WOO HOO! RE-RELEASE OF THE TEXAN'S IRISH BRIDE

When an author's rights on a previously published book reverts to him/her, the  process of publication begins anew. This time, I wanted to self-publish. Please don't think I have any complaints about the previous publisher, The Wild Rose Press. In fact, the staff and other authors at The Wild Rose Press are wonderful people. However, I'm trying to view my writing as a business, and I can make more money by self-publishing.

Hero and I planned the cover and Hero put it together. I love the result.What do you think?

Here's the blurb:

Cenora Rose O’Neill knows her father somehow arranged the trap for Dallas, but she agrees to wed the handsome stranger. She’d do anything to protect her family, and she wants to save herself from the bully Tom Williams. A fine settled man like Dallas will rid himself of her soon enough, but at least she and her family will be safely away from Tom Williams.    

Texas rancher Dallas McClintock has no plans to wed for several years. Right now, he’s trying to establish himself as a successful horse breeder. Severely wounded rescuing Cenora from kidnappers, Dallas is taken to her family’s wagon to be tended.  He is trapped into marrying Cenora, but he is not a man who goes back on his word. His wife has a silly superstition for everything, but passion-filled nights with her make up for everything—even when her wild, eccentric family drives crazy. 

Here's and excerpt from the first night on Dallas's ranch:

Her rose scent filled him, and he thought he would never tire of it. She fumbled with his shirt buttons then pushed it from his shoulders. 

“Yours is a very broad chest.” 

Her fingers skimmed across him, and his need for her magnified. When she traced the whorls of his nipple, he thought his knees might give way. He stilled her hand.

“There’s something I want from you, have wanted since we met.”

Fear sprang into her widened emerald eyes and she paled. Dang, he cursed himself for frightening her and her for not trusting him. 

Her voice trembled. “Wh—What would you be asking?” 

“Dance for me.” He knew it sounded crazy, but he’d imagined this for days.

She looked askance. “Here? But ‘tis your bedroom, and not a note ‘o music playing.”

“This is our bedroom, and you can sing or hear the music in your head to keep time.”

“But—” 

“Please? Not for coins or where others can see, but only for me.”

A slow smile spread across her face, and she cocked her head to one side. “Aye, I see now. If ‘tis for your pleasure, then ‘twill be mine.”

After she took off her shoes and stockings, she spun away. But not in the regimented dance he’d seen when other women accompanied her. This time she took the red scarf from her waist and used it as an instrument meant to entice a man. 

Her man. 

Him.

She twirled as if to a measured rhythm only she heard. Her green skirt and white petticoats billowed out to reveal long, perfect legs. Legs he wanted around him. She slid the scarf in imitation of a caress along her slender arms. Then she moved the red silk along her body. 

Dang, he was hot as a gunslinger’s pistol and just as hard. His manhood strained against his britches until he thought he’d pop through the fabric. He loosened the buttons and stepped from his clothes, never taking his gaze from her. Reaching behind him, he turned back the bedding and sat on the sheet.

Before his heat warmed the cool fabric, she pulled him to the middle of the room and circled around him. He pivoted, naked as a newborn, and watched her every move. Dipping, fluttering, and arching her lithe frame, she lured him with each sinuous flow of her body. 

Flush with the throbbing pulsating through him, he pictured himself plunging into her again and again as she wound around him. Her erotic gyrations set his already heated blood at a boil, but he stood mesmerized by her and the dance. 

Her flaming hair streamed around her in a fiery cloud. She looped the scarf over his head, and the red silk left a tingling trail across his shoulders and down his right arm. Then she threaded it around her own shoulders and sawed it while she shrugged first one shoulder up and then the other one. Fabric of her blouse pulled taut against her full breasts and pushed the peaked nipples into view. 

Dallas McClintock
iStock Photo

Dang, he couldn’t take much more of this, or he’d explode like fireworks on the Fourth of July. On and on she whirled and kicked, first coming near to brush against him, then moving back with a captivating smile. Teasing him with the piece of silk as she pulled it across his body, she seared him with her touch and made him part of her beguiling ritual. 

When he could stand it no longer, he said, “Come here, let’s dance together in bed.” To his ears, his voice rasped hoarse with the need that burned inside him.

She approached slowly, seductively, with fluid grace. As she moved, she drew off her remaining clothes. Twining the scarf around his wrists, she pulled his arms high until she slid under them, imprisoning him and herself in their circle.

“Now we are truly bound together,” she said, her voice breathy from her exotic dance.

“Am I your prisoner, then?” he asked, amused at her tempting play even as her touch fueled his need.

“Yes, and I am yours.” She met his gaze, but her jewel eyes held uncertainty. “Did I please you then, or was I too forward with meself?”

“You are beautiful and graceful, and your dance was even more special than I’d hoped.”

She breathed a big sigh. “Then you approve and will be taking me to bed now?”

“I suppose I must do as you say, since I’m your prisoner.” He nibbled at her neck, and she released the scarf binding him. The silk fell from his skin as her arms slid around his shoulders. 

Their lips met, and he delved his tongue to sample her nectar. She responded with fervor. He rejoiced that if he must be tied to this woman, at least she shared his apparently boundless passion. He pulled her with him across the bed, then scooted her until she lay cushioned in the center of the thick mattress. 

“Finally, I can see and taste all of you.”

“I’m hoping ‘tis all right for us to act so heathen.”

He lay propped on an elbow beside her, content for a moment to look his fill of her. “It isn’t heathen for a husband and wife to enjoy one another. Doesn’t it feel right?” 

In the golden lamplight, her skin gleamed like ivory. 

“Aye, it feels more than right. It’s as if being with you is where I was meant to be.”

He smoothed her auburn hair across the pillow. It looked even more glorious there than he had dreamed. Desire darkened her emerald eyes, and the pink of exertion tinged her cheeks. 

“No woman will ever be more beautiful than you are right now.”

“If you think that, then we’re well matched, for never lived a more handsome man than you are.”

He took her graceful hand in his and brought it to his lips. After he pressed a kiss to her palm, he suckled each fingertip. 

She pulled away and put her hands under her. “You’ll be driving me mad with wanting. Hurry.”

He smiled down at her and shook his head. “Nope. I’ve thought about this night since we wed. Reckon we might not get much sleep, for I intend to take my time.” 

“But ‘tis torture waiting.” She reached for his manhood.

He twisted away. “Let me give you something to think about, then.” Starting with her beautiful eyes, he rained kisses on her face, her neck, and her shoulders. He cradled one of her ample breasts while his mouth suckled the other. 

She moaned and clutched him to her. 

In spite of his throbbing need, he restrained his own urgency and slowly trailed kisses down her ribs, her stomach, to her mound of curls. He slid a finger inside her moist heat. 

“Now, Dallas, now. I can’t wait another second.”

Desire won, and he stretched himself over her. “Nor can I,” he said and slid into her. “Let’s begin our own dance.

