What was I thinking?

How funny is it that after years of writing and loving the genre I write in someone who shall remain nameless (Thanks Suzannah) will give me a hint of a new line of books. I started reading one of these paranormal books - demons and halflings and such and now I'm hooked.

Why you might ask would she recommend something I've never shown any talent or interest in? Simple - I'm expanding my horizons literarily speaking. In the wisdom of my cluttered brain I've taken to writing a paranormal ghost story - and I'mhaving a blast with it. Only problem its not something that's I've ever even attempted or thought of before in any more than a general sense.

Still, in todays market one must be willing to adapt, to write what they love and what sells. So in line with that thinking, I pick a 150 year old ghost and the sexy cowboy she decides she wants. Complicated? You bet, because I have no clue what I'm doing. But its fun.

At least daily I'm wondering what I was thinking when I thought of doing this. There's a lot more to writing a parnormal than just putting the words together and letting teh characters do all the work - although it is fun to do the research. I didn't know my town had so many haunted places.
This genre has definitely encouraged me to grow as an author and a person. There's some really fantastic paranormal writing out there and I'm glad that someone finally opened my eyes to it.

Well, I'm off to the Santa Claus Parade - so have a great weekend and see you next time.

Black Friday and 'OAR' blurb...

The hunt for the best deal and perfect gift has officially begun---HAPPY SHOPPING!!! I'm not sure if I look forward to reading over the ads in the paper and getting out early to stand in hour long lines with the masses (crazy, I know!), or the Thanksgiving festivities more.

I wanted to share a blurb from another book currently available in both print and e-book:

ONCE A REBEL--Book 1 in the Orphan Train series--was the winner of the 2008 Golden Rose Award for Best Historical Romance!

Here's the blurb:

Raped at 14, Galen Stewart awakens from a state of shock to find her foster father’s blood on her hands. Determined to stay two steps ahead of the man’s politician brother who’d rather see her dead than reveal his darkest secret, she’s forced to use the only gift Fate has seen fit to bestow upon her. Hiding beneath an array of identities, Galen accepts a station at whatever town saloon she may happen upon and works the oldest profession in the book. The mere thought of the carnal act launches horrid memories and leads her to concoct a laudanum-laced tonic that sends her ‘Johns’ into a slumberous stupor while she plunders their pockets. It seems like the perfect plan…until two of her patrons die of overdoses. To make matters worse, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to frame her for murders she didn’t commit, but who?

Six years later and still no leads, sheriff turned bounty-hunter Joshua Hassett takes matters into his own hands. Besides the fact that he's been hired by the farmer’s ambitious brother, Joshua has his own reasons for wanting to find the elusive waif. When a surprising clue sends him on the hunt for a raven-haired harlot, Joshua’s world is turned upside down by an auburn-haired angel working one of the saloons. When she’s accused of murder, he sets out to prove her innocence and soon finds himself entangled in her web of lies. Once Joshua discovers the truth, will he be able to choose between his heart and his oath to uphold the law?

Follow the link to read the 5 cup review!
http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/Oncearebel.html

5 Enchantments from Enchanting reviews!
www.enchantingreviews.com/Desiree_4_OnceARebel.html

TOP PICK via RRAH!* ...read it here:
http://romancereaderatheart.com/pubsandpromos/2008/jan08/OR_AA.html



You can read more/purchase at http://www.champagnebooks.com/

Hope your holidays are blessed and memorable!


Until next time, happy shopping!
Angie
www.angelaashtonbooks.com

A Holiday to Treasure (or Forget)

I have experienced (but have not necessarily hosted) Thanksgiving dinners that have ranged from a Martha Stewart affair to The Beverly Hillbillies. Thanksgiving doesn't seem to carry the same weight here in Canada as it does in the States, but it’s pretty safe to say that we tend to reserve our real disasters for Christmas. Yup, we've had some doozies.

I like to divide Thanksgiving into two columns:

• Turkey or microwave lasagna
• Simmered cranberries in orange sauce or that squishy red log that comes out of a can with a thwup sound
• Warm, steamy pumpkin muffins made from scratch or that frozen pie you slide into the oven and ends up charred on the edges
• Green bean casserole or… er, sorry, I don't have a B column for that one. As a Canadian, I don't understand bean casserole. I think it belongs in both columns.
• A time to embrace your family or a time to watch them while they have a full blown smack down fight about past wrongs
• Whipped cream or edible oil product
• Checking out the corn maze or trying to find a parking spot at the mall on Black Friday
• Ralph Lauren or ugly Christmas sweaters
• Macy's Parade or traffic jams getting to Mom's house
• Cabernet or Bud Light
• The sweet scent of good cooking or Uncle Edgar's post-meal farts

Which is your Thanksgiving? I sincerely hope that even with all its disasters, my American friends have a happy, healthy and stress-free weekend.

