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Thursday, June 29, 2017

From Midnight to Moonlight: @Nancy Gideon Paranormal Romance #Sale & #Giveaway

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Friday, June 16
Authors' Cafe

Saturday, June 17
M. J. Schiller, Romance Author

Sunday, June 18
Cross My Heart Writings & Reviews

Monday, June 19
The Realm of Fantasy & Fiction

Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Melissa Keir

Wednesday, June 21, 2017
What Readers Want

Thursday, June 22, 2017
Romance Me

Friday, June 23, 2017
Loren E. Price

Saturday, June 24, 2017
Paranormal Realms

Monday, June 26, 2017
HBS Author's Spotlight

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Wednesday, June 28, 2017
Paranormal Dimensions

Thursday, June 29, 2017
Diane Burton - adventure & romance

Friday, June 30, 2017
My TBR Addiction
Midnight Masquerade

Can they escape the shadows of the past?

This time, he could lose his soul . . .

An invitation to join an exclusive D.C. law firm seems like a chance for Nick Flynn to leave his mistakes behind. But it’s his shadowy past and unrealized inheritance that attracted his mysterious employers. Once embroiled in their dark schemes, his struggle for success becomes a battle for his salvation.

And she could lose her life . . .

Loner detective Rae Borden goes undercover as a call girl to discover the truth about her best friend’s death. Her carefully laid plan of revenge and personal redemption becomes a crusade against an unbelievable evil . . . with Nick Flynn in the middle.
Nancy Gideon is one of the best supernatural writers on the market today! — Midwest Book Review: BookWire
Touched by Midnight Series {Book 8}
Just $0.99 for a Limited Time!
By Nancy Gideon
Genre: Contemporary Paranormal Romance
Published by: ImaJinn Books
Release Date: May 4, 2011
Length: 232 Pages


Remembered by Moonlight

Because the road to . . .

Clever, cool and preternaturally lethal, Max Savoie is leader of a secretive shape-shifter clan, heir to a mobster’s legacy, and the love of New Orleans’ top cop . . . but he can’t remember any of them. The only way to recover his past, and his rightful place in the arms of the woman who risked all to save him, is to surrender to a mysterious visitor who could use him as a weapon against all he’d loved.

Happily-Ever-After . . .

After rescuing her mate from his ruthless captors in the North, hard-hitting Detective Charlotte Caissie is now painfully vulnerable—a stranger in his eyes . . . and in his bed. The key to his memories is locked in a tortuous past. To reclaim the strength of their passionate bond, Max must learn to trust her enough to face that darkness at her side before the threat it hides exposes the secret Cee Cee carries.

Is never smooth.

When an investigation into grisly deaths in an underground Shifter fight club points to more than just dangerous clan rivalries, Cee Cee enlists Max’s help to find a traitor in their midst while there’s still time to turn a deadly invading tide. But the cost of saving their treasured future may mean sacrificing his past. Especially when the enemy they pursue . . . might be Max, himself.
Every delicious word Nancy Gideon puts on the page exhilarates with a sensuous ferocity. Hopelessly addicted. — Darynda Jones, NY Times Bestselling Author
By Moonlight Series {Book 9}
Just $1.99 for a Limited Time!
By Nancy Gideon
Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo
Genre: Contemporary Paranormal Romance
Release Date: October 13, 2014
Length: 290 Pages


Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | Goodreads | Pinterest | Amazon

Nancy Gideon is the award-winning, bestselling author of 60 romances ranging from historical, regency and series contemporary suspense to paranormal, with a couple of horror screenplays tossed into the mix. She’s also published under the pen names Dana Ransom, Rosalyn West and Lauren Giddings. She works full time as a legal assistant in Central Michigan, and when not at the keyboard, feeds a Netflix addiction along with all things fur, fin and fowl.

A prolific writer, Nancy attributes her creative output, which once peaked at seven novels in one year, to her love of history and a gift for storytelling. She also credits the discipline learned through a background in journalism and OCD. The due date for her third book and her second son were on the same day . . . and both were early! When on deadline, she turns on the laptop between 4:30 and 5:00 a.m. to get a chapter in before heading in to her day job. She’s a member of GDRWA, MMRWA, PASIC, FF&P and Novelists Inc. and dotes on her critique group.