If you haven't read this book, I hope you will. It's available in print and ebook from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and in ebook from Smashwords:

In print from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Texans-Irish-Bride-McClintocks-Book/dp/1478351675/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1344613910&sr=1-2&keywords=The+Texan%27s+Irish+Bride

As an ebook from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/TEXANS-IRISH-BRIDE-McClintocks-ebook/dp/B008V1UG54/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1344613991&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Texan%27s+Irish+Bride

Thanks for stopping by!

WELCOME SUZANNE LILLY

Today, Suzanne Lilly, author of SHADES OF THE FUTURE, is my guest. Suzanne is on a blog tour to celebrate the release of her book, and will be giving away a pair of designer sunglasses to someone who comments on her tour.

Suzanne Lilly is a writer at night and a teacher by day, which is why she’s known online as the TeacherWriter. Her articles and stories have appeared in numerous places online and in print. She writes light romance, young adult, and middle grade novels. When not busy with words, she enjoys swimming, hiking, reading, fine arts, and cooking. She lives in California with her family and furry friends and has yet to feel an earthquake.


Caroline: I lived in California as a child and have experienced mild earthquakes. Tell us about growing up and give us a peek into your private life.

Trevi Fountain, Rome, Italy
from Stock Exchange

Suzanne: I am the youngest of five children. My dad was in the Air Force, so we moved around, but when I was young, he got out of the service and we settled in Arizona. It was so hot in the summer even the locusts would stop their chirruping. To stay cool, I would sit under a tree or go to the library and read. The library in Maryvale was my favorite place to be. Today I’m married to a wonderful man and we just celebrated our anniversary with a trip to Rome. Molto bene! We have three children, one granddaughter, and a granddog.

Caroline: Congratulations on your anniversary and lovely trip! Who are your favorite authors and favorite genres?

Suzanne: I read anyone who can spin a story with enough tension to keep me awake at night. Currently I’m reading Wild Ride by Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer. They make a fabulous team. Jenny has tremendous wit and humor, and Bob used to be a Green Beret. The two of them writing together brings such a contrast in the characters that I’m spellbound. I also like to read Susan Elizabeth Phillips, John LesCroart, and Harlan Coben. I like suspense with a happy ending, something all of these authors have mastered. I’m always looking for new authors, so if anyone has recommendations, please share!

Caroline: I also like suspense with a happy ending. What’s your favorite way to relax and recharge? Hobbies?

Suzanne: I love to read, swim, and cook, not necessarily in that order. We are lucky enough to have a pool and warm weather for several months of the year. I need to swim to combat the evidence from my love of food and cooking!

Caroline: Do you have a favorite quote that sums up how you feel about life?

Suzanne: “This too shall pass.” A coworker of mine used to say that on an almost daily basis, and I adopted it as a way of looking to the future. Whether what we’re experiencing now is over the top fabulous or deep in the valley horrible, life changes and new things come along. I’m always looking forward to the next thing.

Caroline: How long have you been writing?

Suzanne: Forever. At least since I learned to write. I’ve always made up stories and always wanted to see my stories in print. I finally became serious about getting published five years ago and started submitting my work.

Caroline: Where do you prefer to write? Do you need quiet, music, solitude? PC or laptop?

Suzanne: I have a quiet room of my own where I write, but I often bring my laptop out to the kitchen or living room. During the school year I get up ridiculously early to have time alone to write while the house is silent except for the soft snoring of my dog. Actually, she snores like a chain saw. That’s the music to my ears while I’m writing.

Caroline: Our dog does, too, and “talks” in his sleep. Are you a plotter or a panzer?

Suzanne: Many people sit down and just start writing, and that’s how they get the creative inspiration for their story lines. Not me. I plot meticulously. First I pick a topic. Then I ask some “what if?” questions. Then I draw out a story arc and a three act structure. I let that rest, and work on other projects, short stories and things, while I mull over the personalities of my characters. Then I set up the turning points, black moment, and subplots, based on how the characters will interact with one another. I write this down on colored index cards, with a different color for each POV and subplot. I know this can be done on the computer, but I paste it all on a big board that I keep in front of me. That way I don’t have to keep flipping between windows on my computer as I’m writing. All of this plotting is part of my creativity. While things are on cards, I can put events in, take events out, move things around, whatever I want, without killing off any characters. Unless that’s part of my plan. Muahaha! Once the plotting is done, the story just falls into place, like a jigsaw puzzle going together.

Caroline: Ah, we write by the same method. Do you use real events or persons in your stories or as an inspiration for stories?

Suzanne: I certainly look to real events for inspiration, and I notice interesting things about people that I incorporate into characters. But no, you won’t have to worry about me writing a story about your most embarrassing moment, or look for yourself in one of my characters. It’s all a mashup when I get done with it.

Caroline: Mashup is a good word for it. Do you set daily writing goals? Word count? Number of chapters? Do you get a chance to write every day?

Suzanne: I make it a point to write every day. I used to set word goals, but that seemed too arbitrary. I could write a bunch of drivel, or write off topic and still meet a word goal. So now I try to write one scene a day. I only have about an hour a day to write, if I’m lucky, so one scene is all I can do. It’s the same when I’m editing. I try to edit one or two scenes a day.

Caroline: But you have a plan, a discipline, and that’s good. What do you hope your writing brings to readers?

Suzanne: I want my writing to bring people a sense of hope for the future. I want them to feel empowered to bring good things into their lives. So although my stories have suspense, and bad things may happen, they all have happy endings.

Caroline: What long-term plans do you have for your career?

Suzanne: To be a New York Times bestseller, of course! My plans are to write at least one novel a year, interspersed with short stories. By building up a backlist, I hope in a few years I’ll be able to be a full time writer. That would be bliss.

Caroline: Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?

Suzanne: I prefer to keep my works in progress under wraps. However, I can tell you about UNTELLABLE, my next book which will be available in February 2013. Here’s a short blurb:

Aspen Marie Dwyer has a secret to keep and she picks Honey Creek, Ohio as the perfect place to hide. Arriving on a Greyhound bus with nothing but a duffel bag containing her clothes and personal belongings, she walks to the Honey Creek Lake Lodge, to begin her summer job as a lifeguard. Four years earlier, Aspen witnessed her father murder her mother, and her testimony locked him away in prison. Before being taken out of the courtroom in shackles, he swore someday he would find her and kill her, too.

Local volunteer firefighter Colton Moraine is always up for a challenge, and Aspen is just what he needs to liven up his small town summer. Through driving lessons, picnics, and romantic kisses under the fireworks, the two fall in love. Aspen fatalistically knows their summer romance will end if Colton finds out her history. But not telling him tortures her, making her feel like a fraud.

When her father is granted parole, she can no longer keep her dark secret. She has to make a life changing decision. Will she continue to run and hide, or fight for the love she’s discovered with Colton in Honey Creek?

Caroline: Your story sounds intriguing. What advice would you give to unpublished authors?

Suzanne: Honor your writing time, and don’t let other tasks or people or diversions take you away from it. When it’s your writing time, write. Keep writing. Write and write and write some more.

Caroline: More easily said than done, right? A fun fact readers wouldn’t know about you.

