascination with multiculture and particularly with the Arab world.

Immersed in my stepfather's family, culture, religion and language I was fortunate to attend an International Catholic school for girls, attended by a beautiful vibrant community of multicultural and multi-faith students.

When I was twenty two I married a Sudanese/Egyptian and we moved to the United States in a quest for education, ended up staying for a decade and started our family at the foothills and forests of Mt. Hood in Oregon.

Middle East beckoned us again due to its proximity to our families back in Sudan, Egypt, Croatia and Serbia. We wanted our children to grow up understanding more of who they are and where they come from.

Thus begun our fifteen year stint in the Gulf. First in Qatar, which I love dearly and still call home, and then Dubai, a vibrant city of many possibilites and contradictions.

I am a mom to four gorgeous third culture children, wife, and sister to four amazing multiracial siblings...daughter of an extaordinary woman.

I am an Adult Third Culture Kid, freelance writer, blogger, teacher and Interpreter...I am also the author of a novel 'Dubai Wives' which was a product of my observations and fascination with identity, culture, biracialism and the hidden passions, aspirations and dreams that drive women in particular and people in general.

Currently, I am working on a novel 'Africa in the way I dance' set in 1970's Sudan. The novel, based partly on my life growing up on a farm by the Nile aims to portray the marvelous complexity of that fascinating country and its people as told through the eyes of a thirteen year old European girl.

Find Zvezdana: Website, Facebook

C.H. Admirand: I Will Conquer Or Perish

2012-01-20T21:33:00.000-06:00

Western romance author, C.H. Admirand, is visiting with us today with her hot new contemporary romance series, The Secret Life Of Cowboys: Dylan.

One of the misconceptions about authors is the idea that they just sit and write their stories with ease and get paid big bucks. Cushy job, eh? Ask any author about that and you'll liable to reduce them to tears—of laughter. Getting published is hard, no matter how good your story is. Once you're published then comes the deadlines, the edits from hell, whole chapters, perhaps even several chapters need to be rewritten, the editor doesn't like the ending, the middle, the beginning, or the character or his/her name. Yikes!

C.H. talks a bit about her journey and her life of ease.

Welcome, C.H., I'm so glad to have you visiting!

Thanks for inviting me to blogtoday, Sia, it’s so wonderful to be here. It took me a bit of time to decidewhat to talk about today because I think my characters are far more interestingthan I am. After attending Lora Leigh’s RAW in October, I know that readers dolike a glimpse into the life of the author.

For those that don’t know me,I’ve been writing for the Library Market and Small Press for the last twelve years.I was delighted to publish my first book, TheMarshal’s Destiny, in 2000, and devastated when I didn’t sell the secondbook in my Irish Western Series. More than once, I tried to quit, but thevoices of characters demanding to have their stories told wouldn’t let me.

Nora Roberts is one of my heroes;it was her article in The Writer’s Digest that kept me going, she said thatwriters need the 3 Ds to succeed: Drive, Discipline, and Desire… To that I addDetermination. While I wrote, I attended workshops and conferences, honing mycraft—you cannot improve if you stop writing. But I also dug deep and kept myPurcell ancestor’s motto where I could see it every day: Aut Vincam, Aut Periam–translation: I will either conquer orperish! So I kept writing, submitting, receiving rejections, and six yearslater, I not only sold my second book, but five more!

I met Deb Werksman by chance atthe NJRW Conference a few years ago after an unplanned trip to a ladies clubduring RT Booklovers Convention in Houston and a lesson well-learned—that I’mnot the ladies club type—but helped me come up with the plotline for my hotcowboy trilogy and deal with my embarrassment at the time. I was therephysically, but my mind was in the fictional town of Pleasure, Texas that my mindhad just created. It was a blast writing about the Garahan brothers: largerthan life, tall, dark, and gorgeous Texas cowboys.

This year had a really rockystart: our three-month-old grandson was hospitalized with a respiratory virus,but is finally home and recovering beautifully. The dog we adopted (after losingour 12 year old family member, Ginger, the day after my December 15th deadline)had fear/aggression issues and bit my husband and one of our sons. Although shedidn’t break the skin, combined with the reality that she was terrified of myguys (they all wear black leather jackets and boots—and are not quiet), had us seeking help from aprofessional dog trainer (a first for us after 28 years of raising dogs) toevaluate the dog. She didn’t recommend having the dog around children, a redflag for us with our new grandson, and stressed that although the situationcould be managed with her guidelines; the dog may not change and might alwaysbe afraid of my guys. She felt the dog showed bite inhibition by not breakingthe skin, which is a good thing. We gave it a week, but the dog only grew moreaggressive and fearful. It broke my heart, but after consulting with thetrainer again, I called the shelter and they agreed that it would be best toreturn the dog before the situation escalated.

So right now, I’m surfing theinternet for dogs in need of a good home when I should be working on therevisions for my November book. It’s hard to explain why I can’t seem to focusnow that Ginger is gone, but at odd times, I hear her moving around the houseand racing down the stairs when I open the door to feed the birds…it’s all inmy head…or is it in my heart? I guess I won’t be able to concentrate until wefill that empty void in our lives with a dog that wants to be a part of ourfamily.

I’m struggling, but optimisticthat we’ll find the right dog for our at times busy (aka loud) and other timesquite (aka tomblike) home. I need to get back in the groove because 2012 isgoing to be beyond busy for me. Dylanbook two in The Secret Life of Cowboys, just released January 2nd, Jesse, book three, releases July 2nd,and A Wedding in Purity, the firstbook in my new Small Town USA series, releases in November. Then there are the2nd and 3rd books in the Small Town series that are due in May andSeptember…good grief I’d better get my head on straight now!

Thanks for letting me ramble ontoday, Sia.

For animal lovers out there,how have you coped with the loss of a furry family member? How long did youwait before filling that empty void in your life?

Meet Jamison, aka Jamie January 14th

As CH mentioned, she has a new furry baby. I asked for some pictures and she provided these. Isn't he a darling?

==========

DYLAN

BY C.H. ADMIRAND – IN STORES JANUARY 2012

There was nothing he couldn't tame...

Dylan Garahan might be anold hand at lassoing fillies, but one night at the Lucky Star club, and he endsup wrapping his rope around someone that even his formidable strength can’ttame. She’s wily and beautiful… and she’s his new boss. Dylan’s had his heartbroken bfore, but even an honest cowpoke has to wrestle with temptation…

Until he got his lasso around her...

Ronnie DelVecchio might befresh off the bus from New Jersey, but she’s a hard-edged businesswoman and hashad her fill of men she can’t trust—although she might consider getting off herhigh horse for that big handsome rancher with a Texas drawl. Excerpt (on amazon)

Buy: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Chapters Indigo.ca

#~#~#

C.H.Admirand was born in Aiken,South Carolina. She has published 9 bestselling novels for the library market.Her Secret Life of Cowboy series, published by Sourcebooks Casablanca includes Tyler(available now), Dylan (in stores January 2012) and Jesse(in stores July 2012). She lives with her husband, who is theinspiration for all of her heroes’ very best traits, in northern New Jersey.For more information, please visit http://www.chadmirand.com/ or follower her on twitter, @chadmirand.

A World of Magick With Linda Wisdom

2012-01-18T22:13:00.000-06:00

I'm so happy to have Linda Wisdom visiting today. I enjoy her books. Good stories with a touch of whimsical, a hefty dollop of bubbling magic (not to mentions some red hot romance), and she makes me laugh. A lot. Linda cracks me up on so many levels and I genuinely like what I know of her.

I find myself reassuring authors, more than a few times, that telling us a bit about themselves means giving us insight to who they are and not a list of likes and dislikes, or their deepest darkest secrets. Many of us who write are rather introverted, but it's fun to see how authors, like Linda, view their writing, and how life experiences shape how they treat others and how they develop their characters and the landscape of their settings. I love Linda's characters. Now, I understand why they're so real and fun. Why friendships are important to them, why the characters have the pets, foibles and all, that they have. They're important to Linda and that's reflected in her wonderful stories. One of these days, I'm going to pull up a chair at a conference and bask in Linda's wonderful sense of humor and find out more about her critters.

Thank you so much Sia for having me here!

Anyone who’s known me for a long time is awareI’m actually very shy. Ask me about myself and I sort of stare at the floor.I’m not trying to be difficult, but I can’t imagine anyone wants to know aboutme.

Ask me about my critters and I’ll talk your earoff. Ask me about my books and your other ear will follow ear number one. Andyou’ll be running for the hills.

I think it also has to do with something thathappened in 1983 when I was still a newly published author with my third bookjust out. I was at a very large group signing and met an author who I’d enjoyedfor some years. I was so excited to have a chance to meet her and tried to domy best not to gush. The minute the woman learned I wrote category romance Iwas suddenly relegated to the lowest of the low. She was so rude to me that Icouldn’t believe anyone would act like that. I didn’t read her books afterthat. That could be why I feel better when my books speak for me.

Perhaps it’s because I’m an only child that mycharacters have always been real to me. I see them in 3-D inside my head andthere are times when I’m positive Fluff and Puff the magick bunny slippers areroaming the house, Irma’s taken over the passenger seat in my SUV, or Maggie’son duty if I’m running errands after dark. Who knows, maybe Lili’s around whenI’m sick and Cleo’s crooning the Soft Kitty song.

Whether writing or reading, the characters areimportant to me. They are what rounds out the story.

I can sit here and talk about Lili, how she cameabout in my head (you have to admit it’s kind of funny to have a witch doctorheroine), what kind of man will enter her life, and what creature will be hersidekick.

Lili made her first appearance in 50 Ways to Hex Your Lover as wallmailcorrespondence between her and Jazz. I wasn’t entirely sure when her book wouldappear in the series. I have a file with notes, ideas of her story, andcreature thoughts.

I also knew it meant deciding what historicalfacts I’d weave into the book. One I won’t mention since it has to do with theplot and one of the characters.

Creating an asylum as dark and disgusting as Idid was actually easy. A movie I’ve watched more than once is Bedlam, starring Boris Karloff. A“hospital” housing the mentally ill in ways no one would want to comprehend. A Demon Does It Better was the perfectbackground for an asylum and easy to create a demon hero who was literallybranded a homicidal maniac. Especially, when you consider the hospital wasultra-modern and the dungeon was still back in the 1700s. Although there is thehospital greeter, a vulture perched over the hospital doorway announcingeveryone will die. Yes, he’s a bit of sunshine.

Cleo was easy since I wanted a diva kitty andgiving her Cleopatra’s heritage made it fun.

ADemon Does It Better is special for two very good reasons. It’sdedicated to my mom who passed away last fall and to a wonderful friend,Beverly Barton, who I also miss every day.

This is what I can talk about. Characters,families and friends who all seem to be intertwined.

What does it mean to you? Would you preferknowing everything about the author (although please don’t ask my weight or howI lost my virginity! No joke. Someone did ask me that once!) or about thebooks?

A DEMON DOES IT BETTER BY LINDA WISDOM – IN STORES JANUARY 2012

Amadhouse is not place for a curious witch…

After more than a century, Doctor Lili Carter,witch healer extraordinaire, has returned to San Francisco and taken a job atCrying Souls Hospital and Asylum, where something peculiar and wicked is happening. Patients are disappearing, and Lili wants to know why.

Anddouble dangerous for a demon…

Lili finds herself undeniably attracted toperhaps the most mysterious patient of all—a demented but seriously sexy demonnamed Jared. What’s behind the gorgeous chameleon demon’s late-night escapades?

Before long, Lili and Jared are investigatingeach other—and creating a whole new kind of magic. Excerpt

BUY: AMAZON, BARNES and NOBLE, INDIGOca

~*~*~*~

Linda Wisdom has published more than 70 novels with 13 million copies soldworldwide including traditional, paranormal, humor, action/adventure romance,and romantic suspense. Her bestselling books have been nominated for RT BookReviews awards and the Romance Writers of America Rita Award. She lives withher husband in Murrieta, California. For more information, please visit www.LindaWisdom.com.

MONDAY MUSINGS: Conspiracy To Fix E-book Pricing?

2012-01-16T00:46:00.000-06:00

There has been a lot of chatter on blogs and social mediaabout the price of e-books. In particular, charging the same price for ane-book as the hardback print book. Sometimes, the digital costs more than printbooks and the publishers themselves set those prices.

You remember the hoopla this past year between Random Houseand Amazon over the lower prices Amazon was charging for e-books and RandomHouse insisting on higher prices (among other things).

I knew Apple (with the ipad) was willing to price e-books at thehigher price from big publishers (and their “agency-model business”). What I didn’tknow was Apple was paid a 30% of revenue for cooperating with the highere-book pricing.

What I found interesting was the European Commission (Press release statement) launched an investigation to look into whether Apple and the big 5 publisherswere in cahoots with anti-competitive practices.

“TheCommission will in particular investigate whether these publishing groups andApple have engaged in illegal agreements or practices that would have theobject or the effect of restricting competition…The Commission has concerns,that these practices may breach EU antitrust rules that prohibit cartels andrestrictive business practices (Article 101 of the Treaty on the Functioning ofthe European Union – TFEU).”

Apparently, the UK’s Office of Fair Trading had been alsoinvestigating the matter, prior to the Commission’s investigation, “whether arrangements for the sale of e-booksmay breach competition rules.”