Family Comes First

As a child I learned to stick to my commitments. If I made a choice to be on a team, I made it to practices games and whatever other activities there were. I’m still like that now. If I plan to do something, like writing, I try not to let anything derail those efforts.

However, I learned a valuable lesson from my good friends who have an eleven-year-old with a brain tumor. The lesson was “Family comes first.”

I was sitting at my son’s soccer practice discussing that my son would not be at Saturday’s game, in fact he hadn’t made any games this season. This would be the third missed game and there were only eight on the schedule. This weekend it was my second cousin’s wedding. He had sent me a message on Facebook checking to make sure we were still coming. I told Hutch this and he said, “Of course you’ll miss the game, family comes first.”

He tossed that to me like it was no big revelation, when in fact, it was. Missing a commitment like a soccer game, which was made first, for a wedding of a cousin I only saw once a year?
My kids were upset at missing, yet another soccer game. “We made the commitment, Mom,” my thirteen-year-old said to me. “We have to be at the game.”

My response was “family comes first.” I’m not sure she bought that reasoning, until we were at the wedding. There was only a handful of family at the wedding for the groom's side. Not only did I see the cousin getting married, but I visited with his parents and his two brothers whom I hadn’t seen in a long time.

Missing the soccer game didn’t seem like such a big deal after the bride told us how important it was for the groom to have us there.

Since the wedding, I have kept the new knowledge in the front of my mind. When my children have been sick or even not feeling well, I have said “family first” and stayed home with them. When my aunt was in the hospital having her knee operated on, I spent two days visiting with her. One day I was there and didn’t see her at all, but I hung out with my cousins Jane and Meg. The other day, I surprised her with a visit. We had lunch before a meeting I had at work. That visit meant so much to her since the rest of her family was too far away for daily visits.

In the end, that visit was a contributing factor to losing one of my jobs. I didn’t get home early enough that day to get in touch with the editor of the newspaper to tell him what was going on with the work I was assigned. I received an e-mail the following day relieving me of my duties. I was upset during the initial shock of the note after having worked for the paper for three years; however I wouldn’t have traded my visit with my aunt for anything.

“Family first.”

My father-in-law is very sick and in the hospital. I have had to change my daily plans to be there for my husband and mother-in-law. It’s not a great sacrifice to give up the drudgery of everyday like to take care of family at a difficult time. Sitting in the hospital room, watching my father-in-law sleep, I am reminded of all the times he came to my rescue, whether it was in the middle of the night, early in the morning or anytime, he was eager to see his grandchildren and help us out. He already knew that family comes first.

I guess by now everyone knows what I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving…stuffing…no of course not, it’s my entire family from my fourth cousins to my sister to my husband’s cousins and his parents. Family first was a good lesson for me to learn that I’m proudly now passing on to my children. And, I hope everyone will consider passing it on to theirs.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Michelle Libby

and

Jillian Hallowell

www.michellelibby.com

www.jillianhallowell.com

The definition of success

When I first started seriously pursuing publication, I thought the mark of a true professional was to be able to make enough money from one’s art to be able to quit the day job. Then I found out less than 4% of writers make enough to support themselves fulltime. (And call me crazy, I’ve grown fond of three meals a day.)

So if writing for money doesn’t make you a professional what does? Success, to me, has no finite lines. How do you define it? By your profits? Your readership? The number of contracts received in a year? Or Fictionwise rankings?

To me, and this took many years to learn, success is measured by my happiness. I can say I’m a published author. Not only have I fulfilled a lifelong dream, I have received messages from strangers saying they loved my books. Just yesterday at a signing, I had a woman buy my newest book. She said she had read Belonging, one of my historical romances, and the hero made her cry. Not from his struggles, but from the way he was able to overcome his disability. If he could do it, she could certainly learn to overcome her arthritis pain and continue on working at the hobbies she loved. She said my book spoke to her, made her realize she couldn’t give up on life. Is there a better recognition than that?

When a reader tells me that I’ve touched them in some way, that’s the best feeling in the world. Gives recognition to what I do. That’s my definition of success.

