Friday, September 30, 2011

Celebrating One Year

Happy Anniversary to MuseItUp Publishing!!!
In honor of the first anniversary, I'm hosting Muse authors on my blog all of October. I hope you'll join us and check out their blogs. Some are interviews, some guest blogs.
Here's the schedule
Oct 1 - Larraine Wills
Oct. 2 - Ginger Simpson
Oct. 3 - Mindy Hardwick
Oct. 4 - Vicki Batman
Oct. 5 - Heather Haven
Oct. 6. -Rosalie Skinner
Oct. 7 -Jenna Storm
Oct. 9 - Brian Knight
Oct. 10 Susan A. Royal
Oct. 11 - Lisabet Sarai
Oct. 12 -J.Q. Rose
Oct. 13- Tricia McGill
Oct. 14 -Marva Dasef
Oct. 15 - Nancy Bell
Oct. 16 -Linda Sole
Oct. 17 - Lea Schizas
Oct. 18 - Kat Holmes
Oct. 19 - Mary Curtis
Oct. 20-Mike Hayes
Oct. 21-Nick
Oct. 22-Joanne Elder
Oct. 23-Kristin
Oct. 24 -Karen Cote
Oct. 25 - John Rosenman
Oct. 26 -Barbara B
Oct. 27 -Penny Estelle
Oct. 28 Roseanne Dowell - author roast
Oct. 29 -Ellle Druskin
Oct. 30 -Judy Winn
Oct. 31- C.K Volnek

Monday, September 26, 2011

Flowers On The Fence: Connections

Flowers On The Fence: Connections: Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence Country! Flowers on the Fence Country is big. It expands to include anyplace wherein resides one of m...

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Global Blog Tag: 10 Random Facts about Roseanne Dowell

Have you ever played a GLOBAL game of tag?
Well, I'm It.
I've been tagged by author author, Anne E. Johnson
Rules (if you're tagged): You must be tagged by someone; list 10 random facts about yourself; tag four more people.
Ready or not, here I go!

1. I'm married with six children
2. I have 14 grandchildren and one great grandchild
3. I used to be a School Secretary
4. I've been married to the same man for almost 49 years
5. My favorite authors are Mary Higgins Clark, Lisa Scottoline, and Nora Roberts (not necessarily in that order)
6. I have two dogs - a Bichon and Shorkie - Yorkie/Shih Tzu mix
7. I was a floral designer for a short time.
8. I was an editor for an epublisher under a different name
9, I wrote a column and was an editor for an ezine.
10. I was born and lived in Ohio all my life.

And I tag the following four unsuspecting writers:
Gail Brannan, Barbara Ehrentreu,  Lin Holmes, and Kat Holmes

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Welcome, Kylie Longan

Thank you so much for being here, Kylie Logan. I’m a long time fan of your Pepper Martin series and feel privileged to have met you in person twice. 

1: First off, I know you have several names you write under. Why do you feel the need to use a pseudonym and how do you come up with the names?

Easy to explain that one.  The Pepper Martin mysteries, the ones I write as Casey Daniels, contain a paranormal element (Pepper works at a cemetery and solves mysteries for the ghosts there).  The Kylie Logan Button Box mysteries are straight cozies, about a woman who owns an antique button shop and gets involved in murder.  It made sense to keep these two different kinds of books apart by using different pen names.  As for how I come up with them . . . it’s kind of like choosing names of characters in books.  What mood am I trying to convey?  What sort of feeling?  Once upon a time, I wrote a series of young adult horror books as Zoe Daniels, so I just kind of figured she had a sister named Casey!  As for Kylie, I like the flow of the name, the energy.

2: I like the name, too. So, how long have you been writing and what was your first book and series?

In January, it will be (gulp!) 20 years since my first book was published.  It was a historical romance called “Twilight Secrets.”  Since then, I’ve published 40 novels.  As for mysteries, the Pepper Martin books were my first, and the first book in that series is “Don of the Dead.”  In addition to msytery and historical romance, I’ve written YA, contemporary romance and one children’s book.  Romance readers might know me as Constance Laux or Connie Lane.

