Romancing the Blog

Giving a Hint????

2012-02-02T07:55:00.000-08:00

I'm having a guest come over this weekend. Won't you come and meet one of my favorite all time western romance authors, Marin Thomas.

So all you buckle bunnies, grab your Stetsons and climb on to the top rail for a grand view some fun and laughs as we learn what it's like to write western romances. While you wait be sure and check out Marin's Website, blog, and books.

http://www.marinthomas.com/home.html
http://www.marinthomas.blogspot.com/

Thursdays Tempest

2012-01-25T07:57:00.000-08:00

Sometimes life doesn't go as planned.

Poor Dobson Winters, lost his wife in a horrible accident. Now, the father of the man who caused it makes a dire prediction about his soul....

"Hush," came the command followed by a wheeze. "I don't have much time." The old man's eyes narrowed on him. "Maybe you don't either. Hate is something' that eats at a man. It leaves his soul blacker than the darkest night. A soul like that is damned forever. Now, my life ain't been no bed of roses, but I did my best. My boy went wrong and you were in your right to send him away, even though it killed my Mary. I might have forgiven you, however, she lost her heart and no amount of coaxing brought her back.

I watched you and your Miranda. Every day I prayed the good Lord would hurt you just like you hurt me. Then when they died, I watched you suffer. I thought, good, an eye for an eye, since you took my boy, my wife," he swallowed. "But there twernt no satisfaction in it only thing it did was make the hole bigger."

As he listened to the words, Dobson felt the wash of cold water washed over him. Anger made his body tremble with rage. He should get up and leave. He should let the door slam as he walked out. Yet, he couldn't.

"I watched you, a strong man, curl and wither like a crop with blight. Now, the only thing I got for you is pity. You've become a bitter excuse for a man, Dobson Winters and I thought more of you than that."

He tried to find words to say, yet what Curtis said was closer to the truth than any man wanted to admit.

"Now, I'm dying. There won't be no more tomorrows, no spring sunshine, or marvels of first snow. I ain't got much to leave, but I got me a pearl of great worth. Somethin' few men have and I'm gonna leave it to you."

"I don't need your parting gifts," he snapped.

Curtis Watson had the audacity to chuckle. "No damn you, you don't, but I'm gonna give you a choice." In a flash, his hand snaked out. Cold fingers akin to the grim reaper grabbed his. For a dying man, Watson's grip proved firm. "Holly's coming home. She's driving a wagon across the switchback from the Fort Worth trail."

Dobson's eyes grew wide. "That trail's full of danger. Your daughter's got no damn business-"

"You'll find her and she'll make it. This winter's gonna be a rough one. You're gonna need my hundred fifty acres of grass. We both know it's some of the best land in the valley."

His mouth watered. The old man was right. His land would lead to conflict with his male heir in prison. "What do you want me to do? Buy it? I can set your daughter up in a good house." He stared as the old man shook his head.

"No, I told you- eye for an eye."

A tingle ran up his spine, he could almost feel that second foot falling, crushing his heart in the process. Confused he stared at the man on the bed and waited.

"I won't go to my death condemning a man to eternal damnation."

"I'm not understanding."

"To get my land, you gotta woo my daughter. Marry her, Winters."

"Marry her!"

"I'm gonna save your soul, damn you. Whether you like it or not. You got till the New Year. I've filled the papers all legal with the judge."

"You- you can't." He struggled to remove his hand. But, the old man seemed to want to pull him into the grave with him. The more he struggled, the tighter his grip became. Dobson rose to his feet. "I won't do it!" he bellowed. "I swore I'd never marry again."

"You will," Watson glared back. "I won't have your soul on my conscience. You'll marry my Holly and come back to the living or be forced to walk this earth for eternity searching for love."

Will Dobson be condemned to this horrid fate? Will he marry Holly our of want or out of greed? Sometimes Christmas last forever when you find true love... A Cordial Christmas to purchase yours for $.99 check out these fine retailers.

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/A-Cordial-Christmas?keyword=A+Cordial+Christmas&store=ebook

Come Meet Sherri Thomas and her new book Greenhorn Heart

2012-01-17T07:03:00.000-08:00

If you are in the mood to be swept away by a talented new author, then come meet Sherri Thomas. Sherri's books bring western heroes to life. Greenhorn heart is her newest release out with Liquid Silver Books. Her other books are Mad About Maggie and Holding On. This newest tale is sure to pull at the heart strings.

Greenhorn Heart
By Sherri Thomas
ISBN 978-1-59578-882-5

Blurb:
At her dying mother’s bedside, Jolene Norris promised that she would keep her baby sister safe from her money hungry aunt and uncle. Unfortunately, keeping that promise is proving a lot more difficult than Jolene thought, and she needs help. Her aunt is out to prove Jolene is unfit or at the very least unstable to take care of her sister, forcing Jolene to seek Seth Morgan’s help. She needs his home, his land, and his name. Too bad he’s as welcoming as the bulls he raises. Scared that she’ll lose her sister, Jolene makes Seth a deal he can’t refuse.
Seth doesn't have time to take care of a petite woman who is as green as her eyes or the small drooling complication on her hip. He doesn't do babies or marriage, not after his ex-wife killed herself and their three-year-old son. But he desperately needs the money Jolene offers him.
Together they arrange a marriage of convenience, which quickly becomes so much more.

To purchase this book follow the links below.
http://www.king-cart.com/cgi-bin/cart.cgi?store=linda018&cart_id=25109.27398&product_name=Greenhorn+Heart&return_page=&user-id=&password=&exchange=&exact_match=exact

What are you currently reading?????

2012-01-09T17:32:00.000-08:00

I am into Marin Thomas novels as of late. What a wonderful author to talk to! She's been fantastic. She gave me a quick peek at her February release... I think she's got another winner here folks.

Arizona Cowboy

February 2012

Last Cowboy—Or Cowgirl!— Standing...

Rachel Lewis is a bona fide city slicker. Still, when her estranged father asks for her help, she ends up in dusty Stagecoach, Arizona, to manage his rodeo company for the summer. Being clueless about rough stock is nothing, though, compared to the confused feelings Rachel has for sexy ranch foreman Clint McGraw... because he's also her main competitor for her father's affections.

Clint can hardly believe it when his boss hands over the reins to his long-gone daughter. What the heck does a spoiled city girl like Rachel know about rodeo? Why, she's crazy enough to offer a competition event to women bull riders! And for sure she's going to nudge her way back into her father's heart—leaving Clint high and dry. Even so, he can't help falling hard for Rachel.

But only one of them can be the head honcho of this round-up!

check your local bookstores or use the link below.
Link to purchase http://www.amazon.com/Arizona-Cowboy-Harlequin-American-Romance/dp/0373753934/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1320078287&sr=1-1

A Letter from Lucy

2011-12-24T05:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa,

I am writing you this letter in case you don't know that I'm now at the Flying W near Cordial, Texas. My Aunt Holly drove the wagon over all the way from Kansas and we were nearly eaten by wolves but Mr. Winters, he and Joe shot them before they could eat Jack and Bennie. I am glad about that.

But Santa, I really want to make this Christmas special. I all ready have all I want. I have Holly, Mr. Winters, Joe, Abilene and Esmeralda. So you take my presents back. I'd like for you give my new friends something instead.

Chow Ming, who is the cook, like me he hasn't seen a Christmas.He's from China so maybe a nice tea cup. I will warn you not to bring him anything sharp. He had all ready got a meat clever that he waves around like a rolled up piece of paper ready to swat flies.

Joe, he could use a new pair of riding gloves. I saw a hold in the finger of his yesterday when he showed me how Star had taken to Abilene. Oh, Abilene is the orphan cow they found. They are gonna let me raise it. Star is a good momma now that she has two babies. She is very proud of them both.

Santa, if you could, I want you to bring Mr. Winters a new heart. His got broken when his first wife died. I heard him and Holly talking. I think my uncle Nicholas had something to do with it, but they grow all tight lipped when I come round. But, if Mr. Winters got a new heart, he could love my Aunt Holly, then we would not have to leave.

You see, I do not want to leave. I do not want to go any where else for Christmas or after. I love it here on the Flying W. I love everything. The funny way Red chews tobacco. How he can spit and hit the can from four feet away. Mr. Winters made me a Cowgirl in Training and I can't wait to learn how to ride and rope good enough to be just a plain old cowgirl.

So, that is my wish Santa. Please, let Holly and Mr. Winters fall in love. Then everything will be just right as rain. Give your reindeer and hug for me.

Love,
Lucy Watson

To read the story of A Cordial Christmas and see if Lucy gets her wish, please follow the links below for this timeless story at the low cost of $0.99

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/A-Cordial-Christmas?keyword=A+Cordial+Christmas&store=ebook

Follow the holiday post link

2011-12-20T10:14:00.001-08:00

Enjoy...
Copy this in your browser and watch.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yudgy30Dd68

Merry Christmas

De-stress with todays fun

2011-12-19T09:54:00.000-08:00

Please enjoy the link today... De-stress from the holidays

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P99p6l8v0FQ

Happy Holidays from me to you all this week with fun snippets of life in America

Nancy

Highlander for the Holidays. By Janet Chapman

2011-12-18T08:22:00.000-08:00

Okay, I was unsure when I began if I was gonna like this story. But I can tell you that there is an unusual magic in between the pages of this book. I can't explain it, nor do I want to but I have my suspicions that Rodger AuClair de Keagle had a hand in dictating this book himself. Any woman, worth her weight in salt would enjoy this story. The characters, the craft is spot on and well worth the time and effort to read. Effort- I'm laughing at my own words because this book reads like sitting down with old friends before a roaring fire. Aye, lass, no effort at all. Think of it as Miracle on 42cd Street for adults. I think I've found a wonderful new author.

PUT THIS HIGH UP ON YOUR TO BE READ PILE

Welcome Author L K Hunsaker

2011-12-10T05:26:00.000-08:00

Hello Nancy and Nancy’s readers! It’s great to be here to talk with you about my latest release, Moondrops & Thistles!

Can you tell us a bit about your novel?

I’d love to! Daws, Sgt Fred Dawson, US Army, is a vampire... no, wait. Sorry. He isn’t. My daughter thinks he would make a good one, though.

What he really is: A stalwart soldier entrenched in his work. Strong and steady. Not easily flustered. Determined and capable and highly decorated. He has a subtle sense of humor he doesn’t often show. And he’s really pretty sexy with his large shoulders and cropped hair and Army-fit body.

Deanna is a fiery spirit on a mission. Independent and career-oriented. Prone to sarcasm. Artsy and intelligent and sensitive. She loves music that makes her move and movies that make her laugh. And her natural wavy deep red hair is an attention-getter even if she doesn’t think much about it.

Moondrops & Thistles is a story of the crash and merge of two strong spirits who are fine on their own but can’t help appreciating nightly talks to compare their days. It’s a story of society and relationships and cultural clashes and family history and love and understanding. It’s a story of sacrifice and healing. It’s part literary and fully romantic.

Will there be any sequels to this book?

In a way, Moondrops is a sequel to my 2009 release, Off The Moon. Except it’s set 9 years before even though it was written after, so it’s also a prequel of sorts. I tend to suggest readers start with Off The Moon and then move on (or back) to Moondrops & Thistles, if they want the whole experience. It’s not necessary. They each stand alone, and Off The Moon is the more intense of the two. So start with Moondrops and if the characters pull you enough, move along to Off The Moon! These characters will appear again in another story, although not a sequel exactly.

What sparks the heroine's interest in the hero?

Great question! When Deanna runs into Daws, she’s decided she’s fed up with men. She’s tired of lies and secrets and wants to find real straight-forward honesty. Daws is from NYC but stationed at Fort Drum, NY. When he gets sent home on leave after a couple of major incidents have him on edge, he wants something to make him feel alive again. Deanna sees his need for rescue, his vulnerability behind plenty of strength, his well-taught military bearing, and his humility. It all grabs her. Of course his looks don’t hurt anything.

When you are writing do you have any sort of quirks such as a certain type of music you listen to?

You know it depends on the day. My biggest constant is that in the morning, I always have a cup of coffee at my desk. In the afternoon and evening, I still have coffee, but it’s joined by a glass of ice water. And chocolate. I usually have some kind of dark chocolate on hand. Recently it’s Hershey’s Mint Truffle Kisses.

I often write in silence, but at times I have to put music on in order to help hold my focus. At times, it’s instrumental. I love David Garrett’s rock violin and Celtic music, and soundtracks such as the Pirates CDs, or classical such as Mozart, Tchaikovsky, or Spanish acoustic guitar. At other times, I’ll turn on the radio in another room to a pop station so I have the “company” of it without the lyrics close enough to interfere.

What is your favorite part of this story?

Oh, I’d have to say when they meet. That actually started as a free read short story to go along with Off The Moon, but I enjoyed their interaction enough I started to think there might be more to share. It has to be one of my favorite scenes I’ve written yet.

What do you have planned for the year 2012 in terms of writing?

I’m back to obsessively working on the third, fourth, and fifth book of the Rehearsal series and plan to get at least the 3rd one out in 2012. I’m also already working on the sequel for the series. Along with that, I’ve started a YA based on my main character in Finishing Touches, my first novel, with Jenna as a young girl finding and exploring her passion for art. I hope to have that one out before the end of the year, as well. There are a few other stories in progress and I never know when I’ll jump over to work on those, but my guess is some of them will get some attention through the next year.

Last where can readers find you?

All over the internet by searching LK Hunsaker! They can start here:

Website: http://www.lkhunsaker.com
Blog: http://lkhunsaker.blogspot.com
Moondrops on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/MoondropsAndThistles
Facebook Author page: http://www.facebook.com/author.lkhunsaker

I’m also on Goodreads where I do reviews and have a group for reader questions, on Myspace, Library Thing, and a dozen other spots. You can find them listed on my website.

Nancy, thanks so much for having me here! I’d love to give one commenter on this post the shorter, spicier ebook edition of Moondrops & Thistles. And be sure to stop by my blog for a chance to win a personally signed copy of the full version, plus a transforming mug with the wraparound cover, plus a Support Our Troops bracelet!

A letter to Miranda

2011-12-09T14:39:00.000-08:00

Cordial, Texas December 1873

My dearest Miranda,

The chill of winter has descended over Cordial once more. I rode into the hills that look over our empty home and thought about you. I wondered if there are feelings in heaven, for if there are, you must surely know just how much I miss you.

Sam Russell suggested that I write this letter. He says I'm brooding too much, keeping myself on the ranch only going into town when we need supplies. However, who wishes such dire reminders, my love. Who would want to ride past the cold ground that covers your body and that of our child? Oh, for one more minute to hold you in my arms. To feel the warmth from your body against mine and to see the face of the child that died beneath your heart on that cold and fate filled Christmas Eve.

I confess, the idea of celebrating such a holiday settles upon my soul with such coldness that I fear I shall never be warm. I dread the shortening of days, the long lonely nights of winter. I hear the cry of the wind against the panes of our windows and it echo's my soul. If only I could block out that holiday, make it cease to exist, then perhaps I might continue on. Never the less it comes. Each and every year it comes and with it my hurt deepens. I fear nothing can save my soul, dearest Miranda. The only thing I look forward to is laying my tired body next to yours. You were my love of my life, my reason for living, with you gone, there is only a bleak future. How could a loving God, take you from me? I search my soul, but there is no answer.

Your loving husband,
Dobson Winters

A Cordial Christmas available now on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords

Dobson Winters is a miserable man. After his wife's death, he shut himself off from the rest of the world, but a deathbed ultimatum changes that. Now, he must find Holly Watson and marry her to save his soul. Redemption comes in an unexpected package and it takes the gift of a child's unconditional love to change a man heart.

To purchase your copy for $0.99 please follow the links below

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/A-Cordial-Christmas?keyword=A+Cordial+Christmas&store=ebook

To check out other great $0.99 reads, follow the postings on http://ebooks99cents.wordpress.com/

Check out Rachael Johns Blog....

2011-12-03T20:25:00.000-08:00

I'm headed down under today on Rachael John's blog talking about my holiday story A Cordial Christmas. Won't you join me and stop by to wish our friends in Australia Happy Holidays...

http://www.rachaeljohns.blogspot.com/

Dobson Winters is a miserable man. After his wife's death, he shut himself off from the rest of the world, but a deathbed ultimatum changes that. Now, he must find Holly Watson and marry her to save his soul. Redemption comes in an unexpected package and it takes the gift of a child's unconditional love to change a man heart.

To purchase your copy of A Cordial Christmas for $0.99 please use the links below.

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/A-Cordial-Christmas?keyword=A+Cordial+Christmas&store=ebook

Searching for that just right novel.

2011-11-26T06:30:00.000-08:00

Okay, you've got your hands on the nook, the fire, the iPod. You've been bombarded with commercials telling you what a great device this is and HOW you are REALLY gonna love it. You've even gone through the effort of registering your device - in my case, sigh had to call some one. So your fingers are hungry to find those "bargain books" and download.

I will recommend two sites because I know most of the artist and people who run the sites. They are writers themselves and have decided to make it a bit easier on the reader to find books tailored for their taste.

The first loop is done by Markee Anderson on her Sweet Tale book site. Yes, like the name implies, books are sweet meaning a chaste kiss to closing the door on those sexual scenes. Many of her books have an inspirational theme. You can find her over at: www.sweettalebooks.com Go under the Christmas book shelf for the list and click on the title and author to go directly to the book site. Markee has done an outstanding job setting her site up as a magazine type event. Lots to read about and do.

The second site was put together by Mona Risk. She gathered a group of published authors and each day presents a $0.99 book with an excerpt for you to read and links to buy. Check her group out at: http://ebooks99cents.wordpress.com/ Mona carries not only holiday stories but other genre's and heat levels as well.

So if you are in the market for a good solid read at a fair price, browse these sites and enjoy your e readers.

A Cordial Christmas

2011-11-06T07:44:00.000-08:00

Enjoy the magic of the season and find romance....

Cordial, Texas is a small town founded by Dobson Winters and his wife Miranda. When fate deals Dobson with a bitter hand, his heart grows cold until Curtis Watson on his death bed demands him to listen or be condemned for all eternity...

Read an excerpt here...

The doctor placed a guiding hand on his shoulder and together they moved to the room where his patient lay. Dobson pulled his hat from his head as they entered. The small room contained a single bed pushed the wall from beneath the covers, a frail old man lay quiet. The only sign of life, a ragged breath with a deep rattle that echoed in the stillness. His eyes stared at some unseen point in the ceiling.
The cold fingers of death crawled up Dobson's spine. He watched the face, with its sunken eyes turn as Doc stepped up and spoke. "Curtis. Curtis, can you hear me?"
"I can."
The two words spoken seemed to take great effort. Dobson wondered if this was a mistake. It was clear, old man Watson needed to conserve his strength.
"Dobson Winters is here."
The corner of the man's mouth curled with satisfaction. His gaze moved from the doctor to stare straight at him. He couldn't turn away. The frail hand lifted from the blanket it clutched. A gnarled finger curled, beckoning him forward. His boots shuffled against the wood as he made his way to the bedside. "Hello, Watson," he said.
A flicker of amusement flashed in the old man's eyes. "Bet you wonder why I want you to hear my last confession."
He admired a man who went straight to the point. "It crossed my mind."
Curtis Watson drew a heavy breath. "As it should. There are a lot of things betwixt us. Some that should be aired afford I go."
"You are too mean to die, Watson. Like me, you know the good Lord only takes the best."
The old man's eyes moved back to his face and for a moment. There was a unique clarity in his eyes. "You are so right. Draw up a chair and listen to what I have to say."
Stunned, Dobson turned and found a chair shoved to the back of his knees by the Doc's hands. Lowing himself down, he leaned closer. "All right, I'm here."
"You and me, we're a lot alike," the old man began. "We both lost the love of our life. But, me, I tried to rise above. I tried to make something of me and mine that was left. Not you."
"Hey now," He sat back. "I didn't come here to have you throw it back in my -"
"Hush," came the command followed by a wheeze. "I don't have much time." The old man's eyes narrowed on him. "Maybe you don't either. Hate is something' that eats at a man. It leaves his soul blacker than the darkest night. A soul like that is damned forever. Now, my life ain't been no bed of roses, but I did my best. My boy went wrong and you were in your right to send him away, even though it killed my Mary. I might have forgiven you, however, she lost her heart and no amount of coaxing brought her back.
I watched you and your Miranda. Every day I prayed the good Lord would hurt you just like you hurt me. Then when they died, I watched you suffer. I thought, good, an eye for an eye, since you took my boy, my wife," he swallowed. "But there twernt no satisfaction in it only thing it did was make the hole bigger."
As he listened to the words, Dobson felt the wash of cold water washed over him. Anger made his body tremble with rage. He should get up and leave. He should let the door slam as he walked out. Yet, he couldn't.
"I watched you, a strong man, curl and wither like a crop with blight. Now, the only thing I got for you is pity. You've become a bitter excuse for a man, Dobson Winters and I thought more of you than that."
He tried to find words to say, yet what Curtis said was closer to the truth than any man wanted to admit.
"Now, I'm dying. There won't be no more tomorrows, no spring sunshine, or marvels of first snow. I ain't got much to leave, but I got me a pearl of great worth. Somethin' few men have and I'm gonna leave it to you."
"I don't need your parting gifts," he snapped.
Curtis Watson had the audacity to chuckle. "No damn you, you don't, but I'm gonna give you a choice." In a flash, his hand snaked out. Cold fingers akin to the grim reaper grabbed his.

To buy your copy of A Cordial Christmas follow these links...

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/A-Cordial-Christmas?keyword=A+Cordial+Christmas&store=ebook

A Cordial Christmas

2011-10-30T10:59:00.000-07:00

Dobson Winters is a miserable man. After his wife's death, he shut himself off from the rest of the world, but a deathbed ultimatum changes that. Now, he must find Holly Watson and marry her to save his soul. Redemption comes in an unexpected package and it takes the gift of a child's unconditional love to change a man heart.

When a man thinks he has nothing to live for, life has a way of coming full circle...

Excerpt...

Lucy tugged on Holly's arm. She turned and looked down to her concerned face. Lucy bent a finger and begged her to bend down. Holly tilted her body closer. Her niece glanced over at Dobson, then cupped a hand against her mouth. "He's very grumpy."

Holly's mouth twitched, but she had to agree. The child was right. Dobson Winters cornered the market on being less than civil. Odd considering he was the founder of the town of Cordial. She supposed he had a right. A quick glance to her left and she could see the firm set of his strong jaw. He certainly appeared angry.

She looked back at the trail. The grade evened out in the past hour. Shortly, they would hit the big meadow. Holly recalled racing across the flat lands hoping to best her brother, Michael, just once. That had never happened. The big meadow had also been where they caught him changing brands. Even then, she knew rustling had been a hanging offense. Winters had stepped in and kept the drovers from taking the law into their own hands. Yes, her brother had gone to prison, but it had all been legal.

"We'll be at the house in an hour."

Holly glanced over at him.

"You can have a hot bath and rest. I'll get Joe to ride ahead and have cook prepare you a hot meal."

Lucy's ears must have perked up. Holly felt her lean over and give him the child's equivalent of an evil eye. "I like apple pie."

"Lucy," Holly quieted her.

The harsh tone of Dobson's voice faded. "I do too."

Lucy's brows arched and she glanced at Holly. "Humph," she replied as if she didn't quite believe him.

"Lucy Watson, you apologize this instant."

A pout formed on Lucy's bottom lip. It jutted out, forming a shadow on her chin.

"Lucy." Holly's voice sent a quiet command

The child cut her eyes to the woman on her right then looked back at him. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you."

"None taken," he answered.

"You can crawl in the back and wrap up in those blankets," Holly ordered.

Lucy gave him one last uncertain glance. With Holly's hands to steady her, she slipped through the opening and into the back, behind the canvas. Holly took hold of her shawl and pulled it upon her shoulders. Felling the need to echo her niece's apology, she plastered a pleasant smile upon her lips and turned to the man sitting beside her. "I'm sorry. Lucy can be a bit forward."

"Am not," came a voice from the back of the wagon. "You said I was pre- precocious."

Holly's cheeks filled with heat. Mortified she turned to see Dobson's cheek twitching with laughter.

"You certainly are," he called back to her.

Holly shook her head. She caught his glance and stared at his eyes. They were a deep shade of green, the same color of grass as it broke through the ground in early spring. It made Holly yearn for the turn of the season so she could compare the two.

"Nothing wrong with being honest."

Holly wondered if he was reminded of her brother's indiscretion. "No," she agreed.
"There isn't." She focused her eyes on the trail ahead and tried not to think about the man sitting so close to her. A wheel hit a rut; she lost her grip, and fell forward. It happened so quick, Holly had little time to do anything, but gasp. Dobson's fingers grabbed her arm and held on tight.

"You all right?" he questioned, dividing his glance between the trail and her regaining her seat.

Her head bobbed. "Fine."

He removed his hand and a part of her seemed disappointed. She caught his glance to the drover. Holly watched him lift a finger and the cowboy loped up.

"Yes sir?"

"Joe, go tell Chow Ming we have company. Have him get the kettles boiling for the tub and freshen the guest rooms."

"Will do, boss."

"Oh!"

The cowboy waited.

"Have him warm up that apple pie. I've a hankering for a slice."

"Yes, sir," Joe nodded and raced off.

For a few moments, silence surrounded them. She was well aware of the man sitting beside her. His very presence seemed to fill space between them, using up all the air until Holly felt light headed. She took a deep breath and his scent surrounded her. The smell of warm leather and woods left her senses sharpened.

To purchase your copy of A Cordial Christmas for $0.99 follow the links below.

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/A-Cordial-Christmas?keyword=A+Cordial+Christmas&store=ebook

Are you thinking PINK?

2011-10-21T05:12:00.000-07:00

Its October and with the change of leaves comes the reminder for the women in your family to check their tattas. Yes, October is Pink for the Susan G. Komen for the cure.