Conspiracy to fix prices is a pretty telling accusation. Thetarget of this alleged conspiracy: Amazon. In the UK, Amazon dominates the bookmarket selling 70% of the e-books bought there.

Not that Amazon is sitting on its hands over this. They’refighting it claiming the readers are the ones to suffer with such publisher‘deals’ by paying higher prices for e-books.

And this is a point stressed by Amelia Torres, spokeswomanfor European Commission,

“This is an important issue for consumers, forpeople like me and you who love to read books, including on an electronicplatform.”

The other side argues that such publisher dealsis a good thing because it keeps Amazon from crushing the e-book industry.

Whether you’re a publisher, author, bookseller, or reader, e-book pricing is a touchy subject these days

Dan Gillmor’s book blog (12/23/10) calls it, “The great ebook price swindle

Publishers are facing an uncertain time in the digital world– but increasing the prices of their ebooks is a retrograde step.” You can readhis thoughts on this.

Personally, as I’ve mentioned before, I don’tbuy e-books priced over $10 and I rarely buy print books over $10. I’vebeen visiting used bookstores more. As one blogger pointed out, why pay over$10 for e-book when I can buy the same book in print from the used section onAmazon. She makes a good point.

What are your thoughts?

KAT SHERIDAN: Friday The13th My Lucky Day

2012-01-13T23:16:00.000-06:00

In celebration, I have homemade Lemon Drizzle Coffee Cake!

It is my great pleasure to welcome historicalromance author, Kat Sheridan, to Over Coffee. Kat is a regular reader/commenter, sometimes book reviewcontributor, and a personal friend whom I dearly love and respect. It’swonderful to see one of her stories published.

Friday the 13^th is my lucky day! Well, it neverwas before, but it is now because today marks my debut as an author, as acontributor to the anthology, DemonLovers, from Ravenous Romance.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m one of the most superstitious peopleI know. I come from a family of mostly sensible, level-headed, practicalpeople, but was influenced early by a grandmother who devoured astrologymagazines and believed in all sorts of signs and portents.

I had no idea I was so superstitious about so many thingsuntil Hubs (my real-life hero) pointed it out to me. If I spill salt, I throwsome over my shoulder. I knock on wood to counteract negative words. When Imake a wish (and who among us doesn’t make wishes?) I always find somethingblue and add the words “touch blue, wish come true”.

I’ll refuse to take a knife, pair of scissors, or anythingelse sharp from your hand, but will make you lay it on the table (so ourfriendship isn’t “cut”). When Hubs (that patient man) gave me a lovely set ofkitchen knives as a gift he was unsurprised when I immediately came back withbread and salt as a “gift” to him.

I don’t allow hats on the bed. I don’t allow umbrellas to beopened indoors. If I’m walking with someone and we have to separate to goaround an obstacle (light post, hydrant, etc.) I always say “bread and butter”.The correct response should be “salt and pepper”, but Hubs (who’s alwayswilling to humor me) says “peanut butter and jelly”. It works. We’re stilltogether. In spite of my superstitions (that’s partly because I insisted ongetting married when the clock was on the upswing, at 1:30, instead of adownswing, such as 1:00). And of course, I had something old, something new,something borrowed, and something blue!

But from now on, I’m going to look on Friday the 13^thas a lucky day. You’ll think you lucked out as well when you pick up DemonLovers, which just so happens to have 13 tales of erotic romance. Each one isabout either a succubus or an incubus (or in Inara LaVey’s entry, one of each!)and the lucky folks who get entangled with these sexy demons.

There’s something for everyone here. The anthology opens andcloses with carnivals and cotton candy (Inara LaVey and Kilt Kilpatrick)although each is as different as can be. Some of the stories are contemporary,some are humorous, and some have a delicious horror thrill. And three areVictorian pieces (my favorite era!). Mine, LaPetite Mort, is Victorian, as is “Original Cyn” by the uber-sexy OliviaCunning (best known for her rock star erotica; yes, this one has a musicalcomponent as well. And a vampire!), and the third historical set piece, Demon’sGrace by Elena Derring, who is also making her debut (glad I’m not the onlyone!)

So, here are my questions for you: Are you superstitious about Fridaythe 13^th? Do you have other superstitions?

~*~*~*~

Demon Lovers Anthology

A Succubus and Incubus Anthology

La Petite Mort: Blurb

La petite mort. “Thelittle death”. To the French, it is a euphemism for “orgasm”.

For Robert, seventh Viscount Weybridge, it might be moreliteral.
For six generations the firstborn sons of the Weybridgeviscounts have died in the prime of their lives, wasted away by some mysteriousforce. Robert is the seventh, and last, of the Weybridge lords. He isdetermined the curse will die with him. But he never expected his killer to besuch sweet temptation…
Ajalon. Temptress. Lover.
Succubus.
For hundreds of years she has yearned. Ached. Hungered forjust one thing. Something only a Weybridge lord can give her. Robert is her lasthope of rescue from an eternity of howling emptiness. Now she must convince himthat life in her arms is worth a little death…

BUY: RAVENOUS ROMANCE

~*~*~*~

Kat Sheridan is a recovering project manager andbusiness analyst whose hard-bitten persona has always hidden a secret romantic.She likes her stories with a dark and dangerous flavor, so long as the villainsare vanquished and true love triumphs in the end. She is inordinately fond ofglitter nail polish, shiny things, bourbon, and any comestibles on whichfrosting can be placed. Kat splits her time between the Midwest in the summer andthe South in the winter. Her peripatetic life is shared with her own real-lifehero who shows her every day what happily ever after means. Connect to her onFacebook or visit her website

TAWNY WEBER: A Kiss Is Still A Kiss.

2012-01-11T00:45:00.000-06:00

Tawny Weber is visiting us with a fun topic—kisses. There are all sorts of kisses. Moms give them out regularly. We kiss our pets, our friends, boo-boos to make them well, a quick peck as a goodbye to family. Our fairy tales speak of magical kisses that awaken the princess or turn a frog into a prince. There are devotional kisses —such as many Catholics do when making the sign of the cross. Knights kissed their lady fair's hand. The French kiss their fingers in appreciation of good food, or for something excellent— c'est magnifique! Not to be confused with French kissing, which is usually considered intimate, romantic, or sexual.

Let's not forget kisses under the mistletoe or at the stroke of midnight on New Years, which brings me to Tawny's contribution (you get to contribute at the end):

Ten-Nine-Eight-Seven-Six-Five-Four-Three-Two-One and... Kaboom! It’s kissing time.

Happy New Years!!!!

Oh, sure, that midnight chime means other things. Welcoming a new year. Resolution time. A clean slate. Tootyhorns and confetti. Champagnetoasts. You know, all the fun thingsabout changing to a new calendar.

But New Year’s kisses got me thinking about all those otherspecial kisses.

First kisses – I was seven when I had my first kiss. He was the preacher’s grandson and socute! He was also my first date, sincehe (and his grandma) took me to see Disney’s Robin Hood.

Wedding kisses – “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” How often did I dream of those words growingup? Pretty often, actually. I played that scene out with my Barbie andmy brother’s Frankenstein doll (Hey, he was alpha!) so often, but it was nowhere near as wonderful as the realthing. And while I wasn’t able to prythe photo of my wedding kiss out of the album to scan it, I did have this oneon my hard drive.

Tawny and her husband

Which brings me to the next kiss on my list...

Storybook kisses (not hot sexy storybooks, though – that’dbe a totally different blog post. Or,well, hey, I have a few you can check out if you’d like J SEX,LIES AND MIDNIGHT is out now and it’s chock full of sexy story kisses!). The romantic, deep sigh inducing kind ofkisses in fairytales and historical romance novels. These storybook kisses are the ones that reel us in first, whichmakes us believe in romance and sigh at the sweet, gentle promise they offer.

And then there are the sexy kisses. The first time you kiss a particular personand know, just know, you have to seewhat comes next (pun unintended, but it made me grin so I’ll keep itthere). There is an early episode of myfavorite TV show, Friends, where the gang is all talking about kissing vs sex. The guys compared sex to seeing PinkFloyd in concert, and the kiss to the comedian opening act. The girls explained that everything you need to know about a guy is in that firstkiss. I’d have to agree. Whether it’s in real life, or in a book!

Okay, since I mentioned it, I should share a kiss from SEX,LIES AND MIDNIGHT, right? So this isn’tMaya and Simon’s New Year’s Eve kiss (they were otherwise occupied at midnighton NYE J ) but this is their first kiss...

~*~*~

   Triumph was so close, Simon could tasteit.
But...
His gaze traveled down over her body,noting that she once again wore a dress that covered her from neck tomid-thigh, yet screamed hot and sexy. The way the midnight blue fabric draped and hugged her curves made hisfingers itch to see if the fabric was soft enough to touch that gloriousflesh.
No. Even though his hardening body screamed in protest, he put on the mentalbrakes. That wasn't a road he was goingdown. She was a case. A tool at the most. Sexy, gorgeous and apparently fun, but stillmeans to an end.
            She was so damned hard toresist. Telling himself it was all inthe name of the job, he took her hands again, lifting them both to hismouth. He brushed soft kisses over her silkyknuckles, then placed her hands, palms flat, against his shoulders.
“I need to get this out of the way,” hesaid quietly. “It’s got nothing to dowith the deal, and everything to do with how I’m feeling.”
She shook her head, looking like shewanted to protest. But instead herfingers dug into his shoulders.
            Hips brushing a tempting invitationagainst hers, his hands smoothed down the tiny curve of her waist to the sweetroundness of her hips. Her breathshuddered, just a little. Simon almostgroaned aloud. She was sodelicious. Was the reality of her as tastyas the promise?
            Totally forgetting his plan—hell,his own name—Simon pulled her closer, so their bodies were close. So close, but not quite touching. Her warm scent wrapped around him like itsown caress, making his mouth water, his dick harden.
            Crazy, he thought, as he leaned downto take her mouth with his.
            Their lips brushed, soft andsweet. Just this side of innocent. Safe, he told himself. A Happy Holidays kind of kiss. Totally acceptable.
            Then she made this tiny sound. Somewhere between a purr and a growl, deepin her throat.
            And he lost it.
            His mouth took hers. His tongue slipped between her full lips,taking hers in a dance as old as time. He coaxed, he battled, he challenged. And damned if she didn’t do exactly the same.
            Simon’s body screamed inpleasure. Passion, way out of line forsuch a simple kiss, demanded release. His muscles tensed as he forced himself to not grab her and find a dark cornerto explore just how good this could get.
            Having to grab control before hewent over the edge, he pulled his mouth from hers. Her eyes were closed; thick dark lashes curving over the tops ofher cheeks. She took a deep breath andslowly lifted those lashes.
            Absolutely crazy. Breathless, Simon stared into her deep,golden eyes and wondered if she was the answer to his prayers. Or the curse that would finally take himdown.

~*~*~*~

So... c’mon,sharsies.

Did you have a wonderful NewYear’s kiss to welcome 2012 into your life?
And what kiss stands out as your absolute favorite that you've everread?
And which special kiss do youthink has the most lasting impression on someone’s life?

***

Tawny Weber has been writingsassy, sexy stories for Harlequin Blaze since her first book hit the shelves in2007. When not obsessing overdeadlines, she’s shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking or hanging out onFacebook and Twitter. Come by and visither on the web at www.tawnyweber.com

In December of 2011 Tawny launched herUndercover Ops series with SEX, LIES AND MISTLETOE. The second book in the series, SEX, LIES & MIDNIGHT is onshelves in January 2012, quickly followed in February by SEX, LIES &VALENTINES. Youcan read the first chapterof SEX, LIES & MIDNIGHT onher website, too – all you have to do is join the Reader LoveFest! Be sure to follow Tawny on her HolidaySurvival Touras she celebrates these three books with tons of fun and a chance for readers to win a $100giftcard!

MONDAY MUSINGS: Are Huge Bookstore Chains On Their Way Out?

2012-01-09T02:42:00.000-06:00

I subscribe to several newsletters and I enjoy readingabout the latest marketing/promotion news as well as what market analysts haveto say about digital publishing.

I was saddened, but not greatly surprised, by the news onBarnes and Noble. I do believe Barnes and Noble (as well as other large chains)stores, as we know and love, are going to be a thing of the past. Oh, Barnesand Noble is not going to disappear this year or even next but there is astrong indication that is on the path, according to market analysts such as IDC, The Daily Finance, and reportsfrom The Bottom Line Even Publishers Lunch had something to say aboutit.

Barnes and Noble has been busy the last week with not so greatquarter in sales and now talking about spinning Nook off into a separatebusiness. There’s a lot of concern that making the Nook a stand alone companywill nail the coffin on the chain’s physical stores and Barnes and Noble willgo the way of Borders.

It’s hard to compete with Amazon and while Barnes andNoble had a whole quarter in which to bask in the glory of its color androidbased Nook e-reader, with Amazon releasing the Kindle Fire and at a moreaffordable price, their glory was notably short lived. Nook holds only a smallportion of the market (at one time they were second only to ipad). The iPad isthe dominant media tablet; Amazon definitely is surging ahead of Barnesand Noble with over four million of the new fires shipped out over theholidays. Overall, Barnes and Noble hasn’t had a great or even good year.