3: I remember those names and enjoyed your visit to our chapter of RWA. Tell us, what do you like the most and least about writing?

Well, when you’re a writer, you get to stay at home and you never have to wear pantyhose to the office!  That’s a big plus.  And obviously, getting to let my imagination run free is a lot of fun, too.  What do I like least?  There are plenty of days when it’s hard for me to make myself sit down and work.  So many other distractions in life, and so many things I’d like to try and do!

4: I know the feeling. So, what do you for fun and relaxation when not writing?

I am very into fiber arts.  I weave, knit, crochet and spin (I’m really bad at that last one, really bad!).  Love that kind of thing.  I’m also a beekeeper.  I have two hives and love watching the bees almost as much as I love stealing their honey!

5: A beekeeper, wow, that sounds so interesting. If my information is correct, you started off writing romance. When and how did you begin to write mysteries?

I answered the first part of your question earlier.  As to how I started writing mysteries . . . I’ve always liked to read mysteries and I was afraid I could never be clever enough to write one.  Finally convinced myself that if I didn’t try, I wouldn’t know if I could or couldn’t do it.  The Pepper Martin mysteries were the result.

6: Well you certainly proved you can do it. That's a great series. I believe I’ve read every book. Different kind of question - What’s the one thing you’d most like people to know about you?

That my books are fun and interesting and that they belong in every home in America!

7: LOL I can verify that. They are fun. In fact, I learned a lot about Cleveland and the cemetery from the Pepper Martin Books. I know you didn’t use the real name, but being a cemetery buff myself, I made hubby take me there. Awesome place. So, tell us about your current novel, Button Holed. How did you come up with the idea and where we can find it?

I’ve always loved antique buttons.  They’re little bits of history and many of them (especially older buttons) are works of art.  Amazing little things!  So when I walked into an antique shop in Ann Arbor, Michigan and saw thousands and thousands of buttons, I figured I was in heaven.  That’s where I got the idea for the Button Box mystery series.  Josie Giancola, the heroine of the series, loves buttons even more than I do.  What she doesn’t like is being the center of attention, and that’s where she finds herself when an actress is murdered at her shop, the Button Box, and when she’s cleaning up, Josie finds a button where the body was—and it’s not from her collection.  The cops ask for Josie’s help, and before she knows it, she’s hot on the trail of a killer who wants to keep Josie’s lips buttoned—permanently.

8: That one is definitely on my to buy list. I love buttons, too. Even as a child I loved playing with my mother’s button box. I wonder where it is now. Probably at my sister’s. The cover of your book is awesome, by the way. Okay, do you have any tips for aspiring authors?

Read, read, read.  And write.  I find one problem many aspiring writers have is that they sit down and try to write something, and when it doesn’t come out exactly the way they’d like it to, they figure they aren’t “meant” to be writers.  Wrong!  All writing is about re-writing.  So don’t give up.  Write, and change, and edit, and re-write.  Writing is not some flashy inspirational thing that flies out of your fingers and on to the computer screen.  It’s all about hard work.

9: Boy that’s the truth. I wish some of my friends and relatives knew that.  Do you base your characters on real-life people?

Yes.  And no.  There’s no way to avoid watching people and no telling how much of that watching translates onto the page.  But I don’t consciously take people I know and plop them into books.  Maybe bits and pieces of Person A and bits and pieces of Person B.  But never the whole person.  Let’s face it, none of us is that interesting.

10: Very well put. I’m asked that question a lot. I like your answer. So tell us, are you finished with the Pepper Martin series, or does she still have some mysteries to solve?

Book #8 is the Pepper Martin series is called “Wild, Wild Death” and will be out on January 3.  In it, Pepper’s going to be visiting New Mexico.  I’m currently working on book #9. 

11: I’m so glad you’re not done with her. I absolutely fell in love with her from book one. Button Holed is the first in the new series, how many do you have planned?

Book #2 is done and will be published in June.  Not sure of a title yet, but it might be “Hot Button.”  We’ll see.  After that, one more book on this currently contract and (fingers crossed here) many more after that.

In addition to the Pepper Martin and the Button Box mysteries, I’ve recently sold a new series that will premier some time in 2013.  More about that when the dates and titles are determined!

