I'm glad you stopped by. I hope you'll stop by again.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Off Visiting Again

It's a 3-way for me today. No, no. Not that. I'm on 3 blogs today so I'm passing on my own.

You can catch up with me at:

Nancy Fraser's Notes from a Romantic's Heart
Veronica Lynch's Wild Women X2 blog 

I hope you'll stop by and say hi.

And don't forget to leave a comment and come back here for a chance to win an Amazon Gift Card.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/16cf1d6/" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Quixotic by BC Brown

Quixotic: Not Everyday Love Stories, featuring One Box, Two Suitcases by BC Brown Blurb:

quix·ot·ic Adjective Exceedingly idealistic; unrealistic and impractical: "a vast and quixotic project".

Introduction to Quixotic: Not Everyday Love Stories:

Mankind looks to love as the ultra poetic, sweeping romance presented by the film industry. But how often is it that people find that particular packaging more than a little misleading? Often it leaves many soured on love, gives the perception of the depths of love they have achieved as being somehow incomplete. But would mankind feel that way if love was presented as it truly is - fantastical and passionate, but also gritty and sometimes more than a little tainted?

Quixotic: Not Everyday Love Stories provides a glimpse into very real love. Love that is all encompassing but also unidealized and subject to real life and real reactions. Because love is only as sweeping as the ability of the person able to feel it. Sometimes that depth amounts to little more than a creek's bed, and other times it's as deep as anything on this Earth. That love should be so immense as anything depth known on this planet should be a relief. But we are ever to remember that the farther down we delve, the colder and darker it often becomes.

BC Brown Bio:
B.C. Brown was born with six fingers on each hand endowing her with super powers, thus enabling her to fight crime. When a freak Cuisinart accident severed the additional digits and her powers, B.C. was forced to fall back on her secondary talent - writing. Now she lives between the pages of a book - whether she has written it or not. Until she finds the surgeon to restore her fingers and powers, she has published three novels to date. She has also been included in two anthology collections. She enjoys writing mystery, paranormal romance, science fiction and fantasy but is always in the mood for a challenge to branch out. You can follow her crime fighting or writing at twitter or facebook.

Contact/Buy Links:
www.twitter.com/BCBrownBooks or @BCBrownBooks

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Release Day - One Red Shoe

 One Red Shoe is now available at Amazon for Kindle.

What a journey this book has had. From an idea sparked during a writing exercise several years ago to publication by The Wild Rose Press. Over the years, parts of the story changed but never the basic premise: a wannabe writer rescues a wounded spy. Another part never changed either: they meet in the women's restroom.

Meet Daria and Sam.

Daria Mason’s life is too predictable. Nothing ever happens in her small Iowa town where everybody knows everybody else. But when she travels to New York City looking for a little excitement, she never expects to bring home a wounded spy.

From the moment agent Sam Jozwiak steals intel vital to US security from a Russian Mafia kingpin, Murphy’s Law takes over. No matter how he covers his tracks, the kingpin’s assassins find him. What’s worse than getting shot in the butt? Accepting help from an Iowa tourist.

Sam and Daria flee cross country with the assassins right behind them. Sharing danger and excitement—and a few kisses—with Sam soon has Daria convinced he’s the man for her. He thinks she’ll be better off once he’s out of her life for good. With their lives on the line, can she convince him they belong together?

Here's the first peek at One Red Shoe.