As you are moving through the day, on the bus, commuter train, or even driving in your car, look at the women around you. How many do you see? Probably more than you thought. Now couple it with the statistic that One in Six of all those women you see will at some point in their life hear those horrible words, "It's cancer."

Nothing stops a heart more or creates more anxiety for those that love you. October is Breast Cancer Month. (Yes, I've said it more than once) Grab a sticky note. Write these words down. GET A MAMMOGRAM. See your doctor for that physical we all dread. Let's stop cancer in its tracks.

On October 24th, I'll be over at Donna Alward's blog talking about how Breast Cancer effects family members. Won't you join me. Help stand up for the Cure. If not for you, for someone you love.

Remember October 24th www.donnaalward.blogspot.com . One lucky commenter will win a copy of Stormy Weather.

Nancy

Dear Readers

2011-09-27T12:40:00.000-07:00

Those who went to Amazon and purchased a copy of A Cordial Christmas.. I thank you. I didn't know it was live until someone called me. Thank you I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I loved writing it.. MUCHA!!

Nan

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

Putting my toes in the water...

2011-09-26T16:36:00.001-07:00

I did it. I stuck my toes in the water and tried this self publishing idea or indie. I did agonize and worry my friends to death over the grammar, story lines, and characters. In fact, I still am. Its the thought of standing there alone sharing a story that you feel so strongly for.

A Cordial Christmas is that kind of story. I think of it as Scrooge meets Bonanza sprinkled with Its A Wonderful Life. In this story Dobson Winters is as cold as his name implies. He lost his wife around the holidays and refuses to celebrate the holidays. But, in comes Curtis Watson and with his dying breath he tells Dob that the only way he can save his black soul is to find his daughter and get her to marry him.

Little Lucy and her antics with his Chinese cook steal the show for me. However its her adoration of Dobson that begins to thaw the ranchers frozen heart. I hope you'll zip over to Smashwords and soon to Amazon to pick up a copy of this novella.

Here's an excerpt below.

Chow Ming pushed the sweet dough out with the rolling pin. He paused and eyed the little girl standing on the wooden shoebox across from him, her apron covered in the same flour that kept the dough from sticking to his work surface of the small table in the center of the kitchen. She glanced up, her blue eyes twinkling and shimmering with delight. Lucy eyed his efforts with a smile.
"Yes, yes just thick enough," she said with a nod.
"So why we bake cookies again?" Chow Ming asked.
"Cause," Lucy began, dipping her biscuit cutter in flour before pressing it into the dough. "On Christmas Eve, Santa will come down the chimney and expect to find them."
"Why dis man not use front door?"
"Cause you aren't supposed to see him."
A rash of Chinese followed. "Sound like fat man in red suit a thief. Chow Ming take care of him." He reached behind and pulled his meat clever, brandishing it in the air.
Lucy's hands went to her hips. "Now see here Chow Ming, you do something like that and he won't leave you anything in your stocking."
"He take clothes too! Chow Ming think Christmas not good time of year. Prefer Chinese New Year. Then only contend with dragon."

Follow the links on my books webpage or copy this link for your browser.
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873

Six sentence Sunday....

2011-09-04T06:52:00.000-07:00

What would you do, If the love you wanted seemed so unattainable? Born on the wrong side of two races, Charity has made her way to the top of the parlor ladies at Sweetbrier Academy only to find rejection...

From Giving in to Charity

“And Washington?”
“I can’t take you there. Charity, what we have here is real, it’s now. It’s a treasured memory I can take back,” Aaron pleaded. His right hand closed over hers, drawing her against his front, while his left encircled her waist, holding her close. “Let me come upstairs with you one last time before I have to go back to that hell hole of the nation’s capital?”
The heaviness of his erection nudged against her skirts, and his fingers dug into her corset, undoubtedly branding her skin. Torn between Hell and Heaven, Charity closed her eyes and tried to will her mind to control her heart.

Check my website and click on the book cover for information on how to purchase this book.
www.nancyoberry.com

I was not cast off the island

2011-09-01T05:47:00.001-07:00

I did survive the big blow. I have to tell you that I love writing about historical settings, but being thrust into the 18th century in such a cruel was was not fun. I spent the better part of the week before preparing for the arrival of Irene.

I took all the vegetables that we'd frozen over to my daughters big chest freezer. I cooked the meat in the freezer and we dined well. I bought some cans of ravioli, beefaroni, even the dreaded potted meat. I filled up the small pool for flushing. I was ready. Then came the storm. Not a mere 6 to 8 hours but all in all a total of 26 hours of wind and rain.

Our power went off at 10:30 Saturday morning just when things were beginning to wind up. I should have known something was wrong because they had predicted no loss of power until 3 p.m. So we armed ourselves with the weather band and moved to the garage to watch the storm's fury. The rain lashed the pine trees out front and each pine cone that feel was like its own guided missile. I believe we cringed as each one fell on the roof banging, thumping, and creating mischief. In my mind I pictured a creature similar to Pan sitting in the boughs of the tree gleefully laughing as he lobbed each one toward the house.

As night fell it did get dark. Our home is surrounded by trees blocking the setting sun - had there been one. Storms at night have their own terror. The inky darkness cloaks them, taking away your ability to create a defense. Armed with only a flashlight, you do feel like that gothic heroine poised to open the door and be confronted by the boogie man. But by noon the next day, the clouds were finally lifting, leaving behind the mist of humidity so thick it hung in low level clouds just above our heads.

But we were all alive, no damage to the house, and all safe. By the afternoon, the children ventured on the roof to help with clean up. Here is where things got interesting. My dear son who shall for the sake of his life remain nameless swept off the roof. Not bad you say. Oh, I agree, however he swept all the dirt and the oily residue from the roof into the pool I'd filled for flushing. My once clear water was now loaded with dark black sludge, rotting pine needles, and other gunk. The trash floating would stop up the commodes. I tried not to get angry. I really just took a deep sigh and walked away.

Instead of enjoying the peace and writing, sigh... I made two trips a day to get water from my daughter in order to flush the commode twice a day. Those of you with male children understand the plight. Rarely do they flush anyway but without water they do love to remind you every five minutes, you should do something about that mom, its gonna smell. Well, duh.

Finally on Monday afternoon, I went to my daughters to hide. I showered. Blessed water. I washed clothes and cooked a hot meal. Best of all I heard another woman's voice. I thought about all those women on the plains, the endless days of loneliness while their men folk were rounding cattle, following the trail up to the rail heads and back. Doing all the work plus tending to their children. Then in the lamplight, with only the comfort of their bible, they waited.

I understand them better now. I can hear their voices calling to me telling me how lucky I am that it was only 40 long hours not months and months of darkness. I marvel at how they held body and soul together and did not kill their young. I am humbled from my beginnings and I do love a flushable commode.

Nan

AURGH..gust

2011-08-02T09:34:00.000-07:00

Tis August and the dog days are upon us. It's a time when expectations of the new school year run high and we try to clean up all that we were supposed to do over those long hazy days of June and July.

I hope you all will take some time to spend with families and watch a sunset. So with that said a new post will be coming soon.

Happy August.

Luck of the Irish...

2011-07-01T05:36:00.001-07:00

This story is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, or to any real events or places is coincidental. All rights to this story are reserved. No part of this story can be transferred, transmitted or reproduced without the written permission of the author.

Further notes all trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are property of their respective owners and are used here for identification purposes only

Luck of the Irish

by Nancy O'Berry © 2011

Maeve pulled the rough wool shawl across her shoulders and cast a cautionary glance to make sure the McKenna boys hadn't stirred from their quilted wrapped cocoons. She placed her hand against the wood of the door jam and pulled it open just enough to slip her slender frame through. In the dark of the night the soft sounds of the Dakota wind whispering through the small grove of trees near the house brought her comfort. From the darkness an old dog arose and fell in behind her footsteps as she moved toward the smokehouse. Bending down, she opened the door and felt a cold nose press against her forearm.
"Sh," she whispered to the hound. Reaching inside, she pulled a gray rucksack from the floor. Then, dropping to one knee she stroked the silken ears of the animal and looked into the warm brown eyes. "Now Odin, you'll be a good dog and stay here."
The dog's head tilted and thumped its tail upon the ground, before resting its paw upon her knee Maeve smiled. "No, you'll stay and keep them thugs that's called me brothers from following me," she whispered in a deep throaty bough reminiscent of her ancestors from County Cork.
The animal turned his head to listen, then whimpered in response. "Here now, I'll be safe." She rose, with one gentler stroke, and headed toward the path that wound through the trees along the creek to the Master's ranch. If the McKenna luck held, she'd be back by early morn and none of her brother's the wiser. Her soft leather moccasins made no sound. The sliver of silver moonlight her guide as she broke free of the tree line and skipped across the rocks that formed a natural bridge to the other side of the pasture. Maeve lifted the plain brown of her skirts and felt the brush of the grasses against her limbs.
Those cursed grasses were what brought her to Master's meadow in the dead of night, an uninvited guest to be sure. At the fence she stood and glazed at the top of the hill and wondered if it was still there. Her hands grasped the wood of the rail and she stared. They'd come to this country with all the hope and promise of streets lined with gold. Instead, they'd found the same hatred and bigotry that lived in Ireland. Only here the cruelty was match with words that said "No Irish wanted".
But, they survived. Moving west, saving what they could to put down roots in this land, hoping against hope that for once, they might succeed. Determination lined her face as she crawled through the space and yanked her sack against her. She had to go on. Higher and higher she climbed, the damp of the night's dew soaking the hem of her clothing, but not deterring her footsteps. As she reached the top of the rise, Maeve paused, her heart racing. The breeze rustled the grasses exposing a ring exposing a ring of dark stones.
Hands trembling, she put down the sack and walked to each stone pushing back the grass, to trace the image of the white crosses glimmering in the moonlight. Fairy stones! Perhaps there was still a chance. A chance to turn their luck in the right way!
Rushing back to the sack, her fingers trembling, she drew back the rope and shook out the contents. Sorting through, she rescued the leather bound book and flipped through the pages of her gram's diary to the place marked with the single red ribbon. "An untouched maid, who dances her way among the fairy stones, may break the spell upon what unhappiness dwells and bring good luck to all." Maeve glanced around the field, and then looked to the candles. This was her chance, the courage of three generations of McKenna seekers coursed through her veins. The skin along her arms pricked. There was no turning back, not now, not ever. The curse must be broken.

Part 2
Running a ten thousand acre ranch never ran smooth. But, just once, Clay Roberts sure wished it might. He slammed the ledger closed and wrapped his hand around the empty tumbler on his right. Forty more head had gone missing in the past two weeks. While it didn't round to a lot in a ranch who measured cattle in the thousands, small time rustling like this could nickel and dime him to death.
He heaved a deep sigh and pushed himself away from the desk and walked across the oriental carpet that covered the wide planked floors and made his way to the sideboard. Pausing, he poured himself a good two fingers of whiskey and slammed it back. The burn of the alcohol pressed tears against the back of his eyelids. Off in the distance, the chime of the regulator clock echoed from the darken hallway. Sadly, it brought him no comfort.
"Big man," he whispered, denoting the venom that dripped from his own mouth. "You've got the world by the tail or does it have you?"
Hand on the bottle, Clay thought about another drink. The fine cut crystal felt as cold as Penny's refusal. Nothing had gone right, not since that crazed red-headed witch had come to town. Everywhere he went, he saw those green eyes following him. She was a brazen fool. What possessed her to seek him out in the General Store and proclaim some cock and bull story about love, destiny being written in the stars. He lifted his hand. Another good measure of whiskey poured into the glass.
"Why?"
He might as well be arguing with the wind. He took a deep breath and turned. The glass moved to an inch of his open lips. He stopped. Across the room, something in the long double windows caught his eye.
"What the devil," he murmured.
His glass found the sideboard and his footsteps drew him to the image of his land. Eyes narrowed. He must be mistaken. Then, he caught it again. Like a tell-tale breath of some mystical beast, the orange glow took shape and gathered strength.
"Fire."
The word flew from his lips as he rushed from the room. Clay paused long enough to snag his jacket. Flinging the door open, he slid the coat on and rushed down the front steps toward the barn below. Banging on the bunkhouse door, his harsh commands brought the small group of cowboys inside to life.
"Fire!" he bellowed. "Fire in the west meadow!"
Racing toward the barn, he quickly tacked his gelding and led him from the stall. Outside, the yard now filled with men working furiously to load barrels into wagons and fill them with water. Their shouts made the horses nervous, adding to the reign of confusion. One man rushed past him carrying tow-sacks. Clay reached out for one slinging it across his saddle.
"Submerge them in the barrels," he ordered, as two wranglers rushed past trying to get control of a team to hitch between the traces. "Chip, Hank, saddle up and follow me as soon as the wagon's ready."
Wheeling his mount around, Clay leaped into the saddle, and sank his feet against the animal's sides as they raced into the night. Hooves thundered beneath him as he leaned against the horse's neck riding fast and low. They'd had no rain in three weeks, the grass was dry tender and one lone spark could set not only the hills, but the entire valley below aflame.
How?
He racked his brain. Leaning to the left, he took the winding trail that led up to the hills. No dry storms. No pilgrims crossing the trail and leaving hot ash to be blown by the winds. It made no sense. Yet, as he galloped closer, the smell of smoke filled his nostrils telling him it was true.
At the crest of the hill, he reined in his horse and peered down toward the growing flames. A dark shadow darted back and forth daring the fire to move forward.
"Damn, fool," he hissed through clenched teeth and raced down to help.
***
Mother of God, this wasn't supposed to happen. Maeve swung her shawl toward the greedy orange flames licking at the dry grass as if it were a piece of penny candy from the General Store. One candle had tipped as she tried to light it. She'd snuffed out the flame or so she'd thought. Yet, as she turned her back and repeated the words from gram's book in Gaelic, the damaged had been done. She raised her hand to ward off the heat as the fire's hungry fingers reached for her.
Over the crackle of the flames, she heard the thunder of horse's hooves race toward her. The animal gave a frantic neigh, and then, came the familiar sound of spurs and boots hitting the ground. A curse followed as the steps rushed forward. A hand grabbed her arm and bit deep into her skin, before swinging her around. Light from the flames illuminated the mask of deep seated anger.
"You!" Clay Roberts roared over the crackling of the flames.
Maeve yanked her arm free and stepped back. "Don't stand there, man, with your pride hanging out. Help me keep the flames from spreadin'."
Clearly caught between wanting to kill her and needing to know why, he grabbed for her again this time hauling her against his rock hard body. "We'll talk after this is out."
Maeve felt his shove push her away. Tripping over her own two feet, she stumbled back and pulled her hair from her soot-filled face. Her heart hammered against her chest, but it wasn't from fighting the fire - unless you counted the one raging beneath her skin. Her hand found her middle. She pressed back hoping to keep her stomach from falling to her feet. She took another step back and added a deep breath. Gathering her wits, she rushed back, swinging her shawl, praying this was yet another bad dream.

Part 3

The roar of the flames filled his ears as Clay waded into battle. Left hand up over his brow for protection, he used his discarded jacket to beat back the ever advancing fire. The hot breath of the blaze spread across the dry grass consuming an ever bigger portion of the range. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her rushing dangerously close to the burning grasses only to be beaten back by the heat.
"Stay back. My men will be here soon," he ordered. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew she would not heed them. Together they danced, dodging the hot ash.
Soon shouts of other men and the roll of wagons filled the air as his wranglers joined in the fight. The men of the Rocking R converged on the growing fire. "Throw me a wet sack," Clay shouted to the man standing behind the barrels, tossing the burlap to the others. He dropped his smoldering jacket as a sack flew into the air sending a shower of cool water to douse his heated skin.
Rushing forward, he joined his men in a line of defense. Moving together, slinging water, and beating out the flames they began to turn the tide of the orange sea. Advancing, retreating, they continued the macabre dance, uttering a hailstorm of oaths strong enough to make a minister blush. Concentrating on saving his grazing land, Clay forgot all about Maeve Campbell until he heard her frightened screams.
Clay paused. The scream came again from the right. He turned his head and his heart dropped to his boots. Her arms flailing, Maeve rushed away from the smoke and flames, the hem of her skirt consumed by orange. The more she ran, the faster the fire grew.
"Stand still!" he yelled. Turning to the man next to him, he snatched the wet bag from the wrangler's hand and rushed toward her.
"Stop running," he ordered.
Her screams grew louder. She turned, trying desperately to get away from the heat. Opening the wet rough cloth, he captured her in his arms and they fell to the ground, his body covering hers to further smother the flames. In order to silence her, Clay pressed his mouth to hers. As the heat melted away from his legs, suffocated by the wet burlap, another type of heat, one more consuming settled in his groin.
For a mad woman, Maeve McKenna tasted just sort of heavenly. Her cries lessened, turning into soft moans. Instead of beating his chest, her fist gathered the loose cloth of his shirt and she clung to him. Unconsciously, his lips moved over the fullness of her bottom lip, capturing it for the merest of seconds before he let it go. His chest heaving, Clay broke the kiss and pulled away.
The light from the flames danced across her face as she stared at him in wonder, her lips full from his kisses. His body hard from want, he drew his brow together and knew he should not be there, should not be doing this. Steeling his mind from desire, he turned his attention to her skirts.
Slowly, he eased his body away and sat back. He lifted the wet burlap away from her, revealing the burnt edges of her skirt and petticoat. As his heart ceased to hammer against his chest, he could hear Maeve's own rapid breaths. His eyes rolled up her frame. The sodden blanket not only smothered the flames but it transferred its dampness to her clothing, making the muslin blouse nearly transparent.
Clay closed his eyes to count to ten and swore under his breath. "Are you hurt," he asked, looking at her again.
She shook her head. A soft breeze whisked away the remaining body heat and he watched her nipples pebble. The sight sent a molten finger of desire spiraling through his body to make itself at home in his stones.
Clay glanced away and spied the blackened shawl on the ground. Leaning to the left, he snatched it up and tossed it over her upper body. "Cover yourself," he growled. Scrambling to stand, Clay helped her to sit up and draw the blackened material around her shoulders. He moved to the side and slid his arm beneath her knees. "Hold on to my neck," he commanded and drew her to his chest, then stood.
Maeve's arms held tight around him as they moved toward the wagon. He could feel the weight of her cheek against his shoulder. Even though the scent of smoke was strong, a whiff of something clean, something almost flowery washed over him. Using utmost care, Clay placed her on the back of the wagon, next to the barrels of water. Loosening his kerchief, he held it up to the wrangler staring at them. "Soak it, "he snapped.
While he waited, he looked down at the angry red mark on her ankle. "You're burned." He glanced up, their eyes met.
***
Maeve held her breath. The straight line of his mouth betrayed the anger Clay was trying to mask. She knew he'd be madder than a wet hen when she told him how the fire started. His hand came up and she shrank back.
"Here you go, boss."
She watched as he took the sodden cloth from the wrangler's hands and placed it gently against the tingling flesh. She could feel her skin quiver even though his touch was gentle.
"This is gonna hurt, but it's the best we can do till we can get you to the doctor. You are not to touch it. Not to get up. Just sit here. Do you understand?"
She could feel the rush of tears in her eyes. Instead of answering, Maeve shook her head.
"Bag," he barked.
The wrangler thrust another soaked burlap sack into his hands and he turned and walked away.
"This wasn't the way it was to turn out," she whispered at his departing figure.

Part 4

As dawn broke over the meadow, the pale yellow light revealed the damage. As far as Maeve could see, the lush green grassland had been reduced to smoldering ruins of gray ash. Dark shapes materialized over the slope, mixing with the rising trails of smoke, moving toward her like the Titans rising from the gates of Hades to rule the earth. She pulled her tattered shawl tighter about her shoulders and shivered.
They drew closer, becoming more men than beasts, and dropped their scared bags at the foot of the wagon before forming a line at her water barrel. She grabbed cup after tin cup, dipping it inside and handing it to the blackened fingers of the men. Their faces streaked with ash and dirt showed no emotion. A simple nod of a head in gratitude for her service and they moved on. She alone, knew the cause. With each wretched look cast her way, she felt her sin weigh heavily upon her shoulders.
Weary, the men stood in clusters, waiting. Their gazes drifted toward the rise and she followed them, her eyes searching for one familiar figure. The air around them filled with tension. The heavy pounding of her heart filled her ears as the seconds went by. Just when she thought she might go mad, the top of his head broke the surface of the horizon. Like a god, he began to emerge. His wide shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion; yet, he somehow managed to balance the mantle of being Lord of the Manor, demanding their respect.
She should advert her eyes. Instead, Maeve gripped the rim of the barrel for support. Her eyes widened. Even in the distance, she knew his glare focused upon her. "Saints preserve us," she muttered beneath her breath and watched as his footsteps stopped at her barrel. Head tipped back she looked up at the tall giant of a man before her.
In the dawn, his eyes looked more like the smoke rising from the earth than that of the clear blue sky. Without breaking contact, her hand reached out and grasped a tin cup. Then giving herself a mental shake, she tore her gaze away and watched as the cup dipped below the water line. The cup rose from the water, the droplets plopping back into the barrel as he spoke.
"I thought I told you to sit still."
She glanced back up. Their eyes met. She could read the anger lying just below the surface. Clay Roberts was a man who did not take kindly to having his orders disobeyed. "You-your men needed water." Her voice no more than a whispered answered him back. Then remembering what was in her hand, Maeve offered it to him. His eyes didn't release her as he took the cup. His fingers brushed hers and heat surged up her cheeks, the warmth sending a shock through her body and causing a small gasp to slip from her lips.
His eyes widened and in the distance, the cry of a hawk registered in her ears. Like that bird of prey, Clay Roberts was about to swoop in and capture her heart. His eyes bore into hers, refusing to let go as he brought the cup to his lips and drank. Spellbound, she watched the rise and fall of his Adam's apple against the blue bandana he wore knotted against his neck. Her mouth went dry. Her gaze crawled up to his strong jaw, partially hidden by the scruff of his whiskers. Her fingers twitched to wipe the drop of water that zigged and zagged through the stubble toward his chin. She gazed further, back to his eyes and watched them harden. She blinked and found the cup pushed back into her hands. Using it as a talisman, Maeve brought it to her chest as protection against his fury.
"Thank you." His voice sounded hoarse from the smoke and flames and he moved toward his men. "Tonight, your actions saved the Rocking R from the loss of its pasture. Joe will pick five men to ride the perimeter for a few hours so the rest of you can get some hot food and sleep. For the next two days we'll keep an eye out for hot spots."
Maeve watched Clay turn around and walk back toward her. She put down the cup and waited.
"How's your ankle?"
"Fine," she croaked finding her voice.
One dark brow arched in surprise. "Clint?"
"Sir?" Behind her, the wrangler hopped down from the wagon and hurried up.
"Grab yourself a horse and go for the doctor. Miss McKenna needs that ankle looked at."
Maeve took a deep breath but one fiery glance put out her desire to speak.
"Yes, sir," the drover replied.
She heard his footsteps fade away. "Me ankle's fine," she said, once again finding her voice and giving her chin a lift of defiance.
"Walk to me."
Her eyes rounded in surprise. "I'll do no such thing."
He held out his hand. "Walk to me."
Maeve dampened her lips with the edge of her tongue acutely aware of the heat that gathered along her right leg. Yet, instinct dictated she show this man no fear. Breathing harder, she turned her right foot toward him. The blistered skin protested. She took a small hobbled step, determined not to show pain, then, another. A fine sheen of perspiration began to layer her skin. Her brow knotted together and she fought against her body's refusal to obey her command.
The distance between them grew. She clenched her teeth. Just one more step, she told herself. Placing her weight on her injured ankle to move her left foot, Maeve felt the muscle tear and her ankle rolled giving way. She gasped and fell forward straight into the arms of Clay Roberts.
Ear against his chest, she could detect his heart skip a beat as he lifted her into his arms. "Madam, you will see a doctor."
Marching over to his horse, he helped her scramble into the saddle. Gathering the reins, he looked up and said. "Lean to the other side, so I can mount."
She grabbed the horn and shifted. His foot brushed hers and he swung up behind her. One hand gathered the reins. The other hand pressed a palm against her middle scooting her back against his body. Maeve's heart raced.
"Just lean against me," he murmured into her ear as the horse began to make his way back to the house on the hill that overlooked the meadow.
***
Maeve's ankle burned with an unholy fire as they pulled to a stop before the brick house. She clung to the saddle horn as Clay slipped to the ground.
"Slide down easy," he whispered.
She glanced to the left and stared into his outstretched arms. Letting go of the horn, she gave herself into the pain of dismounting and buried her face into the crook of his neck. Her skin felt as if the flames were still licking at her heels. A soft moan slipped from her lips before she could bite it back.
"Easy," he answered as he climbed the steps.
She heard the front door open and turning her head to the right, peeked from beneath the stream of red hair that lay limp against her skin.
"Heard you come up, Clay," the tall cowboy greeted them with a white apron tied about his waist.
"Get some cool water, some butter, and meet me in the guest room, Gene. Doc's on his way, but she needs some relief."
"Gotcha,"
Maeve said nothing, she caught a glimpse of the entry way and the portraits that lined the wall as he took the stairs toward the second floor.
"Where are you tak'in me?"
"To the guest room," Clay answered.
Pausing at the door, he turned so that his fingers might open the door, then pushing it back, carried her over the threshold to a room that took her breath away.
"Now, you lie still," he ordered as he put her down on the softest mattress this side of heaven.
She ran her hand over the lavender satin coverlet and thought to herself, So, this is how the other half lives. He slammed a door and she glanced up to see him moving toward her with a white gown in hand. Maeve's eyes rounded.
"Here now, I'm not that kind of girl," she protested.
Clay's footsteps stopped. "I'm not after you woman, but you can't have those nasty sooty clothes on my mother's bed or creating infection in that leg." He tossed the gown toward her and she caught it. "Change. I'm stepping out of the room."
She stared as he moved toward the door.
"Oh," he said, turning to face her. "Don't try to steal anything. I know the contents of this room."
"Steal," she said with a gasp and glared at him.
"You, Irish, are a shifty lot."
Her mouth gaped.
"You got three minutes," he ordered. She could see the fire in his eyes had returned and pulled the gown before her as protection. "Or I'll do it for you."
With that, he opened the door and left. The wood banged, rattling the pictures on the wall, next to the opening. Maeve stared down at the white cotton gown. Her chin trembled. "Mother Mary, what is he gonna think when he finds out the truth."
A shudder went through her body as she laid the gown beside her and struggled to remove her own rough clothing before he returned.