For more information on the author, her books, or the “House of Terriot” and “By Moonlight” series, visit Nancy at the links above.

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Saturday, June 24, 2017

#WeWriWa The Protector: Got 'em #sfr

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors, the weekly hop for everyone who loves to read and write! Writers share an 8 to10 sentence snippet. Be sure to visit the other writers. You can find them here.

This snippet is from my sci-fi romance, The Protector (An Outer Rim Novel)In last week's snippet, Rissa and friends arrived at spaceport to stop the traffickers from leaving. They've all donned similar outfits, including hoods and masks, nothing to identify them. Rissa and her bartender have gone inside the spaceport, while the others waited at the back door for her signal.
Kiran yanked the back of Rissa’s shirt and hauled her behind a mech’s station. She was about to protest when she heard the whoosh of the hangar doors—two distinct male voices sounded jubilant.
“Easy pickings,” one crowed.
“Except we nearly got caught with these two,” the other said, “who’da thought they’d start searching so soon.”
Rissa peered around the tall tool chest and nearly gasped out loud—two men each carried a limp boy under his arm heading for the Indigian transport. By the Exalted One, she had to stop them. When she pulled the LZ-9 pistol out of the lower pocket of her trousers, Kiran grabbed her shoulder . . . and held out her hood.
“Oh, all right,” she mouthed and slipped it on—the mask didn’t fit well, and she had to adjust it so she could see.
He grabbed her long braid, stopping her again—when he tucked the braid inside her shirt, she shot him an angry look, angrier at herself for forgetting.
Leveling her pistol at the men, she stepped out, saying, “Where do you think you’re going?”

 As always, apologies for the creative punctuation, which was done to keep within the sentence limit.

Who knew rescuing two girls from traffickers would bring down a world of hurt?

After tavern owner Rissa Dix rescues two girls from a slave ship, she must rally the townsfolk to prevent traffickers from returning. Mining heir Dillan Rusteran has loved her for years. Little do they know that by rescuing more children they're tangling with a galactic trafficking ring.

Amazon ~ Kobo ~ Smashwords ~ B&N ~ iTunes

Monday, June 19, 2017


I’m so fortunate to have five wonderful fathers in my life. I grew up watching “Father Knows Best” and thought he was the ideal dad. He was kind, understanding, and always had time for his kids. He dispensed hugs and gentle advice. Not what I got for a father. No hugs, super busy (a full-time job plus a small business operator), barked orders, manufactured chores, issued advice like a general issues orders. It wasn’t until I met my husband that I began to understand my dad. With a large family (I’m the oldest of seven), he had the responsibility to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. Hence the two jobs. Hubs described Dad as having a “bull in the woods” style. It was what he knew at work and how he treated us kids. He believed in “idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” He kept us busy so we wouldn’t get into trouble. He insisted I go to college, even though I had to pay my own way. He taught me to look around and see what needs to be done, rather than wait to be told. As an adult, I understood my dad better. 

My father-in-law was a gentle soul. I met him after he retired, so he always had time for us, especially his grandchildren. When we moved 500 miles away, he and Hubs’ mother visited two or three times a year. I never saw him angry—although Hubs did as a kid, especially when science experiments went wrong. He never complained about the long hours of dialysis that he endured for over ten years. Instead, he used that time to write long letters to us and poems on yellow legal pads. The subject of his poems was family—often at the expense of MIL and her sister. If anyone else read the poems, they’d call them doggerel. We call them precious.

I met my son-in-law when he was sixteen and started to hang around our house. He and our daughter went to college together, got engaged, waited until he started medical school before getting married. It was always evident that he loved our daughter. More importantly, he respected her. She supported them by teaching all through his medical school and residency. When he was hired by a hospital, he told her she didn’t need to work. It was her choice. She chose to work part-time, and he supports that plus all her volunteer work. What impresses me most is how he is with his children. Loving, caring, gentle but firm.