Peanut Butter Love
from Stock Exchange

Suzanne: I am in love with peanut butter. Literally. My husband knows to clear the way when I’m heading for the peanut butter jar.

Caroline: I love it, too. Something about you that would surprise or shock readers.

Suzanne: When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had food cravings, as many women do. I craved peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. Just writing about it makes me want to urp, but at the time it hit the spot!

Caroline: That’s funny. Is your book a series? If so, how long? Family saga, other?

Shades of the Future is part of the Honey Creek Books line from Turquoise Morning Press. All of the books in this line take place in the fictional town of Honey Creek in beautiful, bountiful Ohio. Being a small, rural community means that everything anyone says or does becomes public knowledge in a matter of seconds. There are no secrets in small towns.

Caroline: I love small town settings, though. Can you give readers a blurb about your book?

Suzanne:
What would you give to see the future? Would you make your dreams come true? Would you change the things you didn’t like?

Mariah Davis loves animals, running, and her hunk of a boyfriend, Kevin Creamer. Everything looks bright for her until the day she finds a pair of sunglasses that allow her to see the future.

When she glimpses a disaster looming, she tries to avoid it but fails. She has a car accident that lands her in a wheelchair, smashing her hopes for a running scholarship to the veterinary program at Ohio State University. She pushes Kevin away, thinking he’ll want to end their relationship now that she can’t walk.

Will she ever learn to trust and love again? She could search for an answer in the sunglasses. But she’s afraid what they reveal might destroy her.

Caroline: How about an excerpt:?

Suzanne:
Mariah scooted closer to the inside of the booth to read the digital display. As she slid across the red vinyl seat, something poked into her thigh.

“Hey, somebody left a pair sunglasses here.” She picked them up, rubbing her leg where the frame had made a dent in her skin.

“Those are nice,” Hayley commented between fries.

“These aren’t random sunglasses. These are Dita Aviators.” Mariah turned them over, checking the thin metal frame to make sure she hadn’t bent it. She held them up to the overhead light. The lenses were clean and unscratched. “Plus, they’re like brand new.”

“Let me see them.” Hayley took the glasses out of her friend’s hands and started to put them on.

“Give them back,” Mariah told her. “Your hands are all greasy and cheesy. Not to mention saliva-y.”

Hayley laughed and handed the aviators back across the table to Mariah. “When I have clean hands, I’ll try them on. They’ll look good on me.”

“You think? How do they look on me?” She put them on and a warm tingle washed through her veins.

Caroline: You’ve hooked me. Where can readers find your books?

Suzanne: Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Shades-Future-Honey-Creek-ebook/dp/B008L1PQ0Y/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1342622859&sr=8-2&keywords=shades+of+the+future

B&N http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/shades-of-the-future-suzanne-lilly/1112092900?ean=2940014608800

Turquoise Morning Press http://www.turquoisemorningpressbookstore.com/products/shades-of-the-future

Smashwords http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=shades+of+the+future

Caroline: How can readers learn more about you?

Suzanne: I love chatting with readers! Here are my hangouts:
 Suzanne Lilly Website: http://www.suzannelilly.com
 TeacherWriter Blog : http://www.teacherwriter.net
 Suzanne Lilly Author Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/SuzanneLillyAuthor
 Goodreads author page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5258804.Suzanne_Lilly
 Twitter: @suzannelilly http://twitter.com/suzannelilly
 Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Suzanne-Lilly/e/B006HY79IY
 Google + : https://plus.google.com/u/0/115758832631616324955/posts

Caroline: Is there anything else you’d like readers to know about you?

Suzanne: Yes! I’m giving away a pair of designer sunglasses from Shoebuy.com to a person who comments on this blog tour. So follow the tour, and the more blog posts you comment on, the more chances you have to win. Plus, as I said earlier, I love chatting with readers!

Thanks so much for having me on your blog today. This interview was great fun.

Caroline: Thanks for coming, Suzanne, and best wishes for your series.

Thanks for stopping by!

DOING TIME - NO, NOT THAT KIND

Oops, on Monday, August 6th, I have to be in three places.Which is why I'm late here.  I'm at Sky Purrington's gorgeous blog, A Writer's Mind http://skypuringtonwrites.blogspot.com/ and at the Keller-Fort Worth Writers As We Were Saying at http://kfwwriters.blogspot.com/ Please stop by if you have a chance. And on Tuesday, August 7th, I'll be at Rachel Brimble's blog in England. http://rachelbrimble.blogspot.com/ You can see I'm doing my time traveling via the internet.

WE HAVE A WINNER! The winner of Cindy Nord's NO GREATER GLORY is Kathleen. Cindy will be contacting you, Kathleen. Congratulations!

 Now to today's blog from me.


Thanks for stopping so I can remind you about my Heather Cameron cozy mystery series, DIGGING FOR DEATH.  This book is available in print and Kindle e-book. I love feel-good books, and DIGGING FOR DEATH fits that definition. Sure, someone dies, but he's the meanest man in town and it's off scene so the reader isn't exposed to the gore. So, pour yourself a worthy beverage (alas, mine is hot tea) and join me while I tell you about Heather and her family.

Heather’s great-great grandparents helped found the town of Gamble Grove north of Dallas on Highway 75. Gamble Grove is only a real town in my imagination. It’s near where Van Alstyne or Anna are on the map. My dad was born nearby at Pilot Grove and my own maternal great grandparents were named Gamble, hence the name. Like real towns in the area, Gamble Grove is rapidly growing and fighting to retain its small town charm as it copes with expansion. Local businesses struggle to compete with the big box chain stores.

Heather’s grandfather founded Gillentine Gardens and Landscape Design. In spite of the usual big box type stores that come with growth, customers are loyal to Gillentine Gardens. Heather, who majored in horticulture and landscape design at Texas A&M University, also holds a B.S. in business. She is a sharp young woman. The death of her parents when she was eight resulted in her being raised by her maternal grandparents and great grandmother. One of her companions what Walter Sims, who had been a good friend of her dad’s and worked for her grandfather. Now Grandpa Gillentine has retired and put Heather in charge of the business.

Here’s the blurb:

Garden center manager Heather Cameron is DIGGING FOR DEATH to prove her old family friend and employee, Walter Sims, is innocent of murdering the meanest man in town. Heather can’t trust the police to find the real killer when all clues point to poor Walter. The dead man was beaten to death with Walter’s shovel several hours after they were overheard arguing, and the two men had a long history of enmity. Walter definitely looks guilty, but Heather is sure—well, almost positive—okay, she certainly hopes her friend and mentor is innocent.

Heather Cameron

  Heather is compelled to scour the fictional North Central Texas town of Gamble Grove to exonerate her old friend. She’s encouraged when the new police detective in town, Kurt Steele, shows interest in helping her look for clues. Or, is Kurt just interested in spending time with Heather?
The deeper Heather digs into the dead man’s life, the more she justifies his ruthless reputation. Walter is indicted, but police begin to suspect the victim’s stepson as murderer. Heather is convinced the stepson couldn’t have murdered anyone either—although it’s clear no love was lost between the two men. The attempted murder of the victim’s real son creates a new twist. A chance observation at dinner after the reading of the murdered man’s will slips the last piece into the crime’s intricate puzzle. Can Heather solve the murder without becoming another victim?