Part 5

Clay sat at his desk, to tired and exhausted to move. One thought ran through his muddled brain was why. Why had Maeve McKenna been at the fire when he showed up? Why was she on his property when he'd specifically told her not to set foot anywhere near him or it? Why? With a deep sigh, he scrubbed his face with the palm of his left hand. He needed sleep, but what he would like even more, were answers.
"S'cuse me, Mr. Roberts."
He glanced to find the cook standing in the doorway. "Thought you might need a cup of coffee."
Finally, someone with an ounce of sanity. "Thanks."
The cook crossed the room and placed the cup before him on the desk. Clay leaned to the right to open the bottom drawer.
"No need," Gene told him.
Clay glanced up to see him wiping his hands on the corner of the apron. "I all ready took the liberty seeing how you were out all night and come home with a female. Two finger's worth as always."
Keeping an eye on his cook, Clay brought the cup to his lips. The hot, black hickory brew cut the smoke and ash from his throat as it slipped his tonsils leaving behind the heady wood taste of Kentucky bourbon.
"I got the table set for breakfast," Gene continued. "I reckon the Doc will be down presently, so I set an extra place."
Listening to the cook, Clay leaned back and took another sip, this time closing his eyes letting the warmth of the liquid seep into his bones. "Good."
"You know boss, there is just one little thing that bugs me."
Clay opened one eye. "Is that so?" He couldn't stop the sarcasm that tinged his words. Gene ignored it.
"How come, you come back to the house with a woman? To be more specific, that woman. Lord knows, she cost you a heap of trouble in the past."
Both eyes opened. Clay brought his gaze around to stare at the cook.
"Now, nothing wrong with bringing home a lady, but I ain't never heard of invites to a fire."
"I did not invite, that woman."
"Then it is even more curious. Sure gonna' make some tongues waggle in town. Bound to get out you know." With that statement, Gene exited the room.
"Even my own cook," Clay grumbled. Rising from his chair, he moved from the office back toward the dining room, cup in hand. Yet, the food on his plate didn't interest him. Instead of eating, he pushed the contents around with his fork, while his thoughts swirled on a certain redhead upstairs.
"Now, you don't tell me I need to examine you, too?"
He glanced up as Doc Pritchard came into the room laying his hat and bag on a small sitting chair by the arch.
"Howdy, Doc," he half rose and gestured toward the empty seat next to him. "Come sit down and get a bite to eat. How's our patient?"
Doc Pritchard crossed to the chair he was offered. "Do not mind if I do," he replied and sat down. Pulling his napkin in his lap, he glanced to Clay. "She's in no danger. I expect in about two days she will be right as rain."
"Rain we can use," Clay grunted as he filled the doctor's cup with coffee from the pot the cook left on the table.
"It's a nasty little burn. I gave her some suave to put on it," he said, scooping eggs onto his plate. "I told her to keep it clean and come see me at the end of the week." He speared a cut of ham. "I suggested she bathe completely."
"I'll get Gene to heat some water and take the tub upstairs."
"So," the doctor gave a dramatic pause, "Just how did this fire start?"
"I have no clue."
Doc Pritchard paused. An eyebrow slowly curved toward the snow-white locks on his forehead as he chewed. "You do not know?"
Clay shifted in his chair, chaffing under the look of surprise on the older man's face. In defeat, he lifted his hand, "I saw it out the window. Called the men and rode out, where I found that Irish devil beating the flames with her shawl."
In the quiet of the room, he heard the doctor put down his fork.
"So, the girl was there when you arrived?"
"I just said that," Clay snapped.
"So you did."
He watched the doctor chew on the food in his mouth and wrinkle his forehead deep in thought. "And, did she see anything?" he asked.
Clay bristled. "According to her, no."
"Hum," Pritchard sat back. "Well, young man, you certainly have quite a mystery on your hands."
"Quite," Clay agreed sullenly.
Again, the room grew silent as the doctor completed his meal. Clay waited until he cleaned the crumbs from his face with the napkin. "When can I send her home?"
"The girl?"
"Yes," he fumed. "The girl."
Doc Pritchard chuckled. Rising from his chair, he swept back to retrieve his hat and bag. "Well, in my learned opinion, tomorrow."
"Why not today?"
Clay watched the older man's mouth twitch and grew even angrier. Damn, he was laughing at him.
"Cause she's asleep." Doc Pritchard replied. "I doubt she'll wake up till nightfall. It won't hurt to have someone else go with you to take her back either."
"Take her back," he harrumphed. "She came by way of the fence line; she can go back the same."
"Oh, yes, let those three burley McKenna brothers chew on that one," the doctor added.
Clay looked up.
"If I were you, I would have another person, like the preacher or the sheriff ride back with you. It might save you a beating."
"Beating?" Clay glanced up to the ceiling where the woman slept unaware.
"Have a good day," The doctor called cheerfully. Turning toward the opening, paused to allow Joe to enter.
Clay looked with interest as his foreman held up a grey rucksack singed and burned.
"Boss, you might want 'a see this." Joe hefted the bag so he could get a good look.
Anger rose and twisted Clay's face. Pushing back his chair, he strode to the other end of the table and met Joe as he dumped the bag on the polished wood. Something thunked. Licking his dry lips, he reached in while the foreman watched and pulled a blackened leather covered book. "Where?" His voice cracked as he turned the book over in his hands.
"About middle way of the burn, along with these."
Clay watched as he dropped two pods of melted wax on the bag. It wasn't hard to conclude what happened. Joe formed the words.
"Someone lit a candle in the meadow. The grass was so dry; it only took a small spark." He glanced up, "Looks like we got ourselves a case of arson."
A dull knot formed in the pit of his stomach as Clay placed the leather bound book on the table. "Hand me that cloth," he pointed to the napkin the doctor had left beside the plate.
Joe stepped over to grab it.
"Dip it the edge in the water glass."
"Sure."
Joe followed the directions and brought it back, handing it to Clay. the leather appeared cracked from the heat of the flames but if he was lucky perhaps some title might be found. Pressing one hand to the surface, he looked to his foreman. "Here goes." He brought the cloth over the leather journal and pressed the moisture into the leather. A something began to emerge beneath the soot. He wiped again. A few letters began to appear. "Wet this again," he told Joe and waited for the cloth. On the third swipe, three letters stamped in gold appeared. There was no mistaking the M, small c, and capital K.
"Something else you ought a know, boss. Ten head of cattle went on a midnight waltz last night."
Clay looked up. "You searched?"
"Every where possible."
Clay stared down at the letters on the book. "What are you thinking?"
"Diversion," Joe said. "We were all at the fire. What better time to take cattle."
Rage boiled up inside him. The pieces were coming together. His arms shaking, his anger so intense he wanted to put his fist through the wall. Instead, Clay replied. "Go get the sheriff."
***
It was late when Maeve awoke. It took her a few moments to realize where she was. Rocking R, yes, lord she remembered. She'd gone to the meadow to ask the wee folk for help. However, the candle turned over and set the meadow aflame. She glanced down at the bandage around her ankle. How was she going to explain the fire and her part in the affair?
"Mother Mary, I never make it easy," she whispered.
Tossing back the covers, she climbed from the mahogany bed. With the utmost care, she placed weight upon the ankle. Stiff and sore, she was surprised she could hobble about. With no robe, Maeve pulled the colorful quilt about her shoulders. In slow measured steps, she moved toward the doorway. Her hand turned the brass knob and she peered out.
The hallway on the second floor appeared empty. One hand on the wall, steadied her progress. The other kept the quilt tightly clutched at her chest. The closer she came to the stairway, the louder the voice below. She stopped to listen, their tone unmistakably angry. Fear clutched at her heart. She stopped at the landing.
"You mean to say, you think the McKenna's are behind the missing cattle around here?"
Maeve's eyes opened wide. The sheriff! Her hand let go of the wall to clutch the rail of the banister. She leaned closer, straining to hear their words.
"We found these in the center of the burn." Clay's voice rose.
Found! What did they find? Her heart flipped and sank to her feet. The rucksack, it had to be.
"We figure the girl set the fire to distract us while her brothers cut out the cattle."
Her heart pounded in her chest as she listened to the accusations being branded about down below.
"Look, right now, you got no proof." The sheriff replied.
"I got all the proof I need." Clay's voice was harsh as it echoed in the empty stairwell. "If you don't arrest them, I will take matters into my own hands."
"Is that a threat, Mr. Roberts?" Sheriff Masters asked.
"No, sheriff that is a promise."
The anger in Clay's voice cut Maeve's heart like a knife. Her mind whirled as the sounds of boots scraped the hardwood floors. Through a cloud of tears, she watched the sheriff emerge with Clay and his foreman at his flank. She should do something. Her foot slipped and she gasped as the pain rippled up her leg. Three faces turned to look at her. Caught, dead to right, Maeve had no choice.
"I did it," Her voice shook as she spoke. "I lit the candles. They fell over. I started the fire. But, it is not what cha are thinking. "
Clay's eyes turned to steel. "Sheriff, I want that woman arrested."

To be continued...

If you would like to read more of Maeve's adventures, please be sure to sign up for my newsletter and get the rest of the installments. To follow the Viorey Linger Reading Trail please copy and follow this link : http://www.voireylinger.com/index.php?p=1_27

Happy Anniversary

2011-06-30T06:40:00.000-07:00

I have a dear friend who emailed this morning, wishing me happy anniversary. You see, it's not my wedding anniversary, nor the day I became engaged, but it is the 75th anniversary of a film that defines every southern girl's inheritance, Gone With the Wind.

When you are born, people look at you in two categories, Melanie, the steadfast woman of simple beauty whose heart belonged to only one man, Ashley Wilkes, or
Scarlett, a self centered, stunning beauty that no man could resist who was determined to have the man who didn't want her at the cost of all.

Both of these women are hard role models to emulate. Yet, in my humble opinion, they are the mirrored image of what all women are, like two halves of a whole. The teenager, the free spirit before marriage is Scarlett, the composed woman with the grace of a wife and mother is Melanie. It is an ironic black and white portrait of emotions.

I can remember being introduced to someone and immediately upon speaking my accent gives me away. The gentleman laughed and remarked, "A Scarlett I presume." In all honesty, I was insulted. I consider myself more of a Melanie and yet, the more I thought about it, how exciting it would have been to be the "bell of the ball" just once. Of course, the image that popped into my mind was that of Scarlett at the ball after her husband died of measles, dancing behind the booth until Rhett pulled her out and they turned Atlanta on its ear by having a widow dance.

Hum... come to think of it. I'm always doing something wrong, turning things on its ear. Perhaps, I'm more Scarlett than I realize. One thing I have come to know. A man wants a woman like Melanie to raise his children, but in his bed, he demands Scarlett a woman who lust for life and takes what she wants damn the consequences. As a romance writer, it is the essential part of being a woman and writing those emotions.

I'll leave you today with my favorite picture. Happy Anniversary to Gone With the Wind fans everywhere.

Day Dreaming

2011-06-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

I must tell you, we've had some wonderful weather this week. Temperatures in the upper 70's, low humidity - just delightful. But, this is the south and soon that will change. Tomorrow's call is for the 90's and increased humidity. For those beyond the Mason Dixon Line it means there is no good hair day.

So a friend of mine asked where would I go what would I do otherwise. Hum? I closed my eyes and thought about it. The vision appeared ( along with Zac Brown's song Toes in the Water ). Champagne shores... so those white crystal beaches, palm trees for shade across a wide deck and there I'd sit in one of those brightly Caribbean painted Adirondack chairs possible a Turquoise blue. I'd definitely be forty pounds lighter. My emerald green bandeau bathing suit would be covered by a print gauze cloth of off white sprinkled with salmon colored Hibiscus flowers. A soft warm breeze would disturb the brim of my straw hat.

On my right, a tall glass of ice tea. You can see that tea glass covered with condensation, the rim lined with a dab of raw sugar, wedge of lemon, and a washed sprig of mint resting sideways, leaning against the glass for support so it wouldn't slip beneath the liquid. My eyes are closed as the waves gently roll to shore.

Ahh yes... toes in the water... bottom in the sand... not a worry in the world... ice tea at my hand - Life is good today... life is good today... sigh................

Have a great end of the week and love your special father this weekend.

Nature strikes again...

2011-06-13T09:43:00.000-07:00

I really don't like snakes. I know there are great for keeping rodents and other pests down - sigh- but I really hate snakes. As long as they are out doing their job, in the back field where I can't see them, I'm fine. HOWEVER, when they step outside those bounds and decide to come closer to visit the human in the house, I call out the reinforcements.

Yep, you guessed it, the other night, I had to call for back up.

It was your typical day. Hot, Humid, Hazy - those of you in the south know exactly what I'm talking about. Even ants break a sweat in those types of days. So after supper when it was a bit cooler, I thought I'd go out and rescue my baked laundry on the line. Basket firmly attached to my hip, I opened the back door and stepped onto the deck. I stepped maybe two feet from the door when something jerked me to a stop.

I suppose its that flight or fight lizard part of my brain that recoiled when it noticed it. Cause truly, I wasn't looking. But fear bolted my feet to the deck and the hair on the back of my neck rose. Mouth dry, I craned my neck and looked around to try and figure out what sounded the alarm. Sure enough, there by the doggies pool lay a huge black hose.

Yeah, it wasn't a hose. But it lay coiled past the pool for about three feet. Heart hammering, I did what every red blooded woman would do. I dropped the basket and ran back to the house. Flinging (Yes, in the south, we fling things) the door open, I cried out. "KILL IT!" And bless them, the men came to my defense.

My son who works in construction had just gotten out of the shower. Decked out in his blue camo boxers, no shirt, his Roy Rodgers cowboy boots, and John Deere hat came running from his room with his forty five in his hand. Ah Dirty Harry you would have been proud. Then husband appeared armed with a shotgun, bare-footed, jean shorts and a white t shirt. Ah no hat, it bothers his solar collector on his head.

Anyway, I now have Doc Holiday and the Outlaw Josey Wales on the deck going, "Yeah, that's a big snake."
"Man do you see it's head?"
"Naw, just cut it across the middle and get it to raise up."
All the while the dog is going toward the pool curious to all the shouting and smelling something not right. Me? Oh, I'm cowering behind the two big brave men and then they tell me to get the dog.

I go down the steps calling the dog who notices the son, Doc Holiday, climbing on the rail of the deck and turning his hat backwards to get a good shot. Tail between his legs, the dog slinks to me and we go in the garage to sit on the back steps. Moments later, its Saturday night in Tombstone. Shrieks of, "I got 'em!" "No, I got 'em!" ring across the yard. I let the dog go and he high tails it to the garden as far away as he can get from the smoke of the deadly shootout.

The six foot snake is dead and I am now safe. Doc Holiday has another notch on his gun and Josey can retreat to his inner sanctum. Me, I'm cutting the grass as low as it can go so Mr. No shoulders will find another spot to hide.

Yeah man, all in the life of living on the farm.

RIP Mr. No Shoulders

Goodbye to another hero of the range....

2011-06-03T19:21:00.000-07:00

Growing up, you could always count on two things, Friday night was meatloaf and on Monday night the world stopped revolving in the twentieth century because at 8 p.m. Gunsmoke was on. As a child, I watched it but not with the intent scrutiny of my parents. My dad watched it probably for Miss Kitty. My mom watched it for James Arness.

He wasn't a strikingly handsome actor like Clark Gable or Montgomery Cliff but his well worn face and honest expressions reminded us of our own humanity. He had a commanding impression on our small black and white T.V. and gave a good delivery of his lines that made us all believe in everything he said. I think everyone practiced the fast draw that was on the opening five seconds of the show. In fact, it was that opening scene that attracted so many of the ladies that lived in our little horseshoe. Yes, those paragons of virtue would sit around and wait for it. His pants legs first, as he moved down the street to meet the bad guys. Slowly he filled the screen. You waited while he removed the safety. His fingers spread out, wide just beyond the handle of his .45 and you held your breath as the music swelled. All the while praying that just once the heavy would lay down his weapon and go peacefully. Yeah, that's what WE thought we saw.

I think I was in my twenties with babies on the way and we were watching an episode of How the West was Won when my mother came clean. Yes, all those years I thought she was sitting peacefully beside my dad, indulging his fantasy and mine of winning the west, only to find out, the ladies were watching how round Matt Dillion's rear end was. Come Tuesday morning, when they all got together for coffee, they would lower their voices and chuckle over how it excited them. I couldn't help but laugh when she told me. The image of all those ladies fanning themselves, drinking coffee, indulging on cinnamon coffee cake discussing another man's buns still makes me laugh.

So today, when I heard of Mr. Arness' passing, I thought about those ladies I grew up with. Only two are left, but I have to wonder when they get together on Tuesday, will they discuss those days of yester- year when they watched television on Monday night's to get an eyeful of one cowboys trouser seats.

Mr. Arness, you will be missed. I think Toby Keith said it best in the lyrics of his song, I should've been a Cowboy,

"I bet you've never heard ole Marshall Dillion say
Miss Kitty have you ever thought of running away
Settling down will you marry me
If I asked you twice and begged you pretty please
She'd of said Yes in a New York minute
They never tied the knot
His heart wasn't in it
He stole a kiss as he road away
He never hung his hat up at Kitty's place"

The range you ride now, sir, is different. You may not have hung your hat up in Kitty's place, but you will be forever remembered as the sheriff of Dodge City. Thank you for 20 memorable years and a lifetime of dreams.

Musings...

2011-06-01T07:26:00.000-07:00

I'm not a big coffee drinker. Love to sit in Starbucks but I can't drink the stuff. It smells wonderful but when I put coffee in my mouth, my throat closes up refusing to let it down. Perhaps its my glasses. I've heard it said.. if you drink coffee your ears will fall off and I'd have no way to keep them on my head. What ever the reason, I am a tea drinker.

Winter or summer my day begins with a glass of ice tea garnished with lemon. I maybe bleary-eyed and grumpy till the taste of Mr. J. Lipton hits the back of my throat and cuts the dust from the back of my mouth. I savor it. Holding in for a few moments, letting the fresh citrus tingle wake my taste bugs before it cools my throat as it careens over the falls toward my gullet. There is nothing as pleasant as that.

By afternoon, the stress of the day has taken its told and I'm up for another cold glass. The day of course will end with a warm cup of tea in the quiet of my living room when the men folks have skedaddled to their beds. So, no surprise, I'm making my pitcher of tea this morning ready to head out to the deck to plan a disaster for my hero and heroine when I pause to read the back of the tea bag paper.

"Your small cup can make a big difference"... really? Well it sure flushes my kidney's ... let's read on.... "Now , when you drink a cup of Lipton tea, you are not only taking care of yourself..." Ah see the subliminal message letting me know its okay to continue to drink... "but, you a re doing a bit more to support tea growers and the environment."

Okay, my family has always drank J. Lipton. When I was little I suppose I thought he was part of the family because the box with his likeness sat on the counter watching me eat Captain Crunch every morning. If my buying a box of tea supports tea growers then lets look at how much I have contributed to the well being of the world. I am double nickles. Uh, yeah that is 55. I've been drinking tea religiously since I was at least 5 years old. At 3 glasses a day, that 1095 glasses a year so for 50 years... that's 54,750 glasses give or take a few. We buy 2, 100 bag boxes of tea every two weeks, so that's 52 boxes a year. Average cost about three bucks a box.. so in a years time that's about... $156.00 worth of J. Lipton. Now, for 50 years that means I've contributed..nearly 7,800 dollars to save the worlds tea growers, not counting tax.

Say, I think this Tea hero needs another glass.. pardon me while I pour some over the ice and sit on my back porch to ponder my next adventure. Won't you join me? Cheers!

Memorial Day.. pause to remember...

2011-05-28T09:12:00.001-07:00

Its Memorial Day weekend. When you pass a cemetery today and noticed those flags waiving in the breeze?Think of it as those who are waving at you to enjoy your trip and in the quiet of the evening to say a prayer of thanks. Day is done, Gone the sun... but their spirits remain. Thank you Veterans for all you do, all you did, and my chance to make it right tomorrow.

As Mothers....

2011-05-13T13:40:00.000-07:00

We are the gatekeepers to all that is holy. The first card with that strained effort to control the crayon as it traced the hand upon paper to every report card, gift to the tooth fairy, and of course those heart to heart talks about why so and so doesn't like me. We touched our children's lives by giving them a piece of our hearts and letting them explore.

I'm writing this today because of a bit of nostalgia that came and went yesterday. Somewhere in the late 1970's we bought a huge chest type freezer from Monkey Wards. Those of you who like me, are as old as dirt understand that I am talking about Montgomery Wards. Those of you younger think a rival of Sears or Target. So for 40 some years this freezer kept summer vegetables saved for winter feast. It kept our frozen pop-cycles on hand for reducing fever. When we had our fill of Halloween or Easter candy it would keep those containers out of sight - out of mind until we were ready to eat them again and laugh over the costumes. Well, long story short, the freezer died.

So armed with winter gloves and jackets, we pulled the trashcans in the garage and began to unload it. Cherries labeled 1991, tossed. Turkey sausage when we tried a new diet. Yeah, that didn't work either. Frozen pumpkin left over from 1998's Christmas pie extravaganza. It made a unique thump. And there, tucked away under the jalapeno peppers, he sat. Still preserved in his Walmart plastic bag, a treasured friend from 1991.

My children were four, seven and eleven and it was the last time they took an interest in snowmen. Oh,it wasn't the best of snowfalls. More ice than fluffy wet snow but here in the south it was white, frozen, and earned them a day off of school.
So out there in the wet, the rolled three balls of various size. Each child took the portion they were most cut out for. The smallest did the head, middle son the body and older daughter the base. Someone broke some pine twigs for limbs, and dug down in the driveway to get stones for eyes, nose, and a mouth. He was christened Buddy Holiday.

Buddy stayed out all night but the next day temps warmed and they became alarmed that Buddy would be like Frosty and dance away. Plotting at the kitchen table over supper, they came up with the idea to place what was left of Buddy in the chest freezer. Over the years, they'd run to the freezer, open the lid, and call out the weather to their cold hearted friend. They planned calendars. Threatened to bring him out on those horrid hot, humid, days in August or even let him celebrate the Fourth of July with sparklers.

But, as the years went by, they forgot about Buddy or brought him up only sparingly. My children are now 24, 27, and nearing 31. However when I picked up the phone and called them to ask what do they think I found, the first thing out of their mouth was Buddy Holiday. You could hear them revert to their younger self. The laughter in their voice, the awe that a mother would allow a snowman to live inside their freezer. And for one last time, they were again my babies.

I put Buddy Holiday on my well and watched him begin to slowly vanish. They called and begged me to take pictures and send to them. Which of course a proud mother did. As the sun sank in the west and night fell softly, we went inside to give Buddy his privacy.

My daughter showed her son the picture and he asked why a snowman was in his Nana's yard in May. She told him the story. Someday, there will be another fine snow and she will make a snowman with her children. If they are lucky, they'll talk her into putting their frozen creation into the freezer. And in the dark of the night, when I am no longer here, they'll laugh and smile remembering what fun we had when snow fell in the south and a snowman was born.

Spring has finally setting in to Virginia

2011-05-07T11:12:00.000-07:00

After weeks of Mother Nature wavering between the return of winter and full blown summer, she has settled into a soft pattern that has laid lawns and fields in sparkling emerald green. I think it must have been the color that has inspired my new short story, Luck of the Irish.

So today I'm introducing my story to my blog readers. I hope you will enjoy it. If you haven't joined my newsletter group, please do they will be getting the newest chapter next week sometime.

For all those mothers, old and new, Happy Mother's Day.

Luck of the Irish

© Nancy O'Berry 2011

Maeve pulled the rough wool shawl across her shoulders and cast a cautionary glance to make sure the McKenna boys hadn't stirred from their quilted wrapped cocoons. She placed her hand against the wood of the door jam and pulled it open just enough to slip her slender frame through. In the dark of the night the soft sounds of the Dakota wind whispering through the small grove of trees near the house brought her comfort. From the darkness an old dog arose and fell in behind her footsteps as she moved toward the smokehouse. Bending down, she opened the door and felt a cold nose press against her forearm.

"Sh," she whispered to the hound. Reaching inside, she pulled a gray rucksack from the floor. Then, dropping to one knee she stroked the silken ears of the animal and looked into the warm brown eyes. "Now Odin, you'll be a good dog and stay here."
The dog's head tilted and thumped its tail upon the ground, before resting its paw upon her knee Maeve smiled. "No, you'll stay and keep them thugs that's called me brothers from following me," she whispered in a deep throaty bough reminiscent of her ancestors from County Cork.

The animal turned his head to listen, then whimpered in response.

"Here now, I'll be safe." She rose, with one gentler stroke, and headed toward the path that wound through the trees along the creek to the Master's ranch. If the McKenna luck held, she'd be back by early morn and none of her brother's the wiser. Her soft leather moccasins made no sound. The sliver of silver moonlight her guide as she broke free of the tree line and skipped across the rocks that formed a natural bridge to the other side of the pasture. Maeve lifted the plain brown of her skirts and felt the brush of the grasses against her limbs.