12. Oh boy, I can hardly wait to hear about that one. You’re a very busy person, tell us more about the process of writing a book.  Are you a plotter or punster?

I’m a plotter.  I outline every book pretty thoroughly, chapter by chapter.  I don’t always know how something’s going to happen, but I pretty much know what’s going to happen.  For me, that’s the only way to logically follow a mystery through to a satisfying conclusion.  It also allows me to write faster.  I don’t have to stop and think about what’s going to happen next.

13. Oh I wish I could write like that. Where can we find you? Website? Blog?

I’m meeting with a designer next week to get a web site up and going for Kylie and to update the Casey website (  For now, you can find Kylie at Casey blogs at every Wednesday.

Thank you again for being here, Kylie. 


Here’s the thing about walking into your office at five in the morning and running smack into a hulk of a guy wearing a black ski mask: it tends to catch a girl a little off guard.
Off guard, I sucked in a breath that was half surprise, half gasp of terror and just inside the door of Giancola Buttons, Inc., I froze.
For exactly two seconds.
That was when my instincts kicked in. No big surprise, they told me to turn and run like hell.
I would have done it, too, if there wasn’t another guy–the twin of the giant who greeted me before I ever had a chance to turn on the lights–right behind me. Even as I watched, he snapped the door closed, crossed his arms over a chest the size of Soldier Field and braced his legs. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The message was loud and painfully clear–no way I was going to escape in that direction.
Trapped, my heart pounded a furious rhythm and my blood whooshed inside my head. There was no use screaming. Five in the morning, remember. And even though my business had only been open for a week and I had yet to meet all my fellow tenants there on the tenth floor of Chicago’s Bannister Building, I was pretty sure nobody but me loved their jobs so much, they came into work before the sun was up.
Too bad. At least if somebody was around to find it, my body wouldn’t lay there for hours until my assistant, Brina Martingale, decided to show up. She’d be late–as usual–and I was betting that by then, I’d be stone cold and as gray as the twinset I was wearing that day with my best pair of black pants.
Oh yeah, things looked pretty grim. I told myself panic would get me nowhere, and while I was at it, I reminded myself that if I just stayed calm, I’d find a way out of this mess. It couldn’t/wouldn’t/shouldn’t be a stretch. After all, I am notoriously level-headed, composed and oh-so sensible.
Level-headed, composed and sensible, huh?
I did my best to ignore the mocking voice inside my head. The one that sounded a whole bunch like my ex and reminded me that what were clearly assets to me added up to a big ol’ b-o-r-i-n-g from his point of view.
And that’s when it hit.
And that’s when I groaned.
It was the first sound any of us had made, and in the deathlike silence, my moan reverberated through my office like a voice from the grave.
So not a pretty simile considering the situation.
Rather than think about it, I looked from Giant #1 to Giant #2.
"Come on, guys," I said, and reminding myself of the above mentioned assets, I skirted the edges of whiny. But just barely. "I know what this is about. It’s Kaz, isn’t it? Damn the man! He owes somebody money. Again. But here’s the thing, see–we’re not married anymore. Get it? I divorced the turkey. Which means I’m no longer responsible for his gambling debts. So if you came here expecting me to make good on his bad luck, it’s not going to happen. And if you think you’re going to find something valuable here that you can take and pawn, you’re wasting your time."
Oh, yes, this last bit was a big, fat lie, but then, I was counting on the fact that goons in black ski masks don’t know that much about antique and collectible buttons. Besides, desperate times, desperate measures, and all that.
"I sell buttons," I pointed out, and downplayed the whole antique and collectible aspect by adding, "Nothing but old buttons. There’s not one thing here that’s worth very much and–" "Shut up!" The guy behind me shuffled closer and just that fast, my false bravado melted like a dollop of whipped cream floating in a hot cup of latte. My eyes were finally adjusting to the play of light and shadow and I looked up just in time to see Giant #1 look down at me. There was nothing about this man that wasn’t sinister, from the shoulders bigger than the desk over on my right, to the scar slashed across his neck. Against the black ski mask, his eyes were sunken and menacing. "Cooperate," he growled with a sort of Arnold Schwarzenegger accent I knew was phony. And no less terrifying because of it. "Cooperate, and nobody will get hurt."
He didn’t need to elaborate. When he said nobody, he wasn’t talking about himself or his friend.
"Nobody ever needs to get hurt. Not ever!" Oh yeah, that was me, all right, teetering on the edge of panic and sounding like I’d stepped straight out of some can’t-we-all-get-along protest march. I darted a look around the front room of my office. When I left there Saturday afternoon, nearly all the one hundred thousand buttons in my collection had been meticulously catalogued and filed in the back room in the cabinets I’d had specially made to accommodate them. Now, the trickle of light from the surrounding high rise buildings glinted against metal buttons and glass buttons and jeweled buttons.
Tray after tray of them, removed from the cabinets, dumped on my desk.
And on my guest chairs.
And on the floor.
Just like that, my fear was forgotten and the button-collecting, order-loving, chaos-aversion side of me kicked in. So did the memory of how much effort it had taken to get all those buttons moved from my apartment here to the office and how many hours I’d spent getting everything organized just so.