Here’s an excerpt:


Lining the Rockwell’s drive nearest the new garden plot were a fire engine, an ambulance, a van, what was probably an unmarked police car, two black and whites and—dang, wouldn't you know it?—the Gillentine Gardens truck. The muscles in my stomach were like vise grips clenched on my insides as I drove past the other vehicles and parked. Sickly dread overwhelmed me at what I might find.
I wanted to turn my car around and drive home and run up to my bed and pull the covers over my head. No such luxury for me. I climbed out of my car and strode quickly toward the crowd, swallowing down fear’s metallic taste in my mouth.
Container rose bushes destined for Bootsy Rockwell's garden almost filled the garden center’s staked-bed truck. Miguel Diaz sat on the truck’s bed with his feet dangling off the end. Steve Harris sat beside him. Bad vibes shot through me. A uniformed policeman and another man stood talking to Miguel. Miguel looked ashen and ill, but he nodded to me. Steve said nothing, merely hung his head.
"Hello, Heather." Miguel shook his head, despair evident in his sad brown eyes. "It's really bad."
"What's happened?"
The officer turned to me. "You know the whereabouts of Walter Sims?"
"He's supposed to be at the garden center. What's happened?" I repeated my question.
Steve looked up, but said nothing.
Miguel looked as if he were trying to send me some sort of signal. "Heather, it's—“
The man in plainclothes quieted Miguel with a glance as he stepped forward. Good heavens, what a giant. Must be six-four with shoulders broad as our truck. Even a long, tall Texas gal like myself had to look up to meet his gaze.
Whoa. What a gaze it was. Worried and puzzled as I was, I couldn’t fail to notice his eyes were delphinium blue and his dark hair the color of moist peat moss was cut short. He wasn’t GQ handsome, but definitely attractive.

Detective Kurt Steele

"I take it you're Miss Cameron? I'm Detective Kurt Steele and this officer is Sergeant Jack Winston. We need to ask you a few questions."
"Not until I know what's happened. Why are you questioning Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris?" Darn, stress must have fried my mind. I couldn’t believe I refused a detective.
"Vance Rockwell was murdered early this morning. We want to speak with Walter Sims. No one here seems to know where Mr. Sims is.” He paused. “Do you?"
Rockwell dead and Walter missing? Panic rose with the bile in my throat.
No, please don’t let Walter be the killer.
At that moment, paramedics wheeled a gurney bearing a black body bag past the truck and loaded it into the ambulance. Oh Lord, Rockwell dead from Walter’s shovel? And Walter hated him.
Carole King was in my head, and the earth really did move. Dropping away from my feet, leaving me drifting. The sky tumbled down. Swirling, everything was swirling. Spiraling around me. I thought I might throw up or pass out—or both.
The detective stepped forward and grabbed my arm, anchoring me in the mixed up universe. "Miss Cameron? Maybe you should sit on the truck by Diaz and Harris."
But the sky still tumbled, the earth spiraled around me. I was a kid spinning until I was drunk with dizziness.  Sky flipped places with earth. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.
"Yes...Yes, I’d better." With Detective Steele's help, I staggered to the truck. I shrugged off his hand intent on levering myself onto the bed. But I stood there as if in a trance.
The detective hoisted me up onto the truck s if I were a kid. I sat there wondering if I were going to pass out.
I felt Miguel’s hand at my neck. “Your head, put it between your knees.”
I did as he instructed, closing my eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. When I straightened, my head was throbbing but the earth and sky had resumed their correct positions.  Sky above, earth below.
Willing my eyes to focus on the detective, I insisted, "Walter wouldn't bash in anyone's head." I prayed I spoke the truth.
Detective Steele referred to his notes. "It appears he and Mr. Rockwell had a heated argument yesterday about a quarter of five. Mr. Sims stalked to the truck—“he pointed at Steve”—where Harris waited, and peeled off."
Drat Walter, coming here when I’d ordered him to stay at the garden center. "If you consider anyone who argued with Rockwell a suspect, you'll be interviewing half the state." I almost included myself but thought better of it. "Besides, you said Walter left."
Sergeant Winston said, "Maybe he returned."
"Phffft." I peered at Detective Steele. "Sounds like you’re grasping at straws. What kind of detective work is that?"
Steele's clenched jaw displayed a small tic.
Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.
He stood directly in front of me and glared. "We just started the investigation. If we had some cooperation, maybe we could wrap this up in time to buy donuts before we take our lunch break."
Way to go, Heather. Not a good idea to annoy the police.
I took another deep breath. At this rate, I’d soon hyperventilate. “There’s no need for sarcasm. I don't know where Walter is, but I know he wouldn't kill anyone, not even Vance Rockwell."
He raised his eyebrows, making his nice blue eyes more noticeable, darn him. "Not even? What does that mean?"
"Rockwell was not a popular man. I imagine you'll find a long, long list of people with motives, detective. Leave Walter alone." I glanced at Miguel slumped beside me and patted his shoulder. "Leave all my employees alone. None of them would have done such a thing."
Detective Steele poised his pen over his notebook. "Where were you just after midnight, Miss Cameron?"
I thought again about his nice blue eyes, but pushed those thoughts aside because of his nasty question. "In my apartment. Asleep."
He raised one eyebrow.
I shot him a glare. "Alone."
"So, you have no alibi?"
"People who live alone never have an alibi. That doesn't mean they're guilty of anything more serious than drinking juice from the carton."
He pulled out a business card and handed it over. "We'll be in touch. Call me if you hear from Mr. Sims."
"Can Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris go?"
Detective Steele nodded. Miguel and Steve slid off the truck bed to the ground, and Miguel helped me down. While they walked to the truck's cab, the detective speared me with another no-nonsense glare.
"If you hear from Walter Sims, you'll be doing him a favor if you convince him to call us. We need to talk to him, and the sooner the better."
I turned and walked back to my Jetta. My heartbeat fluttered and my throat threatened to close so I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it to the car, but I climbed in and turned the ignition.

I hope that excerpt tempted you to buy DIGGING FOR DEATH. It’s available from
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Digging-Death-Caroline-Clemmons/dp/1478159421/ref=sr_1_13?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1344267587&sr=1-13&keywords=caroline+clemmons

Thanks for stopping by!

CINDY NORD AND NO GREATER GLORY

Welcome Cindy Nord, author of NO GREATER GLORY. Cindy is giving away an ARC of her new release to one lucky commenter today. Be sure to leave your email address with your comment if you want to be eligible for her giveaway. I'll announce the winner on Monday. Now, here's an interesting article by Cindy:

                                                      VICTORIAN JEWELRY

The Victorians had a reputation for beauty & grace as evidenced in the exquisite pins, brooches, strap or slide bracelets, necklaces and crosses that were favored during this time period. The ladies needed just the right piece to wear to a candle lit dinner or an afternoon stroll in the park. The elegant jewelry chosen between 1837 to 1901 clearly underscores the Victorian love of accessorizing.  Known as first The Romantic Period and then The Grand Period in regards to jewelry, the Victorian years are broken down into: ‘Early Victorian’-- from 1837 to 1845.  ‘Mid Victorian -- from 1846 to 1886. And ‘Late Victorian’ -- from 1887 to 1901.