According to Tom Mainelli, IDC, the United States holdsabout 80% of the e-reader market, but he expects that to change. Mainelli alsosuggests that Barnes and Noble may not have the financial resources to competewith Amazon in creating the necessary international presence within the nextfew years. Speculation is the spin off is a step in attracting a money partnerfor expansion without the high maintenance of physical stores.

So what does that mean for huge book store chains likeBarnes and Noble?

Rick Aristotle Munarriz (aka The Motley Fool) had this tosay:

There's no denying that digital delivery is thefuture of media. We saw it happen with music, and now most of the record storeshave closed down. We are seeing it happen with movies, as streaming anddownloads replace physical DVD purchases. Video games are also being dished outby server farms to Xbox Live users and smartphone owners… Progress isinevitable. Every quarter finds millions of bibliophiles making the switch toe-readers, and the migration continues as hardware prices continue to drop.”

He continues:

“This doesn't mean that books will go completelyobsolete. We may never see a world where everyone owns an e-reader or tablet.However, the demand for gargantuan dedicated bookstores will dry up -- and withthat, Barnes & Noble's livelihood.” You can read the full story here, Why Barnes And Noble Will Never Be Great Again

Withthe event of Print On Demand technology, this isn’t surprising. We’ve all seenthe changes for the publishing industry since it has. The demand for digitaldelivery is everywhere and changing how we get our media.

Onlinestores can offer more variety and less expensive products, than physical storesand as far as media goes, instant gratification.

Wecan rant and rail over this turn of events, but it’s like spitting into thewind. There is no stopping it.

Meanwhile,I think I’ll make a trip to Barnes and Noble, grab a cup of coffee, and savorthe smell and sight of all those lovely books. At least I’ll have tales to tellto my grandchildren.

Once upon a time the only way you couldget something to read were bookstores and libraries…huge ones…

SEX, LIES, AND THE WICKED TAWNY WEBER

2012-01-06T21:48:00.000-06:00

It's been one of those mornings--have a cup?

My guest is romance author, Tawny Weber. I don't think it's a secret that I enjoy Tawny's books. I do believe I've read them all. They're a lot of fun and so is Tawny Weber.

I recently had achance to read the second book in her Undercover Operatives, Sex Lies And Midnight. It's fun, engrossing, and dayum, it's HAWT! Did I mentionsexy? Especially these men in the Black family—even the patriarch himself (who isn't ina real relationship—just sayin’).

If you enjoy alight read that gives you a break from all the jobs you have, this is the seriesto read and enjoy. It makes you laugh, the characters make you drool and haveto fight off covetousness, but you walk away refreshed and ready to tacklethe day. J

The premise of the series is a single father, Tobias Black, conartist extraordinaire, who successfully raise three extra-ordinary childrenafter the death of his wife. They all have unique skills but a situationdevelops that rips the family apart. They’ve all gone their separate ways andhave been estranged from their father ever since. Tobias has some crafty ideas for getting them back home and allowfor healing. He’s playing a dangerous game because his enemies are circling andhe’s the target. Or are they? Let’s just say, Mr. Black has some interestingcontacts (I’d LOVE to see his story).

The second story involves Maya Black. She’s lovely andexotic—when she isn’t trying to be dull as dishwater. She’s left the wild lifeand computer crime behind her, along with her father. Family ties are strong and while she has been deeply hurt by herfather, when he’s in danger she’s willing to fight, and fight dirty, to keephim out of jail.

Ah, but in this story, nothing is as it appears to be,least of all Maya and her *stand-in* boyfriend. Let the undercover games beginand boy do they! This story is fast paced, characters are distinct and all seemto have a hidden agenda.

I seriously love the premise of this series. I'd love to see it continue and tell Tobias' story and romance, and tell the delectable Hunter's story. Now there's an intriguing character. You gotta write it Tawny!

BE SURE TO STOP BY NEXT WEDNESDAY WHEN TAWNY WILL BE SHARING KISSES WITH US. IT WILL BE FUN TO SEE WHAT SHE COMES UP WITH. :-)

Borninto a con artist family, Maya Nicholas abandoned the grifting life to live onthe straight and narrow (and somewhat dull) years ago. But when her family isthreatened—and the swindlers are on the verge of becoming the swindled— Mayaswings into action. All she needs is a stand-in boyfriend, and the charming,tasty-as-sin Simon Barton will do quite nicely,thanks.

But Simon has a little lie of his own. He's FBI,and Maya is his inside track to her less-savory relations. It's a mutual using,which quickly turns into a scorching mutual attraction.

In fact, their naughty little sexcapades are theonly things they aren't faking! Excerpt

BUY: AMAZON, Barnes And Noble, e-Harlequin

~*~*~*~

Tawny Weber has been writing sassy, sexy stories for Harlequin Blaze since her first book hit the shelves in 2007. When not obsessing over deadlines, she’s shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking or hanging out on Facebook and Twitter. Come by and visit her on the web at www.tawnyweber.com

In December of 2011 Tawny launched her Undercover Ops series with SEX, LIES AND MISTLETOE. The second book in the series, SEX, LIES & MIDNIGHT is on shelves in January 2012, quickly followed in February by SEX, LIES & VALENTINES. Be sure to follow Tawny on her Holiday Survival Tour as she celebrates these three books with contests, giveaways and lots of fun. You can read the first chapter of SEX, LIES & MISTLETOE on her website, all you have to do is join the Reader LoveFest!

.

MIA MARLOWE—My Cup Runs Over

2012-01-04T22:01:00.000-06:00

My guest today is historical romance author, Mia Marlowe. She and Connie Mason (I've long admired Connie) teamed up to write The Sins Of The Highlander, set in the time of Mary, Queen of Scots. They have a series in the works. It will be interesting to see what these two storytellers come up with.

After wrestling with Mia a bit (I'm pretty tough, too, ranching in the Ozarks), I did get her to tell us a little about herself some of the things she's had to overcome. I'm delighted she's visiting Over Coffee.

Hello Sia and all yourlovely blog-ettes! I’m so excited to be with you today, but I gotta confesssomething. When I first saw your guidelines for blog posts and your suggestionthat I write about ME, I wilted a bit inside. Writing about myself is thehardest thing I do as a author. I suffer from chronic Midwest-itis. Comes froma lifetime of being trained never to be the grabby child and always to take thesmallest piece.

Of course, I don’tlive in the Midwest now. My DH and I have made our home in Boston since 2007.Who’d have guessed a pair of Ozarkians could settle down and enjoy life inBeantown? I’ll admit there have been some adjustments. Driving here requiresnerves of steel and the reflexes of a cat. But all those things you hear aboutNew Englanders being cold and stand-offish just aren’t true. Every time I getbehind the wheel, other drivers honk and give me friendly hand signals. Ofcourse, in Missouri we used a different finger to wave at folks.

Another thing Siasuggested was that I share my personal challenges. So here goes. Until 2008, Itook my good health for granted, but that was the year I was diagnosed withcancer. No one was more surprised than me. Hearing that C-word is a surrealkick in the pants.

However, we caught thecancer early and my prognosis is excellent. I’m cancer-free and counting.November 2013 will mark 5 years since my diagnosis and I’m looking forward tothe lovely day when I can finally use that other “C-word”—Cured! Thank you,God.

I share this becauseif your doctor suggests any kind of cancer screening test, you really shouldtake it. What you don’t know can hurtyou.

Other tidbits aboutme: I’ve been married to the same great guy for more years than either of uswas single. We have two daughters. We love animals and have had two horses, Idon’t know how many assorted dogs, cats, goldfish and one gerbil I thoughtwould never die. And my DH still knows how to show a girl a good time. Becausehe works in the travel industry, we’ve been able to take some really fabuloustrips all over Europe and the US. I’m lucky and I know it. My cup is so fullit’s running over and making a mess all over the place.

I’m a great listmaker. Mostly because if I don’t write it down, it’s likely not to get done. SoI routinely post “bucket lists” of things I want to accomplish. (The latestincarnation is on my website www.miamarlowe.com)

People always askwhere I find ideas for my books. They’re all around me—in music, art, overheardconversations at the coffee shop... I’ve often said if I was a reality show, Iwould canceled because my life is too boring. At least on the outside.Actually, my life is filled with tons of drama, excitement and angst, but mostof it never really happens. Except inside my head. And in my books.

I’ll wrap this up nowbecause I know Sia is going to tell you about my new release SINS OF THE HIGHLANDERand believe me, it’s much more interesting than I am. So finally I’ll sharethat recently I heard a country song that stuck with me. (This was a realsurprise to me since I’m a classically trained soprano and my kids routinelyaccuse me of being a musical snob.) Thechorus went like this: “God’s great. Beer’s good. People are crazy.”

I agree with two ofthose sentiments wholeheartedly. I’ll let you guess which ones!

Make your guess, orshare which ones you agree with and you’ll be entered in the drawing for SINSOF THE HIGHLANDER. Or you can ask me a question. Just remember I write fiction.If I don’t know the answer, I’ll make something up.

Thanks again, Sia!

SINS OF THEHIGHLANDER

– IN STORES JANUARY 2012

Abduction…

Never had Elspeth Stewartimagined her wedding would be interrupted by a dark-haired stranger charging inon a black stallion, scooping her into his arms, and carrying her off acrossthe wild Scottish highlands. Pressed against his hard chest and nestled betweenhis strong thighs, she ought to have feared for her life. But her captorsilenced all protests with a soul-searing kiss, giving Elspeth a glimpse of thepain behind his passion—a pain only she could ease.

Obsession…

“Mad Rob” MacLaren thought stealinghis rival’s bride-to-be was the prefect revenge. But Rob never reckoned thatthis beautiful, innocent lass would awaken the part of him he thought dead andburied with his wife. Against all reason, he longed to introduce the lusciousElspeth to the pleasures of the flesh, to make her his, and only his, forever.

With two clans against them burning for battle, they must find a way tojoin together—body, breath and soul. Or both will be made to pay for the Sins of the Highlander? Excerpt

BUY: AMAZON, BARNES and NOBLE, CHAPTERS INDIGO (canada)

~*~*~*~

Connie Mason is a NewYork Times bestselling author of more than 50 novels. She was namedStoryteller of the Year in 1990 and received a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews in 1994. She currentlylives in Florida. Mia Marlowe is ahighly acclaimed new voice in romance whose debut novel released in Spring 2011from Kensington. She lives in Boston, MA. Together, they are working on a newRegency romance series for Sourcebooks Casablanca, the first of which will bein stores in Fall 2012. For more information, please visit http://www.conniemason.com/, http://miamarlowe.com/ and follow Mia on Twitter @Mia_Marlowe.

MONDAY MUSINGS: The Joy Of Savoring Life

2012-01-02T22:33:00.000-06:00

Come on in and sit a spell.

Savor: property of a substance that can be identified by the senses. To take pleasure in. To enhance or enrich

December day in Missouri

The last couple of weeks we’ve had some fabulous mildweather and a lot of sunny days. It’s been warm enough in the middle of the dayto be outside in long sleeves. I turn off the heat until about an hour before sundown.Temps drop quickly as the sun sets. Friday was one of those days where it wasin the upper 50’s, lots of sunshine—stiff breeze though, so a jacket wasnecessary.

I savor these December days because I know our winter snowusually hits us in January and February.

Today the scene was wonderful around the homestead. Thebirds were gossiping around the feeders, horses frolicking and kicking theirheels in the pasture. Fed them some apples and got lots of soft nickers andrumbles of appreciation. Me Sassy darlin’ gave me hugs—that’s her head over myshoulder contentedly munching her apple and leaning on me. Apple kisses. J

Beautiful but ugh!

I know come January I’ll be seeing more of this:

I think this year has taught me some lessons on savoringlife. The little moments that makes lasting memories. Sometimes we get socaught up in chasing the big things we forget that it’s the little things thatreally are important and add contentment to the soul.

This year I want to savor things. Let them soak into mysoul. I want to concentrate on those things that are important—good health,family, and friends.

I would like to get rid of guilt. Instead of zeroing in onall the things I can't do or should have done; I’m looking at what I haveaccomplished. There will always be those things I can beat myself for notdoing. But what’s the point? All you can do is the best you can do on any givenday—that changes daily. Guilt tends to put me into the negative andaccomplishments move me into the positive—a much better place to be bothmentally and physically.

I’m also not beating myself up over my creative endeavorseither with the ranch or my writing. I used to be able to sit down and writeand the words just flowed—thousands at a time. In the last eighteen monthsthere have been days I’m lucky to be able to verbally string together asentence or two without stuttering. My body has been warring against aninvasion and it’s wrapped up in that function and not extras. Writing is hitand miss. I might write two days in a row and skip three. I might write wellfor a half hour or an hour before the words stop. I’ve decided to stopcomparing myself of today to what I was able to do two years ago. That wasthen, this is now. It will change again, but until it does I’m celebrating whatI can do.

Welcoming the sunrise with the wind
in my hair

For me, this is the year of savoring. Of tasting life. I’m taking pleasure inthe sunshine, the wind in my hair, watching the antics of my animals at play.Watching my garden grow. Seeing another sunrise.

What are you going to savor this year?

