Need an honest opinion? Nina Davies!

 

Hey, I ask her all the time. And I use AutoCrit. It’s a wonderful piece of computer ware that she invented all on her own.  After my last bout with MS, I lost confidence in my work. With AutoCrit, I feel a lot better about what I write.

 

So, with no further adieu, heere’s NINA!

 

Get Out Of Your Box And Enjoy The View

It’s Fall, which is a time of reflection for me. And now that my kids are in school, I actually have TIME to reflect – a definite bonus!

One of the lessons that is resonating with me this year is the idea of getting out of the box that we create for ourselves. I see myself as left-brain, analytical, a geek, etc. So when I approach a task whether it be writing or something completely different, I approach it analytically. I plan, I organize, I write notes. I don’t brainstorm with friends, create a collage, or ‘let things happen’.

But, you know, some of the best things in my life have occurred when I have jumped out of this self-imposed box.

My worst subject in school was English. So it took a big leap for me to sit down in 2004 and start writing a novel. Doubts assailed me and months passed before I could admit to my CLOSEST friends what I was doing.

And guess what, that leap led me to create AutoCrit which combines the best of what I love, writing and computers! I never would have created AutoCrit if I hadn’t taken that scary leap.

On a smaller scale, I love plotting out a book to the last detail before I start writing. It’s that left-brain thing again. It’s who I am, right?

Not necessarily. One day I took a leap and forced myself to be a ‘pantser’ for at least three chapters. I wrote without planning a thing. (Only someone as left-brained as I am will understand why this is such a big deal). Doing this was tough!! I kept wanting to revert to my usual way of doing things.

After a tough few days, the results amazed me. The amount of emotion that poured onto the page was really, really surprising. And it’s just what my writing needed. Now I make sure to schedule unplanned writing, no matter I how well I feel the book is going. (Yes, yes, I know. Most people don’t need to schedule to be spontaneous.)

There are many more cases where my life has been enriched because I decided to ignore my internal definition of who I am. And I’m not alone. I love this story of a teen who let himself be a writer even when others told him he couldn't.

So let’s talk about you now. What is your internal definition of yourself? Does it always have to be true?

What can you do today to investigate the view outside your box? The results might surprise you…

BIO: Nina Davies is the creator of the  AutoCrit Editing Wizard, an online editor for fiction writers.

 

 

--or so says Nina

I say you should check out--

Edit Your Novel In Three Steps

By Nina Davies | Editing

Today's publishing industry is cut-throat and difficult to break into. A good editing plan can make the difference between 'sold' and 'shelved'.
In this article, Nina Davies gives you a 3-step plan for editing your novel.

 

 

Take five minutes and give it a try!

WooHoo! More from Patricia

After a great deal of work and negotiation (by Patricia *g*) I am now able to produce the first chapter of Patricia's book along with a link to the book that inspired it all.

You asked for it, and Patricia Walters-Fischer came through!

Worth the Weight

Chapter One

Every new adjustment is a crisis in self-esteem—Eric Hoffer

January 2^nd—Saturday

Ever end up in a bathroom stall, in the men’s room, wearing your wedding dress on your wedding day?

“Are you okay in there?” A low voice echoed off the white tiles that decorated the room from floor to ceiling.

I could taste the salt from my tears, as I tried to answer without sobbing ... again. “Si.” I followed it with a quick, “Yes, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Um, because you’re in the men’s room.”

“I know.”

He cleared his throat. “You’re in drag ... that’s cool.”

“Nope, just a bad day.” I lied through sobs.

My sticky hands still bore the result of a quick get–away. When I grabbed my steering wheel during my escape, I discovered it covered with Vaseline. It certainly made gripping the wheel frustrating. With nothing to wipe my hands on, I’d turned into the first place I found.

A full service car wash.

After deciding on the quick wash, I’d handed over the keys to the attendant and made a beeline to the bathroom, but didn’t bother looking at the sign. It wasn’t until I’d locked myself in the stall, the urinals registered. But before I could leave, I’d heard a cough.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I tried to clean my palms with toilet paper, but the one–ply shredded in my hands. “Dammit. I’m fine. Just peachy.”

“Okay.” The sound of running water helped end the conversation and gave me a minute to collect my thoughts, remembering what transpired not half an hour earlier.

There I was, back in the church, the scene of my disaster.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the man in the starched collar asked.

I answered.

The sparkle in my fiancé’s eyes faded before it dawned on me that something had gone very wrong. He stared at me.

“Did you say no?”

I blinked a few times. “What?”

Glancing sideways through my veil, I saw the pastor biting his lip.

“Did you ask me something?”