My son didn’t marry until he was thirty-eight. He had his first child a year later. From how he was around his niece and nephew, I had a good inkling as to how he would be as a father. In reality, he’s been over the moon with Toddler Girl. It’s like he can’t get over this precious little girl. He’s over-protective at times but so loving. Working in a restaurant means long hours and, usually, no weekends off. While daughter-in-law works, Toddler Girl is home with him on his days off. Just like a mother carts the kid around when she shops, he takes her to Home Depot and Lowe’s, as well as to the park and splash pad. How he will manage when the twins come (in November) will be interesting to watch. I’m sure it will be a challenge, but he’ll manage in the same loving, patient way.

I’m always amazed that I was lucky enough to marry a man who would turn out to be such a great father. It’s no wonder since he had a great role model. Men in my father’s and father-in-law’s generation left parenting up to the mothers. My dad would no sooner change a dirty diaper than cook a meal. Not Hubs. He did his share of diaper changing and cleaning up after a sick kid. When he realized how much of his children’s lives he was missing because of long hours at work, he changed jobs. Neither of us grew up with parents who volunteered at our schools. Yet, he was active with our son’s Boy Scout troop and mentored kids in Odyssey of the Mind. He encouraged our kids to find solutions instead of telling them what to do. He supported their choices even when he didn’t agree. Like his father, he’s always had a gentle way about him. Not one to say “I love you”, he proves it by his actions. Being a grandfather brought out so much of that love. He’s warm and caring with the grandkiddies. A natural teacher, he encourages them to try new things, showing them how to handle tools in a safe way, how to build things, and when their patience ends, his doesn’t. He was/is a wonderful father/grandfather. Loving, caring, patient.

How did I get so lucky to know/have known these great fathers? Happy Father’s Day to them and to all dads.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

#WeWriWa The Protector: Rescue the Kids #sfr

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors, the weekly hop for everyone who loves to read and write! Writers share an 8 to10 sentence snippet. Be sure to visit the other writers. You can find them here.

This snippet is from my sci-fi romance, The Protector (An Outer Rim Novel). In last week's snippet, one of Rissa's servers races into the tavern crying that her baby was gone. Rissa gathers some helpers, and they race to spaceport to stop the traffickers from leaving.

They raced to the end of the alley then casually crossed the street to the alley behind Fortuna’s Pleasure House. As they rounded the corner of the sand-colored building, they picked up speed then nearly ran over a slight figure dressed as they were in baggy, multi-pocketed shirts and trousers made of coarse-spun.
Fortuna kept her voice low, “I can’t believe this is happening, just as you predicted.”
Rissa slowed down to keep pace with her friend saying, “Seems logical with three kids missing.”
“Three? I thought only a baby.”
“Two boys are gone, too. Traffickers are hitting more colonies in this system, so it was bound to happen here.”
“I’d feel better if we had more help--damn those people who didn’t believe you.”

As always, apologies for the creative punctuation, which was done to keep within the sentence limit.

Who knew rescuing two girls from traffickers would bring down a world of hurt?

After tavern owner Rissa Dix rescues two girls from a slave ship, she must rally the townsfolk to prevent traffickers from returning. Mining heir Dillan Rusteran has loved her for years. Little do they know that by rescuing more children they're tangling with a galactic trafficking ring.

Amazon ~ Kobo ~ Smashwords ~ B&N ~ iTunes

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Meet Author Lois Winston @Anasleuth

I'm excited to welcome Lois Winston today. I've been reading her books since the first Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery, Assault With a Deadly Glue Gun. :She is one of my favorite mystery writers. Total fan girl here. đŸ˜Š

Let's meet Lois Winston.

Welcome, Lois. Please tell us about yourself.

I’m a USA Today bestselling author who writes mystery, romance, romantic suspense, chick lit, women’s fiction, children’s chapter books, and nonfiction. My critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series received starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Booklist, and Kirkus Reviews dubbed it, “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” (I’m planning to have that etched on my gravestone!) In addition, I’m an award-winning craft and needlework designer and often draw upon my experiences in the crafts industry for much of my source material for characters and plots.

Where do you get your information or ideas for your books?