~ Nancy

http://www.nancyhenderson.com

http://www.nancyhenderson.blogspot.com

IMAGINATION... ROCKS... OR RAISINS

We sat and lamestormed the subjects of our upcoming blogs. Pedicures lamenting... lame. Opinions on ink cartridges... lame. Could cracking one's knuckles be flirting... lame. Finally we decided that we'd write something about ourselves that no one knows.

My mother shared with me her great gift of baking. I adored baking. Hung around the kitchen and underfoot, constantly wanting to learn to bake various types of cookies, new types of cakes and pies. Nothing was from a cook book, everything was from her head with a lot of improvisation.

At the same time my dad share with me the gift of loving animals. We had a cat at one time, a dog, a hamster, a guinea pig and, of course an assortment of goldfish.

Life gave me the gift of imagination. Creativity was my muse and took me through many an adventure, albeit often only part reality.

One day, while still at a young age, I begged my mom to allow me to make all by myself my dad his favorite cookie, oatmeal raisin. She was hesitant at first, but I was also relentless. She went over and over the ingredients, stipulating how important it was to not leave anything out. She talked about taking care with oven mittens and hot cookie pans. I listened attentively and the moment arrived, I got to bake the cookies all by myself. I was tickled, and dad often came into the kitchen to ask if they were done yet, for the sweet aroma had filled the house.

I carefully placed each cookie on a plate in a perfect pyramid and carried them into my dad.

They were still a little warm. He sat there eagerly anticipating the treat with a glass of skin milk, though he not a dunker, just a washer-down sort. He took his first bite, blinking in amazement, swallowing and then regaling me with praise. I watched happily as he ate every last cookie, pouring glass after glass of milk, and then shoving the cookies into his mouth one after the other as I continued to watch, refusing to miss a moment of his delight. Afterward, he gave be a big hug and thank you. Only, as he walked away he had a strange look.At the time, I couldn't help wondering if it had anything to do with my one improvisations. And until now, this very moment, I never told a soul what that improv had been, nor would I have ever but Zi charged me with sharing something that no one knows about me. I have. We had been out of raisins, so I used my guinea pig 's poop. After all, they looked just like raisins to a girl my age. I always wondered, did my dad know, and if he did, what a wonderful man he must have been.

When writing KILLER DOLLS we toyed with the texture of the crave of the heroine and felt she needed to be very desirous. So the readers will find that there are those don't stopportunities woven into the text. I suspect our reasoning why we needed this plot device will become obvious. We hope you enjoy the book. Let us know.

KILLER DOLLSBy Angelica Hart and Zi

EXCERPT

Tease v. Concern

Taut was quite aware of the danger that was just unvialed and reacted with quick and keen moves. Approaching her from her rear, he placed one huge powerful hand over her mouth so she would not inhale any toxins and his other arm about her waist. Lifting her from the floor, he retreated from the danger. He kept focus. Reviewing what he had memorized from Charles Gallagher's e-mail.

Letti gasped at the unexpected behavior but she wasn't adverse to it. After all, he did something similar when he had kissed her so suddenly in her apartment. It felt like one of those fantasy moments, something right out of an old-fashioned bodice ripper. Yet, the moment wasn't quite right. There were those guys. Shouldn't they be a bit prudent, or did the possibility of danger turn Taut…well…taut.

She struggled but he refused to release her. He couldn't let her do anything that might spread the ricin. Gallagher had provided photos of ricin victims. He would not allow this to harm Letti. No one was to be hurt. Not again. Not on his watch. That imperative directed his next decisions.

His hold was an aphrodisiac, animalistic, driven, homogeneous with her want, placated only by submission to it, and her body began to respond. Shallow short breaths followed the intense heat smoldering in her groin, incinerating any resistance, and guaranteeing conflagration of raging flames of lust. The tight, pucker of her nipples signaled her growing arousal, and heaviness attached itself to her breasts, having that need to be touched. She surrendered to his authority, submitted, and urged him with her acquiesces to take more.

We love to hear from anyone interesting in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves a s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi

KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009

SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010

CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010

angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com

angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at Champagne Books http://www.champagnebooks.com/

Reading your own work

So - I finished writing the third book in my sci-fi futuristic series but I did so with a blind eye. I don't read my work once it's published because I know I'll find things I'll want to change. And it's been four years since Celestial Dragon came out. While I took notes, I didn't jot down all the fun details, those things that could and do affect what I've written in my third book. Which meant, I needed to read the first and second book to make sure I had my facts right.