“Yes. I. Did.” His enunciation of each word, with staccato precision, made my brothers snicker.

Images of the drunk sister in Sixteen Candles went through my mind as he continued. “Do you.” He pointed to me. “Megan Antonia Sayla, take this man.” He looked at, “Travis Michael Joseph Daniel Carter, to be—“

Travis’ mother cleared her throat. “The fourth.”

“Right.” The minister looked up, mumbled something, then returned to the service. “Travis Michael Joseph Daniel Carter. The fourth.” He smiled in her direction. “To be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I could feel the corners of my mouth lift as I took a deep breath, gazed into Travis’ eyes, and replied, “No.”

Yeah, I heard it that time. “Crap.”

Travis dropped my hands.

“What?” Mom screamed.

“Holy shit!” Dad stood up.

“I toll you, this not work. He not Italian.” My Italian grandmother, Nonna, crossed herself and started saying Hail Mary’s in her native tongue, as her husband, Nonno, woke momentarily, then fell back to sleep.

“Mama. Zitto, per favore.” Turning to his mother, my dad placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back into the pew. “Be quiet.”

Mom’s Danish parents, we affectionately call her Bedste and him Morfar, began to speak to each other in their birth language, saying things like “What the hell just happened here?, Should we call the caterer?”, and “Can you freeze all that rice pudding?”

With all the sudden chaos, I don’t remember much until I ended up in this car wash bathroom talking to a total stranger. I shivered as a gust of frigid, January air whipped through the room. Looking up, I noticed a row of open windows.

The water stopped running and the automatic paper towel dispenser hummed.

“How do I get out of this?” I rubbed my arms with my hands in an attempt to get warm. “Now what do I do?”

A low, masculine chuckle brought me back to reality. “Probably need to get out of the men’s room, first.”

I leaned against the cold, tiled wall and deeply inhaled the cool, lemon–scented air. “Did you ever have one of those days you wish you could start over?”

Silence.

“Are you talking on the phone or to me?”

“You.” Don’t ask what possessed me to talk to a stranger. Being in that stall, I blurted out, “I feel like I’m at confession, so just go with me on this.”

He laughed this time, his rich voice resonating. “That’s a first.”

“What?”

“For me to be referred to as a priest.”

“Seems like a day of firsts. This is the first time I left a man at the altar. The first time I’ve been in the men’s room.”

“Busy day for both of us, especially me, now being a priest and all.”

Silence filled the room, again. When he said nothing else, I assumed he’d decided to leave, until I heard, “What’s troubling you, my child?”

“Seriously?” Did he really want to know? Why? Was he really a priest?

“Sure, unless you’re not Catholic. Then you’re better off going to therapy or drinking.”

I crossed myself. “Forgive me Father, it’s been six months since my last confession.”

“Is that a long time?”

“If you were a man of the cloth, you’d know that’s a horribly long time.”

“Touché.”

I suppressed a giggle. “It can be. Most people go weekly. Daily.”

“Geez, who has time for that much guilt?”

“Apparently, Catholics.”

“I guess I only know happy, guilt–free Catholics.”

“No Catholic is guilt–free. Guilt is part of the tradition.” And I felt plenty guilty today. I twisted the beading of my wedding dress between my fingers.

“You’re Catholic?” he asked.

“More like a Cathalutheran.”

He chuckled. “What’s that?”

“Catholic dad, Lutheran mom. We combined the two to get the best of both worlds.”

“Best of both worlds? Sounds very Hannah Montana–ish.” He cleared his throat. “My niece watches the show.”

“Right. During religious holidays, we have all the traditional food, but we pretend to ignore the sin of gluttony and gossip.” I bit my lip as my heart pounded in my ears. “Hence my six month absence from confession.”

“Right. I’m supposed to say something like ‘Six months? How many sins could you have committed in six months? Come back when,’ um ... what does he say again?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Trying to remember how they did it in Zorro.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Which one? The one with Tyrone Powers or with Antonio Banderas?”

“Aren’t they the same? Girl in a box. Guy isn’t a priest. He’s making it up as he goes.”

“Yeah.”. Rarely had I met anyone who knew of the first talking Zorro movie, much less the confession scene. I smoothed down my dress. “Do you need help with the movie line? I’m pretty good at them.”

“No, wait. Next, he asked her if she’d broken any of the Ten Commandments.”

“Something like that.” The corners of my mouth rose. “Forgive me Father, I have broken the fourth commandment.”

“You killed someone?” His accent changed to the melodious sound of the Spanish actor.

“That is not the fourth commandment, Father.”

“Oh, okay. Tell me in what way you broke the most sacred of God’s commandments?”