Most of the plot ideas (and some of the characters) in my books come from actual events I’ve experienced, observed, or read about in the news. I’m a total news junkie! For instance, Finding Hope was inspired by my cousin’s failed attempts at in vitro fertilization and a case in Virginia where a fertility doctor was secretly using his own sperm to inseminate his patients.

Literally Dead, the second book in my Empty Nest Mystery series was inspired by my experiences attending a certain national writing conference over the years (although to the best of my knowledge, no murders were ever committed at any of them.)

What does your family think of your writing?

Truthfully? With few exceptions most of my family haven’t read my books. I wasn’t born into a close-knit supportive family, nor was my husband. Perhaps if I’d make it to the New York Times bestseller list, some of them might decide to pick up one of my books. Making the USA Today bestseller list certainly didn’t sway anyone. But you know what they say: you can’t choose your relatives.

How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

To date I’ve written fifteen novels (including one middle-grade novel) and am working on the sixteenth. I’ve also written ten novellas and short stories, one critical essay that appeared in an anthology, and a nonfiction book on writing.

As for a favorite, that’s like asking a parent to choose her favorite child. However, I will say that there are two that stand out for me—Talk Gertie To Me because it was my first published novel and Assault With a Deadly Glue Gun because it launched my mystery writing career.

What did you learn from writing your first book?

I learned that I had a lot to learn about writing a novel. But I didn’t give up. Twelve years and countless rewrites later, that book, Love, Lies and a Double Shot of Deception, sold to a New York publisher.

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

Don’t go to art school! Major in something where you’ll have a good chance of making a decent living throughout your working life and won’t have to worry about spending your golden years living in a cardboard box on the street.

What are some jobs you've done that would end up in a book?

In my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, Anastasia works as the crafts editor at a women’s magazine. To make ends meet after her dead louse of a spouse leaves her with debt equal to the GNP of an average third world nation, she moonlights at various craft-related jobs. At one time or another I’ve worked at many of the same jobs. I’ve been a crafts designer for several craft companies and a crafts editor for two craft book publishers. I’ve freelanced for many craft and women’s magazines. I’ve also worked trade and consumer shows and taught arts and crafts. In Death By Killer Mop Doll Anastasia works on a morning TV show. Although I’ve never worked in front of the camera, years ago I designed for several TV crafts shows.

If I was a first time reader of your books, which one would you recommend I start with and why?

That would depend on your preferred genre. If you’re a mystery reader, I suggest Assault With a Deadly Glue Gun, the first book in the Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries. There are currently five full-length books in the series and three mini-mysteries. Each book can be read as a stand-alone, but I always feel it’s best to start a series at the beginning.

If you’re a romance reader, I’d go with Hooking Mr. Right. If you like your romance coupled with suspense, try Love, Lies and a Double Shot of Deception. For chick lit I recommend Talk Gertie To Me, and for women’s fiction, Finding Hope.

Tell us about your latest release.

My latest release is Literally Dead, the second book in my Empty Nest Mystery series. This series is my homage to Nick and Nora Charles of the 1930’s Thin Man comedic mysteries, except I give a modern day twist to the husband and wife crime solvers, making the wife my sleuth and her college professor husband her sidekick.

As with my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, my Empty Nest Mystery series falls into the amateur sleuth mystery sub-genre and combines humor and crime solving.

Literally Dead
Book 2 of the Empty Nest Mystery Series

After her last disastrous episode as an amateur sleuth, Gracie Elliott is back. The budding romance writer has spent the past year crafting her first novel. Her hard work and determination pay off when her manuscript wins the Cream of the Crop award, a contest for unpublished writers, sponsored by the Society of American Romance Authors. First place entitles her to attend the organization’s annual conference, normally open only to published authors.

With husband Blake in tow, a starry-eyed Gracie experiences the ultimate fan-girl moment upon entering the hotel. Her favorite authors are everywhere. However, within minutes she learns Lovinia Darling, the Queen of Romance, is hardly the embodiment of the sweet heroines she creates. Gracie realizes she’s stepped into a romance vipers’ den of backstabbing, deceit, and plagiarism, but she finds a friend and mentor in bestselling author Paisley Prentiss.