Those cursed grasses were what brought her to Master's meadow in the dead of night, an uninvited guest to be sure. At the fence she stood and glazed at the top of the hill and wondered if it was still there. Her hands grasped the wood of the rail and she stared. They'd come to this country with all the hope and promise of streets lined with gold. Instead, they'd found the same hatred and bigotry that lived in Ireland. Only here the cruelty was match with words that said "No Irish wanted".

But, they survived. Moving west, saving what they could to put down roots in this land, hoping against hope that for once, they might succeed. Determination lined her face as she crawled through the space and yanked her sack against her. She had to go on. Higher and higher she climbed, the damp of the night's dew soaking the hem of her clothing, but not deterring her footsteps. As she reached the top of the rise, Maeve paused, her heart racing. The breeze rustled the grasses exposing a ring exposing a ring of dark stones.

Hands trembling, she put down the sack and walked to each stone pushing back the grass, to trace the image of the white crosses glimmering in the moonlight. Fairy stones! Perhaps there was still a chance. A chance to turn their luck in the right way!

Rushing back to the sack, her fingers trembling, she drew back the rope and shook out the contents. Sorting through, she rescued the leather bound book and flipped through the pages of her gran's diary to the place marked with the single red ribbon. "An untouched maid, who dances her way among the fairy stones, may break the spell upon what unhappiness dwells and bring good luck to all." Maeve glanced around the field, and then looked to the candles. This was her chance, the courage of three generations of McKenna seekers coursed through her veins. The skin along her arms pricked. There was no turning back, not now, not ever. The curse must be broken.

Happy Reading,

Nancy

When things go wrong...

2011-04-16T06:27:00.000-07:00

I'm doing all those exciting things authors or want-to-be writers do, laundry, dusting, moping. Oh, the life of a "domestic diva" right?

Yet, in the middle of my well planned chaos, the weather radio breaks into a blaring beep to announce severe weather. So, I pause and go down my "mom" check list to make sure all is secure.

So, you might ask, what does this have to do with writing?

Well, sometimes, no matter how well we plan sh* t happens. You know what I'm talking about. You have your outline. Your characters are chatting working well together and all of a sudden - ZIP! ZAP! BOING! The story turns or your mind goes blank and you look at your manuscript wondering what happened.

Instead of your motherly checklist, it's time to pull out the arsenal in your writer's toolbox.

First, if you've written yourself into a corner - step back. Push your chair away from the computer screen and hide the delete key. Remember only a written manuscript can be fixed. Do not delete. Go off dust, take a walk, and terrorize your cat by trying to interest him or her in a toy. If you are away from the screen or your source of stress, the idea might come to you.

Another strategy is to pull out all those index cards or posty notes and look at a way of rearranging them. Is there a new or better out come? Can I create a turn that will cause my characters to really grow and change for the better bringing their relationship full circle?

Or after letting it rest, re read the part, chapter, first half, whatever you've done. I've been known to print the offending pages out and go outside under a tree with my purple pen and tweak.

Whatever you do, remember all disasters can be cleaned up. Yes, like anything else it takes hard work. But, we're writers and that's what we do. Hang in there.
Ok, time for me to crawl under the kitchen table and wait for the storms to pass. I know it's going to be ok, cause I have faith in me.

The kiss...

2011-03-24T08:17:00.001-07:00

The lyrics from "As Time Goes By" say that "a kiss - is just a kiss," but as any romance reader knows, that kiss is all important in setting the stage for the romance to follow.

Romance writers use a kiss to convey a variety of things:

a: innocence of your heroine

b: the awakening of passion between hero/heroine

c: need to and desire for the ultimate union of two people

d: the dreaded goodbye

It seems so easy in the movies, guy meets girl, they look into each others eyes, they kiss, love blooms. But, when writing, authors don't have the luxury of frame after frame of visual stimulation giving rise to idea of love. It must be done with words to draw the reader in, connect with their real life experiences, and stimulate emotion. A lot of work for just "and they kissed".

Authors know their readers seek the desired touch, then followed by the joining of lips, that's why they picked up the book in the genre of romance. Even in suspense, we need that bit of humanization. And while it is expected for the reader to bring their first hand knowledge of a kiss to the book with them, our words must paint the picture, help to release the endorphins in the brain, so that desire can occur.

I can't imagine Clark Gable and Vivianne Leigh just walking on the set of Gone With the Wind and creating the famous kiss fleeing Atlanta just before they reach home. (Hum, wait - it was Gable - perhaps he did). Like any other scene in a movie, it was blocked movement by movement, rehearsed, noted where close ups would be taken in order to get the full effect by the camera. Writers must do the same. We must block in our movements, rehearse through revision, and in the text leading up to the pucker, create the noted back story and sexual tension.

We will be talking more about the kiss, the clench, the brush off in the coming weeks. What you might want to do until we meet again is look over the book you are reading and place a posty to mark the places where hero/heroine kiss. Then, look at your own work. Do your words measure up? If not, perhaps some more revisions are necessary to make your work a contender.

DUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

2011-02-22T06:52:00.000-08:00

I'm having one of those Homer Simpson head slapping moments. A child of the 60's and please don't calculate age, just know that AARP sends me notices once a week, I grew up on Television. So I view things as either a situation comedy or a drama. I've been writing as these wonderful screen writers taught me.. duh it doesn't work for romance.

So after so much debacle here is my insight. Ok, when writing romance, I shouldn't do anything from secondary characters POV. I think that's where I'm making my mistakes. I need to stay in the head of my hero or my heroine. However, (didn't you always hate that about rules in English) actions of secondary can move Hero or Heroine toward their realization of love and toward that pivotal moment where they fish or cut bait.

Keep that on a posty next to your computer!

That is all now back to the woman's writer cave for more gnashing of words and breaking of fingernails.

Nan

Are you writing?

2011-02-04T08:39:00.000-08:00

If you haven't already started your writing, now is the time. The year is fresh, editors have cleaned off their desks, and they are diligently awaiting the arrival of YOUR manuscript. If you check out Cascade Literary's blog or many others, you have been given lots of tips on how to start, how to managed, and how to edit your wonderful stories. Now, comes the hard part. Its called sit your arse in the chair and write.

The world of block buster novels and award winning authors are littered with the bones of those who can not carry through. This is as the old slogan for tires goes "where the rubber meets the road" . You have to manage the time you spend pitted against the time life gets in the way. You can write all the management plans, jot down the lofty ideas, however if you don't sit and focus at the computer, you still only have blank pages.

So, get your date planner and look down. Find the day to begin. Think about the time you write best. I'm either an early morning person or after dinner writer. From noon to suppertime is when my phone rings, husband comes for lunch, tutoring students arrive - not to mention my job as chief bottle washer, cowboy, cat wrangler, dog catcher, and chef. All of which pull me out of the moment and away from my manuscript.

But, that morning time is golden. I've got the dishes done. I can stand at my counter or sit at the computer desk and hand write my next chapter. The afternoon, I can tweak, add to, note where to change passages, do all but grammar check . Then, after the chaos stops at night between 9 and 12, I can type in and embellish. I'm still the nervous writer that puts in capital letters "WRITE SEX SCENE HERE" and make sure no child is going to look over my shoulder or no husband will say, let's experiment with this. ( Lots of eye rolling goes with that statement considering my youngest is the ripe age of 23).

How much do I consider a worth while daily progress. I like to write about 1500 words a day give or take a hundred. I love the days my husband works late and I can hit 3000k. Those are golden days and now saved til Fridays when I have no tutoring students. Remember to treat this as a job. If you must, let the answering machine pick up the calls. I have a friend who even employs her mp3 player with ear phones so she doesn't hear the phone. I'm not sure I wouldn't be singing along and typing in the lyrics, but it works well for her. DO what you must to REACH your GOAL. Because in the end, that award winning novel won't write itself.

Diggin myself out.

2011-01-14T08:14:00.001-08:00

We all know the south has been hit with tremendous snow and ice, while I have found myself buried in a maze of insurance mumbo jumbo.

On December 11th I was involved in an automobile accident. A person pulled in front of me to make a left hand turn. Needless to say, my car is - nope scratch that - was totaled. This one random act has changed my life.

I find it very hard to concentrate now and in that sense, my ability to put out timely newsletters has suffered. We take for granted that we can sit down and let our fingers fly across the keyboard, transmitting thoughts to letters, then to images. Yet, let stress mix into the picture and suddenly the images become fleeting, the ability to focus for indefinite periods of time vanish.

Over one month into this, no car, no resolution, nothing. The more I try to take charge the harder the insurance companies work against me. I'm finding it amazing how quickly they want their material, then how long it takes them to get back to you. I cry more easily. I get very frustrated. I feel in the space of going on 6 weeks I have become a has been.

I hope this stops soon. I'm tired of it all.
The merit of insurance should be - how quickly they come to your aid and those involved NOT by how much they can cheat you, or figure a way to deny you what puts you back on your feet.

I'm sure dealing with another insurance company, they must protect their client. But really, even when you claim responsibility. If you've done so "man up".

I should learn patience from this. I may turn the other cheek but do not plan on kicking my a**.

HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!!

2010-12-31T19:43:00.001-08:00

WELCOME IN 2011 AND SEE YA 2010...

May your lives be longer, your pocket's richer, and your friend to plentiful to count. Take a drink to the loves of your youth, the prince of your old age and may you have gotten the better end of the deal!

Southern Treats

2010-12-26T11:32:00.001-08:00

As most of you know, here below the Mason Dixon Line we rarely get snow. I'm sure by know the tweeters, the Weather channel, even your local news is talking about the blizzard that is occurring in Dixie. Indeed, I believe there must be some law about it because it happens so rarely. Yet, a once every 30years snow is now happening. It has been snowing since 7p.m. last night and with about a foot on the ground, my better half and I began discussing the merits of snow cream.

Now, any southerner worth his salt will tell you, you can't eat the first snow of the season. That snow is loaded with germs and impurities. That's why this snow fall has created such delight. It is actually the 4th snowfall of our season and by afar the most perfect. What makes it perfect?

Well, a perfect snowfall must contain moisture so that it clumps well together. Clump fact is needed to build those lovely snowmen or to make the hardest snowballs. If the snow doesn't clump, its like trying to build a sandcastle without damp sand. It falls.

This snow is just right. You can feel it beneath your feet the push of the flakes beneath the soles of your shoes. It rounds up under the ball of your foot, arching, pushing back against you. With this type of snow, a distinct southern treat can be made. I'm sure Paula Dean has already put out her recipe for this but I'm going to give mine to you now.

Snow cream. ( Yes a frozen custard if you will )

Need the second snow of the season. Damp clumping snow to make cream

In pot, combine
3/4 cup of white sugar
1 can of eagle brand condensed milk
1 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla
2 eggs.
over low heat beat until sugar dissolves in mixture.
Remove from heat. Then take at least a gallon of snow or a huge stew pot filled with packed snow from a source off the ground ( Remember, in the land where the huskies go, don't you eat that yellow snow ) Yes, it must be high off the ground so animals can not have used your um ingredient.
Scoop snow into room temperature cream mixture. Continue to scoop in and stir until all snow has been used up and coated with cream. Then eat.
Nectar of the gods I tell you!

YUM.

Playing it safe for the holidays

2010-12-14T06:21:00.000-08:00

You hear it said, Most accidents happen near home. It's true.

I used to scoff at that remark. It can't happen to me. I've live here for going on 43 years. I know the people on my street. I'm a careful driver and above all I wear my seatbelt. Yep, all good thoughts until late Saturday afternoon.

As usual during the season, the girls in our writing group get together at a friends house for lunch and exchange gifts. So it was that I went and on the way home, the unthinkable happened. I was driving along and I noticed a car pulling to the end of its drive way. It paused. I don't know if it was a sixth sense or just that I haven't encountered too many people coming out of those driveways. I remember taking my foot off the gas and holding my breath.

I've never been in anything as horrible. I've experienced my father dying in my arms, holding my mother's hand as she went to join him. But this is more a nightmare. I know I will recover. I know that had I not been wearing my safety belt, I would surely have joined the number of red lights on the holiday safety tree. I can not thank the emergency personal enough. Those first responders must treat injuries as well as hand hold. Let me not forget the good Samaritans who came out of their houses to comfort both of us until help could arrive.

So, today, I play your mother. Do not get in a car without buckling up. Click it for Life. Think of it as a hug from your family that will allow you to arrive at your destination safe and secure, then return home the same way. BUCKLE UP and Happy Holidays.

Oh, to be a writer

2010-11-28T08:44:00.000-08:00

In school we hated it or rather loathed to be told what to write. But as we aged came the wisdom to know that writing is an unique artistic form and when done well can entertain generations.

I don't know where I was during the grammar part of education. I think I must have been zapped up by alien space travelers and whisked away. For I am so very dyslexic when it comes to commas, semicolons, and dangling participles. (Don't they have medication for that?) Anyway, my family was and is still surprised that it's my dream to write stories. Why? Because what is published today leaves me wanting in some respects.

I crave action, adventure, romance on a grand scale. Take me to another world, another time, transport me to the heroine's point of view,and let me hear the strong voice of the hero in my mind. If I find myself as a writer yearning to see these things in the next sentence or next chapter of my own work, I think I've done it well.

Then, today I had to laugh at myself. A dear friend brought be back to life by sending me "MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY" all ready on UTUBE. Please watch. Perspective writers, please listen. Children the next time you see your mother, do not laugh in her face - behind her back is acceptable.

Thank you.

(You may have to cut and paste. You want to be a writer)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9fc-crEFDw&feature=player_embedded

Welcoming Victoria Grey and her latest release!

2010-11-22T06:21:00.000-08:00

My new release, Angel in My Arms, is the story of Amanda Emerson, a Union spy undercover in Richmond, and Union officer Steve Dunham, the man she enlists in the daring rescue of a double agent from a Confederate prison and imminent execution. As the danger surrounding them thickens, every moment he’s with her jeopardizes their lives, but they discover a passion that’s worth the risk.

Meet the hero and heroine:

Steve Dunham, the hero in Angel in My Arms, is built like a Viking, has a twinkle in his eye, and he’s got guts. Best of all, he’s the kind of man who’s had his share of women, but when he falls, he falls hard and forever. A seasoned Union operative, he faces danger on a daily basis, but when the woman he loves is threatened, he’ll stop at nothing to keep her safe.

Amanda Emerson, the heroine, is a sable-haired beauty who joined up with a nest of Union spies living in Richmond. She’s skilled at deception, but when she falls for the handsome spy she’s drawn into their latest scheme, there’s no way to hide her feelings. Amanda’s gutsy and tender, a woman who doesn’t even realize how beautiful she is. She doesn’t want to fall for Steve – their love puts both in danger – but some tides are too hard to fight.

What’s Next:
I’m currently finishing Against All Odds, a sequel to Angel in My Arms. The story features Kate Sinclair, a beautiful Union spy who’s part of the Richmond spy ring, and Will Reed, a Confederate officer whose love for Kate draws them both into a web of treachery and betrayal more dangerous than the fields of war.

Other Works:

If readers enjoy Angel in My Arms, I hope they’ll check out Destiny, Steve’s partner’s story. Jack Travis is a by-the-book Cavalry officer until he receives unusual orders: kidnap the daughter of a powerful United States senator. His captive is intelligent, headstrong, beautiful – and forbidden. He risks his neck to protect her. But how can he protect her from himself?

Contact me at:
www.victoriagrayromance.com www.victoriagrayromance.blogspot.com

Here’s an Excerpt:

Amanda closed her eyes and savored his possession. How could anything feel as good as his lips against hers? With his arms wrapped tight
around her, she felt as though nothing could penetrate the tender shield of his embrace.
Wanting him was wrong. He was little more than a stranger. A man she’d teamed with for a mission. He was supposed to be nothing more.
But he’d filled her heart.
His handsome face captivated her all the more for its tiny imperfections. A small scar on his chin. The small bump at the bridge of his nose that told the tale of a long-ago break. Another scar, much more recent, on his jaw that looked to be the result of a man’s ring connecting with his flesh and bone.
He was a warrior. Her warrior. Fierce. Tender. Courageous. Protective.
“You’re so beautiful, Mandy.” His lips trailed the column of her throat.
She nestled against his broad chest. He smelled like bay rum and pine and leather. She’d never realized how tantalizing the scents could be. Mingled with his natural essence, the blend of aromas touched something deep and primal within her. She couldn’t resist the scent. Or him.
He took her hands in his. A sly smile curved his mouth as he studied her. “Such sweet temptation. The question is where to begin.”
She’d wasn’t an innocent, but she’d never experienced the heat of a man’s gaze drinking her in as though she were a fine wine to be savored. When Steve looked at her, she felt wanted.
Desired.
Loved.
Ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly love her.
But he hungered for her touch. That would have to be enough. After all, she didn’t love him.
Keep telling yourself that, Mandy.
She couldn’t love a man she barely knew.
Even if she longed for his scent. For his touch. For the moment when he’d claim her.
Even if she prayed he’d come to his senses and leave her before the rebels captured him and dragged him away to prison. Or a noose.

A worthy advisary

2010-11-06T08:43:00.000-07:00

There's nothing I enjoy more than a good villain, unless it's besting a good villain. Often when we right we are so consumed about what our heroine or hero looks like we leave our bad guy or girl to the reader's imagination. Not good. As a writer you want your reader to boo and hiss at the villain just as one would at a penny opera. So, put on your thinking caps and give your readers that mental picture.

His attributes should be as interesting as your hero. Remember not all villains are dark and swarthy. Some may be blonde, blue eyed and cunning. Perhaps they are skilled at getting into a woman's bed or coaxing the information from her lips by plying her senses with kisses and flowery speech.

When I wrote A Ranger's Honor, I wanted a card shark. He needed to be just as glib as Rhett Butler and as dangerous as a rattlesnake. Instead of giving him a dark appearance, I wanted him to be like the blond Adonis with a cold heart. So I painted this lovely picture of a man bent on acquiring an empire off the misfortunes of others. Here is an example of Yellow Jack Anderson the notorious card shark of Cold Creek, Texas.

“Your coffee, sir,” he replied, tipping the metal pot, to poured the cup full, and then disappeared.
In the silence, Yellow Jack spread the white cloth napkin across his pinstriped trousers, smoothing the linen from left to right while making sure both sides were equal. His manner was impeccable. Yellow Jack detested an unkempt man. He knew what image he wanted to give and dressed the part. A second glance out the window caught his reflection. Again, the instinctive motion to smooth any hair out of place took over. He looked good - like a white man, not the half-breed his linage indicated.
A movement stirred and caught his interest. Yellow Jack watched as a wagon moved toward the deed office. His eyes narrowed as they focused on the occupants - a woman with a blue bonnet and a man in work clothes. A pastoral scene artist would claim. Under Yellow Jacks glare, they exchanged words. The farmer leaned over, and beneath the brim of her calico headdress, no doubt, left a kiss. How touching, he thought.
The right side of his cheek twitched. Fools, he wanted to laugh. They wouldn’t stay long. The soil may bend to a plow, but it would not hold the seed past the second, the third or fourth year. This was cattle country, not farmland. Even now, the great cattle companies of Texas were finding it hard to eke out a measurable living in the dry climate.
“Sir, your food.”
Yellow Jack lifted his hands, allowing the man to deposit the platter of steak, eggs, and potatoes before him.
“Thank you,” Yellow Jack murmured, picking up the knife and fork.
Again alone, he pressed the sharp edge of the knife to the darkened meat. A faint tinge of blood oozed to the surface. His tongue darted out, ready to taste the warm red liquid. His nostrils flared at the odor, a smell he would never forget. Spearing the meat, Yellow Jack’s thoughts turned to ways to alleviate the widow from her land. Yes, the game was afoot. With Frank Prentiss gone, nothing seemed to stand in his way.

From A Ranger's Honor by Nancy O'Berry.
Who ever your villain becomes, do him the dignity of bringing him to life! A good villain is a work of art.

The looming Black Moment.

2010-10-30T16:28:00.000-07:00

I hate it.
I know its coming.
I can't put it off any longer.

I've spent the past three months working on rebuilding the budding relationship between my Hero and my Heroine, now, I must destroy it.

How sad that a love just starting to rebloom is about to be ripped from the heart. I know they will get back together because its romance. I need that Happily Ever After. Yet, somehow, it hurts to do this.

It will be public.
It will be degrading, yet it must be done. She has to learn what she holds dear is worth fighting for. How sad her public humiliation. She will lose face in front of her family, his family, and many members of the town. But it must be. I've danced around this now for about 6 weeks. I've tweaked and honed certian scenes. Now, I must face the music.

Bare with me gentle reader. I do have my box of tissues. I am girding my loins to make it strong. Sniff. Into battle I go. For the Black moment must appear as if all is lost.

I'm working on a new character...

2010-10-22T07:49:00.000-07:00

I'm finishing up one book and now thinking about the hero in my new novel. He won't be a lawman, this time my hero is a rancher. A good man, good son, and brother but I need things more than just "good". So I pull out some of my little tricks from working with children and writing. I put in the picture and start writing around it what comes to mind when I think of this gentleman.

I use single words first....

CONFIDENT
CAUTIOUS
DANGEROUSLY HANDSOME
STRONG
EXPERT
SWEET
TRUSTWORTHY
TALL
MALE
LEADER
BROAD SHOULDERED

Then short phrases

"Not a big talker, saves his breath for breathing"
"Complaining is what quitters do"
"A cowboy is always worth his salt"
"Be a man and give your enemy a fighting chance"
"A cowboy is loyal to his 'brand' his friends, his woman"
"His word is his bond"

Once I know his make up I can work on physical descriptions. I also remember that this is a on going project things can always be added to flesh out his true identity. So this is my goal today to get Shawn McCormick fleshed out. He's got big boots to fill, Tisha Ross is counting on it.

Monday, Monday

2010-10-11T03:57:00.000-07:00

The weekend has drawn to a close and with it another week begins. I'm up early. The sweet yellow cat(being so sarcastic here) pounced on my middle about 5:30 a.m since I did not respond to his purring and demanded his food. Rather than go back to bed like a normal person, I've decided to get started and work on revising a chapter in my WIP.
So, I'm up, wiping the sleep from my eyes and getting my life in order to write.

Writing takes discipline. No book is ever written on an idea. Your thoughts can't crawl onto a page without placing pen in hand and applying muscle pressure to move it across the page, or across the screen. So set aside an hour to write. I prefer to write during the day sometimes in the early mornings, but mostly late afternoons. I begin by placing a few new ideas down that I will expand on later. Then I work do my house work or prepare for my other job mulling over the ideas. Later in the day, I will take what I call MY TIME and write.

Those who are able to write as a profession view it as a job. They clock in. I do the same by keeping a day planner open. I write down my starting word count and my ending word count. I take time Saturday evening to add up my accomplishments for the week and at the end of the month, I see progress.

So, if you are contemplating writing, begin with your idea. Write down on paper, note cards, sticky notes what ever works for you. Then set aside time to work. Let your family know this is "Your time" and give yourself at least 90 minutes to be productive. You don't have to put down 5000 words a day. Yes, it would be nice. But remember novels are built on words. Any words put down is progress. It may come in spurts or long drafts but make sure you take time to write, to journal, to think. Its an amazing experience.

Catch my guest blog.

2010-10-08T07:48:00.001-07:00

I'm over at Victoria Gray115 today as a guest on her blog. Come on over and have a look see at the stories I'm peddling and leave a comment, follow the blog and you'll be entered in Victoria's October contest. http://victoriagrayromance.blogspot.com

A Halloween Collection Anthology

2010-10-05T13:03:00.001-07:00

~Sweet stories to satisfy your romantic cravings~

Stimulating stories to satisfy your romantic cravings

The Curse of Tempest Gate by Karen Michelle Nutt
Clarity Shaw, a reporter for Unbelievable Finds, seeks answers concerning the curse of Tempest Gate Cemetery. Warnings from the Bed and Breakfast’s receptionist and an old man only make her more curious. Determined to get her story, Clarity ventures into the old cemetery.
Even though she is tied to the legends surrounding Tempest Gate through her ancestry, Clarity does not believe in the paranormal. She intends to collect the local versions of the stories, take some photos, and be on her way.
A beautiful sculpture in the cemetery, a stone angel warrior, draws her attention and her admiration. Could this be the Archangel Michael? Then she finds out more than she bargains for when she sits in the devil’s chair on the eve of Halloween. Two entities need her for their own personal reasons, but only one will demand her heart.

Always and Forever by Cheryl Pierson
At a children’s Halloween carnival, a Gypsy fortuneteller predicts a new love for both Cindy and Gage. When the two meet over a poorly carved pumpkin, love flickers to life and the stars begin to align.
But the odds of finding a new love later in life seem insurmountable and the prophecy seems too good to be true. After all, Gage has been burned before and Cindy doesn’t believe in fortunes or second chances.
Will doubt overshadow their attraction or has love already been set in motion? Can the star-crossed pair put their faith in the love that was foretold? Can they believe in each other?

Conceived in Darkness by Laura Shinn
Prince Orekon is out of time and out of solutions. He must mate and he only has until sunrise in three days or he will lose his throne. The alternative would be disastrous for his people. The females from his world of Astovia are lovely and willing, but his heart remains cold. There is not even one among them who wants to discover the heart within the beast. And Orekon refuses to mate with just any female available. He wants a female who will join with his heart as well as his body.
Music is Kathryn Schaffer’s life and passion. It’s the only thing in her life that keeps her going, waiting for each performance. When a strange man in a corridor holds her captive from behind, Kathryn is momentarily terrified. Until his touch softens and he whispers words of passion and love in her ear. Knowing she will never experience those emotions in her entire life, Kathryn takes a chance and opens her heart to a stranger.
However, falling in love is never easy and trials and challenges await back on Astovia for the mated couple. Orekon is confident in his ability to maintain the throne, but Kathryn is in a world unlike her own. Will she find a way to win over the hearts of the Astovian people as she did with Orekon?