Holiday Stories: THE GIFT

2011-12-28T23:44:00.000-06:00

I want to share a beautiful story with you. Like Christmas Joy, it's a favorite. This one was written by a dear friend, Rand Phares. It's setting is in England during King John's reign and I love it because it's thought provoking and I can relate to the last monk.

I hope you enjoy his story.

Abbot Timothy and Brother Samuel stood just inside the main doors ofthe monastery, swirling snow filling the dark night around them.

Samueladjusted his hood and leaned closer to the abbot. "Are you sure you don'twant me to wait for you?"

The abbotshook his head. "No, Samuel. I have one last chore before I can leave.I'll be along shortly, before the town road becomes impassable. You go on aheadbefore they've run out of room at the inn."

Samuelfrowned and peered across the courtyard at the monastery's church, its windowslit with a wavering glow. "A pity it's come to this, after all our yearsof service."

The abbotlaid a hand on Samuel's chest. "Though the abbeys are being dissolved andwe're being evicted, you can always hold to your faith and continue thatservice here, in your heart." He turned to the doors, slid aside a woodenbar, and—with Samuel's help—tugged the doors open.

Samueladjusted his robe. "You're sure you won't come with me?”

The abbotnodded. "Go."

Samuelwent through the doorway, hesitated for a moment, and then continued on, hisdark form melting into the storm. A moment later, drifting snow covered hisfootprints and it was as if he'd never been there.

The abbotshook his head. The king's decree had arrived a week ago: The Order wasdissolved, its members to renounce their ways and leave the monastery no laterthan Christmas Eve. Tonight. The monastery, its grounds, and its treasureswould revert to the people. Even now, two of the king's men were in thecounting room, reviewing the monastery's records.

One byone, the monasteries of the land were being dissolved, taken over by localgovernments, monies and lands distributed to those in power. Monks had beenexpelled, left to fend for themselves, which meant hardship and death moreoften than not. Friendship toward fellow man seemed to have dissolved in theface of hard times and the king's decree.

As abbot,he would be the last to leave. How had the others fared? Emanuel, theinfirmarian? Ethan, the sacrist? What of the troubled brothers, especiallyJames, gifted with a lyre, but unable to form a single sentence?

Wherewould he himself go? He had no family, no friends outside the monastery. Wouldhe simply starve, sharing the same fate as the others? After all this time surroundedby these walls, he did not look forward to leaving. The king's decreeguaranteed a lonely, destitute, and painful end beyond the monastery.

He shut and barred the doors, then turned andlooked at the church, at the rise of its steeple. Was its symbolic gesturetoward heaven still meaningful in these times? Across the length of the roofsat the silent bell tower, oddly enough even taller than the steeple. He knewit spoke of a long-ago time when the monastery—sitting atop a 200-ft cliffoverlooking a great road—had served as a lookout against enemy hordes sweepingin from the north.

He staredat the bell tower until his eyes stung.

So lonely . . .

So high . . .

So . . .

Painful? Perhaps not.

The towerstared down at him.

Will you follow the path the king has set down foryou?

Or is there another?

Heblinked, rubbed his eyes with icy fingers, and looked back at the barred doors.

The king'spath lay beyond.

He staredat the doors for a long moment. Then, his mind made up, he crossed himself,turned away, and trudged off through the snow toward the church.

Snow had piled against the great door leadinginto the church, and the door complained as the abbot struggled to open it. Hestepped into the front nave, escaping the storm, but not the bone-wearying cold.

With the door shut behind him, he made hisway toward the choir at the back of the church, eyes adjusting to the thinlight of candles burning in side chapels. A statue of the Saviour seemed toshift slightly in the flickering light as he neared. He crossed himself andstarted off toward the dark door near the east transept; the door that led tothe bell tower.

He reached for the door's latch, but acoughing sound stopped him. He turned and found a robed figure sitting in thechoir pews. Why had he not noticed? Wasn't everyone supposed to be gone by now?This was certainly not one of the king's tallymen, with their fine purpletunics.

"CanI help you?" the abbot asked.

The figurestood and tossed back his hood. A thin young man, dark hair, bearded, but notsomeone the abbot recognized.

"Areyou Abbot Timothy?" the man asked.

"Yes.And you are . . . ?"

"Forgiveme, abbot. I'm Sebastian. Innkeeper Thomas sent me with a sack of food for yourjourney." He held up a dark bag. "Some mutton, cheese, a small flask ofwine."

The abbotlooked at the bag. "That's quite kind of Thomas. And kind of you, ofcourse, for bringing it here in this storm. Tell me, how did you get in? Wekeep the main gate locked."

"Islipped in when one of the brothers was leaving."

"Isee." The abbot gestured toward the bag. "Well, thank Thomas forme." He put a hand on the latch beside him. "Now, if you'll excuseme, I have to extinguish the chapel candles before I leave. You'd better letyourself out and return to the inn before you become stranded."

"Thesnow is blowing very hard. You've no fear of being stranded yourself?"

The abbotglanced at the latch in his hand, then back at Sebastion. "I won't belong. You'd best not wait."

"Thatdoor leads to the bell tower?"

"Yes.”

"Arethere many candles in the tower?"

The abbotfrowned. He opened his mouth to reply, but Sebastian waved a hand."Forgive my impertinence, abbot." He looked around at the statuaryand tapestries. "It's a pity the church is being stripped of itstreasures. But isn't it a greater travesty that the countryside is beingstripped of its faith?"

The abbotsighed. Would this young man not leave? "Yes, it's true, what you sayabout the country. But when I step outside these walls, the king says I'm nolonger a man of God. So my days of worrying about the country's faith areover."

"Thatmay be, but what about your vow of service to Our Lord? True faith is difficultto drive from a man's heart, even in the face of kingly decrees."Sebastian nodded at the tower door. "Are you like the countryside, abbot?Have you been stripped of your faith?"

The abbotblinked. Had he?

Sebastianlaid a hand above his heart. "In spite of what the king says, you canalways hold to your faith and continue that service in your heart."

The abbotstared at Sebastian. How did he . . . ?

Sebastianset the bag on a pew and looked up at the window. "It seems the snow hasfinally stopped. That should make your journey easier." He looked back atthe abbot. "One last word of advice, though." He smiled and nodded atthe tower door. "Be careful putting the candles out up in the belfry. It'ssure to be slippery up there, and I hear it's a long drop to the roadbelow."

With that,Sebastian turned and walked up the nave, pausing only to cross himself at thestatue of the Saviour. A moment later the shadows of the front nave swallowedhim. In the snow-encased quiet of the church, the great door was particularlyloud when it closed.

Theabbot's gaze returned to the statue.

A thinbearded face, arms outstretched, a crown of thorns. From this angle, thecandlelight made it look as if the statue stared back at him.

Abbot Timothy pushed open the great churchdoor and took in the courtyard and the far shadow of the main gate. The youngman had left the church after the storm died, but a silent mantle of white layunbroken in all directions. And the air was still; wind no longer blowing snowacross any newly laid footprints.

What wasthe hour? Was it Christmas yet?

He liftedthe bag. Mutton, cheese, wine. A Christmas gift, perhaps?

He staredout at the night, and thought of the young man's words.

All ofthem.

Anddecided those had been the real giftthis night.

Then, with a last glance back across the naveat the distant bell tower door, he shouldered the bag and walked out of thechurch. Heading toward the gate, the abbot was secure in the feeling thatwherever the young man had gone, he was following.

Rand Phares's first foray into writing was at an early age, on a neighborhood "newspaper" he published with his brother. After a successful career in software engineering, he now focuses on psychological thrillers, and is within nanoseconds of completing his first novel, The Feast. Rand lives in NC with his family.

Holiday Stories: CASSIE'S CHRISTMAS WISH

2011-12-25T21:59:00.001-06:00

I've had so many lovely stories contributed this holiday season. I hope you've enjoyed them all. At the end of this story I will give you the links to each story again. In the hustle and bustle of getting prepared for the holidays and family, not many had time to really do much but extra reading.

This Holiday Short story is written by Anna Small. Anna writes historical romance and shares a story about two of her characters, Cassie and Jed Hazard.

If you enjoy the story, do share it on the networks.

Cassie Hazard looked out her bedroomwindow and blinked rapidly to clear her vision. Surely, she was dreaming, forthere could not be snowflakes on the ground. Wrapping a quilt around hershoulders, she hastily left the bedroom and rushed outdoors. She gasped indelight. Speckled on the ground like shimmering dust was the first snowfall shehad ever seen since arriving in the New Mexico Territory.

“I’ll bet you never expected to seesnow in the desert, city gal.”

She turned around and smiled at herhusband. Jed looked like a snowman himself, bundled up in a heavy coat and amuffler wound around his neck. She was grateful when he stood behind her,wrapped his arms securely around her waist, and hugged the quilt to help keepher warm.

“I didn’t know it would snow. Howbeautiful everything looks.” Tiny flurries of snow whipped around the horsepaddock. The ground sparkled, reflecting the sunlight so she had to squint fromthe glare.

“It always snowed at Christmas backhome. Ty and I would have snowball fights until our pa caught us avoiding ourchores.” He laughed at the memory, and she turned around in his arms to facehim.

“Boston will be beautiful this time ofyear. They have sleigh rides on the Common, and Uncle Abe always took me to theParker House for dinner on Christmas Eve.”

“Sounds like a nice time. I hope youdon’t mind cornbread for this Christmas Eve.” His head lowered and he was justabout to kiss her, when someone called to them from the road. Jed glanced up.“Looks like old Busybody Ames is bringing someone out here. Maybe it’s thatcattle buyer I met at the House of Diamonds a few weeks back.”

“I’ll go inside and dress,” she said,reluctantly pulling away and walking toward the door. She watched from the stepfor a few moments as Jed walked to the gate to let the driver in. Jed wasright. The driver was Mr. Ames, the schoolteacher, and his sole passengerlooked familiar. He was out of place in his black stovepipe hat and fur trimmedcoat. His full white beard made her almost think of Santa Claus, except sheonly knew one man who wore a red silk scarf over his top coat.

Her breath caught in her throat as shetried to call Jed, to warn him, but it was too late. He’d already reached thegate, and the wagon was pulling up. Jed was talking to the two men, and heglanced a few times back at her, as did the others. She gulped, then held herhead high. She had nothing to fear from anyone, and certainly not this man. Shewas a married woman now, for goodness’ sake, and could make her own decisions.

Jed swung the gate open and the wagoncame through. She stood on the porch, her shoulders back and her chin stuckout, waiting.

The wagon stopped at the house, andAmes gave her a smug smile. He touched the brim of his hat with a slenderfinger. “Good morning, Mrs. Hazard.”

“Mrs. Hazard?” The old gentlemanbeside Ames scowled so deeply she thought his thick, bushy eyebrows would knitthemselves together. He climbed off the wagon with some difficulty, and walkedslowly to where she stood on the porch. “Well?” he demanded, and she felt herknees wobble, “are you not going to say hello to your own uncle, missy?”

            “Hello, Uncle Abe,” she said, cursingherself inwardly for sounding like a little girl. Suddenly, she was no longerthe capable rancher-woman Jed always called her, but the naughty little girlwho’d painted all over her uncle’s desk and had gotten caught. “What are you doinghere?”
            He puffed out his chest, and cast asardonic glance around the ranch. “I wanted to make sure you were still alive.Mr. Ames has been good enough to inform me of what shenanigans you’ve beenabout, young lady.”
            “That’s my wife, sir. I’ll expect youto be polite in my presence,” Jed said, his voice firm but pleasant. He climbedthe stairs to the porch and grasped her shoulder. “Sweetheart, let’s all goinside and have some coffee. I’m sure your uncle doesn’t want to stand outsidein the cold all day.”

Grateful for Jed’s steady, practicalnature, Cassie led the way into the small house, instinctively wishing she’dcleaned better the night before. But they’d had an early supper, and Jed hadsmiled at her in that special way that she’d foregone housekeeping in favor oftheir big, soft bed.

“Is this all there is?” Uncle Abe saidgruffly, surveying the small house and cramped kitchen.

Jed pulled out their best chair andsmiled pleasantly. “Won’t you sit, sir?”

Uncle Abe hesitated a moment, then satdown carefully, as if he were afraid the chair would break. He glowered atCassie, but she kept up her air of strength, even though she was afraid shewould settle back into the role of obedient child again.

“I came to make sure you were stillalive, Cassandra,” he said, removing his hat and placing it on his knee.

“As you can see, Uncle, I am.”

Jed brought three mugs of coffee tothe table and set one before Uncle Abe, then took the chair opposite him. “Howwas your journey, sir?”

“Long. What are your prospects with myniece? She’s my only family, and I want to make certain you are not toying withher.”
Cassie’s cheeks burned with the heatof her blush, but she bit her tongue to keep from speaking her mind. Jed’s jawtightened, but he was polite.

“As I said before, she’s my wife. Itwas all done up nice and legal. Charles Ames married us a few months ago.”

One white eyebrow rose up into hisforehead. “I have not heard a word about love, Mr. Hazard. Did you marry herfor love, or was it a business proposition? Mr. Ames seems convinced of thelatter.”