Calla Lily Gold Locket
Photo courtesy Lang Antiques

Popular motifs throughout all three cycles were serpents (symbols of eternity), and pendants encasing locks of hair from a loved one or hair woven into beautiful pieces.  Filigree gold helped to stretch the costly metal and the addition of pink coral, turquoise and seed pearls alongside amethyst, aquamarine, blue zircon, citrine, emeralds, garnets, ruby, "pinked" topaz, and sapphires caught the candlelight and warmed the ladies skin. Natural resources like bog oak, gutta percha, jet, ivory, lava, and vulcanite were also extremely popular, especially for carved pieces and cameos. Along with the precious jewels and sterling settings, popular items such as love knots and carved clasped hands were coveted. Diamonds were worn in the evening and only by the married or the betrothed woman. And the emergence of colored stones grew with the young unwedded lady.

Civil War earrings

Hair jewelry courtesty
whitneybria.blog

During the Mid-Victorian years we also saw a large introduction of mourning pieces due to the fact that Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's beloved husband, died in 1861 of Typhoid Fever. Upon his death the Romantic Period ended. To narrow the jewelry field down further, the two-year period between 1861 – 1863 became known to history as the ‘Victorian Mourning Era’ and the pieces that become most popular during this sad time consisted of jet, human hair, gutta percha, bog oak or other black material.  Natural Tortoise shell pieces are viewed by some as ‘Victorian half-mourning’ because the mourner would begin to re-introduce these choices only in the second year of their loved one's passing.

Hair braid pendant

Oak and gold  earrings, pendant
Tiffany 

Civil War hair bracelet
set in 15 c gold

The Victorian years after the death of Prince Albert became The Grand Period (so dubbed because of the grand way in which gems, jewelry and metals were used) and it was during this time period, that gold was discovered. In 1849 in America and in 1852 in Australia. This greatly increased the availability of the precious metal to jewelry designers.  Incredible changes took place in the overall design of jewelry. With a technique passed down from mother to daughter, we see the popularity of locks of a loved one’s hair woven into intricate designs and then enclosed in a locket. Incredibly prevalent during the Civil War years, hair jewelry was used for both Memorial (mourning of a deceased loved one) and Sentimental (remembrance of a living, but distant friend or loved one at war) gifts.

Gold and jade watch fob
Courtesy archives.jewelry.oneof

As Judi Anderson said, “The late Victorian Period, known as the Aesthetic Period or Movement (1880-1901) was a direct response to the over indulgent fashions and to the stuffy formality and strict protocol of the Grand Period. And after 27 years of mourning, even the staid Victorians had lamented enough. During the Aesthetic Period a sense of fun and light heartedness returned to jewelry. Whimsical motifs such as griffins and dragons, crescent moons and stars, butterflies and salamanders, were crafted into jewels of astounding beauty.”

Speaking of jewelry, look at the cameo necklace on the cover of Cindy's new release, NO GREATER GLORY.

Here's a blurb for NO GREATER GLORY:

Amid the carnage of war, he commandeers far more than just her home.

Widowed plantation owner Emaline McDaniels has struggled to hold on to her late husband’s dreams. Despite the responsibilities resting on her shoulders, she’ll not let anyone wrest away what’s left of her way of life—particularly a Federal officer who wants to set up his regiment's winter encampment on her land. With a defiance born of desperation, she defends her home as though it were the child she never had…and no mother gives up her child without a fight.

Despite the brazen wisp of a woman pointing a gun at his head, Colonel Reece Cutteridge has his orders. Requisition Shapinsay—and its valuable livestock—for his regiment’s use, and pay her with Union vouchers. He never expected her fierce determination, then her concern for his wounded, to upend his heart—and possibly his career.

As the Army of the Potomac goes dormant for the winter, battle lines are drawn inside the mansion. Yet just as their clash of wills shifts to forbidden passion, the tides of war sweep Reece away. And now their most desperate battle is to survive the bloody conflict in Virginia with their lives—and their love—intact.



EXCERPT: NO GREATER GLORY


October 1862
Seven miles west of Falmouth, Virginia


    A bitter wind slammed through the tattered countryside, sucking warmth from the morning. Emaline McDaniels rocked back in the saddle when she heard the shout. She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes widened. Across the fields of ragged tobacco, her farrier rode toward her at breakneck speed. Lines of alarm carved their way across the old man’s ebony face.

    Emaline spurred her horse around to meet him. “What’s wrong?”

    Tacker pointed a gnarled finger eastward. “Yankees, Miz Emaline! Coming up da road from Falmouth!”

    “Yankees?” Her heart lurched against her ribs. She’d heard of their thievery, the fires and destruction left in their wake. Teeth-gritting determination to save her home flashed through her. She leaned sideways, gripping his work-worn sleeve. “Are you sure they’re not the home guard?”

    “No, ma’am. I seen ’em, dey’s blue riders, for sure. Hundreds of ’em.”

    Two workers moved closer to listen to the exchange, and the farrier acknowledged them with a quick nod.

    “Everyone back to the cabins,” Emaline snapped, sinking into the saddle. “And use the wagon road along the river. It’ll be safer.”

    “Ain’t you comin’ with us?”

    “No. Now move along quickly, all of you. And keep out of sight.” She flicked the reins and her horse headed straight across the fields toward the red-brick mansion that hugged the far edge of the horizon.

    The spongy ground beneath the animal’s hooves churned into clods of flying mud. Aside from a few skirmishes nearby, the war had politely stayed east along the Old Plank Road around Fredericksburg. Her mare crested the small hillock near the main house, and Emaline jerked back on the leather reins. Off to her far right, a column of cavalrymen numbering into the hundreds approached. The dust cloud stirred up by their horses draped in a heavy haze across the late-morning air. In numbed fascination, she stared at the pulsing line of blue-coated soldiers, a slithering serpent of destruction a quarter of a mile long.

    Waves of nausea welled up from her belly.

    “Oh my God…” she whispered. She dug her boot heels into the mare’s sides and the nimble sorrel sprang into another strong gallop. Praying she’d go unnoticed, Emaline leaned low, her thoughts racing faster than the horse. What do they want? Why are they here?

    Her fingers curled into the coarse mane as seconds flew past. At last, she reached the back entrance of the mansion. Quickly dismounting, she smacked the beast’s sweaty flank to send it toward the stable then spun to meet the grim expression fixed upon the face of the old woman who waited for her at the bottom of the steps. “I need Benjamin’s rifle!”

    “Everythin’s right dere, Miz Emaline. Right where you’d want it.” She shifted sideways and pointed to the .54 caliber Hawkins, leather cartridge box and powder flask lying across the riser like sentinels ready for battle. “Tacker told me ’bout the Yankees afore he rode out to find you.”