A Haunting Love by Rebecca J. Vickery
Trudy thinks she must have lost her mind by agreeing to house-sit a huge, old, Victorian mansion during Halloween week. Lights switching on and off along with odd noises lead her to meet a certain, handsome police officer named Simon. The attraction is mutual and undeniable. Maybe the scare was worth the chance to go out with this guy.
When odd things at the old house continue, Mina, Trudy’s best friend and partner in a vintage clothing shop, teases her about having a poltergeist. Deciding she can deal with that better than an actual person out to do her harm, Trudy relaxes a bit—until the ghost takes over on Halloween, revealing a curse and an ancient, haunting love.

There's a new Anthology in Town...

2010-10-03T07:58:00.000-07:00

It's Halloween! And just in time for those ghost and goblins comes a new epress with a collection of delicious stories to make us shiver and keep us on the edge of our seats. Recently I sat down with one of the publisher of Victory Tales Press. This week we'll be seeing what they have in store for us.

A Halloween Collection Anthology
~Sweet stories to satisfy your romantic cravings~

Go on Without Me by Markee Anderson

Lydia Sanders is so lonely she dresses as a cat for Halloween and goes to a bar with a friend. She misses her boyfriend who died in a robbery the year before. Her brother’s new partner on the police force, Ian Thomas, meets Lydia at the bar. Her brother asked him to check up on her. Worried about her depression, Ian takes her for a drive in the rain to talk… But his car dies on a deserted road. They hike to a house where a strange, old woman lets them in to use her phone, but it doesn’t work. Halloween… At midnight…in a scary house? Lydia hopes it’s just a nightmare. But something’s going on, she’s sure, as the hair on her neck rises.
A man enters the room and the woman introduces him as her grandson. Eerily like Lydia’s dead boyfriend, he frightens her even more. Can this strange Halloween get any weirder?

Honor Cafe by Charlotte Raby

Adrianne has made it her life's work to run a non-profit cafe for the homeless because she knows what it means to be hungry and alone. She expects to remain alone until Simon walks through her unlocked door after hours. He intrigues her with his chivalric language and desire to stay hidden in the dark, but she needs to know more if he wants her love.
Living as a cursed vagabond for years has not prepared Simon for his powerful feelings for Adrianne and the danger in which those feelings put them. Their love could be his salvation, or their deaths. To try to save her life, he must leave her with his secret intact, but will he have the strength to walk away?

Halloween Witness by Rita Hestand

When the local town drunk sees a murder committed in the cemetery on Halloween night, will anyone in Haleyville pay any attention to his story? After all, the one he saw kill a woman was George Newman, the most respected citizen in town. Clooney, the drunk, hesitantly goes to Sheriff Joe about it. Knowing Joe to be a stickler for the facts, he figures he’ll investigate at least.
Joe is engaged to George's daughter, Elizabeth, and doesn’t want to believe Clooney. But the old man describes things in such detail and seems so shook up Joe feels it’s his duty to investigate the story.
At the cemetery they do indeed find a grave and dig it up. Joe is suddenly faced with the job of solving the mystery and how to avoid losing the love of his life. It's a harrowing Halloween night in Haleyville.

The Memory Charmer and the Boy Next Door by Christine E. Schulze

Imprisoned in a basement, at the mercies of an oddly powerful incubus, Elissa tries to escape many times. But the giant tarantula guards his master’s toy well. She fears she will eventually cease to exist at the hands of this Musician who steals her memories. The pain increases with every encounter.
Then a glimmer of hope appears. A boy moves in next door who knows things—secrets from the very heavens. The boy speaks of Elementals and Shooting Stars and wondrous things she’s never dreamed of. But the Musician knows of him and guards her even more carefully. Can this boy help her escape on All Hallow’s Eve? Or will the incubus destroy him too?

I Love Pie by Kate Kindle

Tony Gsullo, a burnt-out-on-life New Yorker, takes an unexpected autumn trip to the country with a friend. On the side of the road he sees a haunting sight. A beautiful woman stands poised on the roadside, seemingly in a trance. When the men stop to offer assistance, she flees into the woods.
When they rent a room in town, they discover there are some odd occurrences and secrets in the small town of Saranac Lake. At a large mansion on the outskirts of town, Tony once again meets the beautiful woman from the side of the road. Their attraction is instant, but Darla is married to a doctor, one of the most prominent men in the community.
Something is definitely wrong, Tony decides, when he sees the doctor strike his lovely wife. Then news of a young woman’s disappearance adds to his unease. His concern for Darla and her daughter drive him to take action. Halloween in Saranac Lake will never be the same.

Look for more about this anthology all this week.

Your Biggest Fan by Sharon Donovan

2010-09-28T05:19:00.001-07:00

Pages 278) Sensual

ISBN: 1-60154-813-3

Author, Sharon Donovan,has a winner

Her latest book `Her Biggest Fan' from The Wild Rose Press has just released. I'd like introduce you to this fantastic romantic thriller. It is a truly thrilling read, with `edge of the seat' moments, and the thread of a tender romance running all the way through. Reviews have been great! Check out the book for more information by following the link below. It's awesome!

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/her-biggest-fan-p-4234.html?zenid=f3c41bab65e544378926cef26195f5e8

Here's the blurb and a short excerpt:

BLURB:

From the shadows of the woods, he keeps vigil. The stage is set to drive the pretty little princess insane. He's coming for her. And when he catches her, he'll pounce on her like the big bad wolf.

After receiving a disturbing fan letter, New York Times best-selling author Tess Kincaid flees to the New England home she's inherited following her father's death. The manor has been tainted, every room staged to resemble the way it was in its glory days. However when Tess calls the police, the chilling props vanish into thin air.

Ruggedly handsome Sheriff Mike Andretti is called to investigate the reported burning candles, dancing gargoyles and otherworldly events. When he discovers no trace of the eerie setting, he finds himself caught between duty and desire. Is the woman with the bewitching green eyes delusional or is this a trap of twisted wit set by a demented fan?

EXCERPT:

Cool air drifted out of the ballroom, carrying the scent of burning candles and cigarettes.

Music floated through the corridor, the seductive undertone hauntingly familiar.

The music was hypnotic, mesmerizing. Tess could barely think over the loud beat of her heart. Every sense screamed to beware. She was about to come face-to-face with her stalker, her biggest fan. But over the hammering of her heart and accelerated senses, her will to put an end to this deadly game prevailed. She had to face him, find out who was behind this bizarre masquerade. Anticipation mounting, she made the turn at the end of the corridor and came to a riveting halt.

A female wax gargoyle stood in the doorway, long blonde hair billowing in the breeze. Her glass eyes shimmered with madness, an eerie smile on her face. In one hand, she held a mission bell, the other reaching out for a candle.

Music played from the old phonograph, the plucking of guitar strings laced with seduction. A breeze blew in through open terrace doors, stirring the sweet scent of jasmine from the candelabras.

Two wax nymphs stood at the bar, glass eyes shining bright in the candlelight, pliable fingers wrapped around flutes of pink champagne. Lit cigarettes burned in ashtrays. From behind the bar, a winged monster served drinks.

In the center of the ballroom, two gargoyles held a pose as if they were dancing, their waxy bodies closely pressed together, their reflections glowing in the mirrored ceiling. From the old phonograph in the corner, the hypnotic music played.

Tess gasped, her hand clasping her mouth. "Oh, my God!"

Mike raised his gun, circled the room. "Come out with your hands up. Hancock County Sheriff. Put your hands where I can see them."

Making the Turn by Celia Yeary

2010-09-24T09:02:00.000-07:00

Second new Release: MAKING THE TURN- a contemporary women’s fiction novel
Cover Attached

BLURB:
Starting over at age thirty-nine is no picnic under any circumstances, but the task is daunting for Sara Daniels. Living an affluent lifestyle her entire adulthood in Dallas does not prepare her for instant bankruptcy, especially if a philandering husband dies suddenly, leaving her penniless, debt-ridden, and homeless.
Planning on moving in temporarily with her cantankerous mother in the small town of Del Rey, Sara faces more problems than she can handle. During the long, hot summer, she and her daughter, her mother, and a handsome distraught widower and his charming young son learn they can have second chances.

EXCERPT:

Sunday morning, Sara sat at the kitchen table with one leg bent up and the heel of one bare foot propped on the edge of her chair. She spread the paper before her, but she couldn’t read anything yet because of the commotion down the hall. Instead, she sipped on coffee and laughed to herself. Dorothy stomped around, all in a tizzy, to use her own words, trying to dress for church and share the one bathroom with Laney.
Dorothy rose early, as usual, and made pancakes and bacon, knowing full well Laney wouldn’t eat the meat, but she pushed her anyway to “just try some. It won’t kill you.” Laney quickly ate her pancakes and raced for the bathroom to shower and wash her hair. When Dorothy needed the bathroom to do the same, Laney was still in there using the blow dryer. Dorothy called out to her to hurry up, but either Laney ignored her or didn’t hear because of the noise of the dryer.
“Okay, Gran, it’s all yours,” Laney said. She scooted past Dorothy as fast as she could to go to her own room. Sara watched from her position at the kitchen table, and thought Laney looked a tiny bit fearful.
Before Dorothy closed the door to the bathroom, she stuck her head out and called, “Now, I’m running behind. Laney, tell your mama to wash the dishes. I’m not going to have time today.”
Sara called from the kitchen, “I’ve already washed them! Just take care of yourself!”
“Well, whatever,” Dorothy answered instead of saying thank you.
Twenty minutes later, Laney emerged from her bedroom wearing a pale pink, sleeveless summer dress, with a scoop neck and diagonal ruffles across the lower part of the ankle-length skirt. Her cherry red toenails glared because she wore sandals, and a tiny gold ring circled the second toe of her left foot. Three silver bangle bracelets graced the upper part of one tanned, firm arm, and three silver rings graced the middle three fingers of the other hand.
“Well, don’t you look pretty,” commented Sara. “I like your hair hanging loose like that. It’s become lighter, hasn’t it?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. You’re not dressed yet.” Sara still had on blue drawstring lounging pants and a matching crop-top. “Do you realize I rarely ever saw you like this? You were always up early and dressed for the day.”
“Well, honey, this is the new me. Have a seat. I think Mother’s still fussing with her hair. Anyway, I have no place to go today.”
“I like your outfit. Looks really comfortable.”
“It is and thanks,” she answered with a smile. “So, are you sure you’re ready to face the First Presbyterian Church congregation?”
Laney laughed. “I can’t even imagine. But I’m game.”
“I grew up in that church, you know.”
“I remember, and I’m interested in the…”
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Dorothy asked, as she hurried into the kitchen. She laid her pocketbook and Bible on the table to pat her hair on the sides and back, and while doing so, looked at Laney’s dress, the rings, and the bracelets. “My Lord, people will stare at you. Tell me you’re not going like that. You don’t even have on panty hose.”
Laney threw her head back and laughed out loud. “Gran, you’re a firecracker.” She stood and hugged Dorothy around the shoulders. Whispering, she said, “Do you think you should be taking the Lord’s name in vain on a Sunday morning? Tut, tut, Gran, people will talk.”
“Well. Well,” she sputtered. “We’d better get going.” She looked at her watch. “Ten minutes is all we have.” She continued to talk as she gathered her things and walked to the back door. “If you hadn’t taken so much time in the bathroom, we wouldn’t be running late. Now, I bet somebody’s got my pew, and I’ll have to sit in the back. I hope those flowers haven’t wilted in this heat. With any luck…” and her voice faded away as she slammed out the back door.
Laney winked at Sara and hurried to catch up to her grandmother. Before she left the room, she turned and said, “I’m going to make her ride in the Pathfinder. She’ll have a fit.”
Sara laughed and replied, “Make that a hissy-fit.”

BUY LINK:
http://www.wingsepress.com

Thank you for visiting today—
Celia Yeary-Romance...and a little bit 'o Texas
http://www.celiayeary.blogspot.com
http://www.celiayeary.com
New Releases
Texas Promise-eBook-Desert Breeze Publishing
Making the Turn-print & eBook-Wings ePress

How I Tackle Writing

2010-09-22T06:28:00.000-07:00

How I Tackle Writing
by Celia Yeary

Did you know you can find numerous articles on the internet about how to write a novel? Most of them begin with “think of a good story.” Now that, in my opinion, is the most fascinating bit of advice I’ve ever read. “Think of a good story.” I wonder if Margaret Mitchell said that to herself as she sat down at her typewriter. She certainly had a good story; I’ll admit that.

How did Margaret Mitchell find the novel titled Gone With the Wind? I have no idea, but I don’t imagine she sat down one day at her desk and thought, “I need to think of a good story,” and voila! her Best-Selling Novel was born.

First, for me to think up a good story I need time to DAYDREAM. That’s step number one —time to stare into space and let my mind wander, imagining a scene or a character. This might occur while I’m watching mind-numbing television, or while we’re on a long road trip and I have time to stare at the highway in front of me, or best of all, the house is quiet and I’m all alone.

Second, I need A PROMPT of some kind. This might be an old weathered gray house on the side of the road, and I wonder who lived there and why. Maybe I see unique person walking along the sidewalk, and I wonder who she is and where is she going. Perhaps I read a news article, and something in it turns into a scene with people acting out the story in the article.

Third, I need to ENVISION a character, male or female, doesn’t matter. Who is this character? What is her story? I needed to write a 25,000 word Christmas story, and I thought of a couple who recently married. She is a nurse, very tall, and she married a doctor who is even taller. So, my story is based on a young woman who is to be maid of honor to her brother’s best man. She worries, but when she meets him, he stands even taller than she. And of course, he’s a hunk. In my story, my heroine is a pediatric nurse and my hero is an ex-Army medic.

In a nutshell, that is how I begin writing a story. Let me give you an example. Occasionally, we travel north about 200 miles to visit my mother in the nursing home. On the way, we pass a road sign that points west and says, Thurber 15 miles. I’ve never heard of this town. So when I returned home, I immediately Googled the name. I learned it is a ghost place with only one tall smokestack and numerous cemeteries remaining. Once, though, it had been a thriving town of 3,000 that produced coal. Ah, so Erath County had coalmines. When?

From a little research, I learned all about the town and even found a website with old photos. The citizens abandoned it around 1915, and the owners of the coal mine leveled it. Why? I found a rich history there in that area, which resulted in my imagining a young man who walked away, wandering until he came upon a farm where a young girl lived with her family. From there, the entire story fell into place.
I titled my story Wish for the Moon and is now contracted with Willow Moon Publishing. The story turned out to be a “coming-of-age” novel, which created a problem with getting someone to publish it. I refused to make it into a pure romance, and that dilemma happened more than once. I stubbornly held on to it. While it is an adult love story, romance is not the focus. In a stroke of very good luck, I ran across WMP.

Thank you for reading today. I do appreciate Nancy for inviting me to guest on her blog.

Bio: Celia Yeary-Romance...and a little bit 'o Texas
http://www.celiayeary.blogspot.com
http://www.celiayeary.com
New Releases
Texas Promise-eBook-Desert Breeze Publishing
Making the Turn-print & eBook-Wings ePress

Who is Celia Yeary?

2010-09-21T07:36:00.000-07:00

Glad you asked. First of all I can truly say she is a friend in pen, meaning she has given me great advice, some great ideas as we talk, laugh, and sometimes cry together on loops. But Celia is more than that, she is a wife, a mother, a beloved grandmother, and writer. As an author, her turn of phrase opens the reader up to a Texas whirlwind of emotions.

Here are some of her other titles.

From the Wild Rose Press
Texas Blue
All My Hopes and Dreams
Showdown in Southfork

The Winged Press
a woman's fiction novel Making the Turn

Her newest from Desert Breeze Publishing
The Cameron Sisters Series Book One
Texas Promise
Book two due out in April 2011
Texas True

check her out : http://celiayeary.com/home

Come see what Dessert Breeze and Celia Yeary have coming your way!

2010-09-20T06:56:00.000-07:00

My good friend Celia Yeary has released a fantastic new historical, set in my favorite place - Texas. Come explore romance in the Lone Star State.

New Release:
TEXAS PROMISE: Book I-The Cameron Sisters
A Western Historical Romance
BLURB:

After two years, Jo Cameron King’s life as a widow abruptly ends when her husband returns home to Austin. Unable to understand his anger and bitterness, she accepts a call to travel to the New Mexico Territory to meet her dying birth father whom she knows nothing about. Her plan to escape her husband goes awry when he demands to travel with her.

Dalton King, believing lies his Texas Ranger partner tells him about Jo, seethes with hatred toward his wife. Now he must protect Jo from his partner’s twisted mind, while sorting out the truth. Jo’s bravery and loyalty convince him she’s innocent. But can they regain the love and respect they once shared?

EXCERPT:
Digging the key from her reticule, she turned to the door. Startled, she noticed the door slightly cracked open, in addition to the light in the front room. Goodness, Mrs. Thompson really was becoming forgetful. I'd better turn that lamp off, she thought, as she entered the study.

"Might as well leave it on," murmured a deep voice.

Shock slammed through her body and she felt as though she'd faint. She grabbed the doorframe, frozen, and stared at Dalton, her transformed husband, who sat in her Victorian chair on the embroidered damask seat with his dirty, scuffed boots crossed on her desk, sipping whiskey.

"Dear God. Dalton." She stepped toward him.

Holding his hand up to stop her, he growled, "You can stop right there. I don't want you to touch me, and I sure as hell don't want to touch you. Not yet, anyway." The last he said in an odious tone she'd never before heard from him. "Sit down over there." He nodded to a small love seat nearby.

She sat. Mostly because she trembled so much she could hardly breathe, let alone stand up. Leaning forward, she asked, "Where have you been, Dalton? What's happened to you?"

He sipped the whiskey, looked at the ceiling, and back at her. "Ah, you've already noticed. That something happened to me. Didn't take you long. Repulsed, are you?" His voice was cold and hard.

She stood, leaning toward him, holding her hand out, palm up. "What are you talking about? What is this? A joke? Where in heaven's name have you been? We thought you were dead. Dead, Dalton. We had a memorial service for you out at the ranch, for heaven's sake. I applied for widow's benefits. I don't understand."

Suddenly, she felt lightheaded and sank to the love seat. Her body couldn't handle this. A long day with no dinner, and now, his sudden appearance knocked her off her feet. Crossing her arms around her waist, she leaned forward, then back, resting her head on the cushion. Her eyes rolled back.

Even though her body went limp and her mind clouded, she knew he caught her up in his arms. He sat on the love seat with her across his lap, holding her tightly against his hard body.

He trembled with her in his arms.

BUY LINK:
http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/-strse-109/Celia-Yeary-Texas-Promise/Detail.bok

Thank you for visiting!

Celia Yeary-Romance...and a little bit 'o Texas
http://www.celiayeary.blogspot.com
http://www.celiayeary.com
New Releases
Texas Promise-eBook-Desert Breeze Publishing
Making the Turn-print & eBook-Wings ePress

Building your story

2010-09-17T06:48:00.000-07:00

It is perhaps easier to write contemporary stories for your world about your characters is already set. We know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. What we don't know is what happens in a given day or time of our story. But when you discuss fantasy, you must take into account that idea of world building. You must describe, create, or at least attempt to bring the reader into that world which rest in your mind's eye.

Are you on the surface of a faraway planet? Does the soil shimmer and glow because of some odd element? Does it have two suns? A single moon with a ring? What is its name? Are there creatures like us or do they have features that need descriptions? This is what movie makers use a story board for. It can be an effective tool for writers as well. Picture your creature or hero/ heroine. Find pictures put them up on bulletin boards, make a scrapbook of your plot.

Yes, it sound tedious. But a well thought out plot often will save a writer from the dreaded writer's block. So get thee to thy story board and see if you can write that next best seller.

People to read:
If you are looking for examples of people to read to get the idea of a well developed plot please check out these authors.

Karen Hawkins
Kaye Manro
Cheryl St. John
Aliyah Burke
Monique Lamont
Amy Clipston
Delilah Marvell
Galeen Foley

Examine your favorite authors. Critique their work and build your story

What's in a name?

2010-09-01T13:35:00.000-07:00

You've heard your parents say live up to your name. How true it is.

As I sit here and wait for Hurricane Earl's visit, it has come to my attention that how you name things often reflects the outcome. Yes,I'm taking names.

Writing my stories, I pick a name for my hero, heroine, or villain dependent on the characteristics I want them to portray. I wouldn't have an nonredeemable villain with a hero's name or visa versa. Example you say? Ok, Few bad guys are named Robert. Now, I'm not talking Bobby, but the strength of the name Robert brings to my mind someone strong. Bobby might be easily swayed like a child. A villain's name might be Rafe, Leon, or Jack. Yes, to many this is conjecture and I certainly don't mean to say anyone with that name is a villain. Perhaps its just that they aren't my favorite names. So how does this bring us back to the Hurricane named EARL.

Living in southeast Virginia, I've experienced hurricanes for nearly 54 years. In doing so, I've noticed that the storms with the "odd man out" names are usually the worst. Perhaps, we tick them off with their moniker. In the sixties, we had horrid storms like Betsy, Donna, Ion, and the drama queen herself, Camille. When the weather service included male names instead of just girls ( which was started when one bright guy named a hurricane after his girl friend. Yeah you wonder if they got married. ) We include in this list Hugo, Andrew, Felix.

So in conclusion, if they'd name storms Bambi or Candy perhaps it would have been charming or gentleman. Ah, but then, my theory would be blown and what fun is that. So here's to my friends on the East coast, I raise a cup of tea to you and wish you safe harbor in the coming days. I hope to have more after the passage of Earl.

Meet Stephanie Burkhart - Author

2010-08-26T10:21:00.000-07:00

Just a little about me: I was born in Manchester, NH but live in Castaic, California with my husband, Brent, and two sons, Andrew and Joseph. I have fond memories of Manchester, but have made California my home. I earned a BS in political science from California Baptist University in 1995. I currently work for LAPD as a 911 Dispatcher.

My writer's journey began when I was five. It was the 1970's and I liked to watch a show called "The Electric Company." They usually had a Spiderman skit on. After the show, I would sit down at the kitchen table and make a homemade comic after the skit. During my teen years, I wrote poetry, short stories, and homemade comics.

My first novel, "Destination: Berlin" was written during my time in the military, but it took me about ten years to really flesh it out and it didn't get published until after I was out of the military in 2001. I enjoy writing romance and I had a short historical romance called "Royal Pretender" published in the Cupid Diaries, a short story about muses called "Matchmaking Amusement" in the Be Mused Anthology by Desert Breeze Publishing, and a paranormal romance called "The Hungarian" also by Desert Breeze Publishing released this year.

My latest story, "The Giving Meadow," is a children's story about a caterpillar who travels through a meadow making friends before he turns into a butterfly. It was written as an Easter play for my church's preschool program.

Sometimes a good book begins with a great concept

2010-08-22T15:38:00.000-07:00

I'd like to welcome Stephanie Burkhart who has taken time out of writing in the adult world to give us a children's book entitled, A Giving Meadow is making the rounds. I'm always on the lookout for something different and something new to read to my grandson. I think Stephanie has a winner here.

The Giving Meadow was released in May 2010.

The Giving Meadow is about a caterpillar who hatches from his egg in the middle of a meadow. As he travels through the meadow, he meets new friends who learn the value of sharing.

Buy Links:

4RV PUBLISHING:
http://4rvpublishingllc.com/Childrens_Books.html

AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/Giving-Meadow-Stephanie-Burkhart/dp/0982588690/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1279556653&sr=1-1

BARNES & NOBLE:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Giving-Meadow/Stephanie-Burkhart/e/9780982588697/?itm=1&USRI=The+giving+Meadow

We will have more with Stephanie as the week continues. Please feel free to ask questions and check the links about this adorable book.

RWA Nationals

2010-08-11T06:12:00.000-07:00

Wow, I've been home now a bit over a week and finally got the suitcases unpacked. So much went on it reminds me of being in a blender, spun around and spit out. What do I have to say about being at RWA??

First - GO

If you've never been in the company of writers, go. There were over 2100 women, men, agents, editors in attendance. Sitting alone at lunch or with friends, you could learn so very much from what was going on. Small things like discussions of trends, how to format manuscripts, and just the fact that, like yourself, some people were stuck in their manuscripts and brainstorming went on.

Plan to Network

You don't have to drink, but go and sit down in the lobby or the bar and mingle. I over heard several people get asked for manuscripts partials and fulls in this process. Yes, it gets loud with lots of people milling around but that's ok. Remember that is what your room is for, to get away and rest.

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Do take in the literacy signing

I stood in line with a very famous author's mom. We talked about her daughter's work and she hustled me up to meet her. That was so cool. Authors also stop by and greet you, even get that hug. It was a tremendous lift for an ego.

Take time to go to the open house and spotlights.

There you will learn invaluable things for your manuscript and queries. I was able to give the editor that rejected my first work a handshake and thank her for her advice. She actually remembered the story and wanted to know if I had continued to work. That was cool.

What are the lasting memories I'll take from this.

There is never enough time to do what you want to do. You can not take in ALL the great programs. With that said plan to go again.
Do take advantage of mailing your books back and not clutter up the car or pay the extra on the airplane.
Do remember to USE the camera you brought with you.
If a writer asks you to come to dinner... GO. They may want to pass off some great information or you get to rub elbows with others.

Am I planning on attending again.. Oh golly yes. I've already started saving for next year. Now, if the agent can sell the book.. then by golly I'll really be able to go in style.

It's Wednesday and I'm in OZ

2010-07-28T08:18:00.000-07:00

Truly, it feels as if I have awoken in another place and another time. The sunlight shinging off those clear blue Florida skies looks different. You feel different walking through the lobby of the now crowded hotel. There is chatter and shrieks of delight as old friends meet. The smell of pages being turned is everywhere, in the pools, in the resturants, even along the Boardwalk of a Disney venue. Its wild.