My parents’ faces flashed across my mind, my brothers, my family. A sob rose in my throat. “I dishonored my mother and father today.”

“That’s not so bad. Maybe they deserved it.”

“What?” I shook my head as I placed my hands over my mouth in an attempt to keep from losing it, again, but tears ran down my cheeks. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Tell me more, my child.”

“I ... I don’t know what to say.” I depleted a roll of toilet paper as I tried to dry my face. After a few moments, I realized he’d been silent for a while. “You still there?”

“Yes. This is when he sees her through the screen, isn’t it?”

“Yeah?”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think you want me looking between the stall doors.”

His chivalry surprised me. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’s at the end of the scene before the captain of the guards shows up and screws it up.”

“Yeah, he’s a good bad guy.”

I took a deep breath as I tried to think. He may not want to look through the doors, but I’m generally nosy. No matter what this guy looked like, I was too curious to walk away without seeing his face. Kindness from a stranger had been an unexpected gift in my chaotic day. I needed to put a face with the voice.

“You okay?” he asked.

Frigid air whipped through the room, then a wave of hot. “Um, yeah, getting there.” As I maneuvered around in the stall, to get a better look, I saw the overhead heaters had clicked on, making pockets of the stall too hot and others too cold. Figures.

Without warning, my phone screamed “Hey Mickey!.” An involuntary squeak escaped my lips and I wrestled to turn down the volume. The phone vibrated for a few moments while I got my breathing back to normal.

He laughed. “Whose ringtone is that?”

“My mom’s.” I sniffed. “She loves the 80’s.” There was nowhere to hide my phone as it jiggled again. I’d left my purse at the church, along with my wallet, my clothes, and my life.

It was amazing I’d made it out with my keys and phone.

Tears began to pool, again, as a few ran down my face.

“Ever wanted a do-over day?” I dried my face, only to pull away a makeup covered wad of paper. Ugh.

“We all do.” Pause. “I guess this is one of those days?”

An escaped giggle filled the room. “Man, you’re good.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Show off.” My phone vibrated, again. I ignored it.

“Bad day, huh?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure his is worse.”

“Why?”

I took a slow, deep breath. “Why? He’s a nice guy and I left him at the altar. He’s still there, dealing with everyone, while I’m in a car wash bathroom confessional.”

“Hard to say. Neither of you had good luck today.”

Shaking my head, I almost broke the beading off my gown, as I wrapped the lace accents around my fingers. “It’s not his fault, really. It’s mine.”

“Why?”

I stomped my foot. “Why? Why? That’s the sixty–four thousand dollar question, isn’t it?”

“But you didn’t answer my question.”

“You sure you’re not a priest?”

“That’s not my question.”

“I know that, but you play the guilt card so well.”

“Believe me, I’m far from being a priest.”

My stomach knotted as the image of a very hurt Travis flashed through my mind. More tears. “When the preacher asked if ‘I do’, all I could think of was ‘I don’t’ and ‘I can’t.’” I sniffed and dabbed my wet face, again. “Please don’t ask me why. I truly don’t know.”

Enough time passed that I figured he thought I was some histrionic or spoiled bride–to–be and not worth the effort of an answer.

“You said he was a nice guy.”

I rested my head against the stall door. “He was.” I hiccupped. “I mean, he is.”

“But you said no. Maybe he is a nice guy, just not the right guy.”

My heart slammed in my chest as I heard the words out loud. This guy couldn’t be more on the money. All this time I kept telling myself Travis was such a nice guy, but I never asked if he was the right one. “You sound like a chick flick movie.”

“I’ve got three sisters. I’ve been forced to watch my share of them. And Oprah.”

I liked the way his subtle, southern drawl lengthened his ‘I’s’. “I’ve got three brothers, so I’ve seen everything to do with aliens, losing your virginity in high school, the military, and superheroes.”

He chuckled. “Coming out of there anytime soon?”

“I probably should.” My tears finally slowed. After wiping my face again, and knowing I’d ruined the two–hundred dollar makeup session I had not three hours ago, I needed to look in the mirror. “All right, I’m coming out.”

“Wow. You’re coming out already? I am good.”

I could feel the corners of my mouth lift. “No. My vanity has taken over.”

“What?”

“I need to look in the mirror, because I think I might resemble a drunk circus clown after smearing all this makeup.”

“That sounds ... interesting.”

“Okay, I’m coming out.” I tried to straighten my overly beaded and ridiculously poofy dress. At least I’d opted not to wear the stupid petticoat before the service, much to my mother’s dismay. If not, I’d never fit through the stall opening without getting snagged.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Only if you don’t want to see a spazzed–out bride who probably looks like a circus freak.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the lemon scented cleaner, stood up straight, and unlocked the door.