“He’s both a liar and a fool,” Jedsaid, pushing out of his chair and rising abruptly. He stood beside Cassie andwrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I love this woman with all my heart.Yes, I wouldn’t have the ranch if she hadn’t married me, but that’s not why Idid it.” He faced her now, and it was as if they were alone. She stared up intohis sky blue eyes, so earnest and filled with all the hopes and dreams theyboth shared. “I’ve loved you from that first day, Cassie, when you walked downthat dusty road and demanded I leave your ranch.” His eyes twinkled withamusement at the memory. “I wanted you then as much as I want you now. Theo-nly reason I suggested we marry was that I couldn’t imagine a life withoutyou. You’re my partner and my friend. My best and truest love.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and sheplaced her hand on his chest, over his beating heart. “I love you, too, Jed. Ialways have.”

Uncle Abe cleared his throat, thenreached into his coat pocket. Cassie almost feared he was going to take out apistol and challenge Jed to a duel, but he withdrew a fat leather pouch, whichhe handed to her. “In that case, you may have this.”

She hastily brushed the tears from hercheek. “What is that?”

He heaved a sigh. “My dear sister wasnot destitute when she ran away from home with your reprobate father. She hadsome money put away, and I wish you now to have it.”

“If you think you can pay me to changemy mind, you’re wrong,” she said fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s a milliondollars. I’m staying here. My home is with my husband.” Her limbs trembled asif she were feverish, but she kept her gaze focused on him, so he would knowshe spoke the truth.

“My dear child, this is not a bribe totake you out of this place, although,” and he glanced meaningfully around theroom, “it could use some sprucing up. It is your inheritance. You may give itto your husband, keep it for yourself, or throw it to the wind – I don’t carewhat you do with it.” He rose from the table and put his hat on. “Now, if Mr.Hazard will be so kind, I require a ride back into town.”
“What for?” Jed asked.

Uncle Abe frowned slightly. “I am notwelcome here, that is evident. Cassandra and I have rarely seen eye to eye. Sheis happy and well; that is all I wanted to see. I’m going back to Boston atweek’s end.”

He started for the door, but Cassiewas quicker. She gripped his arm. “Wait.”

“Yes, my dear?” His eyes swam withtears, and she had to fight to keep her own emotions in check.

“That is why you came all the way outto New Mexico Territory? Not to persuade me to come back to Boston with you orto take the ranch from Jed or…or any of those things?”

He shook his head. “Is it soimpossible that I would want your happiness, Cassandra? I am the only familyyou have left.”

“That’s not true,” she said softly. “Ihave Jed, and I have a brother, Tyler. I have Laughing Crow and Two Rivers, andMarianna and Miss Lavinia.”

He covered her hand that remained onhis arm. “You are the only family I have left, Cassandra. Please, forgive anold man’s foolishness. I have always wanted your happiness. If this is what ittakes, then….” He sighed, and smiled through his thick beard. “I can ask fornothing more.” He kissed her forehead, then looked at Jed. “And now, sir, ifyou please….”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Cassiesaid suddenly. “You’ll spend Christmas with us, Uncle Abe.”

“We insist,” Jed said, standing besideher.

Uncle Abe shook his hand, then embraced Cassie warmly, thelong beard tickling her cheek as it always used to on the rare occasions he didshow affection. She realized now that he had been too worried about keeping hersafe all those years that he’d forgotten to enjoy the time they’d had.

“Well,” he said gruffly, pulling away and straightening outhis coat, “if I’m to stay here, we must have a proper Christmas dinner.”
“We’re having beans, cornbread, andrabbit,” Cassie said.

Jed grinned. “And maybe some venison. Our friends, LaughingCrow and his family, will bring a deer, and our sheriff, Wade, makes the bestapple pie you’ve ever tasted.”

“As I said,” Uncle Abe replied, “a proper Christmasdinner.” He removed his coat and hat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Get me anapron, missy. I’m going to tidy up around here so you may get ready for yourfriends.”

She tied her apron around his waist, her throat full ofunshed, joyful tears. When she was done, he cupped her cheek in his warm handand gave it a little pinch.

“How I’ve missed these freckles. You must come out andvisit me in Boston.” He nodded at Jed. “Both of you.”

“We will.” Jed winked at Cassie as he headed for the door.“I’m going to chop some more wood and see to the livestock. I’ll come in whenLaughing Crow arrives.” He paused and looked at Uncle Abe. “Merry Christmas,sir.”

“I find sir a little stuffy. Call me Uncle Abe.”

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Abe.” Jed grinned at both of them andwent outside.

Cassie embraced her uncle. “Merry Christmas, dear UncleAbe.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Cassandra.” He indicated the table. “Areyou not going to open that pouch and see how much is in there?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I have everything Iwant right here.”

You can find Anna:

Website

Facebook

Story links:

Christmas Joy, Beth Hill, Secrets Of Christmas, Carol Kilgore,

Husband For Miss Trent, Anne Gallagher, On The Outside Looking In, Yvonne Lewis

UPCOMING GUESTS:

WEDNESDAY(4th): Mia Marlowe And Connie Mason

FRIDAY(6th): Tawny Weber

ON THE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN

2011-12-24T23:23:00.000-06:00

Where ever you are andhowever you celebrate, May this Holiday Season bring you, laughter, joy, andmany good memories! Thank you all for all the support, encouragement, and friendship.

A lovely English rose, Yvonne Lewis, shared evocative holiday piece for today's viewing. I admit, I've spent some time her site reading various pieces she has posted. She's an amazing writer.

If you like her piece she shared with us, do bestow a gift to her by sharing it.

ON THE OUTSIDELOOKING IN:

Outside of a shop window,

A boy, clothes all tattered and torn.

His hair a complete mess,

His shoes all dirty and worn.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

He peered into the toyshop window.

His sad eyes were transfixed.

He looked in awesome wonder.

Holding a bundle of sticks.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was just coming up for Christmas,

Would he get anything at all?

He nearly jumped out of his skin,

As he heard his mother call.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"I'm only on the outside lookingin" he said.

As he noticed her anxious look.

For they were as poor as church mice,

She couldn't even afford a book.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Christmas Day dawned like any otherday.

Cupboard, hardly any food.

Realization showed on his face,

That today was not going to be good.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

During the day a knock on the door,

Santa stood there looking merry.

With food for the two and toys forthe boy,

For the mother a bottle of sherry.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"I was on the outside lookingin" Santa said.

As astonishment showed on their faces.

With tears in their eyes, Santa saidhis goodbyes,

And was whisked off to faraway places.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

You can find Yvonne: Welcome to My World of Poetry

On Christmas Day, there won't be a post but stories will resume next week, so be sure to look for them.

HOLIDAY STORIES: A HUSBAND FOR MISS TRENT

2011-12-23T22:31:00.000-06:00

Here's a lovely historical piece by Anne Gallagher. I love the easy flow of her story and her ability to convey so much about Ophelia in such a short piece. I wanted to continue reading--what do you mean that was the end?

Do enjoy the Caymore's Holiday Ball with Miss Trent.

If you enjoy the story please share it on the networks which would be a lovely gift for the hardworking author.

Miss Ophelia Trent stood breathlessat the top of the stairs. She clutched her reticule, still unbelieving the Dukeand Duchess of Caymore had invited her to their Holiday Ball. Ophelia gazeddown at her mother’s old gown and wondered what people would think. There hadbeen neither time, nor money for anything new, and now, standing here in thegrand ballroom, Ophelia knew she should not have accepted. She would be alaughingstock. A penniless baronet’s daughter trying to pose as a member of thearistocracy? What balderdash!

“MissTrent,” Lady Penelope said, startling Ophelia. “I’m so glad you could come. Your dress is quite lovely.”

“Thankyou for the invitation, your ladyship,” Ophelia said and bobbed a short curtsyfor the second time that night. “I must confess I am very surprised you thoughtto include me, as our previous meeting was rather brief.” Ophelia rememberedthat day at the Bainbridge Hotel and winced with embarrassment.

LadyPenelope took her arm and propelled her through the massive throng. “I havelonged to further our acquaintance, and perhaps introduce you to some of myfriends. As for a confession,” Lady Penelope leaned closer, “I understand howvery hard it must be for you to meet people and I thought perhaps your motherwould approve. I’m so glad she allowedyou to attend.”

“Yes,Mother was quite in rapture,” Ophelia said. Her mother had nearly had anapoplexy when Ophelia showed her the invitation.

LadyPenelope moved through the crowd like a double-masted schooner with full sail,smiling and waving as she went along, not stopping until she reached a smallgroup of people standing near the terrace doors. Lady Penelope introduced herto all of her friends, and Ophelia blushed to her toes when introduced to Mr.Jonathon Garrick. Taller than she and exceedingly handsome, Ophelia was at aloss to remember when last her heart had hammered so.

Uponhearing the musicians, the Duke of Caymore, Lady Penelope’s husband, said,“Come Pen, we must dance the first.”

Opheliawatched enviously as all her new acquaintance moved to the dance floor. As shestood there feeling foolish, wishing she were home in bed, Mr. Garrick stoodbefore her.

“MissTrent, do allow me the honor of your hand for this dance.”

Opheliaflustered. “Mr. Garrick, that would be lovely, thank you.”

Mr.Garrick proved to be a delightful dancer. He did not step on her toes, andmoved with a grace that belied his imposing height.

Whenhe brought her back to the corner of the terrace, Ophelia thanked him again forthe dance. As she stood there uncertain of what she should do, severalgentlemen asked for introductions and as her dance card filled, Ophelia wantedto cry from happiness. She had never in her whole life met with such agreeableand amiable companionship. The affinity she felt meeting Lady Penelope’sfriends gave her a new outlook, at least for the night. Her troubles meltedaway along with the concerns about her old-fashioned gown. She had received numerous compliments on itfrom men as well as women.

Mr.Garrick danced with Ophelia several times. Surely, it was not like a man to beso singular in his attentions, but Ophelia didn’t examine it too closely. Thiswas a once in a lifetime prospect, for she knew she would never be givenanother invitation to a ball. Her liferevolved around her family, but just for tonight, she would heed her mother’sadvice and take every opportunity to enjoy herself.

WhenMr. Garrick asked her for the supper waltz, Ophelia could barely keep the smilefrom her face. Her first waltz, and in the arms of this handsome gentleman, wasenough to make her swoon.

Asthe music ended, and they stood on the edge of the parquet, Mr. Garrick leaneddown and asked, “Have you an escort for supper?”

“Why,no,” Ophelia said. She hadn’t eventhought of that.

“Allowme.” He proffered his arm. “Although, shall we wait until this mass hasthinned?” Mr. Garrick asked as they neared the overcrowded dining room. Hiswarm hand rested over hers on his arm.

“Oh,yes, let’s do,” Ophelia said. “Perhaps we could find a quiet corner for thenonce.”

“Asyou wish.” Mr. Garrick led her to a small table and chairs on the opposite sideof the great room.

WhenOphelia settled her skirts, she looked at Mr. Garrick expectantly. He merelystared at her with large grey eyes that crinkled in the corners. Perhaps sheshould be the one to speak first.

“Mr. Garrick, I want to thank you so verymuch for your kindness this evening. It has been most welcome. I know not asoul here, and thought I would be sitting with the dowagers.”

“Imust confess, Miss Trent, and forgive me for being so forward, but, you havequite bewitched me.”

“Mr.Garrick,” Ophelia whispered. “Surely, you jest.” The idea of bewitching himseemed impossible. Here she sat, a simple baronet’s daughter too long on theshelf, in a borrowed antique gown. Shehad learned earlier in the evening he had resigned his commission in the Navyafter Trafalgar. Perhaps he had suffered a head injury.

“No,” he said. “I do not.” He looked deepinto her eyes. “When Lady Penelope told me about you, she never shared with meyour exquisite beauty, or your humble character.”

Opheliablanched. “Pray what else did she tell you?” She hoped not the scandalous taleof how she and Lady Penelope actually met.

“Onlythat you are the sweetest, gentlest, creature I could ever hope to meet, and ifI were a man with any sense, I would declare my affections immediately.”

“Mr.Garrick, I know not what to say.”

“Say,I may court you. Say I may call upon your family. I know this is rather sudden,but say you will be my wife.”

“Mr.Garrick!” Ophelia could not be hearing him correctly. Surely, he did not justsay he wanted her for his wife.

“MissTrent,” he said solemnly. “I know this seems a bit of a shock, to myself aswell, but I have been searching for a woman of your caliber for a very longtime, and have never found her. Until now. I vowed when such a time came, I would not waste another moment vacillatingbetween my head and my heart.” He got down on one knee and took up her hand.“Miss Trent, I am entirely in your hands.”

Ofall the things Ophelia had previously thought about this night, garnering amarriage proposal had never been one of them.

“Mr.Garrick,” Ophelia said, gathering her wits. “Having only just met, I am a bitoverwhelmed by your passion. However, Iwill confess, I do like you, very much it seems, so I will say yes to acourtship. As for marriage, I am hardlyin a position to accept at this moment, so we shall see what the future brings.That being said, I believe I would like you to escort me into supper now.”

Mr.Garrick kissed her hand and helped her up, his smile outshining the candles inthe chandelier. “Your wish is mycommand, my dear.”

Opheliathought she had never had a lovelier Christmas wish come true.