We had breakfast today and all around us people were discussing book ideas, trying to come up with titles to submit to their agents or editors, practing their pitches they would give as the week wears on. Its an amazing place. You feel a bit overwhelmed by all the creativity.

I'd hoped to put up pictures but my lap top doesn't have the port for my camera card. So there will be picture posting when I return from Over the Rainbow. For anyone doubting, let me be the first to tell you that the magic of Disney is alive and well. Those who I've met or seen include Laura Robb and Allysa Day. I hope to meet Debbie Macomber before the week is done.

Until I can get to the computer... have fun.

On the road again....

2010-07-25T18:45:00.000-07:00

Oh my gosh, five thirty came bright and early this a.m as we packed the mini cooper and headed out for beautiful downtown Orlando and Walt Disney World for RWA 2010. I can't believe I'm actually getting to go. It is the trip of a life time.

We headed down the road with our navigator plugged to the windsheild and zoomed along through North Carolina, South Caroline, Georgia, and into Florida. The scenery was gorgeous. My roommate for the soiree and I plotted books the whole way. We had an awesome time.

I must say that turning down and entering Disney land resorts was a welcome sight after ten hours on the road. Our room is beautiful. We have been treated like queens returning to the Magic Castle. I can't say Princesses because, well, let's face it I'm a bit long in tooth. LOL.

Well tomorrow will be time to scope out the hotel and learn the layout before we spend Tuesday going to the magical world of Mr. Harry Potter, a true dream. So have fun all and night night from the Magic Kingdom...

Questions and Answers with Victoria Gray

2010-07-23T04:05:00.000-07:00

Thanks so much for having me on your blog, Nancy. It’s a pleasure.

1. We've been looking at Destiny this week. Will there be a sequel?

Destiny’s sequel, Angel in My Arms, is the story of a ring of beautiful female spies operating out of Richmond during the Civil War. I enjoyed creating Jack’s partner, Steve, so much, I had to give him his own book. Steve is very different from Jack, with a more lighthearted, Owen Wilson persona, but he shares Jack’s fundamental values of conviction, courage, and honor. Angel in My Arms is due to be released in November.

2. Are there other genres you'd like to write?
Yes – I have multiple personalities as a writer! I’ve completed a historical romantic suspense set during 1896, the Gilded Age of New York, and I’ m putting the finishing touches on a contemporary romantic comedy. I also have a plot idea brewing for a historical paranormal.

3. Where can the public find you ?
I have a website, VictoriaGrayRomance, at www.victoriagrayromance.com . I’m also on Facebook and Twitter (VictoriaGray115). I’ll be at the Romance Writer’s of America conference next week…look for my Twitter updates.

4. Can you give us a hint about your next project.
I’m now writing the third book in the Destiny trilogy. Against All Odds features characters introduced in Angel in My Arms. In this story, a dashing Confederate office falsely accused of being a traitor tangles with a gang of vicious gun runners to save the beautiful Northern spy he loves.

Wow, what great projects you've got going. I wish you much success with your projects. Please come back with each release, we'll be waiting!

Don't you just love a bad boy????

2010-07-21T16:16:00.000-07:00

If you love those bigger than life, rugged hero's, look no further than Major Jack Travis in Victoria Gray's Destiny. Check out her blurb below and be sure to run over and get your copy in print and as an ebook. http://www.thewildrosepress.com/destiny-paperback-p-4023.html

Emma Davenport was going to be a bride, and no one was going to stop her, not even an outlaw. Bound for a forbidden marriage, her scheme shatters when she is abducted and spirited away to a remote hideout. Any proper young woman would be frightened out of her wits, but she challenges her daring, seductive captor at every turn.

Major Jack Travis was used to the battlefield, not stealing spoiled, sheltered women from trains, but his orders have come from one of the most powerful men in Washington. The by-the-book soldier never doubted his ability to carry out orders until he laid eyes on Emma. His captive is intelligent, headstrong, beautiful – and forbidden. He risks his neck to protect her from the treacherous rake she’d planned to marry. But how can he protect her from himself?

Read an excerpt here:

He traced the curve of her cheek with his finger. “Miss Davenport, do all the men in the novels you read wind up scarred or crippled or alone?”

She pressed her lips together, struggling to ignore the sensation of his touch. “That would seem to be the case.”

His fingertip made tiny circles over her earlobe. “Why do you enjoy reading about tortured men?”

Emma never knew her ears would be so sensitive to a man’s caress. She licked her lips and twisted away from him. “The characters are brooding and romantic. They suffer for love.”

His arm snaked around her waist, dragging Emma against his unyielding male body. “Shouldn’t love bring pleasure, Miss Davenport?”

“You shouldn’t…we shouldn’t do this,” she gasped, struggling to keep her wits about her as his heat and touch threatened to overwhelm her senses.

“Answer my question, and I’ll leave you alone with your tortured hero. Shouldn’t love bring pleasure?”

The note of desire in his husky rasp shredded her meager defenses. “I don’t know,” she whispered, feeling her voice catch in her throat.

“I think you do,” Jack persisted, moving his lips to caress her lobe as his finger had moments earlier. “Shouldn’t love bring pleasure, Emma?”

He spoke her name as a seductive caress against her nape. His mouth burned a trail along the thin line of flesh exposed above her high collar. “Answer me, darlin’. Or should I try to convince you that I’m right?”

She shook her head. “You don’t need to convince me,” she murmured. “Love should bring pleasure.”

He smiled, his mouth curving wickedly as honey-brown eyes raked over her. “You don’t sound completely certain, Emma. I do need to convince you.”

Introducing Victoria Gray.

2010-07-17T09:19:00.000-07:00

A fantastic new historical writer has come to my attention. Meet Victoria Gray. Ms. Gray hails from the south and spends much of her time reading and in pursuit of the elusive novel. She began with paper and pencil, then migrated to typewriter, and thanks to this century as progressed to the computer.

When Ms. Gray is not writing, she has a variety of other wonderful activities that keeps her fit and active. She can be found cycling or walking the beaches of the east coast with her hero, her husband.

Ms. Gray is a a member of Romance Writers of America, Hearts through History Romance Writers, and Kiss of Death Romance Writers. You may find her books at The Wild Rose Press.

Her novel Destiny is set in post Civil War America. With such a divine cover and great premise I'm sure it will be a hit. Join us this week as we welcome Victoria Gray to Romancing the Blog.

Check out the to buy link below for information on ordering this in ebook or print.
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/victoria-gray-m-719.html

More with Paty Jager

2010-07-07T07:42:00.000-07:00

Paty has written a series of Petticoat books. These great reads can be found at The Wild Rose Press.

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/outlaw-in-petticoats-p-807.html?zenid=c9f8a093c9e63a10ff44d52f3e3c1d16
OUTLAW IN PETTICOATS
Maeve Loman has had her heart crushed before; she isn't about to have it happen again. When she takes Zeke Halsey up on his offer to help her discover the truth about her father, she's sure she can control her traitorous body and not fall for the man's considerable charms.
Zeke Halsey has wanted Maeve Loman since he first set eyes on the prickly schoolteacher. Even as she thwarts his advances, he sees the desire burning in her eyes. He knows she feels abandoned and uses bravado to keep people at arm’s length. Offering to help her find her father, he hopes to prove he’s not going anywhere.

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/miner-in-petticoats-paperback-p-3478.html?zenid=c9f8a093c9e63a10ff44d52f3e3c1d16
MINER IN PETTICOATS
Shouldering the burdens of his family and the mining community, Ethan Halsey devotes himself to providing for his brothers' growing families.
However, Aileen Miller, a widow, also looking out for her family’s interests, refuses to part with the land he needs. As they battle- one to push his dream to reality and the other to prove no man will hurt her again- their lives become enmeshed and their hearts collide.

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/marshal-in-petticoats-paperback-p-3015.html?zenid=c9f8a093c9e63a10ff44d52f3e3c1d16
MARSHAL IN PETTICOATS
Darcy Duncan is an accident looking to happen. So it is no surprise to her when she shoots a bank robber while buying mining supplies. She wonders at the town asking her to be marshal. However, being a resourceful, resilient young woman, she takes the job with every intention of giving it an honest try. But falling for the handsome enemy, is one accident too many.
Gil Halsey is asked to bring his boss' errant son back to the ranch. He follows the man and his band of bumbling robbers to a small mining town. A corrupt local official runs the town and has pinned a marshal's badge on an accident-prone young woman. Gil believes the two are working together, until the marshal blunders into a bank robbery and is kidnapped. While saving the marshal, he reunites with his estranged family and stumbles into love.

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/gambling-on-an-angel-paperback-p-3014.html?zenid=c9f8a093c9e63a10ff44d52f3e3c1d16
Saloon owner Bas Slocum has never let anyone close. His lonely childhood and scrapes with the law has hardened his heart. Until he meets an angel wearing a Temperance ribbon. Now he must hide the very thing that was his salvation or lose his angel.
Letha Harrison suffered beatings from her alcoholic father and a forced separation from her brother. As she and her younger sister try to survive in a lawless town, she finds the first man she trusts.

Where is Paty today??

My hero Clay Halsey from Doctor in Petticoats is being interviewed tat
Naughty Little Vixen today
http://naughtylittlevamp.blogspot.com/?zx=8610184bfbea3d71

And 2009 Golden Heart finalist Autumn Jordan is visiting my blog and
talking about her new release Evil's Witness.
http://www.patyjager.blogspot.com

Welcome Paty Jager!

2010-07-02T17:50:00.000-07:00

Happy 4th of July!!

My current release Doctor in Petticoats has a scene set during a Fourth of July celebration. The heroine's father is a judge, and her sister is in love with an up and coming state representative. In fact you can read how the sister catches her representative in my free read, Fireworks and Fancies, at The Wild Rose Press. http://www.thewildrosepress.com/fireworks-and-fancies-p-3624.html

In Doctor in Petticoats the hero is sent to a blind school to learn how to navigate in the world as a blind person. While there he meets a young man who is the instructor for the broom making class. In order to understand how the blind were taught to make brooms, I had to learn the process as it would have been done in the 1800's.

Broomcorn is actually a species of sorghum. The broom bristles are the stiff tasseled branches of the plant. The plants grow 2-8 feet tall and grows best in hot arid climates. The plane is harvested, dried and the seeds removed. The seed are edible, starchy and high in carbohydrates. They are used in cereals and animal feed.

When humans first started using broomcorn as a broom, they just harvested the plant, dried it, and started sweeping. By the 1800's they started lashing the broomcorn together to make a better sweeping surface and even using just the branches lashed to wooden handles.

The Shakers evolved the broom making process and were the first to use wire to secure the broomcorn to the handle rather than tying or weaving it with string. They also developed a treadle machine to wind the broomcorn around the handle and secure it tightly.

For my story I have blind students learning to make brooms by hand. I used Foxfire #3 book to learn the process that was passed down for generations in North Carolina.

The seeds are combed out of the tassel. The tassels are placed in water to soak and make them pliable. Two nails or wooden pegs are placed in one end of the handle to prevent the stalks from slipping off after they are tied in place. A rope is tossed over a rafter. It needs to be long enough for a loop at the bottom for the broom maker's foot and that is 4-6 inches from the ground. The rope is wrapped once around the broom near the point where it will be tied. When the person steps down with their foot, it tightens the string on the broomcorn. When it seems tight, they take a five to six foot length of heavy-duty cotton string threaded through a carpet needle and weave it through and around the broomcorn, securing it to the handle.

I enjoyed learning about this process for my books and I hope you enjoy this excerpt from Doctor in Petticoats.

Blurb for Doctor in Petticoats
After a life-altering accident and a failed relationship, Dr. Rachel Tarkiel gave up on love and settled for a life healing others as the physician at a School for the Blind. She's happy in her vocation--until handsome Clay Halsey shows up and inspires her to want more.

Blinded by a person he considered a friend, Clay curses his circumstances and his limitations. Intriguing Dr. Tarkiel shows him no pity, though. To her, he's as much a man as he ever was.

Can these two wounded souls conquer outside obstacles, as well as their own internal fears, and find love?

Excerpt
“I’m going to look in your other eye now.” She, again, placed a hand on his face and opened the eyelids, stilling her fluttering heart as she pressed close. His clean-shaven face had a couple small nicks on the edges of his angular cheeks. The spice of his shave soap lingered on his skin.

She resisted the urge to run her cheek against his. The heat of his face under her palm and his breath moving wisps of wayward hair caused her to close her eyes and pretend for a few seconds he could be her husband. A man who loved her and wouldn’t be threatened by her occupation or sickened by her hideous scar.

His breathing quickened. A hand settled on her waist, slid around to her back, and drew her forward. Her hand, holding the lens, dropped to his shoulder, and she opened her eyes. This behavior on both their parts was unconscionable, but her constricted throat wouldn’t allow her to utter the rebuke.

Clay sensed the moment the doctor slid from professional to aroused woman. The hand on his cheek caressed rather than held, her breathing quickened, and her scent invaded his senses like a warm summer rain.

Blog Tour Contest

Don't forget to follow my fifteen blog/twelve day tour. Leave a comment and follow me to all the blogs on my tour and you could win an autographed copy of my June release, Doctor in Petticoats, a B&N gift card, and a summer tote filled with goodies. To find out all the places I'll be go to my blog- http://www.patyjager.blogspot.com to find the list.

Website: http://www.patyjager.net
Blog: http://www.patyjager.blogspot.com
Buy: http://www.thewildrosepress.com

Giving in to Charity

2010-07-02T06:00:00.000-07:00

From Dark Diva's Reviews Giving in to Charity by Nancy O'Berry from Red Rose Publishing

Deb’s Review:
Nancy O'Berry has captured my heart with her Sweetbrier Academy Series I have read the first two books which include Hope and Faith's stories and I am so happy that Charity finally has a story of her own in Giving in to Charity. As I read along, I seem to lose myself into the time frame in which these stories take place—the formal gowns, society gatherings, and the intrigue that Nancy O'Berry creates

Giving in to Charity is a delightfully sensual story about love, mystery and greed. A man will do anything for the silver running through the mines in Virginia City, and for the love of a good woman, no matter her past.

Nancy O'Berry is magnificently delicious! Come and visit Sweetbrier Academy, then you will know what it is like to relive the past.

From You Gotta Read Reviews
Roberta http://yougottareadreviews.blogspot.com/
Not only is this book fast paced with beautiful description and intriguing dialogue, it has several twists and turns that will have you reading as fast as possible. The two main characters, Tobias and Charity, are truly amazing individuals to overcome the demons they have deep inside them. Through the book, you see each of them grow individually as well as together. Some of the secondary characters will either have you laughing at them or wanting to kill them yourself. Some of the issues discussed in this book are still relevant today. The one most prevalent in this book and in today's society is racism. I was humbled at how the author dealt with this situation and did so with grace and dignity. I want to thank the author, Nancy O'Berry, for a beautiful and entertaining love story. I'm looking forward to reading the other two books in this series as well as her future releases.

Read an excerpt here...

His strong arms slid beneath her knees and pressured enough that they gave way. Charity clung to Tobias, and he lifted her and cradled her next to his chest as he walked across the room and, as gentle as he would a newborn, placed her in his bed. The light from the fire reflected on the plains of his skin. The strength of his jaw, the well-toned body, made him appear like some golden Greek god. Charity pulled her arms above her head to grasp the metal spirals of the wrought iron, easing her body away from the edge so that he might join her.
The mattress tilted. The springs gave a sigh, and he stretched alongside her. His hands plucked her dark nipples, making them pebble. Tobias’ head dipped, and she knew his lips found the desired morsel. His mouth suckled until she moaned and writhed beneath him. His hand moved along her side, and he grasped the second tip, arousing it in the same manner.
“Tobias,” she groaned, arching against his touch.
Reluctantly, he let go. His lips kissed the sacred valley between the two, and his knees pushed her thighs apart. “This afternoon you begged to taste, tonight I shall dine.”
Charity’s eyes widened. Tobias’ tongue burned a path from her breast, around her navel, and lower. A stroke across, and her legs grew weak. He drew her bud up and teased till her hips rose from the sheet. His arms slid beneath her legs lifting her, parting her nether lips to taste the sweet wine she had been hiding. Cupid’s sweet sweat layered her body while his kisses plundered her core. Breathing became a chore, and she gasped for air, colors swirling above her. Her heat tightened like a spring ready to snap, and he drew away.
“Yes, Charity, I want to hear your name upon my lips,” he commanded, his fingers keeping up the sweet torture.
“Tobias,” she panted.
He chuckled, and Charity took a quick intake of breath. He ran his finger across her bud. Twisting her hands into the excess of the sheets, she cried out.
Before she had a chance to recover, the touch of his member nudged her entrance. Like hot molten steel, he eased in inch by incredible inch. She held her breath, feeling his magnificent stallion riding to her rescue to help her find her release. Slowly he pumped in and out, her body clenching and holding with all its might. His chest slick, her breasts tangled in the thatch, the exquisite tension building.
“Look at me,” he called to her. She resisted the urge to close her eyes. “Look at me.”
Charity opened her eyes and looked into the darkness of his pupils. The thump of her heart beat with the pulse of his motion. Her body clenched tight then went boneless. His name burst from her lips, and she soared into the sky. She heard her name echoing from his lips while the darkness surrounded them, cocooning them from their fall.
Unhurried, her breath returned. Soft, slow intakes soothed the scorch of her lungs. Her hands slid across Tobias’ limp body, spread across to cover hers, and she held him. Charity’s heart twisted. She was in love.
He moved to lie beside her, his hands pulling her body to his to spoon. She said nothing. Lying in the cradle of his arms, she closed her eyes and let his hands cover her breast. Her body became chilled, and he shifted only enough to bring the blankets over them.
“Charity,” he whispered.
A soft smile graced her face.
“Stay with me tonight…don’t leave?” he asked, pressing his lips to her shoulder.
“No,” she murmured. “I will not leave you.” She wiggled back to find his flesh to her flesh even as a tear found its course down her cheek and onto the pillowcase. She would lie. She would tell him anything to savor this moment in his arms. She would become that woman again if it meant one more night in his bed, in his arms. Closing her eyes, holding on tight, she drifted to sleep.

Developing the Characters

2010-06-30T16:34:00.000-07:00

When I first conceived the idea of Sweetbrier Academy, I knew that I wanted to tell at least three stories. Each one of the girls would be different. Faith was probably the younger of the three. She believes in true love and love at first glance. Hope is older. She's seen some hard things in life and suffers greatly in her story. She's takes well to the mothering role. Charity had to be a strong woman. She is what they call "Passe Blanc" which meant while she was of African American descent , her skin was light enough to pass for white.

It was a risky gamble. But you can't tell a story about New Orleans and not include this. Charity is a strong willed woman. She does not go easily into anyone's mold. She demands a better life and when she is told because of her skin and her heritage she can't make the step up, her temper is something to behold. Yet, it is her quest for a better life that leads her to Tobias Meriwether. Tobias sees her for what she is a beautiful woman. He is also a wounded soul so they blend well together. I think my favorite line in the story is when they are making love and he tells her, "To forgive this southern his transgressions". I can't write that without hearing a deep southern drawl.

I hope you will pick up a copy of Sweetbrier Academy and take a chance on a new author.
Nancy O'Berry

2010-06-27T11:31:00.000-07:00

Mainstream Romance: Historical/Period, Western
ISBN: 978-1-60435-360-0
Cover Artist: Nancy Donahue
Editor: Michelle Ellis
Word Count: 65,130
In ebook format only

To buy link:
http://redrosepublishing.com/books/product_info.php?manufacturers_id=218&products_id=486

When Opal Benedict offers Charity Wilson a chance to further her horizons, she travels to Virginia City and accepts the job of personal secretary for the wealthy J. T. Merewether. Here she plans to sort out her personal life and better herself.

Unaware of the tension between Merewether and his business partner, Charity is entangled a love affair that may well exact the highest price of all when she falls for the genteel Silver Baron.

Can Tobias Merewether overcome his dark past and fulfill their destiny?

“You’ve heard what they say. Sweetbriar women make the loveliest escorts and the most intriguing wives.”

Treat yourself to a sensual romance from Red Rose Publishing. Come and meet the ladies of Sweetbrier Academy as Faith, Hope, and Charity discover there is life beyond the confines of being a woman of pleasure. Nancy O'Berry, author.

Summer is a comin'

2010-06-14T12:05:00.000-07:00

Well her it is nearly the middle of June and we are beginning our second battle with heat and humidity along the eastern seaboard. My vow not to cut on the air conditioner was blown out the water when the temp in the house with fans going went beyond the register. I had just gotten use to all that lovely spring coolness too. Ah, sigh.

I know when I was younger, my parents beat the heat by sitting on the porch and drinking hand squeezed lemonade while we danced through the sprinklers in our bathing suits. Somehow, the weather didn't seem to bother us much then as it does now. Of course we had more green spaces to soak up the heat from the sun.

Now, I find myself drawn to the even coolness of central air. I suppose I'm a wimp, but at my age, I look better with more clothes on than off. So here's to the boys and girls of summer. May your days be warm and breezy without the cares of school. To the older generation, enjoy your porches and sip that cool glass of lemonade while you watch lighting bugs dance on the early evening lawn. Ahhhhhhh youth.

IT'S CHEEKY LIZARD SUNDAY

2010-05-23T06:00:00.000-07:00

Today we are going to enjoy another excerpt from the delightfully sensual novelette by Kaye Manro entitled FORBIDDEN LOVE.

I hope you've brought your snacks to enjoy today's peek.

CHEEKY LIZARD SUNDAE

A chilled flute glass
lemon lime jello
vanilla ice cream
chocolate covered graham crackers grasshopper's ( yeah they're green )
sprinkles
ginger ale
cut up cantelope, pineapple, grapes all in chunk style

Ok make your jello following the recipe on the box for gigglers. Cut in cubes and keep refrigerated until you are ready.

While the jello is becoming solid. Dip your flute glass in water then in sugar crystals these can be the colored crystals for cakes and cupcakes. Put in the freezer for about twenty minutes. As long as it takes for you to cut up the cantelope, pineapple into chunks and break the grasshopper chocolate covered graham crackers into chunks.

Now to create your dessert.

In the bottom place some crumbled chunks of your graham crackers. Add a scoop of vanilla ice cream some more graham chunks and a few cubes of your jello. Add some chunks of your fruit and some more sugary sprinkles. Pour in just a bit of ginger ale so that it resembles a float. You can add some cool whip or spray in some whipped creme then place some of the fruit on toothpick and add to the glass. Now, sit back and enjoy your excerpt from CHEEKY LIZARD LOVE OOPS I mean FORBIDDEN LOVE

“So how did you learn to speak our language?” Maya asked, “Not your native tongue I’ll bet.”

He scrutinized her through squinted eyes. A crinkle stretched across her nose where a line of minuscule brown dots scattered down onto each cheek. He had an impulse to stroke the dots, see if he could rub them off. No, he should not touch her again.

“While studying your planet, I picked up words and phrases.”

She leaned across the counter and captured his eyes with hers. “Why are you studying us?”

He did not answer her question. He had told her too much already. The less she knew about him the better. “Take me to my spacecraft,” he said.

She stared at him.

He hissed out more air and then shook his head. “I had not planned contact.”

She scooted around and came to stand close to him. He could tell she wanted to touch him but did not. “Maybe you didn’t plan it but here you are. So why not take advantage of the situation...” her words trailed off and this time she did touch him. She slid her hand over his chest and onto his face.

He caught her fingers in a rough hold. The act caused his talons to unsheathe. “No, I cannot. I will not.” He dropped her hand. A sudden realization—glancing down at his body, he stood naked before her his mating organ erect. “What have you done with my bodily covering?”

“I cut it off,” she answered. “I had to do it so I could examine you to see if you were hurt. Your space suit encased you so tightly, I had no choice.”

He hissed close to her ear. In a display that surprised even him, T’Kon slid a claw around her back hooking her clothing with a talon. In a swift motion, he slashed it from her. The garments landed on the floor in tattered pieces.

FORBIDDEN LOVE

Blurb

T’Kon and Maya are galaxies apart, so different yet so much alike…

Exploring the galaxies at faster than light speed (FTL) is routine for the inhabitants of Asconage. T’Kon’s cool-blood culture exists on a planet in the scorch of binary suns. Yet there are governing archaic rules to prohibit interspecies mating with those from different worlds and evolutionary paths.

When T’Kon crashes his spacecraft on Terrain, a seasonal planet barely on the cusp of space travel, he cannot resist Maya, the warm-blooded audacious female who gives him aid. His desire for her entices him to abandon his species moral code.

There is little time to linger inside their illicit passion. The warring factions of her world are closing in. A quick fix of his spacecraft and a fast exit is his best choice. But can T’Kon leave Maya behind and forsake their emerging Forbidden Love

Bio for Kaye Manro

As a romance author, I lean toward the adventuresome in my writing. I love science fiction and all the enticing quantum theories surrounding it. Where characters rush through outer space at Faster than Light speed, or teleport into another time, and even slipstream into an alternate reality. I like creating sizzling love scenes too with sexy heroes, and captivating heroines. It just seemed natural to combine all these elements together in my stories and write (SFR) Science Fiction Romance.

I hope you enjoy reading FORBIDDEN LOVE my latest SFR.

Forbidden Love by Kaye Manro

2010-05-19T07:12:00.000-07:00

We're spending the week looking at a great science fiction romance by Kaye Manro. Now, remember how strange Gene Roddenberry 's characters were, Kaye's hero is somewhat of a mix of human and lizard. Can you imagine the love scenes?! Let's see what our cheeky lizard is up to today?

Forbidden Love Excerpt:

...She was upon him so near he could feel her breath, sense her warmth. She reached out and ran a hand through the air, searching the length of him.

“Maya,” he blew her name on a sigh.

“Take me with you," she implored, as water filled her astounding tawny eyes. "I want to be with you, T'Kon.” She melded her body against his invisible one.