Hours later, when Gracie discovers Lovinia’s body in the hotel stairwell, a victim of an apparent fall, Gracie is not convinced her death was an accident. Too many other authors had reason to want Lovinia dead. Ignoring Blake’s advice to “let the police handle it,” Gracie, aided by Paisley, begins her own investigation into the death. Romance has never been so deadly.

Excerpt from Literally Dead:

As I hauled myself up the first set of steps, that old adage about the road to hell being paved with good intentions popped into my head. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, especially given all the alcohol I’d consumed over the course of the evening.

By the time I reached the first landing, my heart pounded and my pulse raced. Jeez! Was I ever out of shape! I leaned up against the wall to catch my breath and wondered how many calories I’d burned climbing one flight of stairs. Probably nowhere near the number of calories in a frozen margarita. While I waited for my heart to slow down to normal, I pulled out my iPhone to ask Siri, only to discover I had no cell service in the stairwell.

I slipped my phone back inside my clutch bag. At least five minutes passed before I’d regained enough energy to continue. Grabbing hold of the railing, I inhaled a deep breath of fortitude and started my ascent up the next flight. No matter the number of calories, I was burning more than if I copped out and took the elevator the remainder of the way.

Halfway up the third set of stairs I heard what sounded like the fire door slamming open against the concrete-block wall of the stairwell. A split second later a bloodcurdling scream echoed above me. I looked up to find a billowing mass of tie-dyed rainbow chiffon plummeting toward me. As I flattened myself against the wall, Lovinia Darling’s body landed with a bone-shattering thud at my feet.

I didn’t need a degree in forensics to know Lovinia Darling was dead. The top half of her body sprawled upside-down on the steps in front of me, her lower half splayed across the landing above. Dull, lifeless eyes stared up at me. Blood flowed from a large gash in her skull where her head had hit the metal edge of the concrete step and dripped toward me. I quickly descended two steps to avoid the spatter.

My entire body shook as realization hit me. If I’d rested a second less on the landing earlier, Lovinia would have fallen directly on top of me, most likely killing us both.

I’d already come too close to death once this year, thanks to Sidney Mandelbaum. Once was more than one time too many, but did the universe take my needs into consideration? I stared at Lovinia. Apparently not.

I fought to keep my legs from collapsing under me. I knew I had to move. My phone didn’t work in the stairwell. Holding onto the railing for dear life, I inched my way back down the stairs to the floor below.

Once in the corridor, I crumbled into a heap on the floor. This particular corridor was in mid-remodel, the carpet already pulled up but new flooring not yet laid. I was too freaked out and tired to care about the plaster dust and assorted yuck covering the bare concrete and the damage it might do to my favorite little black dress. I fumbled for my phone, and with unsteady hands, managed to call 911.

Buy Links

One last question, Lois. Where can readers find you?

Killer Crafts & Crafty Killers blog: www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com

Thanks for visiting with us, Lois. I'm looking forward to reading more of your stories.

Monday, June 12, 2017

Endings and Beginnings

Although summer doesn't officially start for another week, it arrived for children in our town on Friday with the last day of school. Mothers posted on Facebook Last Day of School pictures side by side with the First Day last fall. We all marveled at how much the kids had grown. End of the school year brings relief to kids and teachers (I remember that time well).

Yesterday, we attended our granddaughter’s dance recital, the culmination of another year of classes. From the tiny (two-year-olds) kids to the most experienced, they showed off their talent. I love watched g-daughter dance. She may not be the best dancer, but she has the biggest smile. Dancing gives her so much joy.

Around neighborhoods like ours, graduation parties proliferate. Tents sprout like spring flowers. Not for fear of rain this year, but for shade because of the heat wave spreading across the country. Pictures and memorabilia show how much the graduate has accomplished and changed through the years. Families interrogate her/him on plans for the future. (Friends already know. LOL)

What’s next?

As a part of their lives ends, another begins. University, community college, trade school, job. Graduates are thrilled to be finished with school and anxiously anticipate this next phase. Younger kids look forward to a whole summer of nothing to do. Hah! Summer camp—science, math, sports—day care, library reading challenges, scheduled events.