You can find Anne and more about her writing:

Blog

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A FIRESIDE CHAT WITH THE TALENTED JESSICA BELL

2011-12-21T12:06:00.000-06:00

Not every woman in this world lives without regret, knowsexactly what they want, and has the courage to put every essence of their beinginto achieving their dreams...Does that mean a less strong-minded woman doesn'thave an interesting story to tell? Jessica Bell

Tell me a bitabout you—you have a furry baby don't you? Are yousingle or have a significant other?

Yes, I havea four-year-old Dalmatian named Holly (Holly Bolly Wallywood, yep, that’s herfull name!). I really don’t know what I’d do without her. And, yes, I do have asignificant other, but he doesn't want to be exposed! J Almost seven years, now, we've been together.

You're the daughter of tworock musicians. That had to be an interesting childhood. Give me a great memoryof that time.

Well, the upside of having musicians as parents isthat I was encouraged to write songs at a very young age—when I was abouteleven or twelve.

Thegreatest memory of that time is the day my mother decided to sell hertwelve-string acoustic guitar to get a bit of extra cash. I saw it sitting bythe front door. I think someone was coming over to take a look at it. Iremember opening the case and thinking that it just looked so beautiful,magical and special, and I remember wondering why in the world Mum would wantto get rid of it? I think she was in the music room at the time and Iinterrupted one of her recording sessions to ask about the guitar. When shetold me she was selling it, I asked her whether I could have it instead. She saidthat I could if I learned to play. From that moment I had that guitar in myhands every single day until I moved to Greece in 2002. I taught myself how toplay. The first song I ever wrote was played on one string and sung in a veryawful high-pitched voice. I hope that cassette never gets dug up!

[laughing] I bet not! I've a few things I've created I feel the same about.

Did you get to accompany your parents on theirtours? What would be a down side?

Downside? Well, thereweren’t really that many. My parents were very good at spending quality timewith me. The worst thing was being dragged along to rehearsals late into thenight and falling asleep on stinky carpet that smelled of old melted gaffertape and amplifier wheel grease. I never went with them on tours. I usuallystayed at a babysitter’s. That was another downside. I hated sleeping in weirdbeds.

Home base wasAustralia. How did you end up in Greece?

Mystepfather is Greek so I spent a lot of my childhood here. It became my secondhome. I couldn’t live without one or the other. Thank goodness for planes!

You speak Greek. How hard was it tolearn? (Speaking would be one thing, but writing quite another. Or did youlearn as a child?

I learnedbits and pieces as a child, but mainly picked it up naturally by living here,so I never ‘struggled’ as it had pretty much become a familiar sound to me overthe years. I can’t write or read it very well though. Takes me about half anhour to read through one page, and it would probably take me two hours to write one page.

You work as a freelance writer andeditor. You're a verycreative person—poetry, songwriter/musician, and youhave a beautiful voice. Sounds like a very full life.What made you decide to write women's fiction?

I don’t think I ever‘chose’ to write women’s fiction, it’s just what came naturally. In fact, Ididn’t decide what genre it was until I started seeking agents and publishers.If I could class my writing non-traditionally, I’d probably call it ‘RealFiction.’ Oxymoron, you say? Definitely not. You’ll just have to read my bookto find out why! Ha!

Which has the biggest pull in your life, music or writing?

Music doesn't define me as much as writing does, but it’s still a big part of mylife.

What’s thehardest thing you've had to face as a writer? How did you overcome it?

The hardest thing I’veever had to face, and still face, isthe self-doubt. I don’t think I’m ever going to overcome this. Sometimes itisn’t as strong, but it’s always haunting me. Some days I’m confident enough totell it to shove off, other days, it sends me into an emotional downward spiral.I think this is just a given for us creative types.

Perhaps because creative types are striving the perfect note, word, or image. We hear it perfectly in our minds. Get frustrated when we can't translate that perfection to the printed page or whatever medium we're using. I also think creative types are harder on themselves than any critic could be.

So, tell me about Melody Hill. What do you likeabout her? What is it about her that readers can relate to even not being inmusic?

Melody is avery strong-minded woman, but also significantly vulnerable—she can sometimesbe an over-emotional doormat. But what I love about her is that she recognizesher flaws and really tries to rectify them.

Theinspiration for Melody came from thinking about a time in my life when musicwas all I ever wanted to breathe. Even though my priorities had changed then, Istill wanted to write about the power music has over someone who is sopassionate about it that it consumes their every day. But I think music couldbe replaced by any sort of passion in String Bridge, because basically thestory is about needing something more than you need yourself.

You took an unusual approach to writingMelody Hill’s story. Ican’t say I’ve ever seen a book with a ‘soundtrack.’This might be a case of what came first, the chicken or the egg, but how wasthis story born? Did it start with the music? Or the story?

The process was pretty circular. The thing with this book is that Inever really ‘focused’ on plot. It was more about the characters and theiremotions and their interactions with each other. Music evokes this sort ofdeeper feeling, too, I think.

Theinspiration for the book came about when I was thinking about a time in my lifewhen music was all I ever wanted to breathe. I wanted to write about the powermusic has over someone who is passionate about it.

And the music?

The songs thatappear in the book started off as poems. Then it occurred to me that I couldcreate and produce an album for Melody. That’s when the idea for my booktrailer came about after listening to a few of my mother’s songs on YouTube.The poems then turned into lyrics. When I finished the final revisions I satdown and wrote music to the four songs that appear in the book. Once those weredone, I wrote six more songs to create Melody’s album.

As you know, I absolutely love the booktrailer music. Asidefrom it truly showcasing the story, it is a beautiful piece of work, bothvocally and the lyrics.

Where can you buy the CD? And is therea way to get a sampling of the rest of the album?

If you go to www.stringbridge.com, you’ll find allthe information you need for that. It will link you to iTunes, where you cansample 45 seconds of each song.

I’m curious, Iknow you’re promoting your work, but will you be also promoting your music? Ifso, how?

Actually, I havealready been promoting my music. In fact, during my blog tour for StringBridge, I gave away many copies of the album to purchasers of the bookon a specific day. It was a great incentive to buy and worked out really well,pushing String Bridge into the bestseller charts on both AmazonUS and Amazon UK.

I’ve also done a liveradio interview, here in Greece, and featured on Australian radio as well. I’llcontinue to do all I can possibly do for both the book and the music.

What’s next forJessica Bell? Are you working on a new story? Would you tell us a bit about itand when it will be released?

My nextnovel is called, Bitter Like Orange Peel.It’s complete and being considered by an Australian publisher, as I want toget more recognition in my home country.

It’s abouta twenty-five year old Australian archaeology undergraduate named Kit, whodoesn’t like to get her hands dirty. She feels misplaced and comes to theconclusion that meeting her father, Roger, will make some sense of her life,despite him being worth the rotting orange rind in her backyard. Well, at leastthat’s what she’s been conditioned to think of him by the three women in herlife: Ailish, her mother—an English literature professor who communicates inquotes and clichés, and who still hasn’t learned how to express emotion on herface; Ivy, her half-sister—a depressed professional archaeologist, with aslight case of nymphomania, who fled to America after a divorce to become awaitress; and Eleanor, Ivy’s mother—a pediatric surgeon who embellishes herfeelings with medical jargon, and who named her daughter after intravenous.Against all three women’s wishes, Kit decides to find Roger, but in doing so,discovers he is not the only rotten fruit.

For mythird, Muted, I’ve applied for awriting fellowship in order to fund all the research I want to do for it. Sofingers crossed for that!

Muted isset in Arles, France, in a totalitarian society where it is illegal to wear clothes. In some streets,it's also illegal to sing without accompanying instruments. Concetta, a famousItalian a cappella singer from before “the change,” breaks these laws. As punishment,her vocal chords are brutally slashed and her eardrums surgically perforated.Unable to cope with living a life without song, she resolves to drown herselfin the river, clothed in a dress stained withperformance memories from her hometown, Milan. But Concetta's suicide attemptis cut short as someone grabs her by the throat and pulls her to the surface.Is it the busking harpist, who encouraged her to feel music through vibration,acting as saviour? Or a street warden on the prowl for another offender todetain? From this moment, thereader will discover how Concetta came to be in this position, and what willhappen to her after the suicide attempt.

Muted will explore a variety of themes such as overcoming loss, coping withmental illness and disability, dealing with discrimination, loss of freedom,inhibited self-expression, motivation to succeed, escaping oppression,expression through art and music, self-sacrifice, channelling the thoughts ofthe deceased, and challenging moral views and values.

Whew! There is quite a bit to be looking for from you. Muted has a very interesting premise. A bit sci-fi/fantasy in tone. I'll be watching for that.

Jessica, I wish you much success with all this and thankyou for taking the time from your busy schedule to chat with me.

Thank you for havingme!

Greek cuisine, smog and domestic drudgery was not the life Australian musician, Melody, was expecting when she married a Greek music promoter and settled in Athens, Greece.

Keen to play in her new shoes, though, Melody trades her guitar for a ‘proper' career and her music for motherhood. That is, until she can bear it no longer and plots a return to the stage—and the person she used to be.

However, the obstacles she faces along the way are nothing compared to the tragedy that awaits ....EXCERPT

BOOK TRAILER (very well done and Jessica is singing FAMOUS on the soundtrack) If you want to hear three of her songs in entirety visit Jessica's Facebook music page.

BUY: AMAZON, AMAZON UK, BARNES and NOBLE,

You can also find Jessica on her blog: The Alliterative Allomorph, Official String Bridge Website (Lyrics, music and the book), Twitter, Goodreads, and Website.

HOLIDAY STORIES: SECRETS OF CHRISTMAS

2011-12-20T23:44:00.000-06:00

Wednesday: I will be interviewing JESSICA BELL. Interesting interview from an interesting woman. Be sure to stop by what she has to say about growing up as a daughter of Rock musicians, her furry baby, Holly, and what she's working on next.

TODAY: I have another holiday story for you to enjoy. Crime doesn't take a holiday and neither does tragedy but the moments of joy still prevails in this world and that's a good thing.

Carol Kilgore contributed this Christmas suspense story. Carol hails from San Antonio, Texas and writes a fun blog, Under The Tiki Hut. She writes mysteries and suspense novels with a nice dollop of romance.

Enjoy the story, I sure did!

Theoccupants of the dark house had gone out for an evening of fun at SyntagmaSquare--the place to be in Athens the week before Christmas. Greek Christmaseswere nothing like what Katia Marengo had grown up with on the South Texascoast, and she loved the excitement. The air frosted her breath. Her coat andcloche hat offered a little disguise, and the chill allowed her to wearclose-fitting leather gloves. All were perfect for breaking and entering.

Thesmall house was home to a minor Turkish diplomat and his family. Kat had becomefriends with the diplomat's wife, the chatty and careless Yagmur. The test camenow. Kat inserted the key she'd made from an impression. She'd aced that classduring training, but each time she used an impressioned key in the field, sheexperienced a moment of panic. The key turned. Yes!

Thearoma of mint greeted her. She pressed on the tiny LED lights fitted into thebrim of her hat. As long as no one had changed the alarm code she was homefree--7, 6--crap. The edge of her glove hit the 3. Clear. Once again, this timemore controlled--7,6,9,1. Green light. Thankyou, Yagmur.

Yagmurhad said Ediz had two safes. He thought the first was too obvious. She didn'tsay where they were located. Kat would search first in the master and second inthe kitchen, the two most likely locations.

Shefound one safe set into the master bedroom wall behind a painting. Obvious.Where would she install a second? She'd want easy access without a hint ofanything different from the surroundings. The tiled floor. On her hands andknees she explored each exposed tile and all the grout, then the ones under thebed, chest, and chair. Nothing.

"Oh!"In the chair or chest. By having the safe in his personal belongings, Edizwould need to install it only once as it would travel with him from posting toposting. She found the second safe, with a keycard lock, in the bottom drawerof the chest. The CIA prepared its officers well--she came ready for any typeof device and withdrew a plain black card from her messenger bag.

Sheinserted the card into the slot. "Do your magic, Houdini. Spring thatlock."

Whilethe software on the card worked to unlock the newer safe, she exposed the oldersafe behind the painting. That one looked as ancient as the house. For grinsshe tried the old lever handle. It didn't budge.

Katstudied the single old-fashioned combination dial, memorizing the setting. Nosmudges, threads, or other alerts. She pulled a stethoscope from her bag. Ittrailed a USB plug that she plugged into a handheld computer.

Shespun the dial a few times to the left and twice to the right. Then she placedthe stethoscope monitor to the metal near the lock and turned the knob onenumber at a time. Her fingers felt the first tumbler fall. The computer beepedand recorded the number. She turned the knob to the left and concentrated. Thecomputer beeped again and recorded the second number.

Hershoulders ached. She stretched and relaxed her fingers before going for the thirdnumber. Houdini emitted a soft trill. She checked the safe in the drawer.Empty.

"Ediz,you are a clever fox. But I'm going to find your secrets."

Katreturned Houdini to her bag and went back to the old safe. "Okay, baby,Mama's back. Show me your stuff." She turned the dial and hoped the oldsafe wasn't booby-trapped. Maybe Ediz had a third safe.

Aneternity passed. Inside her gloves, sweat formed on her palms. Her mouth grewdry, and she tried to swallow. Beep.No boom. Kat breathed again.