    “Bless you, Euley.” Emaline swept up the expensive, custom-made hunting rifle her late husband treasured. The flask followed and she tumbled black crystals down the rifle’s long muzzle. A moment later, the metal rod clanked down inside the barrel to force a lead ball home.

    She’d heard so many stories of the bluecoats’ cruelty. What if they came to kill us? The ramrod fell to the ground. With a display of courage she did not feel, Emaline heaved the weapon into her arms, swept past the old servant, and took the wooden steps two at a time.

    There was no time left for what ifs.

    “You stay out of sight now, Euley. I mean it.” The door banged shut behind Emaline as she disappeared into the house.

    Each determined footfall through the mansion brought her closer and closer to the possibility of yet another change in her life. She eased open the front door and peered out across Shapinsay’s sweeping lawns. Dust clogged the air and sent another shiver skittering up her spine. She moved out onto the wide veranda, and with each step taken, her heart hammered in her chest. Five strides later, Emaline stopped at the main steps and centered herself between two massive Corinthian columns.

    She squared her shoulders. She lifted her chin. She’d fought against heartbreak every day for three years since her husband’s death. She’d fought the constant fear of losing her beloved brother in battle. She fought against the effects of this foolhardy war that sent all but two of her field hands fleeing. If she could endure all that plus operate this plantation all alone to keep Benjamin’s dreams alive, then surely, this too, she could fight.

    And the loaded weapon? Well, it was for her fortitude only.

    She knew she couldn’t shoot them all.

    “Please, don’t turn in,” she mumbled, but the supplication withered on her lips when the front of the long column halted near the fieldstone gateposts at the far end of the lane. Three cavalrymen turned toward her then approached in a steadfast, orderly fashion.

    Her gaze skimmed over the first soldier holding a wooden staff, a swallow-tailed scrap of flag near its top whipping in the breeze. The diminutive silk bore an embroidered gold star surrounded by a laurel wreath, the words, US Cavalry-6th Ohio, stitched beneath. Emaline disregarded the second cavalryman and centered her attention directly upon the officer.

    The man sat his horse as if he’d been born in the saddle, his weight distributed evenly across the leather. A dark slouch hat covered sable hair that fell well beyond the collar of his coat. Epaulets graced both broad shoulders, emphasizing his commanding look. A lifetime spent in the sun and saddle added a rugged cast to his sharp, even features.

    An overwhelming ache throbbed behind her eyes. What if she had to shoot him?

    Or worse—what if she couldn’t?

    The officer reined his horse to a stop beside the front steps. His eyes, long-lashed and as brown as a bay stallion’s, caught and held hers. Though he appeared relaxed, Emaline sensed a latent fury roiling just beneath the surface of his calm.

    Her hands weakened on the rifle and she leaned forward, a hair’s breadth, unwillingly sucked into his masculinity as night sucked into day. Inhaling deeply, she hoisted the Hawkins to her shoulder, aiming it at his chest. Obviously, in command, he would receive her lone bullet should he not heed her words. “Get off my land!”

                                                CINDY NORD, AUTHOR

A member of numerous writing groups, Cindy’s work has finaled or won countless times, including the prestigious Romance Writers of America National Golden Heart Contest. A luscious blend of history and romance, her stories meld both genres around fast-paced action and emotionally driven characters.

Indeed….true love awaits you in the writings of Cindy Nord
http://www.cindynord.com

Buy NO GREATER GLORY from Samhain Publishing here:
http://store.samhainpublishing.com/cindy-nord-pa-1722.html

or from Amazon here:
http://www.amazon.com/No-Greater-Glory-ebook/dp/B008GWOI9S/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1343950898&sr=1-1&keywords=Cindy+Nord

Don't forget to comment and leave your email to qualify for Cindy's giveaway.

Thanks for stopping by!

WHAT LIES WITHIN US

Please welcome one of my BFF's and critique partner, Geri Foster.We've been friends for many years. Currently, she is President of the Yellow Rose RWA chapter to which I belong, and is doing a fabulous job. She is a tiny dynamo who cheers me when I'm down, encourages me, and, as the kids say, "she has my back." Here's Geri to brighten your day::

Author, Geri Foster

Those who know me know I love quotes. I have them everywhere. My house, my car, my desk, my office... You give me an empty space and I’ll nail up a quote.

I particularly like to read Ralph Waldo Emerson. One of my favorites is: “What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us. And when we bring what is within us out into the world, miracles happen.”

Yeah, that’s on my desk!

As a writer I think Emerson is talking to the creative spark inside us that creates every word we put on paper. Writers are such magical creatures we don’t even know our own powers. Writers pull more stuff out of the ‘blue’ than any other profession. We put together other worlds, people, towns, tragedies and love stronger than anything else on earth. The amazing thing is, people reading our books believe they are real. We transform the reader into another world.

And we do it without acknowledging where it all comes from. All of us have sat in the dark and typed away on our computers; creating God only knows what, until it’s done. There are times I have no idea where I’m going with a story, but something within me does. Something guides me to the end of that raw chapter, and often ignites an idea for the next chapter.

To some, it’s simply their muse. It shows up and words get written on the page. Ideas materialize out of nowhere. All is well, and the muse gets all the credit, for we are mere mortals. Nothing of genius comes from us.

It does according to Emerson. It’s all within us right now and has been since the very beginning. There is more within us than we can ever imagine. The stories are unlimited and they get better and better as we go along. We overcome great adversity, we learn things we never knew. We push to the absolute limits of our imagination to come up with a plot others will believe.

We’re writers, so we’re mystical.

I leave you with this quote by Orison Sweet Marden: “There are powers inside of you, which, if you could discover and use, would make of you anything you ever dreamed or imagined you’d become.”

Write On!

Geri Foster

MY THANKS TO READERS OF WESTERN ROMANCE/MYSTERY

Where would writers be without readers to pour over their words? Banging our heads against our keyboards, that’s where. You have been so kind to buy my books, that now I have a surprise for you. Drum roll, please...Announcing that my western historical romance-mystery BRAZOS BRIDE is FREE today at Amazon Kindle. Yes, that’s right. Zero. Zip. Nada. Gratis. Just for you because you guys are special. Very special.

The FREE link for BRAZOS BRIDE at Amazon Kindle is:
http://www.amazon.com/Brazos-Bride-Stone-Mountain-ebook/dp/B007HS10SY/ref=sr_1_18?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1331156267&sr=1-18

While I’m pounding away on the keyboard, working on the second book in the trilogy, you can be reading BRAZOS BRIDE: Men of Stone Mountain, Book One.