Deep breath, a lot of self prodding and ..... I dove into Celestial Dragon. Ack. Already I've found things I want to change, but I can't beat myself up over it. Art is much the same way. I can put a piece away, pull it out later, and find all sorts of things I want to add to make it better. So when is a piece of art finished? That's the golden question. I'm taking oil painting class with a wonderful teacher/friend and he claims a piece is finished when if adding another mark would ruin it. Is that true for the novel. A Book is finished when if adding one more sentence, one more word would ruin it? Hmmm. Dunno. Food for thought I guess.

I just know that if given the opportunity, I'd probably fine-tune my books to death and never get them published, but I love my stories and I love making people happy, so I'm not going to beat myself up wanting to change things that can't be changed at this point.

Now - to start reading A Noble Sacrifice.

My formula for a darn good romance or just about any good book.

In the twenty some years since I began writing fiction, I’ve learned what I believe are, for me, the three most important points in writing that darned good book.

First, I learned you better start with some kind of action, or dialogue and it had better be in the middle of the beginning of the story. No backstory, no leadin, but get it started. It doesn’t matter if the reader doesn’t know the hero or the heroine or the murderer yet. But, the first couple of sentences, the first couple of paragraphs had better be the start of something important.

You can fill us in later about what happened before, maybe at the end of the second, third, or fourth chapter. But start off with the immediate. The long detailed explanation or scene setting no longer fits our life style. We move fast, we get bored too easily. It has to be in the here and now. Okay, Hemingway got away with it, but we don't.

Second, I learned much of a good book needs to be full of dialogue. Good dialogue, in the voice of the character, with indications about what he/she is feeling, doing, or how the character is reacting. In a romance if the heroine is despondent, then she can talk followed by an action –hanging her head, wiping away tears so the hero can’t see them, or even flopping into a chair. It would depend on the heroine’s character.

Third, and just as important as the other two, the reader has to know there's a problem. With a romance, the hero and the heroine have to have problems right from page one. They don’t have to be together on page one, we just need to know things are anything but good, and we understand they are not going to go well. He can be a tycoon, she a struggling artist. He can be a bad boy, just out of prison and she the daughter of the most honest politician the town has ever known. They have to be different, enough to make the story interesting and for the reader to say at the end, “Ah, isn’t that nice. They solved their problems and now they’ll live happily ever after.”

With any other darned good book, the problem has to be solved, the murder caught, the world saved, the crime solved, the bad guy killed, or it's not satisfying. How many books have you read where it never ends? I hate that, and I've discovered most readers do too.

It took me years to figure all this out, but I now read lots of books with the sole purpose of deciding why I like a particular story. The reasons are always the same. The story starts right away, there’s lot of dialogue and the problem must seem insurmountable at the beginning of the book.

I’ll also add the bigger, the more difficult it will be to solve the problem, the better the story usually is. Look for my three points with the next book you read. I suspect you’ll find that’s what makes a good book for you too.

Veteran's Day

The image remains clear in my mind – as sharp as the smell of cordite covering the tarmac. The pungent odor reminds me of a fireworks show gone berserk. Columns of white smoke are drifting up into the night sky like twisting specters, each lit by the glow of lights along the flight line. Sirens are howling continuously as if in disbelief. Something is causing a throbbing orange glow in the distance, punctuated by quick pops and deeper thumps. Dazed, I rise to my feet and inspect the red rash along my left arm below the sleeve. Pulverized bits of concrete from a near-miss.

Bien Hoa, Vietnam, and the airbase had just taken over a hundred rockets in a startling twenty minutes. It is early morning on the fifth of August, and the sun had yet to rise over what would, for me, be a long day. I was on the night shift, guarding some aircraft who, like me, had gotten lucky.

Over thirty years have passed, and I can still recount my first battle as if it were yesterday. It is Veteran’s Day, and once again I remember these things.

The time is now in the future – a fictional one to be sure. Least I hope so, because the scene ahead is horrifying. The sky appears as a great orange storm from which burst streams of brightness. Sometimes they come in chains like brilliant necklaces of destruction. Other times, they rend the clouds around them in an awful burst of painful light. The thunder is muted and unnatural. There are flames washed across the sky in violent streaks. The trees ahead can be seen in the night because they are burning. A glimpse of hell, and my characters brace themselves to fly through it. This is a scene out of Rogue Dancer, yet it is also a mirror of my own past amplified to nearly unimaginable proportions. I earned this vision the hard way.