Sam found a door with a push plate and faded square where a sign used to be. This had to be it. He carefully pushed open the door. No noise to attract Grashenko & Company if they came back. Good grief, the restroom was an explosion of pink. Pepto-Bismol pink with black trim. Sam didn’t have time to find the men’s room now. He would stop the bleeding and get out of this potential trap.
Skylights, dirty like the rest of the windows in the building, let in enough light to see. Good. He didn’t want to risk turning on a light that would shine under the door. Around a corner, hidden from the door, he found a long counter with a row of sinks and a mirror above. All the better to examine the damage done by that trigger-happy fool.
Sam unzipped his jeans and worked down his briefs to expose his hip. What a mess. Not for the first time, he cursed Grashenko for showing up in that hotel room in Smolensk. Sam’s hasty departure, with Yuri and Korioff on his tail, meant leaving behind his gear. His clothes, sunglasses, and emergency medical supplies would bring top dollar on the Russian black market. He would have to make do with what he had. Carefully, he turned a faucet to wet his handkerchief. He blew out a breath in relief the plumbing still worked and was used on a regular basis. No air hissed or sputtered, which would’ve brought Grashenko and Korioff back in a hurry.
With much twisting to see, Sam wiped away the worst of the blood. Amazed that there were paper towels in a dispenser, he folded several and stuffed them inside his briefs. He tried to zip his jeans but the bulge in back pressed on his raw flesh. Hell, he’d zip up when he was done.
When he bent to check his calf, he nearly keeled over from dizziness. He grabbed the counter. His shoe had absorbed the blood. None on the floor, thank God. No trail. Sam patted his shirt pocket and took out his agency cell phone. He needed to find out where the hell Teller was. That idiot better have a damn good reason for doing a no-show. Didn’t he realize the consequences? Didn’t he realize how little time they had to—
The air moved—his only warning that the door to the restroom had opened. A whirlwind in beige blasted past him. In that split second Sam instinctively cataloged the intruder. Female, five-ten, weight uncertain due to voluminous coat, late twenties, long dark single braid, penny loafers. And a large button clipped to her purse. Shit. More dangerous than a Russian Mafia hit man. A wide-eyed innocent. The kind he’d sworn to protect. And here he was bleeding like a stuck pig, so dizzy he was going to fall flat on his face.

I hope you'll enjoy my first romantic suspense. Like my science fiction romances, there's plenty of action, adventure, humor, and best of all romance.

I'm giving away a $25.00 Amazon Gift Card to a lucky commenter. Be sure to leave your email address with your comment so I can contact you. You'll have lots of chances to win if you follow the One Red Shoe Release Tour. At each stop, you'll find either the Rafflecopter or a link back here. Enter as many times as you wish.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

September 26: Patricia Kiyono's Creative Hodgepodge
September 27: Nancy Jardine's He Said, She Said
September 29: Alicia Dean's blog
September 30: Nancy Fraser's Notes from a Romantic's Heart
September 30: Veronica Lynch's Wild Women X2 blog
October 6: Jessica Subject's Mark of the Stars
October 15: Emma Lai's blog
October 9: MJ Schiller's blog
October 14: Kathy Wheeler's blog
October 22: Lisa Chalmer's blog

Hope to see you soon and often.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Cover Reveal - One Red Shoe

I can't wait any longer to share the cover of my newest book. One Red Shoe will be released for Amazon Kindle on Wednesday, September 25th.

One Red Shoe is my first romantic suspense to be published. I hope you noticed the revamped header of my blog. I took that picture near Lake Powell a couple of years ago. That and my new "brand" (Action  Adventure  Romance...in this world and beyond) reflect my books. I'll continue to write space adventures along with romantic suspense. After all, isn't every romance story no matter the location an adventure?

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Meet Author Kristen Brockmeyer

I love Thursdays. That's when I get to meet new authors or learn more about others. Kristen Brockmeyer is a member of my romance writers' chapter, Mid-Michigan RWA. I knew about the camper, but the rest... Well, maybe I should just let you read her story for yourself.

Welcome, Kristen. Congratulations on your debut novel. Please tell us about yourself.

I live on a little farm in southwest Michigan with my husband and kids and work full time at an advertising agency. When I'm not chasing my two boys, I'm chasing chickens, gardening, or sewing, all with little success. I do know my way around a kitchen, though, and love cooking from my collection of old cookbooks that spans the 1920's to the 1950's. At night, when things slow down, I can be found in our vintage camper in the backyard, working on my latest book.

When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

I can't remember when I didn't want to be a writer. I started reading when I was 3 years old (according to my mom) and I've always made up long, complicated stories. Still do, whenever my husband asks me a simple question.

How long does it take you to write a book?

The first 100 pages of my first book, Lucky in Love, took more than fifteen years. The last 200 pages took only three months, so I'm hoping for some sort of happy medium on the next book.

What is your work schedule like when you're writing?

Writing gets squeezed in when everything else is done for the day, I try to write for at least an hour and a half every night.

What does your family think of your writing?