The trilogy is about the three Stone brothers: Micah in BRAZOS BRIDE, book one; Zach in HIGH STAKES BRIDE, book two; Joel in BLUEBONNET BRIDE, book three. There is another link, as I’ve mentioned previously - poison is used in each book. Book one and book two each deal with a different natural poison found in native a Texas plant. The third poison is one that was common in home and garden use in the nineteenth century.  I’ve chosen perfect matches for the Stone brothers. At least, I believe they are perfect. Book one’s heroine is Hope Montoya, a regal Hispanic heiress.  Book two features Mary Alice Price, a kultzy, adorable blonde. Book three’s heroine is another regal woman, a redhead named Verity Dumas. I almost named her Verity Robichaux, but Dumas will be so much faster to type.

Here's the review from NIGHT OWL REVIEWS

Brazos Bride A Night Owl Reviews Book Review Top Pick 4.5 stars | Reviewed by: Barb
I found this book to be very entertaining. I read it in one afternoon because I had to know who was trying to murder Hope, the heroine. Her interaction with Micah and their relationship was the heart of the story. I really got into the story and the characters. The mystery of just who of the many characters were the evil ones kept me reading and turning pages (so to speak) on my Kindle. I was unable to stop reading this book until I finished it. That really says something for the author's plot and cast of characters. I enjoy these types of books, but this one was exceptional. I will be patiently waiting for the stories of Micah's brothers, Zach and Joel. I see the potential for some very good stories following these brothers' lives. Good job in making me want more.
Mar 28, 2012 | B007HS10SY


If you enjoy BRAZOS BRIDE, please leave a favorable review on Amazon to let others know. If you don’t enjoy the book, let me know your reasons at caroline@carolineclemmons.com? While it’s not possible to please all readers, I do try to write credibly about the Old West and whatever subject I’ve chosen. I spend hours and hours on research, on listening to my critique partners, and on revising and editing. Here’s another favor: please click on LIKE and then scroll down and click on the tags. This sounds silly, but it makes a difference in sales.

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REVIEW OF GALLAGHER'S PRIDE

MK McClintock lives in Montana, and her writing brings the state to life for readers. Set in 1882 Scotland and Montana Territory, GALLAGHER’S PRIDE is a book I enjoyed and recommend.

Brenna Cameron is on a quest for answers. She’s come from her home in Scotland to Montana for a confrontation with the grandfather she hadn’t realized existed until her father’s death. From letters she found, she knows Nathan Hunter disowned her mother, Rebecca, but not why. Rebecca was a lovely, gentle person very much in love with Brenna’s father. After her death, there was only Brenna and her father, a comfortably well-off man. But now he’s died and Brenna is alone. Why would Nathan Hunter have ceased any contact with his daughter, never contacted his granddaughter?

As she arrives in Briarwood, Montana Territory, Brenna immediately encounters a rough man, Bradford James. James works for Nathan Hunter, but makes it clear he intends to take liberties with her person. Fortunately, Gabriel and Ethan Gallagher intercede and take her to their ranch, which adjoins Nathan Hunter’s. The Gallagher’s have a running feud with Hunter and Ethan has vowed to get revenge for all the malicious mischief Hunter and his cowboys have executed at the Gallagher family’s expense.

I never give spoilers in my reviews, so you’ll have to read GALLAGHER’S PRIDE to discover the book’s outcome. I will say that the book is filled with adventure and big surprises. I thought the editing was a little rough in that jumping back and forth made it episodic at first, and there were a couple of plot points I would have done differently. All in all, though, it's a very enjoyable read that anyone who likes historical romance or westerns will love. And there are cowboys! Another plus is that this book is suitable for all ages.There is some violence, but actually, it’s less violent than many YA books. I’m looking forward to the entire family saga.

The buy link at Amazon is:
http://www.amazon.com/Gallaghers-Pride-Gallagher-Series-ebook/dp/B006ZOSVFG/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1343174802&sr=1-1&keywords=mk+mcclintock+gallagher+series

Author MK McClintock

For more information on MK McClintock and her other books, please see her gorgeous site at http://www.mkmcclintock.com/#!home/mainPage or her blog at http://mkmcclintock.blogspot.com/

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CARYN MIRIAM-GOLDBERG ON HER BOOK DIVORCE GIRL

Caryn Miriam-Goldberg, Author

Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg is the Poet Laureate of Kansas, and the author of 14 books, including a novel, The Divorce Girl (Ice Cube Books), a non-fiction book, Needle in the Bone: How a Holocaust Survivor and Polish Resistance Fighter Beat the Odds and Found Each Other (Potomac Books); The Sky Begins At Your Feet: A Memoir on Cancer, Community & Coming Home to the Body (Ice Cube Books); the anthologies An Endless Skyway: Poetry from the State Poets Laureate (co-editor, Ice Cube Books) and Begin Again: 150 Kansas Poems (editor, Woodley Press);  and four collections of poetry. Founder of Transformative Language Arts – a master's program in social and personal transformation through the written, spoken and sung word – at Goddard College where she teaches, Mirriam-Goldberg also leads writing workshops widely. With singer Kelley Hunt, she co-writes songs, offers collaborative performances, and leads writing and singing Brave Voice retreats. She blogs at www.CarynMirriamGoldberg.com

                                       CARYN ON WRITING DIVORCE GIRL

When I was 14 and just starting my life of writing for hours each day, I read that to be a good writer, you need to open up your awareness and narrate to yourself all you see, hear, touch, taste and smell. Although I tended to do this somewhat obsessively at the time, this advice has served me well because in looking closely at the breathing, sensory world in which we live, I could not only see what was right before my eyes, but what was on the periphery.
Peripheral vision can show us the silver stretched briefly across the fuchsia sunset, the single blue heron crossing back to the wetlands at dusk, the first rising star, and such glimpses are not only gold for a writer but for a human. The universe is full of signs and wonders, and many of them are just on the edges of where we usually look. Such vision serves us well when it comes to the people in our lives who bring with them signs and wonders we would have never imagined if we hadn't opened our sight to see those on the edges.
This is all a lead-in to tell you that I love quirky characters in my fiction, with my coffee, on the road and through the internet. The people who we least expect to matter to us as well as the ones we thought we knew all along and then turn out to show us opulent dimensions -- they are the ones who embody the signs and wonders of being alive.

In writing THE DIVORCE GIRL, I didn't have to look far for such characters. Having based the novel on the framework of what I lived -- growing up in central NJ in the mid-70s, working at the Englishtown Auction, going back and forth to New York City to my dad's store, and hanging out in strip malls -- I met many such surprises disguised as humans. I worked at a clothing boutique with a guy named Eddie, old enough to be my father, but far cooler, and together we would sit in the back room, dissecting my latest love interest gone bad. I sold women's clothing at the auction, right next to 6'8" Ben, who told me stories of the real world. I had teachers who wore long beards, loved Ray Bradbury and Karl Marx, and joked with us about the meaninglessness of the suburbs.