“You know nothing of me or my world.”

“Teach me, show me everything.”

He felt her heat burning inside him, yet the absurdity of her request burned brighter. “What you ask is not possible.”

“Will you please become visible so I can look at you?” She asked. “We need to talk about this before you go flying off into the universe.”

He unshielded his body so she could see him. “I cannot take you.”

“Why not? You can’t say it was coincidence that you happened to crash land in my back yard.”

No, an unfortunate accident. The truthful certainty traced across his mind. Yet his arms enclosed her and he lifted her up. Her legs straddled his waist, and he held her close against his body. A fit so right he could not deny it.

“I wish it were not so, but it is,” he whispered, breathing in her pungent scent. “You would not survive on my world.” He dropped his head to taste her lips before she had a chance to counter his words. “Just one last kiss.” Her mouth opened to allow his tongue entry and he explored the soft moistness, losing himself in her tang.

The stars help him. He did not want to leave her.

Without warning, a sudden and dangerous noise yanked T’Kon from his sexual stupor. He sensed peril approaching. In a rapid-fire move, he raised his palm. A copper arch flashed and shimmered before them revealing the entryway to his concealed spacecraft. He dragged her inside. Tapping a pad the opening closed leaving them hidden behind an undetectable shield..

Introducing a new author with an OUT OF THIS WORLD voice

2010-05-17T06:29:00.000-07:00

Wow, have you ever been piddling around reading excerpts when one comes along and knocks your socks off? I've had that pleasure today. A writing friend of mine has just released her first book. Okay, I knew she was writing, however I didn't realize the crispness of the story. She sent me a few blurbs that just had me enthralled. So for this week in her honor I'm going to be putting up a few of her blurbs. I think you will be just as excited as I am about her story "FORBIDDEN LOVE" a rousing sci fi adventure of the first class. If you like Stargate or are a Trek fan, you'll adore this work.

FORBIDDEN LOVE

Blurb

T’Kon and Maya are galaxies apart, so different yet so much alike…

Exploring the galaxies at faster than light speed (FTL) is routine for the inhabitants of Asconage. T’Kon’s cool-blood culture exists on a planet in the scorch of binary suns. Yet there are governing archaic rules to prohibit interspecies mating with those from different worlds and evolutionary paths.

When T’Kon crashes his spacecraft on Terrain, a seasonal planet barely on the cusp of space travel, he cannot resist Maya, the warm-blooded audacious female who gives him aid. His desire for her entices him to abandon his species moral code.

There is little time to linger inside their illicit passion. The warring factions of her world are closing in. A quick fix of his spacecraft and a fast exit is his best choice. But can T’Kon leave Maya behind and forsake their emerging Forbidden Love

Bio for Kaye Manro

As a romance author, I lean toward the adventuresome in my writing. I love science fiction and all the enticing quantum theories surrounding it. Where characters rush through outer space at Faster than Light speed, or teleport into another time, and even slipstream into an alternate reality. I like creating sizzling love scenes too with sexy heroes, and captivating heroines. It just seemed natural to combine all these elements together in my stories and write (SFR) Science Fiction Romance.

I hope you enjoy reading FORBIDDEN LOVE my latest SFR.

Buy FORBIDDEN LOVE HERE.

Visit Kaye Manro's Website and Blog.

Looking for a reason to tryout you Kindle???

2010-03-30T10:24:00.000-07:00

If you are looking for an exceptional read, Best Selling Christian Author Amy Clipston has a message for you:

Hi everyone!

I wanted to let you know that a free Kindle download of my first book, A Gift of Grace, is available until 4/10/10.

Download it here:
http://www.amazon.com/Gift-Grace-Novel-ebook/dp/B0023ZLOUA/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=digital-text&qid=1269874130&sr=8-3

Please tell your friends!

Thanks,
Amy Clipston

What are reviewers saying about the Sweetbier Academy series.

2010-03-02T08:19:00.000-08:00

As a writer its always a battle of nerves when you send your work out to be reviewed. I must say, the reviews have been most kind.

Long and Short reviews says:
http://longandshortreviews.blogspot.com/2009/04/sweetbrier-academy-book-one-having.html
Rating: 4 Books
Reviewed by Lilac
" Despite her profession there is an innocence about Faith that I found quite refreshing and fascinating. She comes across as very sweet and soft-hearted and I enjoyed her interactions with the other characters of the story. I longed to know more about this intriguing character and couldn’t wait to see how the story would go as Faith finds herself caught in the middle of a battle between two determined men.

With this book, Ms. O’Berry manages to give her courtesans and paramours heart, elegance, and class as they take pride in their occupation as they seek to improve their lives and take control of their own destiny. One can easily understand and feel for these women and the unconventional lifestyle they have chosen to lead and forget about the opinions and dictates of society during that time as they appear to simply be women preparing for work. You almost forget what their work involves until confronted with it head-on.

If Having Faith is what one can expect with Ms. O’Berry’s Sweetbriar Academy series, it should definitely be an entertaining series of reads."

About Holding on to Hope:
http://ddrreviews.blogspot.com/2009/08/sweetbrier-academy-book-2-holding-on-to.html
From Dark Diva's Deb..
5 Delightful Diva's

"I enjoyed this book even after the last page was turned. Mrs. Opal and her girls are a true delight. I could not help but laugh.

Holding on to Hope is set in a time when men did not consort with ladies of the evening outside of a whore house.

Sometimes you have no choice with whom you fall in love. Hope and Johnathon are two darling characters. Hope is no shrinking violet. She knows what she wants, as well as gets it. Now all she has to do is convince her cowboy of that.

Johnathon, aka “Doc”, is what every woman wants and needs in a man. He is Hotter than Sin!

Nancy O`Berry created a wonderful series that I, for one, cannot wait to discover the whole series. Holding onto Hope is book 2, and Faith and Charity's books are out now. Come feel what it was like long time ago, when passions ran high."

On Giving in to Charity
http://ddrreviews.blogspot.com/2009/12/giving-in-to-charity-by-nancy-oberry.html
Deb's review
5 Delightful Divas

"Nancy O'Berry has captured my heart with her Sweetbrier Academy Series I have read the first two books which include Hope and Faith's stories and I am so happy that Charity finally has a story of her own in Giving in to Charity. As I read along, I seem to lose myself into the time frame in which these stories take place—the formal gowns, society gatherings, and the intrigue that Nancy O'Berry creates.

I must say, out of the three books, this one is my favorite, which is saying a lot since I gave them all high marks. The era that is the back drop to this book has always fascinated me. A time where proper women looked down their noses at the less fortunate; sometimes, only to find themselves at the mercy of what is right. People will do anything when greed is involved.

The secondary characters in Giving in to Charity are truly astonishing. On many occasions throughout this book, I wanted to slap Miss Violet in order to defend Charity. She was quite the villain.

Nancy O'Berry is magnificently delicious! Come and visit Sweetbrier Academy, then you will know what it is like to relive the past."

These make working those long hours and worrying over the words a pleasure. I hope I continue to live up to these wonderful expectations.

Romance of the West - wild horses

2010-02-18T07:07:00.000-08:00

Nothing speaks of the American West like the sight of a wild horse racing across the horizon. The horse, free, wild, untamed, and independent truly reflects the indomitable spirit of the land and the people of the old west.

Anyone who has read Misty of Chincoteague recalls the Spanish brought horses to the Americas. The Pueblo Revolt of 1680 set numbers of horses free along the Spanish footholds. Soon they ranged over the Great Plains and into the Rio Grande area in vast numbers similar to the bison or buffalo of the Great Plains. This natural resource lured many Anglo's to the Tejas province with the hopes of rounding up herds and bringing them to the east to make money. This led to many confrontations with the Mexican government, settlement of the Tejas lands, and eventually TEXAS would break away as its own republic before joining the rest of the United States.

The wild horse was also a revolutionizing moment for the Native American people. It gave them a source of wealth as well as transportation. Riding horses allowed Native American tribes in the Great Plains to easily hunt and kill the buffalo. Pueblo Indians bred the animals selling their fine steeds to other tribes such as the Apache and the Comanche. The Comanche used their horses and developed their riding talents becoming fierce warriors of the west.

As the west tamed, ranchers allowed their stock horses to roam free and mingle with the wild herds. Their offspring produced "cow savy" animals that became highly prized. The introduction of the European breeds also created larger animals more suited for the size of the American people.

Wild horses are a gift and should be treated with respect - for without it the ranches, the history , the romance of the west would cease to exist. God Bless the Wild Horses of America.

Congratulations the Checkered Flag goes to.....

2010-02-15T05:57:00.000-08:00

KAYE MANRO

All the names of people who left comments on my blog and Amy's Blog were placed in a container and drawn by a neutral party neither Amy or myself. The name from the hat was none other than Kay Manro.

Congratulations Kaye,

You will receive a copy of Amy's Betrayed, Chicken Soup for the NASCAR soul and a copy of Destination Daytona.

Congratulations for a great win during NASCAR week!!

Let the race begin!

2010-02-14T09:40:00.001-08:00

Kasey Khane is one of the young guns of racing. Hailing from Washington State, he began his racing career in 2000, competing in the USAC Sprint, Midget, and Silver Crown Series as one of Steve Reeves drivers.

In 2002, as a rookie, he raced for Robert Yates Racing and won 20 out of 34 races ending 33rd in series points. In 2003, Kasey began driving for Atkins Motorsports ending that season in 7th place with a win at HOMESTEAD and 14 top ten finishes.
In 2009, he finished 10th in the series.

On the down side, he ended THE CHASE finishing 32nd or worse in the final races. 2010, we hoe will be better. Khane will begin today's race in 4th position.

GOOD LUCK, KASEY!

Drivers of NASCAR

2010-02-11T07:09:00.000-08:00

It takes a special person to be a NASCAR driver. Not only must they have good reflexes, a NASCAR driver is required to have good reflexes controlling an auto at 180 plus miles per hour. A driver has to deal with the pressures of being in the public eye - for ten months of the year. Anything you do, anything you say, how you drive, whether you win or not is all put on public display. Everyone from the local sports caster to your garage mechanic becomes the backseat driver and points out your flaws or your lack of ability. It's like driving in a glass house.

Worse, your family must live with these public accusations and people placing microphones in their faces asking very, very personal questions. Your reputation is constantly up for scrutiny. Think about it, if you drop in points and slip behind a driver or two, according to the news your career is over. Imagine hearing that for a week or weeks until you bank a win and slip back toward the top.

It's no wonder then that NASCAR has a high divorce rate. Something is always going on every weekend for 10 months out of the year. No vacations, no time off for births, little for deaths or illness. With that said, here are the top divers for the 2009 season

~A.J. Allmondinger~
~Bill Elliott~
~Joey Logano~
~Jamie McMurry~
~Juan Pablo Montoya~
~David Ragan~
~David Reutimann~
~Elliott Sandler~
~Martin Truex Jr.~
~Michael Waltrip~

Tomorrow, read about our favorite drivers - Kasey Khane and Dale Earnhardt Jr.

What is NASCAR ?

2010-02-09T04:05:00.000-08:00

What is NASCAR?

What is NASCAR? What is the big thrill of continuous left turns to complete an oval? NASCAR - NASCAR is love-
The love of a fast car! The thrill of out foxing your competitors! The thrill of victory when you swoosh down that last straightaway rolling under the checkered flag to the roar of approving fans!
Yea, that's NASCAR !

The acronym stands for National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing or NASCAR. This body governs or oversees the rules for three major races.
Sprint Cup Series
Nationwide Series
Craftman Truck Series

Unlike the old days where Detroit model cars ( stock cars) were souped up to run fast, today's autos have gotten it down to a science. Most teams build their cars from the ground up adhering to the provisions of the governing body. Comparing a Detroit model to a racing vehicle is like looking at snails compared to a thoroughbred.

Sprint cup racers weigh in at 3400 pounds and carry a monster V8 cubic inch engine that will generate 750 horsepower to move the vehicle down that track at speeds up to and over 180 miles per hour. A showroom model may have a 400 horsepower with a tame V8.

A stock car is built for one thing and one thing only S P E E D !

In celebration of the 2010 NASCAR season, my dear author friend Amy Clipston and I are running a contest!

Leave a comment on my blog and/or Amy's before the green flag drops on the Daytona 500 on Sunday and you'll be registered to win three NASCAR-related books. Check out these covers!
Let's go racin'!
Blog sites
http://amyclipston.blogspot.com/2010/02/gentlemen-ladies-start-your-engines-and.html
http://obe-romancingtheblog.blogspot.com/

From Amy Clipston ( print )

From Nancy O'Berry ( ebook )

Boogity, boogity, boogity....

2010-02-07T16:38:00.000-08:00

In celebration of the 2010 NASCAR season, my dear author friend Amy Clipston and I are running a contest!

Leave a comment on this blog and/or Amy's (http://amyclipston.blogspot.com/2010/02/gentlemen-ladies-start-your-engines-and.html) before the green flag drops on the Daytona 500 on Sunday and you'll be registered to win three NASCAR-related books. The covers for the books are shown below.

Let's go racin'!

*****

The Bud Shootout is the opening salvo for the start of the 2010 stock car season. It usually consist of 75 laps around a 2.5 mile oval in Daytona Beach, Florida, the hallowed ground for any racing fan.

The line up consist of eligible cars picked from points by team and owner garnered the year before. Once chosen, the drivers gather on the track for a blind draw party. Here the drivers pick their starting point the night before the race..

This year 24 drivers qualified to wait for the green flat to drop.. When the smoke cleared, Kevin Harvick won, driving his Chevrolet beneath the yellow checkered flag due to a wreck which nearly took out the whole field. Right behind him, Kasey Khane came in second.

Speed week begins! So as Darryl Waltrip says, "Tighten those belts and let's go racing boys!"

Order from:
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com
www.booksamillion.com

Lacey Fowler is distraught when her father and stepmother are killed in a car accident while traveling from Daytona International Speedway to their home in Mooresville, North Carolina. Her anxiety is heightened when champion stock car driver and known playboy Reese Mitchell inherits part of Southern Racing, her father’s prestigious team. Suspecting her father was murdered and his race team is in trouble, she turns to Reese in desperation for help. Uniting their pieces of the company, they band together to solve the crime and save the company. Can Lacey save the company without losing her heart? The stakes are high when she is Betrayed.

Amy Clipston's story "Kevin Harvick's Gift of Caring" is featured in the new Chicken Soup for the Soul: Nascar: 101 Stories of Family, Fortitude, and Fast Cars, which will be available in stores February 16.
To buy Chicken Soup for the Soul
http://www.amazon.com/Chicken-Soup-Soul-Stories-Fortitude/dp/1935096443/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1264170041&sr=8-4

Janet Duplain wasn't sure what to expect when she decided to make the trek down to Florida and the Daytona 500. She'd surprised her husband Ed with the trip only he died unexpectedly and now this is the last thing she can do to honor his memory.
Steven Brock loves NASCAR so when he rescues a woman outside the gates and finds she knows nothing about racing he plans to enlighten her. What he doesn't expect is the sparks to fly between them. Her auburn hair and deep green eyes are like a beacon calling him in. Only Janet is still carrying the torch for her dead husband. Can Steven turn on the charm and woo her convincing fair Janet that love is always better the second time around?
To buy link : http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?products_id=574&osCsid=8afa7d0860164cf029ec890370ad82be

Be sure to leave a comment on my blog or Amy Clipston's blog and be eligible to win a copy of all of these books:
Chicken Soup
Betrayed
Destination Daytona

Gentlemen - and ladies Start your Engines

2010-02-07T05:22:00.000-08:00

Drop the green flag and start those engines!

Looking for excitement?
Does the roar of the crowd, the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline make your heart race? This week we'll be exploring the exciting world of NASCAR and stock car racing as Speed Week takes over Daytona Florida.

Whether you like your men in those flashy fire suits, you enjoy watching cars careen around a track at breathtaking speeds, or your trying to find the happy medium in a house full of NASCAR fans, we'll try to figure out the ins and outs of this fast paced sport together and along the way find a bit of romance.

So buckle in tight and LET'S GO RACIN'

If you enjoy NASCAR of motor sports check out these titles...

By Amy Clipston

By Nancy O'Berry

Location, Location, Location

2010-01-25T07:42:00.000-08:00

Ideas are easy to come by, but it's the location that needs research as well. I've come up with an idea for a western series that will be set in a small community. I knew I wanted to explore perhaps some ranching aspects and I'd set one in Wyoming. So in playing real estate agent, I came across the little town of Evergreen, Colorado. Let me tell you a bit about this Gem of the West.

Evergreen, Colorado sits just a bit south and west of Denver. The original inhabitants were the Ute and the Arapaho. The abundance of timber and mining opportunities drew others. When the 1859 gold rush began the small community grew.

Evergreen was in some aspects very progressive, their physician was a woman named Dr. Josephine Williams who moved to the community with her widowed mother and began practicing. I'm sure the trappers and loggers enjoyed the gentle touch of a woman.
Other communities are nearby like Golden where Buffalo Bill is buried. Wonderful names like Lariat Trail, Deadman's Gulch, and Lookout Mountain.

Evergreen and Golden Colorado are definitely on my bucket list of places to visit. Check out the link at.http://www.citymtnviews.com/Evergreen1.php4

I'm blogging today over at

2010-01-23T09:56:00.000-08:00

Join me at Amber Williams Blogspot and catch a short free read
http://www.amberleighwilliams.blogspot.com/

Getting to know the author.

2010-01-18T10:41:00.000-08:00

I had a friend ask me to tell her something she didn't know about me. My first response was that my life was boring hence the need to make up more fascinating people.
No, she responded. Tell me more about you. Seven things that most people don't know. And here they are.

1. I once dreamed of being the first female jockey to win the Kentucky Derby.
What happened with that? Well, I grew a few inches too tall and gained a "modest ' amount of weight. It didn't deter me from riding horses. In fact I had my half Arabian mare for twenty eight years. We grew old together. I do miss her terribly.

2. I'm nearsighted in one eye and far sighted in the other.
No, don't ask me which one, I can't remember. I think it must be a generic thing my mom was the same way. But, it makes life interesting. My children won't ride with me unless I wearing my glasses. Gee , where is their sense of adventure?

3. I am named after 14 other women.
Yes, it goes back past the Civil War to the 1820's. One girl in each generation on my father's side had the same first and middle name as myself. No, I stopped it. My daughter is named for her grandfather.

4. In family lines, I am the last.
My parents didn't have an heir or a spare, only me. So when I married the Parsons line ended. It's kind of sad in a way. I will pass the oral history and the bibles from the early 1800's down to the children but the history, the connections in a way will now be a generation gone. My family comes from Portsmouth Island, North Carolina, Salters to the Whalley's to the Parsons. In my blood runs the same blood as those pirates who signed and sailed with Blackbeard for one was hung in Williamsburg when Maynard captured the Queen Anne's Revenge. My history runs deep in the southern soil hence my love for history.

5. I belong to a fan based group of an old TV show in the 1960's.
Yep won't go into naming names but I served as the first place I began writing. Yes, at least once a week I pull out the old VHS tapes and the released DVD's and watch an episode repeating the lines. I am so bad.

6. I would love to visit the places I write about.
On my bucket list are the cities of Evergreen Colorado, Seattle, Washing ton, San Antonio, Texas, Eagle Pass, Texas, and Larado

7. The last thing I think I want to share is that in the bottom of my freezer, I have a complete snowman.
My son and daughter were 12 and 8 respectively when we had our last great snowfall. ( Yes today they are rounding 30 and heading on. It is hard to get snow in the south near the Gulf Stream). They made a snowman that lasted for three days and when it came close to melting, my children begged to save "Buddy Holiday" . So we moved the frozen blueberries, shifted the bag of jalapeño peppers and placed Buddy Holiday in the bottom of the freezer . He looks so sad with his garland of fruit and peppers and his arms reaching to get out. I keep threatening to bring him out on the Fourth of July and put a sparkler in each hand. Perhaps I should dress him up for each holiday and take pictures for a calendar. That might fund the writing process.

So, now you all know a bit more about me. There are seven great blogs I'm going to be putting links to. Please, check them out and let the owner know you heard of them through here.

http://mizging.blogspot.com/

http://delilahmarvelle.blogspot.com

http://celiayeary.blogspot.com

http://kayemanro.blogspot.com

http://seducedbyhistory.blogspot.com

http://amyclipston.blogspot.com

http://paigeryter.blogspot.com/

Next week, I'm blogging about Evergreen, Colorado , its history and what makes it so fascinating.

Meet new author: Cara Preston!

2010-01-16T05:58:00.000-08:00

I have had the pleasure these past few months working with several ladies on a collection of books for love the second time around with Red Rose Publishing. Today, I'd like to introduce to you the lovely and talented Cara Preston.

All about Cara Preston.

I enjoy writing and acting. I've been writing for years, doing photojournalism and poetry first, then concentrating on short stories and novels. Under my real name, Phyllis Johnson, I have had three poetry books published. I also conduct writing workshops and host open mic nights. I also write a weekly newspaper column and do restaurant reviews.

How long have you been writing?

I've been writing for twenty years.

What made you decide you wanted to be a writer?

When I was a young girl, I was given a toy typewriter and that instilled a love for writing at an early age.

How did you come up with the idea of Another Place and Time ?

I was staying at a writing retreat with my friend and I was inspired to write the story there. Actually, the story includes mention of the bed and breakfast in it. In some strange ways, the story became precognitive of something that later took place in my life.

What do you see happening in your writing future?

I see series of books in my future, of different genre. I also see myself as a motivational speaker on a book tour.

Where can readers connect with you?
You can write me at actresswriter7@aol.com Find news about Cara Preston at www.carapreston.blogspot.com and about Phyllis Johnson at www.phyllisjohnson.net

Here is the information about Cara's new book.

ANOTHER PLACE & TIME
Forever Yours Series
Cara Preston
Erotic Romance: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal, Autumn Rose 40+
ISBN: 978-1-60435-610-6
Cover Artist: Nancy Donahue
Editor: Wolf Cassell
Word Count: 13,790
Release Date: January 14, 2010
to buy link: http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?products_id=553

Blurb:

Is there such thing as a soul mate? Trina's divorce has left her shaken and wondering. Then someone comes along who totally blows her away. Ben is different. It's as though he's from another era, but is he? Paranormal events lead her to believe that he is from another time zone. Will she take a chance on him and find love again?

Excerpt

Leave it to Trina to have memories usually rooted in food. It never failed. Those dreams about a blue car were no doubt triggered at some point by a blueberry muffin before going to bed. And that black patent leather purse she bragged about was undoubtedly inspired by some strand of black licorice, known to be an aphrodisiac. That's it… food and sex. The two had an intertwining with a fine line of division. Talk about a Better than Sex Cake often had Trina scratching her head. Better than sex? She had her doubts.

What fuels your imagination?

2010-01-15T07:52:00.000-08:00

The dictionary gives the word IMAGINATION this meaning, "the act or power of forming mental images of what is not present". Or, "the act or power of creating new ideas by combining previous experiences" and that is what authors do. We take the act and turn it into and action. We make it a verb.

In order to do so we need things that will excite that process, similar to the electrical synapses of our brains. Something must draw our attention or "capture our imaginations". For me it is the west. So join me this year as we explore our Western Frontier.

What are some things that capture your imagination? Is it the lone cowboy? The survival of our Native Americans and their culture? Is it the taming of the west through the bite of the plow or the iron horse? Perhaps it's nothing more than the struggle to create a home and eek out the existence through day-to-day activities.

I'll be interested in hearing your answers.

Looking for that cowboy experience

2010-01-06T06:22:00.000-08:00

A blog mate of mine has written a great tale in connection with the Wayback Series over at The Wild Rose Press. As we move into 2010 I hope you'll take time to check out...

BLUEST HEART by Amber Leigh Williams

The Wayback bachelor is a dying breed, but that doesn't stop Casey Ridge from wanting to settle down. For this cowboy anyone but Josie Brusky would be an easy wrangle. Unfortunately for him, the Blue Bug singer and owner of Josie's Treasures doesn't believe in commitment much less marriage.

Years ago, Josie lost her heart to Casey's charm and dimpled smile. Since then she has done everything she knows to forget him. After all, she’s known as the local harlot and the daughter of the town’s biggest bigot. Casey could have any girl he wanted. Why would he saddle himself with her? In the wake of a shattering past, she refuses to give up her independence.

Casey digs down deep to win her over, but does he have what it takes to win Wayback's bluest heart?

Excerpt

"You remember that night behind the stable?"

She let out a small, throaty laugh. "Seems like forever ago, but yeah. Your hair was a lot longer then."

"Yours, too." He could remember it curtaining their faces, the tips of silky, red curls tickling his cheeks. Tracing the line of pearly buttons from the hem of her midnight blue blouse to the open neck-line, he touched the teardrop-shaped pearl on the thin gold chain around her neck which reminded him of the moon that night. "You were my first."

She lifted her gaze to his. Tenderness warred with uncertainty in the whiskey-colored depths. "Me, too."

His heart pattered at the memory. "I always liked that about us.."

She nodded, frowning. "I was crazy about you."

The tip of his thumb traced the bottom edge of her lip. "So why didn’t it last?"

She looked beyond him, remembering. "Because however much I wanted to be with you, I knew I would be leaving the first chance I got. I wasn’t go-ing to let anything or anyone stand in my way."

"You figured I would?"

"Casey, we were so young," she told him. "Who knows what you or I would’ve done?"

He paused, running a hand over her hair. "Just for the record," he murmured, lips brushing her cheek, "I would’ve let you go."

She sighed, reaching up to clutch his upper arm. The muscle under her hand and his sleeve warmed. "Why hasn’t anyone snatched you up yet?"

"Because you’re the only one I ever wanted, Josie," he told her, cupping her chin in his hand to look her in the eyes as he said it. "The only one."