"Damn! Do you have any idea how long it took me to put those buttons away? You can’t just toss them around. Old, remember, I said they were old. Which doesn’t mean they’re worth anything," I added, reinforcing my earlier assertion that there wasn’t anything there worth stealing. "But buttons are little pieces of art, you know. And little chunks of history. They have to be treated carefully. Bad enough I’ve got to deal with Brina all day long. The girl doesn’t know a glass button from a gumball. And now I’ve got this mess to clean up, too? And today! Today of all days! What gives you the right to–"
"Is there some part of shut up you don’t understand?" This came from Giant #1, the same guy who’d told me to keep quiet in the first place. He came up behind me so fast, I didn’t have a chance to try and get out of his way. Once his arm went around my throat, I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. His grip was iron. He yanked me back against a body that felt as if it was made out of poured concrete.
"I said keep quiet." The touch of his breath against my ear turned my knees to rubber–and not in the good way that kind of thing happened back in the day when Kaz whispered sweet nothin’s and I turned into a puddle of mush. This man’s breath was damp and as chilling as a touch of fog. It smelled like a food I couldn’t identify, and that, mingled with the earthy scent of his black leather jacket, sent shock waves through me.
He took advantage of my helplessness to ratchet up my fear, tightening his hold. "You put up a fight and you’re dead," he grumbled, and I guess the way he was holding me, he could feel my feeble attempt at sucking in a breath to inflate my lungs, because he made sure to add, "You scream, and I’m going to snap your little body in half so fast, you won’t know what hit you."
Oh yeah, right about this time, I was so freakin’ scared, my mind started playing tricks on me. That was the only thing that would explain why I almost thanked him for the little compliment. I mean, it was only natural considering I am a middle-sized, average looking woman of thirty-three who had been known to be called cute, but is not, on anybody’s size chart, what might be termed little.
I dragged myself out of these crazy thoughts and tried to talk myself–and these two goons–down.
"Not going to scream," I swore. "If you guys want some help carrying buttons out to the car–"
"Buttons!" The guy who had a hold of me snorted the word and said to his friend, "You take care of everything you were supposed to?"
Giant #2 shook his head, but not like he was disagreeing, more like he couldn’t believe his fellow burglar had the nerve to ask. "You wanna tell me how I’m supposed to know?" Had he been a little less civilized, I’m pretty sure he would have emphasized his point by spitting on my new gray Berber carpet. His hands out at his sides, he pivoted to look around the office. "There’s so much crap here–"
"Watch it, buddy." I squirmed, because squirming wasn’t screaming, and all I had agreed to do was not scream. I had also not agreed to stand by and listen to my life’s work disparaged by some creep who had to hide behind a ski mask. "Those are my buttons you’re talking about. And my buttons are not crap. In fact, they are–"
Apparently, listening to me was not high on the to-do list of the guy who had a hold on me. At the end of his rope, he lifted me off the floor and shook me. Not such a good thing considering that my head snapped back and forth and the world skipped and wobbled before my eyes. But, as it turned out, all was not lost. At the exact moment my toes touched the carpet, his grip on my throat eased up.
It’s the Boy Scouts who are always prepared, right? Well, I’d obviously never been a Boy Scout. Or a Girl Scout, either, for that matter. But I knew an opportunity when I saw one, and I was as prepared as I would ever be.
The second I slipped just a bit more out of his grasp and my feet hit the floor, I folded like a cheap lawn chair in the close-out aisle. I landed on my knees before Giant #1 realized he’d lost his hold on me, and before he could snatch me up again, I took off as fast as a woman can who’s crawling across an office strewn with buttons.
I didn’t yelp or yip, not even when I brought a knee down on a metal button. I didn’t complain, either, (though I prayed it wasn’t one that was too valuable) when I heard a glass button crunch beneath me. All I did was scramble as fast as I could, trusting to the dark to cover my moves and to the fact that I knew this office better than the two burglars ever could.
While they were shuffling around, banging into each other and the furniture as they tried to catch hold of me, I scurried like a sand crab into the back room, jumped to my feet and slammed the door behind me. There was a lock in the doorknob and I fumbled for it. No easy thing considering my fingers were slick with sweat.
Even once I’d flicked the lock, I knew it was only a matter of moments–and the inconsiderable width of one door–before I was in big trouble again. I raced to the work table where I’d imagined never doing anything more strenuous than spending endless quiet hours researching, cleaning and packing buttons for shipment, and it’s a good thing I wasn’t the kind of little woman the burglar had hinted I was, because I got behind that table and pushed for all I was worth. Once it was against the door, I dared to take a breath and think through my next move.
Light or no lights? In a flash, I decided I’d keep them off to buy some time in case I needed to hide once the burglars burst through the door. Besides, I’d spent plenty of hours in the back room these last weeks since I leased the office, and I knew the place like the back of my hand. I didn’t need the lights to grab the phone.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Welcome, Killarney Sheffield

