Diggin myself out.

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 !!!!

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

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

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

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!

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

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.