Buy Link: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/amber-leigh-williams-m-352.html?zenid=34824c7dd4a5532c25c613965a656aac

Welcome to 2010

2010-01-04T08:01:00.000-08:00

Whether you say twenty ten or two thousand ten, its the start of the second decade in a new century. WOW makes you feel old huh.?

It just serves as a reminder that words are important and the placing of words in some semblance of order requires thought. Think about the speeches we've heard in the past.

Abraham Lincoln :
"Four score and seven years ago, our fore fathers brought forth on this continent an new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all me are created equal."

What if he had said,
Eighty seven years ago Washington and other leaders established this nation based on the idea of liberty and freedom for all men.

Doesn't have the same ring does it?

Or great works of literature..

Shakespeare:
" To be or not to be... that is the question."

Now days in our vernacular we might say... "Yo, what it is? my bad."

I'm sure he just rolled in his grave.

As we writers do take the noun and use it as a verb and write, let us remember to tweak our written word to bring out the best mileage on an idea. Use the dictionary and the thesaurus to breath life into compositions. Just because its done, doesn't mean its finished.

Writing requires action! Do it daily, do it often, but as always just do it - write.

Nancy O'Berry

Giving in to Charity has been nomintated for Book of the Month

2009-12-31T08:09:00.000-08:00

You know, I almost emptied the spam this morning after receiving those "you have won" emails. Yet, I didn't. I'm so glad now that I didn't. My third book Giving in to Charity Sweetbrier Academy Book 3 has been nominated for book of the month. WOW, ok the only award I've ever gotten is "get out of jail free". I usually shy away from those things. So it was awesome to get the email out of the blue.

You can't nominate yourself. Your book has to be read, to strike a cord, to move one of the reviewers to nominate you. Therefore it is a true honor. If you'd like to read the review and an excerpt, I've placed them below as well as the link to vote. Thank you to the Dark Diva's for this kind and generous honor.

REVIEW:
Nancy O'Berry has captured my heart with her Sweetbrier Academy Series I have read the first two books which include Hope and Faith's stories and I am so happy that Charity finally has a story of her own in Giving in to Charity. As I read along, I seem to lose myself into the time frame in which these stories take place—the formal gowns, society gatherings, and the intrigue that Nancy O'Berry creates.

I must say, out of the three books, this one is my favorite, which is saying a lot since I gave them all high marks. The era that is the back drop to this book has always fascinated me. A time where proper women looked down their noses at the less fortunate; sometimes, only to find themselves at the mercy of what is right. People will do anything when greed is involved.

Charity has, what some would call, a thick skin but she is a woman with a heart. I was surprised by the amount of information we get about Charity. Her character is right out in the open, her past to her future laid bare for us to see. It is always nice to get the back ground on a character.

Tobias is a man to be reckoned with. His character has so many facets to it; I often caught myself wondering if he was the real McCoy. He has the strength to hold his own with Charity—of course that’s after they work through some issues.

The secondary characters in Giving in to Charity are truly astonishing. On many occasions throughout this book, I wanted to slap Miss Violet in order to defend Charity. She was quite the villain.

I would love to see Opal and Howard finally get hitched and have their own story. They are both so dominate in all three books. They raised three amazing women.

Giving in to Charity is a delightfully sensual story about love, mystery and greed. A man will do anything for the silver running through the mines in Virginia City, and for the love of a good woman, no matter her past.

Nancy O'Berry is magnificently delicious! Come and visit Sweetbrier Academy, then you will know what it is like to relive the past.

Rated 5 Delightful Divas by Deb!

Read an excerpt here:
Tobias paced the length of the platform; his dark coat flapped in the cool breeze that swooped down from the mountains. A flat-brimmed, dark hat pulled down across his face so that only the edges of his rich auburn hair showed to the public. He’d stuffed his tan trousers to fit tight inside his tall riding boots. Hooking his thumbs in the leather of his suspenders with is right hand, he palmed the pocket watch from his vest with the other.

“She’s coming. Don’t fret so,” said the tall, white-haired gentleman leaning upon the post next to the ticket office.

“Oh, I believe she is a woman of her word,” Tobias replied, checking his watch against the large clock in the depot. “Got a few more minutes, Howard.” Slipping his watch back, Tobias took another drag on the cigar he held tight between his teeth.
Howard paused and took a deep breath. “Have you said anything to Miss Marsh about a personal secretary?”

Tobias’ mouth twitched. “No, I’m sure Miss Wilson’s never quite tackled a job such as this either. When they meet I’ll gladly do the introductions.”
Howard gave a grunt.

Tobias removed the cigar from his mouth and ground it out in the sand barrel. “Oh, yes, she’ll be here. Miss Benedict’s ladies are very reliable.”

“Poor Charity,” Howard chuckled.

“What?” Tobias inquired.

“I was just wondering if she knew what type of buzz saw she was walking into.” The tall man smiled and looked up the track. “Ah, I think our train is on the way.”
Tobias turned on his boot heel. Above the trees a plume of dark grey smoke rose in puffs. A deep dread formed a rock in the pit of his stomach. Had he done the right thing? Was it unfair to ask so much from a woman he hardly knew? Moving down to the edge of the platform, he already guessed the answer. She was the type of woman who wanted more. He knew he’d seen that kind of desire before. Mostly from men in the camps as they fought for what little was left behind. Tobias knew she would be a fighter. She had to be considering that she had survived the lean years of the war. Come to think of it, she deserved more.

“Well, it can’t be worried over now.” Howard nudged him with his elbow. “Put a smile on that mug of yours. We don’t want to scare Miss Charity off before she’s even begun.”

Tobias opened his mouth to reply, but the shrill whistle split the air, drowning out his words. The bold iron horse roared into the station. The weight of the metal wheels rumbling on the iron rails caused the ground to shake. The wheels ground to a halt with a loud scrape of metal. Belching steam from its pistons, the train obscured his vision with a white cloud. Tobias looked again at the platform. It appeared filled with all sorts of humanity. A cold sweat formed on his skin, and his hands trembled. After all these years, he still hated the sound of metal grinding. The memories of being in Andersonville flooded his mind.

“Tobias?” Howard’s tone of voice expressed his worry.

“F-Fine,” he stammered. Pulling himself together, he asked, “You see her?”

“Not yet, I think,” Howard responded, keeping Tobias in his worried glance. Slowly, the crowd parted.

Across the platform, a distinct figure materialized from the steam. Howard craned his neck to get a glimpse. The figure of a woman, medium height and slim build beneath a rather grandiose piece of millinery, stood quietly upon the platform.
“There.” Howard pointed. “There she is.” He walked toward her.

Tobias paused. A smile spread across his face. Before him turned a woman dressed in lavender brocade. He bet his hands could span the width of her waist with little trouble. He wished he could see her expression beneath the netting. Watching with envy, Tobias witnessed Howard Stetson give a slight bend toward Charity and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Moving nearer the two, Tobias picked up snippets of conversation.

Stormy Weather has gotten a review

2009-12-18T11:10:00.000-08:00

A wonderful review by the folks over at You gotta read.

Rating: You Gotta Read

Reviewed by: Brynna Curry

http://yougottareadreviews.blogspot.com/2009/12/review-stormy-weather-by-nancy-oberry.html

Blurb:
The proceeds of this book go to the Susan G. Komain Foundation
*note* frank discussion on breast cancer surgery and reconstruction
As a woman, Lauren Phelps has suffered the worst life can throw at her. The loss of her breast, the rejection of her husband, a divorce can she pick up the shattered threads of her life and continue?

Cole McGuire met Lauren Phelps through a mutual friend, his mother. When Lauren took a medical leave of absence, he wondered if he would ever see her again. When she returned to Teague and Marshalls, he made sure she was transferred to his office. Now divorced, he wondered if he stood a chance to woo her.
Can Lauren learn to love again after the storm?

Review:
After Lauren Phelps is diagnosed with breast cancer, her dirtbag husband left her to withstand treatment and reconstruction alone. After reconstructive surgery and going into remission, Lauren is offered a new position at her old job, as Cole McGuire's assistant. Cole McGuire is thrilled to have Lauren back at the office and has come to know her through his mother who also had cancer. Now that both of them are free he is determined to win her heart, to show her that love is unconditional.

I cried all through the first passage, which seemed like part of the story at first, but was actually the author's journey. Lauren carries the internal scars of her survival and rejection by her ex- husband while holding her head high. Cole is a loving, understanding hero who shows Lauren how to open her heart again. True beauty blooms in the heart, and everything else is just 'window dressing'. This is one you gotta read and your purchase supports a wonderful cause. I commend the author for having the courage to face her personal fears and trial and for writing this story. Ms. O'Berry's work is always fluent and incredibly moving. Needless to say, Stormy Weather, is just one more reason to keep her at the top of my list.

Ok note here, the first part of the book is actually my editors brush with this horrible disease. When she found out I was writing this tail she asked if she could put a forward in. I had no problems offering Michelle Ellis a part in this book because she has been there for me when I had questions. Her professionalism and willingness to work with young emerging writers is an awesome asset for Red Rose Publishing. Emmy's brush with and talk about finding a lump and what she went through makes this book even more important.

I am honored to have her as an editor and as a friend. Please in this season of giving remember that proceeds for Stormy Weather go to help those with Breast Cancer. Proceeds are going to the Susan G. Komen for the Cure. Thank you.

CHECK out this great book signing

2009-12-16T12:05:00.000-08:00

If you are in or around the Houston area, you might want to stop by and see these fine authors. Be sure to tell them Nancy O says Howdy!

BOOKSIGNING AND HOLIDYA PARTY this Saturday in the
Houston area. Come on down and join the fun if you can!

HOLIDAY PARTY!
Boomerang Books
Saturday, Dec 19
12:00 - 4:00

Anna Kathryn Lanier

Skhye Moncrief

Anne-Marie Novak

Emma Lai

Elizabeth Pina

_http://rosesofhouston.blogspot.com_ (http://rosesofhoust on.blogspot. com/)

Lots of Prizes - every 30 minutes
Treats and Drinks
1/2 off all used Romance
Fun, Fun, Fun
Come join us!

Boomerang Books
907 W Main St
League City, TX 77573
281-316-1404

_www.myspace. com/boomerangboo ks_ (http://www.myspace. com/boomerangboo ks)
Facebook, too! Search Boomerang Books

Need something to read now that Old man winter has settled in

2009-12-10T08:35:00.000-08:00

My publisher Red Rose Publishing is putting out several great Christmas stories. Another one what has come across my desktop is this, Three Minutes Before Christmas by Paige Ryter. Ok love the authors name. Say it out loud and you'll catch her witty pen name.

I love the change on the amnesia angle too. Hit by a huge roll of Christmas wrapping paper. Come on we've all had those days when paper has fallen from the table or whatever we've chosen to wrap those gifts on. How cute that she's rescued by a doctor. Paige even centers the social gap in the story and when it comes down to it.."Check the clock because they've only got Three Minutes Before Christmas until the magic is lost."

This contemporary sounds like a great read on a cold day waiting for the Big man in the Red Suit to stop by your tree.

Custom of the Christmas tree

2009-12-06T07:57:00.000-08:00

When we think of Christmas, it's not visions of sugar plums that dance in our heads. It is the vision of the tree decorated that sits in our family rooms, our Living rooms, or virtually any room in the house. The Evergreen is synonymous with the holiday season.

Our Pagan ancestors spruced ( sorry about the pun) their homes with the sweet smelling boughs to remind them through those long dark winter nights that spring would once again return to the land. Christianity , through Martin Luther brought the trees into the homes reminding their families that " Jesus left the stars in heaven to come to earth" to teach us how to live. I personally like to think it's a measure of the two. It reminds us that there is a constant life that like Christ love, it is renewable.

Christmas trees often did not have a long life. They were brought in as part of the Christmas treat and were left for St. Nicholas and his elves to decorate. Their blank branches suddenly sprang to life overnight and were seen on Christmas morning decked in their splendor. A sight to behold. It was then burned for warmth. Remember the folk tale of the Little Fir Tree?

Victorians really made the tree special. Pictures of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert with their families before the tree made them a mainstay in the 1850 homes. Virginia's first tree came to Williamsburg in 1845. It was brought over by the Minnegerod family. Charles Minnegerod, a German professor at William and Mary brought the custom to the New World delighting the children of the George Tucker House.

Decorations were edible often made from gingerbread or marzipan, an almond sugar paste that can be shaped into figures, hard candies in gilded netting, cookies, and fruit. To offset these pleasures, paper fans, tin soldiers, windup toys were hung as well. Added to the mix were homemade toys, dolls, and mittens. Small handmade wax candles gave the tree light. Those beautiful hand blown glass ornaments were first made in Germany during the mid 1800's and shipped throughout Europe.

So, as you get ready to celebrate the beauty of the season, take time to bring the family in and enjoy the tree. Read to your children the story of The Little Fir Tree, The Polar Express, and the story found in the New Testament. Do it by the light of the tree with the carols playing softly in the background. You'll find the magic of Christmas has not been lost, "...it still resides in those who believe."

Wow a great new story just in time for Christmas

2009-11-30T10:39:00.000-08:00

I've come across a fantastic new writer today by the name of Paige Ryter who has a story coming out in 11 short days.

Three Minutes to Midnight (great title huh)

Here's the blurb.

When Sydney White is hit by a huge roll of Christmas wrapping paper at her mall wrapping job, sexy pediatrician Colin Taylor rushes to her rescue. Unable to find her purse or keys, Sydney can’t even recall the phone number for her brother’s new home, so Colin offers his home as a place of refuge.

While there is a physical attraction, Sydney knows their worlds are far apart and it’ll only be a matter of time before he finds someone else in his own social class.

Can a Christmas miracle save their love? Check the clock because they’ve only got Three Minutes Before Christmas and the magic is lost.

I can't wait to read this one.

Home Sweet Home Life on the range was really green!

2009-11-23T05:12:00.000-08:00

When we talk about living green, our generation has nothing on the early pioneers. Living on the prairies meant building homes with little to no timber structure. These homes were constructed with earthen blocks that allowed early settlers to be warm in the winter and cool in summer. Sounds grand with the cost of heating and cooling today.

All you needed was a firm piece of ground and your John Deere plow to cut these bricks three feet long and four inches deep. Stack two or three bricks width and there you have it. The long roots of the grasses would hold the walls together. In the spring, a profusion of wild flowers would grace your roof. It sounds lovely, but there were a few drawbacks.

There are diary entries from these brave souls who stood with umbrellas over their stoves while they cooked to keep the rain from dampening dinner. Dirt would filter down and onto the occupants of the home requiring the tarps to be placed beneath the block ceiling. Worse, in my humble opinion would be the critters who would want to share your warmth, such as bugs, mice and shiver me timbers SNAKES. ( Ok I would not have made it on that account). Yet these sturdy structures provided great protection from fires which could roar around the homes and walls would keep the families and livestock safe.

Don't think that these structures were primitive. While most might be constructed in a single room design, other homes had designs of two, possibly three rooms. Often those rooms would be separated by blankets or tarps. Some sod homes had wall paper walls. The 1872 Montgomery Wards Catalog carried window frames for sod homes!

To read more of course, pick up the Little House on the Prairie books by Laura Inglis Wilder.

LK HUNSAKER announces winner from my blog!

2009-11-22T16:44:00.000-08:00

CONGRATULATIONS TO LINDA B....

Nov 13 Nancy O'Berry: winner - Linda B

CONGRATS! The short story will be mailed after the book release date. Be sure to comment on at least 8 blogs during the tour to be eligible to win the book. :-)

LK Hunsaker
~Literary Romance with an Artsy Twist~
http://www.lkhunsak er.com
I'M ON TOUR! Find my schedule:
http://www.classicromancerevival.com/blog/?p=1520

Information about a contest November 26th.

2009-11-21T05:39:00.000-08:00

http://marthasbookshelf.blogspot.com

Wow the response has blown me away! Please be sure to check with Martha's bookself and the link above so that you can register for the give away. I'm going to post a bit more of the book Stormy Weather here today.

“So, what are your plans now?” Karen Quinn asked as the two women strolled across the narrow, wrought iron bridge that spanned The Hague.
“I don’t know.” Lauren shrugged. “Go back to work, I guess. Begin a new life.”
“Lord knows you need to,” Karen agreed.
They paused at the crest of the bridge spanning the narrow inlet close to downtown. Karen was right; she did need to. Her life had changed one hundred and eighty degrees since March of last year when she’d found the lump just under her nipple on the left side of her breast.
“It still galls me that he found another woman,” Karen spat. “Just left you and moved in with her like everything was fine.”
Lauren pulled her dark blue coat tighter against her thin frame. “It was his choice,” she replied.
“Humph.”
Lauren looked at her friend, touched by her loyalty. “He was and still is an immature boy,” Lauren conceded, then sighed as they walked on. “My doctor told me to get on with my life.”
“Are you?”
She nodded. “I called Mr. McGuire this morning and asked for my job back.”
“And?” Karen asked, her eyes shining with excitement.
“He…he said he has a good replacement in my position,” Lauren said.
“No, he didn’t!”
She looked over at her friend’s shocked expression. Reaching out, she placed a hand upon her arm. “It’s okay. He offered me a new position.”
“As?”
“I’m the young Mr. McGuire’s personal assistant and project manager,” Lauren explained.
Karen’s face filled with joy. “This deserves a drink. Come on, the Purple Elephant is no more than a block away.”

Please note, this book contains frank discussions on breast cancer and reconstruction. The money raised from this book goes to Susan G. Komen for the Cure, Tidewater chapter. I have signed over my royalties to raise money for the cure of cancer. Won't you join me is stopping this disease. Nancy O'Berry, author.

Help raise money for Breast Cancer

2009-11-17T17:38:00.000-08:00

Stormy Weather
Mainstream Romance Contemporary
ISBN: 978-1-60435-430-0
Cover Artist: Nancy Donahue
Editor: Michelle Ellis
Line Editor: Mike Kay
Word Count: 17,754
Price: $2.99 release date is November 26th.

To buy link: http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?manufacturers_id=151&products_id=536

As a woman, Lauren Phelps has suffered the worst life can throw at her. The loss of her breast, the rejection of her husband, a divorce can she pick up the shattered threads of her life and continue?

Cole McGuire met Lauren Phelps through a mutual friend, his mother. When Lauren took a medical leave of absence, he wondered if he would ever see her again. When she returned to Teague and Marshalls, he made sure she was transferred to his office. Now divorced, he wondered if he stood a chance to woo her.

Can Lauren learn to love again after the storm?

Read an excerpt here...

“So, what are your plans now?” Karen Quinn asked as the two women strolled across the narrow, wrought iron bridge that spanned The Hague.
“I don’t know.” Lauren shrugged. “Go back to work, I guess. Begin a new life.”
“Lord knows you need to,” Karen agreed.
They paused at the crest of the bridge spanning the narrow inlet close to downtown. Karen was right; she did need to. Her life had changed one hundred and eighty degrees since March of last year when she’d found the lump just under her nipple on the left side of her breast.
“It still galls me that he found another woman,” Karen spat. “Just left you and moved in with her like everything was fine.”
Lauren pulled her dark blue coat tighter against her thin frame. “It was his choice,” she replied.
“Humph.”
Lauren looked at her friend, touched by her loyalty. “He was and still is an immature boy,” Lauren conceded, then sighed as they walked on. “My doctor told me to get on with my life.”
“Are you?”
She nodded. “I called Mr. McGuire this morning and asked for my job back.”
“And?” Karen asked, her eyes shining with excitement.
“He…he said he has a good replacement in my position,” Lauren said.
“No, he didn’t!”
She looked over at her friend’s shocked expression. Reaching out, she placed a hand upon her arm. “It’s okay. He offered me a new position.”
“As?”
“I’m the young Mr. McGuire’s personal assistant and project manager,” Lauren explained.
Karen’s face filled with joy. “This deserves a drink. Come on, the Purple Elephant is no more than a block away.”

All the proceeds from this book are being donated to the Susan G. Komen For the Cure Tidewater fund. If you would like to make a donation or get in contact with them, please use the following website and address:
http://www.komentidewater.org/
119 S. Witchduck Rd., Suite 85
Virginia Beach, VA 23462

Celebrities: Truth vs. Hype

2009-11-12T16:23:00.000-08:00

Hi, I'd like to welcome a friend of mine from Classic Romance Revival. She's been a busy woman on a whirl wind tour with a brand new book that looks very exciting. So let me turn it over today to L.K. Hunsaker and we are OFF TO THE MOON.

Hi Nancy! Thanks for having me today. :-)

So, any idea who Gerard is “with” this week? According to the tabloids, it seems he’s hooked up to a different girl about every week. He says he’s not hooked to anyone. What’s new in CelebrityLand?

One of the issues in Off The Moon is the difference between what we see and hear about actors and singers who have made it to the big time. We hear about the stalkers and restraining orders and anger outbursts, but what’s really going on? Do celebs actually have no right to privacy when they’re out and about?

In Wednesday’s blog post with Liana, I put up a short excerpt that included Ryan talking with his brother about how his celebrity status has affected his family. There’s much more to the story, though. When he rescues Kaitlyn and pulls her into his world, rumors fly and many of his decisions are made with regard to what fans and the press will think.

I’ve heard, sometimes first-hand, from big-name singers who had to deal with dashing through the airport in order to try to evade fans and how their spouses have been harrassed and even injured by fans who go over the edge. I also tend to read musician autobiographies and watch interviews and such. The situations in Off The Moon (as well as in my Rehearsal series) that deal with fans are real-life, not real but based on real events. They lose hair and get clothes torn and sometimes even cracked ribs from overwhelming crowds.

It’s not only hard on the celebrities, but also on those close to them. They’re never quite sure if someone wants to know them for them or to try to get to the celeb.

The other issue is: how much of what we hear is true? I know of publicists/managers who have changed facts to make singers look better, or worse. Celebrity reporters catch glimpses of things and turn them into stories based on a fact or two, but out of context or stretched beyond what it was. Everything on the outside appears glamorous and fun, when behind the scenes, they often have a myriad of problems most of us will never know. And shouldn’t.

Ryan gets thoroughly caught up in trying to “handle” the publicity when he lets Kaitlyn stay at his place. As they struggle to settle her issues, the added stress of what is said, true or not, complicates matters. Kaitlyn is suddenly faced with having her private life splayed all over the media because of his career. Even her most private, hurtful moments are revealed as she tries to heal.

I’ve heard many say celebrities choose that life and have to expect it. Is that true? Should they? I can say that if my name as a writer ever gets up there with Laurell Kay Hamilton, I’ll still expect to be able to maintain my private life. Fortunately (or unfortunately?), writers aren’t seen as celebs as much as singers and actors. If they were, maybe there would be a few included on Dancing With The Stars. Wouldn’t that be nice?

What do you think about celebrities and privacy and what we hear? Do fans have the right to flock to them in public? Do writers have the right to print half-truth articles that question intimate details? Do we really need to know who is dating whom this week? Is it true? How much do you think is true or manufactured?

--------

Buy Link for Off the Moon preorders:
http://www.elucidatepublishing.net/books.html

Find my website for more info, plus a free download of the beginnings of each of my novels:
http://www.lkhunsaker.com

Also, be sure to check my blog for Off The Moon related interviews.
http://lkhunsaker.blogspot.com

Off The Moon
LK Hunsaker

Heres the new buzz... Angela James lands a job.

2009-11-09T06:12:00.000-08:00

> Harlequin is starting an digital only arm and has hired Angela James as the Executive Editor.
> Name is Carina Press.
> http://www.cnbc. com/id/33785094

The press release
> http://carinapress. com

OFF to the Moon!

2009-11-05T09:50:00.001-08:00

Hey everyone! LK is blogging with Sue Perkins today, the next stop on her Blog Tour. She's celebrating the upcoming release of "Off The Moon" and you stand a chance to win... You'll find her latest post at: http://sueperkinsau thor.blogspot. com/

All you need to do is visit the blogs along with LK and leave your comment. One person from each blog will be drawn to receive a signed, mailed copy of the short story LK has written as a bit of a prequel to Off The Moon, called Toward The Sky, plus there will be a signed print book drawing for anyone who comments on at least 8 blogs!

To visit all the blogs, check out the list below for the links and dates:

01-Nov Judah Raine
03-Nov Jane Richardson
05-Nov Sue Perkins
07-Nov Linda Banche
09-Nov Sandra Kay
11-Nov Liana Laverentz
13-Nov Nancy O’Berry
15-Nov Sandra Sookoo
17-Nov Lainey Bancroft
19-Nov Lindsay Townsend
21-Nov Maryann Miller
23-Nov Sandy James
25-Nov Lizzie Starr

Growing...

2009-11-04T18:20:00.000-08:00

What's great about being a writer is that you grow. We begin with simple sentences. Then as our lives revolve around others and link with feeling, we change. We describe, we expound, and we learn the art of creating visual representations.

For some this part of our education is hard for others its easy. Some of us still work at it. But the more we work, the greater the understanding. I'm working. I doing my best to learn and to understand. I ask questions-a lot. Often those get me in trouble but I'll ask anyway. AND sometimes they lead me toward wonderful things.

This week was full of wonderful things. My writing has led me to creating a story for the Susan G. Komen group and giving my royalties to fight the cause. My publisher, Wendi Felter and Red Rose Publishing are behind me and helping me to set this up. Giving back to those who helped my mother, my aunts is extraordinary. I'm honored to be a part of Red Rose Publishing and to be associated with such a warm caring publisher.

Another wonderful thing is getting in touch with agents. I'm happy to announce that I'm talking with a wonderful woman who would like to represent me and I'd be honored to be represented by, Jewelann Cone of the Atlantis Literary Agency.

When you look for an agent, you look for someone who understands your manuscript. You look at someone who "gets" your voice or your use of language. I think I've found such a person in Jewelann Cone.

I look forward to the day we sign that contract and I continue to learn under her guiding hands. Life changes are all part of growing. We grow, we change. All is very, very good. My life is full.