When I looked out, I saw him standing against the opposite wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“You’re actually sticking around?” My hands fiddled with my phone. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

I paused as I caught a quick glimpse of him. He stood at least six–feet, brown hair, nice frame. Before I could get a better look, a glob of mascara and fake eyelashes clouded my vision. I pressed the wadded–up paper against my eye in an attempt to keep the makeup at bay. “Isn’t that a big no–no for confession? You’re not supposed to know what the confessor looks like. That’s part of the decompression process.”

He shrugged. “It’s not a secret. The priest knows who’s in the box, right?”

“You knew it was me in there, huh? Seems a bit unethical.” I dabbed at my eyes with a ball of toilet paper, clearing my line of sight for a second.

“You forget. I’m not a priest.”

Look here for Jude Deveraux' wonderful and inspirational book

 A Knight in Shining Armor

What I learned in Brazil - Faith Luna

So I went to Brazil this month – Rio de Janeiro in particular. And oh my goodness… the experience is something I’m still thinking about. I’d like to tell you that I found the love of my life, sipped lattes on the sand, and had mind blowing sex in a very nice hotel room (Sex on the beach is best in a glass, surrounded by pretty people and loud music. Sand is a pain in the ass, literally, at least if you’re rolling around on it, being way more interested in your partner(s) than you are in what you’re laying on). Alas, I had mostly splashing on the beach and being silly, which really was fun, even if not just as fun as great sex.

I learned lots of things while I was there. Some things I really should have known to begin with, but didn’t pay enough attention to.

There are some great experiences to be had by ignoring some of the important details, but I must tell you that going to Rio broke as hell, is probably a bad idea, which I shall endeavor not to repeat. A hundred bux is not enough to do Rio for ten days, even if some kind soul has paid for your hotel room, especially if you’re gluten free by necessity, rather than choice.  Buses are about a 1.50 one way, no transfers, but a Happy Meal at McDonalds is seven bux USD, give or take, and yes, I’m a grown man and I eat Happy Meals. Usually they’re cheap, calorie controlled, and they come with cool bits of plastic sometimes. 

The beach is free. The sand is awesome. I got a lot of emotional growth out of sitting on the beach. I’ve got a history with the ocean too. As far as mother figures, the ocean is pretty good. It’s big, accepting, necessary for life, and dangerous if you disrespect her.

In my Wiccan days, seeing Her as my mother came easy and made sense.

That attachment carried forward into my current screaming atheist days. Our shared ancestors swam around in Her. It’s easy for me to imagine Her great being as a mix between a gentle womb and a great stir fry pan, tossing life around until something useful learns to surf. It’s kind of freaky to imagine how many orgasms and how much sex has happened in the ocean. Happy, happy dolphins, oh my ☺

Ideas and life always swirl around, competing and trying to gain resources. Sitting there on the beach, staring into the past with the frothy waves (never going to see lattes the same… foam… dolphins… oh

my) an idea that was getting a lot of my mental resources was the idea that we really need to break the blue wall… that great big, completely not solid wall above us… to get out of the fish tank and into the broader world. We come from the stars as much as we come from the ocean. The Martian soil is related to us. Atoms in our being probably were configured with atoms on Mars, IO, out in the Ort Cloud… even farther out… Getting to Mars is a family reunion. So there I sat, thinking about how I’m going to get away with building a serious multistage rocket in the back yard of my rented house in a nice area of a polished little tech town, watching the past wash over my sandy toes, watching up at the future, not knowing how I’m going to get there yet – and I wondered if our very distant ancestors felt that way about coming out of the ocean and onto the frightening land. I wonder if we, or our descendants, will come to the edge of Earth and dip into the atmosphere, gliding through the thicker air, swirling through clouds, because it’s a fantastic experience, taking photos, and texting home about how they built castles in the clouds. I built sand castles, by the way, a nifty rocket (I thought it was nifty), a pyramid with construction wall and a village for the construction workers, and the Sphinx with the Roman retaining walls.

It’s all a  matter of perspective, I guess.

The ocean though, She’s not my mother any more. She’s my sister.

The world is still scary. The Blue Wall is still far away, but so are all goals worth pursuing!

So what’s your Blue Wall? What do you want to achieve? How would you like the future to look?

In the news today, there is a believable hope that we’ll have lung cancer, melanoma, breast cancer, ovarian cancer, prostate cancer, acute myeloid leukemia/myelodyspastic syndrome, and chronic lymphocytic leukemia (blood cancers) solved. Longevity is going to come within a lot of our expected life expectancies.  If you could live till you were two hundred, look the best you’ve ever looked or felt on the day you die (say we wrap our vehicle around something solid and there’s no do over, no respawn), what would you do with the time? Say you can learn to be anything you want to be, what do you want to be?