"Ediz,you better not have booby-trapped the handle."

Shepushed down. The door opened to Ediz's secret stash. Papers typed in Turkish.Four Greek passports with photos of Ediz, Yagmur, their children--his safetynet. Yagmur's jewelry. A man's Rolex. She removed the watch with her left handand pulled its twin from her bag with her right. She studied them under thelight.

Ediz'stimepiece was more worn than the replacement, but not by much. Nothing herlittle hammer and pick couldn't replicate with a few minutes work. The samenumber of links filled each band. The back of Ediz's watch bore no engravingfor her to match. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Katplaced Ediz's watch in her bag and its replacement in the safe, closed thedoor, reset the dial. Her return visit on New Year's Eve would take less thanfive minutes.

Outside,she walked to the nearest thoroughfare with a confident stride, her head heldhigh. She hailed a taxi. "Syntagma Square."

Thedriver nodded, and started the meter. She would arrive early for her meetingwith Dave Krizak in front of the carousel. Amid the noise and bustle, she wouldpass Dave the Rolex.

Davewould be the case officer to take the watch into the Embassy for theinstallation of the stealth transmitter. Ediz was to be part of a delegation toTehran in January. The transmitter would give the U.S. ears without outsideembellishment.

Thetaxi screeched to a stop. Kat paid the fare and stepped out. Ahead she saw Davepaying his driver.

Theworld exploded in a fireball.

Kathit the sidewalk.

Whenshe came to and sat up, chaos reigned. People shouted and screamed. Sirenswailed. Her bag still hung around her neck. Houdini, the tiny computer, and theRolex still rested inside. Dave. Where was Dave?

Thestench of burnt rubber and flesh hung in the air. Several bodies lay motionlesson the blackened street and sidewalk, curled in the fetal position, charred.Kat threw up in the gutter.

Worstcase, she was a target. But the explosion had made it her responsibility to getthe watch to the Embassy. The Hard Rock Café was a few blocks away, and shewould find taxis there.

- - -

Thenext day, Kat arrived at Langley. In the two years since the bombing, she'dbeen back to the Agency once--on this date last year--to touch Dave's star on theMemorial Wall. To tell him goodbye.

Technicallyshe was on long-term leave, still paid but not yet working. As she'd fought herway back to the living, she'd leaned on Remy Sonnier, the instructor who hadtaught her--as he said--stealing for fun and profit.

He'dcalled her one day, said he was moving to Corpus Christi, and would like her tohelp him find a place. Not for one minute did she think his presence wascoincidence. The Agency was keeping an eye on her. She'd gone from Remy's starstudent to his current assignment.

Shepulled into his driveway and got out. Along the South Texas coast, the balmymid-December weather was nothing like Athens. It matched her happy mood. Shewas getting better. It felt good to smile, to laugh. Kat pushed the front dooropen and stuck her head in. "Remy! Are you home?"

"Inthe kitchen, cher."

Shepassed a Christmas tree decorated with Mardi Gras beads and ornaments shapedlike shrimp, crab, and alligator and giggled. Her Cajun friend brought thebayou to Texas with everything he did.

"Whatsmells fabulous?" She entered the large square room centered with a woodentable and benches.

"Gumbo.It's not ready." Remy returned the lid to the pot and wiped his hands onhis apron. "How you holding up?"

"I'mgood. Really good."

"Iknew you would be, cher. I havesomething for you. I'll be right back."

Katwalked to the window. Sun diamonds danced on the green water. Kat's stomachgrowled at the pungent aroma of the gumbo. "Remy, you want me to stir thepot?"

"Don'ttouch it."

Aminute passed, and she heard footsteps behind her.

"MerryChristmas, Kat."

Shespun around. "Dave?"

Henodded. "It's me."

Shetouched his face, the scar that traveled from his hairline, in front of hisleft ear, and down his neck beneath his collar. "I can't believe you'realive. I was there, I--"

"Sshh."His finger touched her lips. "I read the debriefing. I know."

"Butyour star--" Burn scars mottled Dave's hands.

"Belongsto another officer."

Anotherfamily, other friends saddened by death. Life wasn't fair, but in the last twoyears, Kat had learned to accept and-- "Remy?"

"Hedidn't know until last week. He said he's going fishing for a little bit so wecan catch up and I can tell you what's new."

Theold excitement returned. "We're working again?"

Dave smiled. "You and me, babe. Remy also said foryou to keep your hands off his gumbo."

Katlaughed. "Merry Christmas, Dave."

~*~*~*~

If you enjoyed the story, do give a gift to the author by sharing it.

WHERE THE WILDLIFE CAN EAT YOU!

2011-12-19T21:30:00.000-06:00

I'm happy to welcome back, paranormal romance author, Terry Spear, to Over Coffee. I have to admit, I love her books and I've been waiting for Jake's story and Dreaming The Wolf, forever. Or so it seems and not just because I have a tag line on the book (Squeee!) but because I loved the premise of this story.

For those of you who don't know it, Terry creates some amazing teddy bears as well as her fabulous stories. I'm planning on having a piper bear in MacKay colors, later next spring. I'll be sure to be squeeing then and will have pictures.

I write about werewolves, and my wolves would never think ofattacking humans. Not unless the humans attacked first. And truly most wolvesdon’t. If there are any attacks, it’s more likely from cougars. Or bears even.

Although I still love bears and love to create them! I makeaward-winning teddy bears that have been featured in magazines and newspapers,that have won best in show, first place for most unique bears, and first placefor best-dressed bears. Many have found homes not only in the US and Canada,but as far away as Australia, Russia, China, Kazakhstan, Belgium, and France!

But back to where the wildlife can eat you! What I wanted totalk about is taking a trip to Pensacola, FL and seeing my son graduate fromUSAF navigator training, and all week long watching Shark Week on PBS, BEFOREwe went to the beach.

Oh sure, there are not THAT many shark attacks. And yeah,yeah, so the shark psychologists say that the sharks mistook humans for food.The sharks thought maybe the humans were seals. Or walruses. Or whales. Right.Yeah, yeah, the water was murky. (Or sometimes it wasn’t.) Yeah, yeah, theywere out during the feeding hours at night. (Or sometimes they weren’t.) Andsure, they were splashing around like nearly dead fish. (Or no, they reallydidn’t.)

I write fantasy. So I try to make the unbelievablebelievable. So to my way of thinking, shark gurus do, too.

In Australia, there were three great white shark attacksresulting in three deaths. Either that’s a really confused shark, if it’s thesame one, or hmmm, maybe he DOES think human meat is rather tasty? Or maybehe’s not even thinking anything but it’s big, swimming near me and couldpossibly make a meal. They eat anything, you know.

These all occurred around the same time as I was in Floridaand another when I returned home.

We used to live in Florida, and swam all the time at thebeach, but on the ocean side. Not half as pretty as Pensacola Beach on the Gulfside. So one day I was swimming out into the ocean, way, way out. The water wasblack, choppy, I was on my back, half swimming, half floating. Way, way off tothe left of me was a rock jetty where fishermen pulled in sharks along withtheir other catches. And on the shore, my father was yelling for me to turnaround and return at once.

He was not a very good swimmer, and had actually had a boatsink on him in the shark-infested Sea of Japan. Another boat full of AF servicemembers had “picked” up my dad and the others, but they couldn't climb into theboat, already full, without capsizing it. So instead, they swam alongside andheld on when they couldn’t swim any longer. They were about a mile and halfout. He said they barely made it.

So now years later, his thirteen-year-old daughter is out inthe middle of the ocean, and Dad didn’t want to get out as far as I was. Hecouldn’t have helped me swim in if I’d needed his help.

When you float on your back, your ears are under water. So Ididn’t hear him shouting for some time.

When I finally realized it, I was terrified. I was so farout; all that was around me was gallons of ocean water. Who knew what waslurking all around me in that really dark, choppy water. I had to force myselfnot to panic, and to begin the long swim to shore. Dad couldn’t have saved me.No one could have if I’d been attacked. Lifeguards did patrol in jeeps alongthe beach and put up a flag warning swimmers to get out of the water whensharks were sighted. But there were no lifeguards about that day.

But maybe all the sharks out there knew I was a human, andthey just left me alone. I had no life vest, no surfboard, just me in all thatwater. Boy did I get a lecture from my dad when I got to shore. But onlybecause he was sure he was going to lose me. Believe me, I didn’t need alecture. I never went far from the shore again. After that, we watched Jaws. IREALLY didn’t get far from the shore then, even though I knew it was just afantasized story. Sharks don’t really go after people and eat them. Not really.

It was quite chilly when I went with my son and his wife toPensacola Beach and walked along the white sand, dodging the tons of jellyfishdeposited there. We didn’t go swimming. But that night we watched shark attacksat guess where? Pensacola Beach. Two resulted in deaths. Several others werebitten during a surfing contest. My son told me how they could see schools ofbull sharks while they were flying over the Gulf also.

I know that sharks don’t mean to eat us, but you know what?I’d take a chance with a wolf. Especially if he was a werewolf.

The thing about werewolves is they’re hot and sexy andprotective and loving—for life—and family oriented and hot and sexy and…well,you get the picture! They’re yummy. No one would mess with you if you took yourwolf for a walk. In an upcoming release, the heroine actually suggests thatwhile she and Duncan MacNeill are dealing with the bad guys in the Grand CaymanIslands, in the Highland sequel to Heart of the Highland Wolf.

Oh, and yes, there is a mention of sharks. A couple ofmentions, truly. J I actually did everything that theydid—walked the plank from a pirate ship, took the submarine out (theywouldn’t), enjoyed a dinner cruise, swam with the rays…only I didn’t run like awolf… ate at the restaurant where there’s a bit of a confrontation, walked thebeaches, swam…but not at night…like they did. That’s when the sharks come outto feed, you know. And I did witness the man with the chain to his wrist lockedonto a briefcase, wearing a dark suit while the rest of us were in beachattire. And did see tons of strange banks on the island. More about that in thestory.

But before that, comes Dreaming of the Wolf, A SEAL inWolf’s Clothing, and the first of the jaguar stories. They’re working on a bookcover as we speak. Or…as I write.

In Dreaming of the Wolf, we finally get Jake’s story, andI’m working on Tom’s story right now.

Jake has already been in two stories, Destiny of the Wolfand Wolf Fever. He’s the triplet brother of the pack leader and he serves assub leader, along with Tom. Jake’s the second oldest brother, doesn’t believein dream mating, although both Tom and Darien do so he seemed perfect to carryon the family history of dreaming of the wolf who should be his mate—with acaveat. She’s human, and werewolves don’t dream mate about humans. Sosomething’s not right with that scenario. Figures. Since Jake doesn’t believein it anyway. But he fears for her life, so he’s hopeful that the dream matingmeans she’s still alive. And he’s determined to find her. And learn why he’sdreaming about her when he shouldn’t be. But it’s more than. They have a driveto be together that can’t be denied.

What would you do if Jake was reaching out for you, eventhough you knew it was too dangerous for him to get to know you better? And you didn't know just how capable the hunk of a wolf was at protecting you?

Thanks so much to Sia for having me here today!I hope your readers enjoy hooking up with Jake and his wolf pack again. Andnever swim too far out into the ocean without a plan…

DREAMING OF THE WOLF Available now in stores and online

Jake Silver doesn't believe in fate or dream mating, despite thefact his brother and other family members have been afflicted with this strangenotion. But when dreams begin to plague him about a woman so seductive, hewakes up in a sweat and he's losing way too much sleep over it, he seeks tolearn the truth. Can dream mating be a reality? Is the woman real?

AliciaGreiston doesn't dream. Not ever. So when a man visits her in the first dreamshe's ever had, she's startled, pleased, then alarmed. He's not going away, andthe dreams take a sinister turn. He's in trouble, and if the dreams area foreshadowing of the future, she has to save him. EXCERPT

BUY: AMAZON, BARNES AND NOBLE, CHAPTERS INDIGO

TERRY SPEAR: Award-winningauthor of urban fantasy and medieval historical romantic suspense, Heart of the Wolf named in Publishers Weekly's BEST BOOKS OF THEYEAR, NOR Reader Choice for BEST PARANORMAL ROMANCE.

She’s a retired lieutenant colonel in the U.S.Army Reserves and has an MBA fromMonmouth University and a Bachelors in Business and DistinguishedMilitary Graduate of West Texas A & M. She also creates award-winning teddybears, Wilde & Woolly Bears, to include personalized bears designed tocommemorate authors’ books. When she’s not writing or making bears, she’steaching online writing courses. Terry on Facebook, Twitter, Website

IT'S HOT AND SEXY WITH SIDNEY AYERS

2011-12-16T23:31:00.000-06:00

My guest is the sassy creator of laughter and humorous paranormal romance, Sidney Ayers. I have to admit her characters crack me up.Not just because they invoked laughter but because many of them aren’t whatthey seem, or they border the bizarre even in the normal world. One thing I cantell you; they’re not boring. Sydney also writes it hot and this covers bothher love stories and the subject of them—Demons Unleashed.

Did you try other genres before you chose this one?

I’ve always been a history buff, so I startedout writing historicals. Since I’ve always held a fascination with the societyand mores during the early 1800’s, my first novel was a regency historicalromance. I will eventually delve back into that period. I’ve even discoveredhow to include a sci-fi/fantasy element, so I’m very excited to delve back intothe history (even if it’ll be slightly altered).