Each year around this time, my daughter asks her kids what they want to do during the summer then writes the list on poster paper, and tapes it in a visible place. As they do each item, they check it off. Last year, my grandson went to a local college for two week-long science camps. He had so much fun I asked him if he was going to do it again. He said no. He didn’t want to do anything. My son said that one summer, but he was a bit older.

There’s a lot to be said about over-scheduling kids. Somehow, parents have to find a balance. Kids need breaks from the regimentation of school, to hang out with their friends, to have quiet time, to do nothing. I was raised with the mentality that “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” My dad left chore lists each day. We had a large vegetable garden that needed constant weeding. All I wanted to do was find a shady spot and read.

With every ending, there’s a new beginning. Like weddings. The end of single life and the beginning of a shared life. My youngest niece will be married next month. I love those times when families get together and celebrate.

On a side note, last Friday I had an anniversary of sorts—the day I met my husband. If you’ve been a reader of this blog or my books, you know that we met as a result of a blind date. When he called to set up the date, we talked for over an hour, discovering mutual interests and that we lived in the same apartment complex. That first date happened forty-five years ago. As I write in all my books, how glad I am that our friends fixed us up on that blind date.

Tomorrow is my turn over at Paranormal Romantics. I hope you pop in and see what I talk about.

Saturday, June 10, 2017

#WeWriWa The Protector My Baby is Gone! #sfr

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors, the weekly hop for everyone who loves to read and write! Writers share an 8 to10 sentence snippet. Be sure to visit the other writers. You can find them here.

This snippet is from my sci-fi romance, The Protector (An Outer Rim Novel). This week, I'm skipping ahead. After Rissa rescued two young teen girls from traffickers, life went back to normal for about a tenday.

Urgent pounding and a fem calling Rissa’s name made her rush through the kitchen and yank open the door to the alley. As Sophira, her part-time server, stumbled into the kitchen, she cried, “My baby’s gone—someone took my baby girl.”
A knife jammed into Rissa’s heart. No.
“You must help me.” The fem’s terror made her shiver to the point of collapse. As Rissa helped her to a stool next to the island, she cried, “I know you can. You must find my baby girl. I know what you did—” She shifted her gaze to Pela.
The knife in Rissa's heart twisted at the thought of another baby girl stolen.

As always, apologies for the creative punctuation, which was done to keep within the sentence limit.

Who knew rescuing two girls from traffickers would bring down a world of hurt?

After tavern owner Rissa Dix rescues two girls from a slave ship, she must rally the townsfolk to prevent traffickers from returning. Mining heir Dillan Rusteran has loved her for years. Little do they know that by rescuing more children they're tangling with a galactic trafficking ring.

Amazon ~ Kobo ~ Smashwords ~ B&N ~ iTunes

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

#IWSG: Frustration

It's the 1st Wednesday. Happy Insecure Writers Support Group Day. IWSG is the brainchild Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh.

Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!

Thanks, Alex, for starting this group and keeping it going. And thanks to this month's awesome hosts:  JH Moncrieff, Madeline Mora-Summonte, Jen Chandler, Megan Morgan, and Heather Gardner!  

I'm late but here. I’m having a hard time with time, lately. For one thing, there’s not enough of it. And what there is flies by too quickly. Can you believe it’s June already? I’m frustrated when I don’t write each day. Other commitments get in the way—like baby-proofing our house and preparing for our son and family plus two dogs to arrive at the end of the month for an indefinite stay (until they find a house). I’m thrilled about them moving here from Arizona. Not so thrilled about about cleaning out closets (long overdue) and my office to make room for them. It's taking away my writing time.

Of course, frittering away time playing solitaire and mahjong doesn't help. Nor does reading email and interesting blogs.