Faith

 Coming Soon:

 Saving Lira

By Faith Luna

Her mother had been British. Her father was a Japanese businessman with ties to the underworld.

She had been sheltered by private tutors, paid companions. She’d been watched twenty-four-seven her entire eighteen years. She’d been told for many years that she would likely be marrying the man who would be prime minister of Japan. She was elegant, obedient, polite, and well educated.

Fair skin, blue eyes, raven black hair that reached the back of her knees when it was not drawn up, her makeup done flawlessly by her maid, she sat at her desk, practicing her calligraphy. She wore a lavender kimono that draped over her slender form like a silken cloud.

She was as oblivious to what day it was as to the fact that her father had made a rather dreadful blunder - that she was going to pay for.

Her maid, a smartly dressed middle-aged nurse entered silently through the servant’s passage. “Lira.”

The girl looked up, smiled. “Good morning. I think my ink is being very kind to me today.”

“Your father requests that you drink this tea,” Anne said softly, a slight hint of sadness in her voice.

Lira set her brush down and reached with both hands for the small tea cup. “Of course. I was hoping we might visit the horses today.”

“I would like that more than I can express,” her nurse and caretaker said softly. “Please, drink the tea. It might be bitter.”

Obediently, she sipped the tea, wrinkled her nose, eyed her nurse to make sure she had to drink it, then downed it in one swift gulp.

Almost immediately, the tea began to have an effect. “I feel heavy,”

she said, her soft pink lips slightly parted, her voice sleepy.

“Yes,” Anne agreed, taking the cup back and then helping her unfortunate charge to stand. “Let’s lay down, my dear.”

“What’s happening? I’m frightened.” Lira tried to stay awake as her nurse laid her down on the large four-poster bed. As the girl slipped into a drugged sleep, her nurse loosened her kimono a little so that the soft swell of untouched breasts showed through the V of the open garment. She rested the Lira’s hands on her belly. She then withdrew, knowing that the transporters would arrive to take her charge to her new master.

<><> 

“Pick her up, Drake,” Dr. Alexander said firmly.

Her father, looking stricken as the strong young man picked up his unconscious daughter, her kimono hiding her bare feet, her shoulder resting against his shoulder, “You’re not going to … make her unhappy?”

“It’s hardly time to think of that now,” Dr. Alexander said, smirking.

“Your debt to the cabal is paid. Watch what you do in the future. A child may not be sufficient payment if you ever make a similar mistake.”

Drake held Lira in his arms, and he knew  he was about to make his own mistake. He was going to save her… somehow.

--

www.faithinthemoon.com  < stories and art :)

I Love You, Honey, but…

Thanks so much, J.J. for having me as your guest today! I’m thrilled to be here :)

It’s been so great over the past month getting reacquainted with Kate and Logan from the first Pirates at Heart book titled LANDLOCKED. While Kate and Logan love each other passionately, they’ve always had their differences. It puts the fire in their relationship. In the sequel, SMUGGLER’S BLUES these differences come to a head and the fireworks fly. Kate comes face-to-face with Logan’s dark and reckless side; she must decide whether or not she can accept him for the pirate he is at heart.

This got me thinking…while my life partner is the love of my life, he also does things that drive me up the wall. For instance he’s got a quick temper and he’s stubborn as hell. Not to mention he’s far sloppier than he thinks he is. Oh and he loves to push my buttons when I’m in no mood to have said buttons pushed. But I wouldn’t have him any other way.

Sometimes it’s a person’s flaws that cement a relationship. Gotta take the bad with the good. And I realize that he takes the bad in me mostly in stride (mostly *grin*). Let’s see, things about me that annoy him to no end? Well, I have a temper myself and I’m tend to get loud when I’m angry. I talk too much first thing in the morning. Oh and I eat crackers in bed. Believe it or not that one was almost the deal breaker, lol. But over the years we’ve developed a system of give and take that works pretty well for us. I used that life experience to help bring Kate and Logan to the same kind of accord.

Here’s an unedited sneak peek at conflict central to SMUGGLER’S BLUES:

“I’m sorry, Kate.” Logan traced her cheek with one finger.

“Uh huh.” She brushed aside his hand.

“Are you ever going to forgive me?”

“Probably.”

“Then why don’t we do away with all the fussing and fighting and make up already?”

“Not a chance.” She stood up and crossed the small cabin.