I have the best family. I know everyone says that, but I really do! For example, my husband was the one that kicked me out of the house. (To the camper, so I could write. But I like telling people he kicked me out of the house.) He also encouraged me to join the RWA and finally start taking myself and my writing seriously. Plus, my mom is the best cheerleader you could ask for, constantly telling me how awesome I am and pimping my book on Facebook to all her friends. And my 9 year-old is convinced that I'm already bigger than Nora Roberts. I don't know if I'm more tickled by that idea or the fact that he knows who Nora Roberts is.

If you could give the younger version of yourself advice what would it be?

Just write. Seriously! Tell the internal critic in your head to can it and just get your story on paper. You could have, like, 50 novels done by the time you're 33 years old!

Tell us about your latest book, including its genre. Does it cross over to other genres? If so, what are they?

Lucky in Love is a fast-paced, contemporary-romantic-suspense-comedy. That's its own genre, right? The main character, Lucky, is so not lucky and I had to laugh out loud at some of the things that happened to her. Most of them, I never even saw coming. And Chance? Her man? I never understood when writers talked about falling in love with the guys in their books. I mean, they're just characters, right? But I get it now. Please don't tell my husband or he won't let me go out to the camper anymore...


Lucky MacFarlane... isn't. And, mostly, she's used to that. Lucky's bad luck streak is as much a part of who she is as her blue eyes and her vintage wardrobe. But a lifetime of clumsy accidents and embarrassing moments can't prepare her for what happens when she runs into sexy ex-boyfriend, Chance Atkins. Literally. With her 1948 Buick Roadmaster. 

Now, Lucky's got a few questions. Like why Chance moved away without a word 10 years before—right after a memorable scene in the backseat of her car. Does his return have anything to do with the disappearance of Julian, her geriatric sometimes-roommate and drinking buddy? Why did someone just shoot out her kitchen window? And does Chance need a license for those dimples? Because they're killer hot. 


I dreaded getting ready every day.

Invariably, one of several things would happen: I would snag my nylons, poke myself in the eye with a mascara brush, burn my finger on the curling iron, slip in a puddle of water and bang my shin on the tub, or drop my toothbrush in the toilet.

If all that failed, there were always spills. I would spill nail polish on whatever I'd planned on wearing, spill nail polish remover too near a candle and ignite the tissue box, or spill scalding coffee on myself and let out a string of swears that would make a frat boy blush.

Today, nothing happened.

I was relieved, but apprehensive. My hair looked better than I'd ever seen it. It waved softly around my face and the nondescript reddish-brown looked downright auburn, shining with glinting gold highlights. Some eye drops had cured the hung-over look and my perfectly made up eyes were sultry and mysterious. I looked like a vintage Hollywood starlet. I shook my perfectly-coiffed head in disbelief, and the stunning woman reflected in the mirror shook her head back. Yup, it was definitely me.

My dress—that must be it.

I searched every inch that I could see, twisting backward at an impossible angle, sure that somewhere in the powder-blue satin there was going to be a gaping hole, a cigarette burn, or a tear as long as the Mississippi. Nada. The dress wasn't even tucked into the back of my panties.
Really nervous now, I slipped into a pair of high heels dyed delicate blue to match the dress. No one thought the high heels were a good idea, given my coordination skills, but it was Addy's wedding and we didn't want to stress her out any more than necessary. She was already a basket case. One messed-up flower arrangement away from homicidal maniac, actually.  A safe and sensible pair of flats might throw her right over the edge.

Mission accomplished without so much as a broken shoe or a broken ankle, I grew more and more disturbed. I gathered my keys and clutch purse, feeling like Chicken Little waiting to get squashed by an asteroid-sized acorn. But no ten-car pile-up occurred on the way to the church. Was I destined to pass out during the ceremony? Throw up on the minister? What was the deal?

With all that edgy speculation, mowing over the best man in the parking lot really shouldn't have come as any surprise.

Chance Atkins had been a fixture in my life ever since he and my twin brother, Jack, were both annoying little second graders eating worms and looking up the art teacher's skirt, but I hadn't seen him in almost a decade. Now, he was spread-eagled on the pavement, looking dead.

He groaned again and cracked open one eye.

"Jeez, Lucky, is that you?"

Okay, Kristen, one last question. Where can readers find you?

If I'm not at a Cub Scout meeting, doing dishes, or in the camper, I'm probably at one of the following places:

I take it back. That wasn't the last question. Where can readers find Lucky in Love?

Kristen, it's been fun learning more about you. I wish you much success with Lucky in Love.