Being a combat veteran is an odd gift for a writer. It pumps realism and energy into scenes with an edge to them that few outside the military can envision. It draws, however, from a grim haunting of memories that have left their mark. I was lucky not to have left a part of my soul back “in country”. I have seen so many staring faces when visiting the wall in Washington DC – brothers-in-arms and their loved ones who have yet to truly come home. Somehow, I feel as if I have cheated. Yet, there is this thing behind the eyes of my characters when I send them into harm’s way. It is a reflection, and a sobering reminder of what I and so many others went through.

Veteran’s Day was yesterday – but don’t let that stop you from thanking a vet today.

Kerry
www.kmtolan.com

Anchors

Michael W. Davis

Davisstories.com

No matter who we are, man or woman, each of us has family members that are anchors in our life. These individuals, in some form or manner, provided mentorship and examples of what it meant to be a responsible caring adult. They also formed the foundation that gave us strength in times of weakness, and love during days of darkness. I just lost my last anchor on my dads side, his sister, Aunt Mary, or as I called her AM.

I felt compiled to share a little of why she was such an anchor in my world, but in a few paragraphs I can't do justice to the sweet memories she leaves behind. The picture on the right was my father during WWII with my AM. She was the younger of two sisters, but according to dad, they both bossed him around all the time and had to approve all his dates. I do remember AM as leaning toward the bossy side, and with that gravelly voice, we kids had a tendency to listen. Course all my southern aunts and cousins on both sides of the family have always watched over us Davis men with a hawk's eye. The uniform was from the Army Air Corp. He was an air crew chief on a B29 bomber flying in the Pacific. If I recall correctly, Aunt Mary and my mother were friends before she knew dad.


The picture to the left are my mother and AM during that same period heading off to work at the Ammunition plant near where they lived. They were two fine looking women. They would save up for a month so they could take my cousin Ronnie and I with them to get an ice cream at the fountain in town (the pharmacy).



They would alternate caring for my cousin Ronnie and I sometimes so they could work overtime. The picture to the right is one Aunt Mary will make me pay for eventually, given she's in curlers. Its one of those times AM was watching over her nephew. The little guy, that's me. I never remember her without a cig in her hand. Like my mother, they loved the cancer rods. And crabs, lord those women loved Maryland blue claw crabs. My favorite picture was Mom, Dad, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Reggie at a dance after the war drinking beer and eating crabs. I would share it, but I gave it to my kids so they could remember all of them.

Regardless of our age, when the anchors disappear we are moved, our pillars shaken,our eyes turned blurry, as if our world is not the same, because in truth, its not. They were there in the difficult moments, gave us laughter and direction. With all her eccentricities, AM was one of the angels that watched over me. When my son was born, and I nearly lost him and my wife. AM was there in the hospital beside me, and I've never forgotten those tough moments, with her hugs and kisses. Lord did I love that woman.

I'm sure AM, Mom, Dad and Uncle Reg are again together eating crabs and drinking beer, looking beautiful, young and vibrant as before. Maybe even the real big guy has pulled up a chair. Love you AM, kiss them all for me.

Mike

Who Writes Short Shorts?

When I wrote Flawless, Tavos' romance (out in February 2010), I met Alvar, one of the secondary characters. Alvar is an ex-con hired by Tavos as a bodyguard. Tavos tends to give deserving people a second chance in life. He has a weakness for people accused or convicted of crimes they didn't commit.

So why did Alvar go to jail for a crime he didn't commit? Why was he working for Tavos and not out finding the real baddie?

I had to know. I had to write his story. The thing is… Alvar's story, because we learn so much about him in Flawless, wasn't big enough for a 70,000 word novel. It wasn't even big enough for a 25,000 word novella.

It was perfect for a 10,000 word short.

I had so much fun writing Released, Alvar's story. It happens at the same time as Flawless which made it even more interesting. Readers, when they read both stories, will better understand both Tavos and Alvar.

I have three more shorts written for next year. One will add more context to Flawless (focusing on another secondary character). One will be the sequel to Released. One will set up the next full length novel. From now on, I plan to have that publishing schedule. I'll have three shorts and one full length novel.

The benefits of shorts are numerous. They allow authors to explore secondary characters in more detail. They give readers a low cost 'sampling' option (right now, Released is $0.70, that is less than a convenience store chocolate bar). For slower writing authors, such as myself, they give readers a story to read while they wait for the next full novel.

I love writing shorts. Writers, do you write shorts and why? Readers, do you read shorts?