Logan sighed, rubbing his temples. He lacked the energy to fight with her though he knew she had every right to be angry with him. But Kate was Kate—she would vacillate between icy indifference and open hostility for days, possibly weeks. He’d sleep on the sofa every night and try to cajole her into forgiveness every day until finally she’d break

“Do you even understand why I’m angry?” She stomped her foot.

So it was open hostility then? Just as well, he preferred her this way. “Yes. I’m on a mission you don’t approve of. I got myself jailed which would’ve left you a single mother again, but you have to know I’ll always find a way back to—”

“You think this is about me? I’m not afraid of a future without you. I can take care of myself and our family just fine. But for the record, I’d much prefer to live out my life with you by my side.”

“And I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. A faraway look wiped the emotion from her face. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes.

Her head tilted, she opened her eyes slowly, fixing her gaze on him. “You know, last night I dreamed of snow. It used to snow just about every year in Leesburg, Virginia. We were so close to the Blue Ridge. We had the occasional white Christmas. It always made me feel peaceful. Happy.”

“What’s snow got to do with—”

She held up a hand. “It doesn’t snow in Texas and as much as I miss it, I have to accept that it does not snow in Texas. That part of my life is over.”

She arched an eyebrow, her cheeks sucked in. He knew that look all too well. Kate was making a point and it wasn’t lost on him, but how could she compare snow to his entire adult life? He’d been a sailor as long as he could remember and a privateer for the past twenty years. Was it so unreasonable that he wanted to carry on with the business as usual? He had to level with her whether it was a message she’d receive happily or not.

Crossing the cabin to stand in front of her, he touched her face with the back of his hand.

“I know I’ve behaved badly and I know I’m not a young man with no responsibilities anymore. And whether you understand or not, it’s you and the boys—your future security that I worry about. Do you know how much money this trip made for us?”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“I know you don’t. But this trip alone I netted enough for Nate’s education. I promise to be more careful in the future.”

“So you’ll give up this fool’s errand then?”

He wrapped his arms around her, the scent of her hair comforted him in a way he couldn’t put into words. “Kate, I love you and the boys more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything, but I’m not cut out to putter around the house and wait for death. I’m bored. Bored out of my mind.”

“So you’d rather rush to your end then? Or worse—rot in an RSA cell?”

“Won’t happen.” He stroked the back of her neck.

“It will.” Her posture stiffened. “And you know I hate the whole thing. Running moonshine makes you no more than a common criminal.”

With a sigh he released her. A common criminal. Is that what she thought of him?As a supporter of the former Resistance, he felt it was his obligation to defy the Puritanical hypocrisy of the RSA. Civil disobedience and all that. What right did they have to allow or disallow his actions on soil they’d stolen?

He could explain all this to Kathryn. Hell, they’d had this conversation before. She knew how he felt, but then again there was no truce to be drawn out of her tonight. That much he could tell. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to make peace right now either. Logan grimaced, picking up his hat, leather coat and sidearm.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to relieve the night watch. Get some rest.”

“Fine. Avoid the issue.”

“Fine.” He trudged out of his own cabin, biting back a more pointed reply.

_______________________________________

So what drives you crazy about your mate? What do you do that makes them nuts? Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of LANDLOCKED. 

Or buy your copy today at Ellora’s Cave! http://www.jasminejade.com/m-683-cindy-jacks.aspx

Cindy’s Links:

Website: http://cindyjacks.com/

Twitter: @cindyjacks

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/author.cindy.jacks

Blog: http://cindyjacks.blogspot.com/

It's Rhonda!

Hey!

It's been a hectic week, but I spent a few minutes with Rhonda Lee Carver. She's pretty cool. I think you'll like her. 

So now, here's your chance to spend some time with her--We have a few things in common--besides the steamy writing thing we do. *g*

MEET RHONDA LEE CARVER, Ladies and Gentlemen!!

Fall is coming. Hip, hip hooray!!! I am a huge fan of autumn, for many reasons.

I’m from Ohio, you know, O-H-I-O? It’s football season. If there’s one thing you know about my home state, it has to be that Ohioans love their football. I’m not talking about hanging around the TV and rooting on the team. I’m talking a severe case of nothing-else-matters-but-the-buckeyes. Look into any closet in the state and I bet you’ll find scarlet and gray. I’m serious. We are a state that takes pride in the sport. Tailgating should be our state nickname. If you’ve never been to a live game, you must try it at least once. The camaraderie is amazing.

Now that we’ve talked football, let’s talk confections. First thing that comes to mind is: kitchen + pumpkin = love. I love everything about pumpkin. Taste, smell, color, carving…I can’t get enough. I have already started my fall collection of pumpkin recipes. I have full intentions of making every single one, and adding a few of my own. 