So when I started writing THE DIVORCE GIRL, I knew that more-than-average-eccentric characters weren't be doing guest spots in the narrative, but taking on larger roles. That's because I understood that my main character, Deborah Shapiro, needed to see the world from different vantage points for her art, her survival, and her transition from girl to woman, and who better than these people:
 An ex-wild woman, current denim boutique owner who could hardly believe she ended up, after traveling the world and doing too many drugs, living in 'Jersey and finding the love of her life in an older guy named Uncle Carl.
 A young rabbi hired by a new suburban New Jersey syagogue (after being fire by a New York City synagogue for being too radical) who drank herbal tea (a novelty for the 70s), made his own echinacea, educated teens on the dangers and realities of drugs and sex, and listened to people in need with the intensity of their best beloved.
 A giant named Boy who drove up and down the eastern seaboard buying men's sportswear with slight damages that he could sell at flea markets, in between belting out "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" or "Silhouettes" for his customers.
 A high school wild child from Egypt who was popular for, among other things, breaking the projector of a pro-life group, and whose mother chased her around with a tea pot in one hand, a knife in the other.
It's these and other characters who show Deborah not only the possibility for but the downright necessity of living on her own terms. Their examples -- whether of not taking crap from anyone, going where their heart calls them, navigating their lives by an expansive perspective, or defining for themselves what health, life and art mean -- encourage Deborah to take her own creative risks. Their kindness shows Deborah new ways to make community, and even out of her friends, a family that sees her for who she is.
Most all, their lives help Deborah open up her own peripheral vision. Considering Deborah is an emerging photographer, such insight unlocks the door to her universe for her and shows her how to walk right through.

The Author, Caryn Miriam-Goldberg

THE DIVORCE GIRL will be released July 7, 2012. Here's and early review:

Publishers Weekly Review: Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg. Ice Cube (Ingram, dist.), $19.95 trade paper (378p) ISBN 978-1-88-816066-6: Kansas Poet Laureate Mirriam-Goldberg (The Sky Begins at Your Feet: A Memoir on Cancer, Community, and Coming Home to the Body) successfully leaps into the fiction world with her debut novel, a moving coming-of-age story 14 years in the making. At 15 years old, New Jerseyan Deborah Shapiro knows about divorce, yet this budding photographer’s conception of how it should play out quickly dissolves when her bellicose father announces he will remain in the house after her parents’ split. Since a photography class assignment to shoot “whatever is most wrong in your life” coincides with the domestic break-up, Deborah documents every nuance of her increasingly bizarre life, including the violent fights between her parents; a flea market where her father and his new girlfriend, Fatima, sell cheap plus-size clothing; and her father’s subsequent marriage to Fatima. As Deborah unsuccessfully seeks a mother figure to help her endure her father’s regular verbal and physical abuses, she finds support from a kindly rabbi, a Jewish youth group, and her photography classmates. Documenting her life through a camera’s lens helps to lessen the pain of her circumstances, as well as propel her down the track toward a career in photography. Deborah’s story unfolds slowly, but the pacing showcases an insecure yet resilient teenager who ultimately emerges as a strong, compassionate adult.

On Friday, I'll post a review of the book GALLAGHER'S PRIDE, by MK McClintock. 

Thanks for stopping by!

MEMORIES FUEL WRITING

When I was a girl aged from about 11 to 13, going to spend a week with my aunt and uncle who lived south of Lubbock was a vacation. My parents would take me to my uncle’s house on a Sunday, and my uncle would bring me home later in the week. My cousins were older than I was, but I was a daydreamer and made up my own adventures and wasn’t lonely. To me, my aunt and uncle were wealthy. I realize now that they were comfortably well off, but not wealthy.

West Texas Cotton Field near Lubbock
Vacations spot?

Actually, my uncle was a cotton farmer, and lucky enough to have irrigation for his crops. I loved "helping" him check the irrigation. He had an old Jeep and riding in it was fun. He was very tolerant. Since his and my mom's dad died when my mom was six, he was sort of like her substitute dad. He was twelve years older than she was, and she was the youngest sibling and probably pampered and spoiled.

Happy memories inspired me to write HOME, SWEET TEXAS HOME in a fictional area near where my aunt and uncle had lived. HOME, SWEET TEXAS HOME, is a sweet contemporary romance and is a twist on Cinderella. Here’s the blurb:

Courtney Madison

Courtney Madison has battled poverty her entire twenty-five years but is determined to make a safe and happy home for her teenaged brother after the recent death of their mom. Her mom’s illness left Courtney with a mountain of hospital bills, her formerly sweet brother Jimmy is now cutting class and hanging with a rough crowd, and she’s just learned she’s being downsized in two weeks. Hanging on by the threads of a fraying rope, she learns she’s inherited two million dollars from a kind elderly man she befriended when he was in the hospital across the hall from her mom. She thinks her inheritance in West Texas is the answer to all her prayers--but Courtney learns that while money improves her life, it doesn’t guarantee happiness. This modern Cinderella encounters problems even a fairy godmother couldn’t imagine.

Derek Corrigan

Rancher/entrepeneur Derek Corrigan has incredible instincts for flourishing in the business world. With women, not so much. In fact, his friends bemoan he’s King Midas where money is concerned, but his judgment of women is pathetic--evidenced by his late wife and now the flamboyant woman he’s been escorting of late. As far as Derek is concerned, all he wants is to be a good dad to his children Warren, aged 8, and Meg, aged 5. Derek suspects the worst of his new neighbor and vows to fight his attraction for her. The only way he can protect his children and himself is to keep his private life very private. Besides, he knows what women do to him--they always leave and take chunks of his heart with them. He's been there, done that, had the vaccination and is cured. Isn't he?

Here’s an excerpt from HOME, SWEET TEXAS HOME:

Set up: Derek surprised both he and Courtney when he asked her to the Winter Madness Ball held at the local county club.

They joined the others circling the room and Derek pulled her into his arms. He looked down at her while they twirled to a waltz. His beautiful cobalt eyes held passion and tenderness. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.
His arm tightened, snuggling her to him. His lips brushed her hair and she thought he murmured her name. Contentment washed over her, sending her encounter with Janelle far away.
A samba followed. He put both hands on her hips and she rested her hands on his shoulders. They moved as one to the rhythmic beats. Erotic fantasies invaded her mind. Tropical isles, sun drenched beaches, surf gliding gently over their entwined bodies.
In the middle of the next number, a fox trot, Derek guided her to the edge of the ballroom floor and out into the lobby. Gently, he pulled her into a shadowy corner before he pressed his lips to hers. For Courtney, they were alone in the universe.
He pulled her closer and she melted at his touch. She slipped her hands inside his jacket and wound both arms around him to knead his back, oblivious to anyone else in the world.
As he slowly raised his head, she felt herself pulled into those deep blue eyes.
Her senses reeled from his kiss and she struggled to maintain at least a shred of her sanity. “You’re a prominent person here, and this is a public area.”
“You’re right, but I couldn’t wait a second longer to kiss you.” He pulled her head to his chest. “Let me hold you a few moments longer.”
With his arms gently caressing her, she rested against his chest. When at last she raised her head to meet his gaze, he exhaled in resignation and brushed his lips across hers. “I know, I know. We should rejoin the others.”


HOME, SWEET TEXAS HOME is available from The Wild Rose Press in print and ebook at
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=638
and Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other online stores.

Thanks for reading. On Wednesday, I have a new guest author for you, so please return.