$

Every month, Kimber Chin gives away her favorite romance eBook read the month before. To enter, visit http://businessromance.com/

SECOND THOUCHTS

How often second thoughts overwhelm me is about average for a human female, I suppose. But they are extremely annoying when they occur to an author after a book has been edited and published and it's too late to do anything about what you now feel should have gone into the story that you didn't think of while writing it. I've learned over time to send such thoughts to the recycle bin and then delete them from there. But they do annoy me until then. Still, the pubished books sell, so maybe I was right in the first place.
Consider this scenario, which is not about a book, but a house.
I grew up in a small village on the south shore of Lake Superior before I became an adult and ventured into the wider world of Texas, California, Upstate New York and Nevada. Somewhere along the line my brother,twenty years older than I, convinced me I should purchase two lots on the south shore of Lake Superior that were in the village to "keep in touch with my roots." So, okay, I thought, since the lots were $500 each I could afford that, plus the taxes were minimal.
Years passed. My parents are now dead, and so is my brother and his wife. I've been married twice and am now with my Life Partner, the man I should have married in the first place, someone I grew up with. My second thoughts came extremely late here, but have worked very well indeed.
Not too long after we got together, we came back to the village to visit my oldest niece and her husband, plus my LP's favorite brother and his family. My niece tells me the high school didn't get a bid from anyone this year for the shop class to build a house on whatever lots people might own within the village limits. Why not put in a bid to have them build us a vacation cottage on my lots?
When I agreed, she called the shop teacher and he came over to talk to us and he suggested a house rather than a cottage for its eventual sale value. So, okay.
Now we needed instant house plans. It happened we loved the design of our house in Carson City, and the plans had been left in the basement. Why not a smaller house, based on those plans?
In case anyone ever tries something like this--never have a house built when you're living across the country from where this is taking place. Phone calls, no matter how many, are not a good substitute for being at the location and able to monitor the entire process.
Well, now we live in our house the year round. Essentially, we love it, but there are quite a few things we would have had done differently. Some we've been able to correct. Others, we live with. Fortunately, the worksmanship is excellent since the shop teacher is a builder himself. Plus we never could have built a house like we have for the same price, since almost all of the labor was at no cost to us. In any case it's far too late for second thoughts, just like with a published book. So they've gone into the recycle bin and been deleted.
Now that I've gotten the rights back on many of my old books, do I plan to add any second thoughts to them if I intend to republish? Nope. As I said, those thoughts have been deleted long ago.
But I have to say not all second thoughs need deleting. Sometimes, no matter how belated, second thoughts do work perfectly. Or may it's just that old saying--the third time's the charm.
Incidentally, the shop teacher is now the school superintendent.

CHEERS!

Have a glass of the bubbly with me. It’s time to celebrate! I’m doing a bit of a Tigger impersonation, bouncing in celebration! Why? Noella’s Gift has been released! WOOHOO!!! Best of all it’s on sale at a special LOW price $1.40! You can’t beat that with a stick!

Noella’s Gift is a holiday themed novella that was a pure joy to write.
A disillusioned cop, and a bitter woman. Can a little girl take the bah humbug out of their holiday?

Holly Harper has hated Christmas for years. The season full of commercialism has left her feeling cold and bitter. When she finds a little girl freezing and alone a spark warms her heart. She's determined to keep the child until Christmas is over.
Jaxon Cole is a police detective whose Christmas spirit left a long time ago. He knows the season brings an increase in drunk driving accidents and suicides. But when a dark haired woman shows up in his office with a little waif in tow he sees that there is some good in the holiday.

Will they find joy in the season or will their hearts be as cold as the winter winds?

I’m also pretty excited because of the reviews I’ve been getting for Betraying Chase. The high ratings have pushed me back into Hunting Mickey and I’m falling for Mickey and Terese all over again. Here’s hoping I have the book finished by the end of the year!

I’ve been distracted from writing over the last week. I must be one of the last humans on the planet who never read the Twilight series books. I remedied that last week. Sunday last I watched the movie for the first time and was completely entranced. So Tuesday I read the book, Wednesday I read New Moon, Thursday I read Eclipse and Friday I read Breaking Dawn. I LOVE the characters and storyline. But now my fun, break time is over and it’s back to work for me. I have 7.5 weeks to finish Hunting Mickey and get it into my editors in box. I gotta get busy!

I’ll see y’all in December. Hope your Thanksgiving ROCKS!

Hugz
Donica