The changing of the season brings such beauty to this area. Luckily, I live on a large plot of land and am surrounded by trees. The bright green leaves have started turning shades of red and orange. Soon, yellow will make its appearance. That’s when we know for certain summer has passed and fall has blessed us with its arrival. There can be nothing more pleasing to the eye than the beautiful earth as it paints us a real portrait.

Fall has a scent. I call it “brisk.” Fresh, crisp and earthy. It’s like no other smell of nature. The soft breeze carries it on its wings. If we pay close attention we can see how brisk entwines with other marvels of the season. Apples, fires burning in open pots (this is a wonderful season for bonfires) and in fireplaces, and pumpkin of course.

Halloween brings lots of smiles in my house. My kids love dressing up in their fave costumes. How fun is it that we can gather together, dress up in something we love and head out to collect candy? Candy alone is yummy, but throw in a costume and that’s simply divinity. Adults should join in. Dress up and take a trip down memory lane. I remember every trick-or-treat adventure. The greatest memory of all is visiting the local apple market during their apple harvest. Hay rides, apple cider and slushies, apple pie, picking my own apples, face painting, and the sound of kids’ laughter. 

I will miss summer, sure. Yet, fall is a comfort to me. It brings back precious memories and good times. 

~~

Can a past love become their future?

The Thorntons' mansion is full of timeless secrets waiting to be unraveled. When small-town journalist Ivy and ghost hunter Max are stuck in the forgotten, dilapidated house, they find more than just a haunting. Ivy finds herself dreaming of the former owners, Marcus Thornton and his lovely wife, Elizabeth. Their profound love was once the talk of the town, and the cause their mysterious, untimely deaths never found. When Ivy's dreams begin to become reality, the mystery starts to unravel and sheds truth on more than just the past.

WARNING: Graphic language, naughty ghosts, a non-committal male, and a love that endures beyond time and death.

Rhonda Lee Carver

Everyone deserves romance—one page at a time…

http://www.rhondaleecarver.com

   

W. Lynn Chantale--Street Safe

It’s release week for me. Street Safe is releasing September 14 from Evernight Publishing. Can’t wait until then, well get a sneak peek at the first chapter only on my author app. :-)

One of the cool things about Street Safe is the relationship between Na’arah and her sister Zemira. Remember the Sisters from White Christmas? That little song went through my head whenever I think of Na’arah and Zee or my sister.

I have a sister, (she’s my baby) and we’re very close. This book is sort of homage to her. We live over an hour away and don’t get to see each other as often as we’d like. I didn’t realize how much time we spent together until I moved away.

We did little things together. Impromptu lunches, shopping, walks, working out, slumber parties. (my kids would spend the night at her house or hers would hang with me) We got manis and pedis, hair done, massages. All the fun stuff. One thing that’s true with my sister and Na’arah’s is that she seldom loans shoes.

We love shoes, but my sis takes it to a whole ‘nother level. She loves stilettos, although I think she draws the line at anything over six inches. What’s cool is, my sister actually owns a pair of shoes similar to the ones on the cover Street Safe.

My sister is my confidant, my best friend, my ride or die chick and her fictional counterpart nearly stole the show, and Zee even has her own story. Shhh.

So is your sister your friend or bitter enemy? Or if you don’t have a sister, do you have that best friend, confidant, ride-or-die chick?

Blurb:

Street Callan wants only one thing from the sultry voluptuous woman in red heels, a night of steamy, unadulterated sex.

Na’arah Simmons has no problem submitting to Street’s seductive allure, since she shares in the attraction.

When their one night stand leaves her with an unplanned souvenir, his less than desired response will force her to move on.

However, when she’s the only witness to a brutal murder, Na’arah has only Street to turn to if she wants to save herself and her unborn child.

Excerpt:

He studied her a moment: dark circles smudged her eyes and when she tilted her head, her hair slid over her shoulders. She hugged the light zip-up hoodie she wore more firmly around her voluptuous figure, which only enhanced the swell of her breasts. He dropped his gaze, hoping to avoid the temptation of her curvy bosom, only to fasten on the hint of bare midriff. A diamond studded hoop adorned her navel, while the corner of a small tattoo peeked above the waistband of her low rise yoga pants.

A touch of ink teased and flared like a beacon. He had to know what it was, he’d bet money it was a butterfly or some other cutesy piece or art. Damn, if he’d had time yesterday, he’d have discovered her secret.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about you?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“I could say the same thing about you. You told me you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“And I don’t.”