Who was most/least supportive of your writing career?

I’ve been lucky that most my friends andfamily have been extremely supportive of my career. It’s something I’ve dreamtof for a long time and they’re all very excited for me.

What’s the hardest thing you've had to face as a writer? How did you overcome it?

Rejection, I guess. It’s taken me a longtime to realize not everyone is going to like what I write. I try to focus onthe positive feedback and reviews and brush away the negative ones.

What was the single best or luckiest thing that got you pubbed?

A good strong query with a solid hookhelps a lot. A good story will seal the deal.

What does your writing day look like?

My writing days are scattered as hell. Ihave no set schedule. It’s crazy.

Describe your writing space. Or, describe your DREAM writingspace.

My current office space consists of afaux suede recliner and a MyPlacelaptop workstation (Best Christmas gift-EVER).Surprisingly, even with the TV right across from me, I’ve managed to finish 4books with this setup. My dream writingspace would be a soundproofed, locked office. That way, there are absolutely nodistractions.

How do you refresh and recharge yourself so you can continuewriting?

I watch TV, read a book, and of course,take a relaxing bath. A little vino doesn’t hurt every now and again, either.

How has your own romance colored how you write romance in yourstories?

I hate to admit this, but I’m singleright now, so there’s no current romance to color my stories. Not many of myrelationships have been that romance novel worthy, but the emotions at the timewere true, so I like to think it helps me give my characters believableemotions.

DEMONS Like It HOT--Available now in stores and online.

Ifyou can’t stand the heat, get out of Hell’s Kitchen!

ARECIPE FOR DISASTER...

Matthias Ambrose is a demon mercenary whonever took sides, until his attraction to the spunky caterer he was hired tokidnap leads him to almost botch a job for the first time in eight hundredyears. Now he must protect her from his former clients, but even an ice—colddemon like Matthias struggles to resist her fiery charms.

OR THE PERFECT INGREDIENTS FORPASSION...

Completely engrossed with planningmenus and prepping recipes for her shot at cooking show fame, star catererSerah SanGermano refuses to believe she's on a fast track to Hades. But how isshe supposed to stick to the kitchen if she can't stand the heat of hergorgeous demonic bodyguard? As a wicked plot to destroy humanity unfolds andall hell breaks loose in Serah's kitchen, she and Matthias find themselvesknee—deep in demons and up to their eyeballs in love...excerpt

Buy: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Indigo

Sidney Ayers loves infusing her stories with humor. What would the world be without a little bit of laughter? She writes a plethora of genres, ranging from historical, to paranormal, to contemporary.

A native of Michigan, Sidney still lives in the same town she grew up in. No matter how hard she tries, she just can't seem to get away. Michigan is in her blood. Scary thought, huh?

Find Sidney: Facebook, Twitter, Website

CHRISTMAS JOY

2011-12-14T00:24:00.000-06:00

As you know, I usually share holiday stories this time of the year by talented writers who've given them to me to use. What makes them interesting, at least to me, is they're written in various genres by men and women. I'll be running more next week in between guests.

I have two stories I tend to use every year. They're favorites of mine. One is called Christmas Joy, by Beth Hill, and the other is The Gift, by Rand Phares. Why are they favorites? Both highlight faith and hope and they touch the heart.

So today, I'm sharing one of my favorites with you by the talented Beth Hill. I love her writing. For those of you who don't know Beth, she is a fiction editor and you can find her at A Novel Edit or The Editor's Blog (she has an article up on her blog on weeding out author intrusion).

Enjoy!

Sarah inhaled the fragrances of cinnamon and sugar and thechocolate chips melting into gooey deliciousness in the oven. Homey smells.Christmas smells.

She wanted to sit, relax, to inhale more than smells. She wanted the peace ofthe season to wash over her, still her racing mind and ease her fractured soul.But if she stopped moving, sorrow would overwhelm. She knew it. Had given inlast Christmas. And again on his birthday. She’d been unable to resist the lureof peace on those two days.

But peace had eluded her. And instead grief had stolen into her home, into hermind and heart. And she’d cried out her anger and sorrow and loss, collapsingon her kitchen floor in a tangle of oven mitts and tears and memories. And standing again, facing life again, had been nearly impossible.

She reached for the oven door just before the timer buzzed,and pulled out the tray of perfect cookies. His favorite. She baked them everyyear. He couldn’t get enough. And she’d watch as he devoured one after another,following every third bite or so with a gulp of cold milk. And he’d grin,crumbs clinging to his lips, knowing she got a kick out of his passion forhome-baked cookies made just for him.

She scoured the kitchen; focusing on making perfect and whole those things shehad control over. And pushed far from her mind the events she couldn’tinfluence or change. But she left the cookies mounded on wax paper since Macliked them that way. Liked reaching across the counter and plucking one or twoor five whenever he wanted them.

The reflection from the tree beckoned her to the living room and the largeglass windows that framed it. She’d stop for only a moment, her heart promisedher head. Just a brief passage of time to watch the snowfall, to admire thetwinkling lights as they pushed against the darkness both inside and out. Justa moment . . .

When the clocked chimed nine, Sarah jumped. Then smiled.Silly to feel guilty over losing herself in memories of her husband. Shewouldn’t break down this Christmas. She’d learned that lesson. Plus, the newshad been better this year. The better news being they’d actually heardnews. The first reliable report since her captain had gone missing sixteenmonths earlier.

Chaplain Anderson had called in October. One of the Resolute Seven—prisonersheld for over four months in a no-name cave in Afghanistan—had mentionedMac—someone who sounded like Mac, please God—in his briefing. So this yearshe’d added hope to her arsenal of determination and faith and prayers. Thisyear she wouldn’t give in to despair.

She pressed her fingers against the cold glass. Closed her eyes and lowered herhead.

“Keep him warm tonight. Please. Hold him in Your arms since he doesn’t havemine. Fill his heart with Your love, with my devotion. And give Him your peace.”

Sarah leaned against her hand and stared into the night. So quiet. So pure.

So lonely.

“And please hold me. Because I’m afraid I can’t hold on any longer.”

She returned to the kitchen. In the near dark she pulled milk from the fridgeand poured a tall glass. She piled cookies on a plate and arranged plate andmilk on the reindeer placemat at the head of the table. She fussed with a linennapkin, flattening it again and again until she realized what she was doing andyanked her hands away. Enough of that. She still had presents to wrap,gifts for her brother’s family. She turned. And blinked.

The front door was opening, three men stepping through.

Chaplain Anderson, removing his hat. Colonel Ryan, Mac’s CO,holding the arm of another man. That other man dangling a key from his fingers.

The third man lifted his head at her gasp. Then grinned. And then he wasrushing to her and squeezing her and kissing her face.

“Sarah. My God, Sarah.”

And then Sarah was on her knees, holding Mac, holding a dream,and kissing him back. Touching him everywhere. Crying and laughing and shakingso much she thought she’d finally snapped and lost her mind.

But when Mac pulled back and grasped her face between his hands, when she couldsee his eyes and into his soul, she knew he was not imagined but real and intheir home.

In her arms.

She stared in wonder for a timeless instant, then sobs burst from her chest andshe burrowed into Mac, clutching him, trying to breathe, trying to think.Trying not to feel because the emotions were stretching her beyond her limitsand shattering her mind.

“I smell cookies.” That was the colonel.

Mac laughed. He laughed. Sarah gripped him eventighter.

“Sir, those are my cookies. All mine. I’ve been dreaming of them fordays. And I’m sorry to say, you won’t get a single taste.”

Sarah wiped her face against Mac’s coat. Trust her man to get to the heart ofany matter.

“Sarah? You ready to stand now? I wanna get this coat off and hold youproperly.”

“Major, I believe this is where Chaplain Anderson and I bid you goodnight. AndMerry Christmas.”

Sarah scrambled to her feet, pulling at Mac, searching his face. Thin. Lined. Hers.“How? When?” She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in an uneven breath. He wasstill there when she opened her eyes. “Major?” She twisted to look atColonel Ryan, but turned immediately back to Mac. “I was just asking God tohold you, since I couldn’t. And now you’re here. You’re here.”

Mac saluted the other men as they eased out the door, butdidn’t turn from Sarah. “He held me, baby. Every day I felt His protection andyour love entwined, binding me in strength and hope.” He stepped close to herand again wrapped her face in his palms. His hands were shaking. “Tonight wehold each other.”

She lifted her hands to his where they framed her cheeks. His gaze was lockedon her face. “Why didn’t you call? Have you seen a doctor? What happened? Mac .. . What happened?”

He leaned his forehead against hers, still unwilling to relax his hold. “Ineeded to be with you before the news broke, baby. I need you at my side to getthrough the rest of this. To he—” His voice broke and he hauled her against hischest.

“I’m here always. Forever.”
“I know,” he whispered against her neck. “And that’s what saw me through.”His entire body shook, vibrating against hers. “I didn’t break, Sarah. Notonce. Not until a couple of Special Forces guys hauled me out. And then I criedlike a baby.”

“Mac . . . ”

“My Sarah.” His lips feathered over hers. “Merry Christmas, wife.”

She slid her arms inside his coat and dug her fingers into his back. “MerryChristmas, major. I love you.” She closed her eyes. Thank You. Forholding him. For bringing him home. For returning my heart.

My pleasure, Sarah. My very great pleasure. Merry Christmas to youand peace to this home.

MONDAY MUSINGS: Winter Blahs. Bring On The Color

2011-12-12T02:24:00.000-06:00

It’s not even the heart of winter and already I’m cravingcolor and brightness. It’s not that the winter trees aren’t lovely skeletons,in a purely ascetic way, they are. I have colorful birds like Cardinals, BlueJays, and Red headed Woodpeckers, flittering among all the neutral coloredbirds—which sadly outnumber the brilliant one. There are the evergreens; redberries on various bushes and shrubs, snow and heavy frost can be quite lovely,too, especially when the sun decides to shine. But…we went from the lush greensand bright flowers of summer to the brilliant colors of fall to asceticskeletons set in icy silver and gray, lots of grays.

So, I’m trying to counter blah with bright warm colors. Ihave fabrics and paint samples to brighten my inside world. First thing isgetting my ceilings painted a nice bright white. It adds pizzazz, freshness,and the feeling of light to about any room. Then, since I love the energy ofreds (I know, you hadn’t a clue, did you?) I have a plan to paint afocal wall in my living room a cross between barn red and well, red. Not like astrawberry or a tomato. A richer and warmer type of red. I can cool it down with blues and greenaccents or even whites, if I need to. Then again, I can add rich ambers, gold,and amethysts to make it pop. All my furniture is in neutral colors and so isthe color of my walls. A bright set of pillows here and there, a colorfulthrows, bouquets of flowers, nick knacks, and pictures can add visual interest.I have lots of colorful throws and pillows now but it doesn’t touch the overallblah.

Great plans, but I need to wait (ugh, I hate waiting whenI’m ready to move forward) until, 1. I can get the guy who will paint theceilings. That’s a project that is difficult for me. But, I’m going to tell you,if he dithers anymore, I’m going to get really creative with broomsticks andpaint rollers and lots of plastic to throw on the floors and furniture. 2.Extra dollars for all the paint and stuff needed.

This is what comes of being sick for such a long time. Youdon’t care when you’re sick what’s going on around you. You’re totally focusedon getting better and the rest can wait until then. Getting well? You tend tolook at your environment with different eyes that grow very large when focusedon surroundings. You also tend to say Holy Shitake mushrooms or the shorterpithier version thereof. A lot.

So, since I can’t tackle the living room just yet, I paintedmy blog. Hey, it worked for me, or at least, took away the main itch for theimmediate moment. I have added pine boughs, poinsettias, lights and glitter tothe house, which helps.

Next, the rest of my environment.

How do you handle the Winter Blahs?

Upcoming events for the blog:

Sidney Ayers on December 16^th with her latestbook in Demons Unleashed, DEMONS LIKE IT HOT.
Terry Spear December 19^th with her latest,DREAMING OF THE WOLF

I’ll also be having Jessica Bell with her STRING BRIDGE visiting and I’ll give you more info on that visit as soon as we have itset—possibly the 14^th. And I’m hoping to have some of her wonderfulmusic as well. LOVE her music!

Starting on December 20^th I will be runningvarious holiday stories for your enjoyment. These will run through the 31^st.I’ve got some great stories to share. Just sayin’.

Here’s a recipe that will warm the cockles of your heart oranything else that needs warming. J

Glühwein

Ingredients
4 quarts dry red wine (zinfandel, merlot, burgundy, etc.)
1 pint brandy
1 cup sugar
6 cinnamon sticks
12 cloves, whole
1/8 tsp allspice
1/8 tsp mace
2 oranges, sliced
1 lemon, sliced
Directions
Pour the wine into a large pot and begin heating over low heat.
As it begins to warm, add sugar and spices. Stir until sugar is dissolved.
Add the brandy.
Heat thoroughly, but do not allow boiling!
Add the lemon and orange.
Steep for about 1 hour over low heat.
You may add more sugar during this time if desired, stirring well so it dissolves.
Serve hot and garnish with orange slices. A stick cinnamon could also be used.
Serves12-15