At night, I lay awake thinking about what’s going to happen next in my WIP. Just when I think I should get up and write, I fall asleep. I concentrate on the WIP that I’m not writing, figuring that will free my subconscious for the one I am. Does that sound crazy? I probably am. Just a bit. I’m writing a novella (tentatively called Jailbirds and Wedding Bells) that takes place between Books 1 and 2 of my Alex O’Hara PI series. But I long to get back to my sci-fi romance, The Spy. Frustrating. BTW, I do this often—have two (sometimes more) works in progress. While writing one, the other calls.

So that’s where I am this month. I’m sure writing this summer will be challenging with our house guests. Will frustration be my theme next month? I hope not.

The question this month is if you ever said "I quit" what made you come back to writing?

I never actually said I quit, I just did for about four stressful years. Too many family obligations that sucked the creativity out of me. When that ended, I decided to write for me, not for publication. That's when I found the enjoyment I experienced when I first started writing. The more I wrote for fun, the desire to publish returned. Nine books later, I'm still having fun, even when I'm frustrated. LOL

Have a great month!

 Click here to find others on the Insecure Writers Support Group Blog Hop. Or go to IWSG on Facebook to see who’s blogging today. 

Monday, June 5, 2017

Monday Morning Rant

I try to make my posts light, entertaining. But not today.

First, my heart goes out to the people affected by the terrorists’ acts in the UK. As I write this, “breaking news” just announced multiple fatalities in Orlando. How can these vicious horrors happen? When will we feel safe again?

I shouldn’t watch the news. It is so upsetting. Do I play the ostrich and bury my head in the sand? At times, yes. I felt the same way in the early 1970s when the Viet Nam war and Nixon’s Watergate dominated the news.

I’d rather read or watch movies. Or work on my new story. But how can I concentrate with the news proclaiming one horrific “breaking news” after another? That sounds selfish. And it probably is. How many times can we get upset over terrorists (foreign and domestic) before we become inured to the horrifying news? Until we turn off the news so we don’t hear it?

Yet, I wonder how many people like me feel like we can do nothing to change things. Our representatives and senators who are supposed to be servants of the people don’t listen to us. They’re too busy planning the next election or obeying lobbyists instead of their constituents. They don’t work a full year, they give themselves raises (yet deny raises to social security), they give themselves lifetime pensions and phenomenal healthcare. They need to give us their healthcare programs or live on what they devise for us.

In what world, do you get a pension and free healthcare after you’ve been fired? Our leadership dares to call social security and medicare entitlements. They are the ones with the entitlements.

Okay, that’s my tirade for the day. I really do need to get back to my work-in-progress.

On a lighter note: the Arizona trips are at an end. Our son and his family are moving here at the end of this month. All my children and grandchildren will be living in the same town as we do for the first time since the mid-1990s. Can’t wait for them to get here.

Saturday, June 3, 2017

#WeWriWa - The Protector: Why Does Rissa Help? #sfr

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors, the weekly hop for everyone who loves to read and write! Writers share an 8 to10 sentence snippet. Be sure to visit the other writers. You can find them here.

This week's snippet is from my sci-fi romance, The Protector (An Outer Rim Novel). Rissa rescued two young teen girls from traffickers and taken them to her quarters above her tavern. She just returned from getting clothes for them while they bathed. Pela is the older, more defiant one; Anaris, the more frightened.

Pela broke the silence, saying, “What are you going to do with us?”
Rissa sat on the end of her bed across from them and said, “I can find transport so you can return home.”
“No,” Pela said sharply, “I won’t go back.”
Anaris looked even more frightened and whimpered, “Please don’t.”
With delicate probing, Rissa got their stories—both girls had been sold by their fathers to the traffickers—and her heart twisted for them. How could a parent not appreciate the gift of life given to them?
After Rissa reined in her anger, she said, “You have a choice where to go, what to do--nobody will force you.”
Pela stood in front of Rissa and said, “Why are you helping us—what’s in it for you?”

As always, apologies for the creative punctuation, which was done to keep within the sentence limit.

Who knew rescuing two girls from traffickers would bring down a world of hurt?

After tavern owner Rissa Dix rescues two girls from a slave ship, she must rally the townsfolk to prevent traffickers from returning. Mining heir Dillan Rusteran has loved her for years. Little do they know that by rescuing more children they're tangling with a galactic trafficking ring.

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