He resisted the urge to flinch beneath her scathing glare. “What about that blond guy at the fair? He seemed pretty happy with your services.” Watching the play of emotions cross her pretty features fascinated him.

Confusion knitted her brows, before it cleared and was replaced by stormy anger. “You thought I was a willing participant to what that fool was doing?”

To his horror, her eyes glistened like diamonds. Once again his mouth and emotions ran rampant when a cooler head should’ve prevailed.

“If my sister hadn’t been there, he most certainly would’ve tried to take advantage of my position.” She stared at him a moment, disappointment mingled with contempt. “Why would you think otherwise?”

Street held out his hand, palm side up. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t...”

She spun on her heel. He grabbed her arm and dragged into his embrace. Na’arah wiggled against him, igniting a firestorm of need only she could quench.

“Let me go.”

“I wish I could.”

Fire sparked and flared in her eyes, but beneath the anger was good old fashioned lust. Her beautiful breasts heaved up and down. He hauled her a little closer, so she rose on tiptoe to keep her balance. She grasped his biceps to stay upright. Last night when she stood in front of him, he could kiss her on the forehead with no problem. Today, without the heels, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. And that was just fine with him.

“If all you wanted was a one night stand all you had to do was say so. I’m grown. You don’t have to play with my emotions by pretending to want to date me then ignore me until it’s convenient for you. If you don’t want to see me, just say so.”

“I don’t want a one night stand.” He lowered his head and slanted his mouth across hers. Her lips were pure temptation. He ran his tongue along the seam, nibbling at her full bottom lip. When she moaned, he deepened the kiss. Such sweetness and it was his for the taking.

He relished the heat of her hands as they slid from his arms to lock behind his neck. The move allowed him to draw her closer, molding her soft breasts to his lean, muscular frame. Now all he could think about was the way her body would feel, bare beneath his, and despised the clothing that prevented them from being skin to skin.

With supreme effort he broke the kiss, but did not let her go.

She slid her hands from his shoulders to his chest and looked up at him with desire filled eyes. “If you didn’t want a one night stand, then why were you so cold yesterday?”

“I thought— I was jealous,” he muttered.

“Jealous?” Surprised filled her voice. “Why?”

He released her and stepped away. “Can we talk about this over dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yes.”

She studied him so long he feared she’d say no. “Fine, but you better have a really good explanation.”

Street exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “I’ll meet you at the bar at 7:30 this evening.”

Na’arah nodded and sauntered away.

He watched the sassy sway of her hips. Damn, baby girl had a body on her.

~Until next time, Indulge Your Inner Romantic.~

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Website: http://wlynnchantale.com

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I think I missed Thursday

Hi!

Every Thursday after this, you will, from now on, find a post from a guest blogger--a starving artist who doesn't write books for a living. Or maybe a not-so-starving artist, as the case may be.

I'm still having the contest for new blog joiners -- it stretches through the end of this month, so anyone who joins or follows one of my blogs is eligible to win a $5 Gift Card--reader's choice. 

This month, there will be two winners. One winner will be someone who was already a member before the first of August, and the second from new joiners. Every week from now on, there will be book giveaways and a Gift Card giveaway at the end of the month.

Okay, that's  the serious info…well, the serious blog news, at least. 

  Well, there is ONE other thing. Jeannie Y. was named  the  J.J. Nagged Me! Winner for this month. For her suffering, she won a PDF of the first book of the  International Worlds Museum Series, Metamorphose.  

Now, enough about all that. I bet you're wondering about the actor that didn't show up today. Okay, the actor whose blog post didn’t show up today. You've got to be asking yourself what happened. Is he okay? Was it some tragic behind-the-scenes issue?

He met up with another of my best friends for drinks. I expect they got smashed. I'm not angry about it, though, I'm pouty. They went to a bar on the beach --in another state, I'll admit that-- but still, I didn’t get to go. They went off and had fun while I tried to fix my deleted email box, scoop the kitty litter, and a plethora of other, not-fun-at-all things.

No, I'm not bitter, why do you ask?

I have a lot to get done and I'm getting nowhere at all, so I plan to install one of those meters (or several) so that you can keep up with how much or how little I've gotten done on various books. Don't worry if it looks like I've got a long way to go. As soon as the guy upstairs turns his music down below 124 dB, I'll be able to hear myself think. You wouldn't think that would be important, but trust me, it is.

The birds, the dog, and the cats would agree with you. Just look what it's doing to the bird!

 

I thought that guy was evicted. Why do the quiet ones always move and the loud people stay until they get dragged off? I'm not actually that loud, it's just too much trouble to move. That's all for today, folks!        

J.J. Massa

www.jjmassa.com