Thank you so much for being here, Killarney Sheffield.

1: Let’s start with the basic question. What genre do you write?
Historical romance.

2: I used to love to read those, but have moved on to other types of books now. So tell us, how long have you been writing?
I started in high school but drifted away a while for a short show jumping career, to get married and have 5 crazy kids. I got back into it when my youngest was in diapers as a creative outlet and penned my first historical romance novel 'The Horseguard's Lady' which ended up being my 3rd novel contracted by MuseItUp Publishing.

3: I can relate to that, having six of my own. What do you like the most and least about writing?
This may sound weird but I LOVE editing. Polishing a story is just something I enjoy doing. One thing I hate about writing is always wanting to wrap up a novel at 20,000 words LOL. I strive for 50,000 to 70,000. My longest so far is 68,000 words. 

4:Not many people like that part. I know you're busy, but what do you for fun and relaxation when not writing?
Show my thoroughbred stallion 'Stamp de Gold' aka 'Love Monkey', camp, fish, ride, garden and play guitar hero with the kids.

5: Sounds like a full schedule. Which authors do you like to read?
My favs are the deceased Kathleen Woodwiss and a recent guest to my blog Jo Beverley. Kathleen because she is truly the queen of tagless writing and Jo because I love her 'voice'.

6: Kathleen Woodwiss was one of my favorites way back when. Tell us, what’s the one thing you’d most like people to know about you?
I have a ton of good ol' Irish persistence which makes me the person I am. I do some crazy things sometimes, but it usually works out in the end. For example, when my debut novel 'Guilty Kisses' was in the editing stages with MuseItUp I discovered trailers as a way to advertise your books. Well, I set the bar pretty high when I decided that no other piece of music but one from 1980's Canadian singer/song writer/Juno winner Lawrence Gowan would do. I hunted him down, showed him the trailer and asked for use of one of his songs. To my delight he gave me 'Love Makes You Believe' a collaboration between him and Alex Lifeson from 'Rush'. The link is

7: That's fantastic. Tell us about your current novel, where we can find it?
My second release 'Stand & Deliver Your Heart' releases September 16th from MuseItUp Publishing.

8: Now one of the questions I'm asked most often. Do you have any tips for aspiring authors? Realize now that marketing is a big part of being an author. I thought that once I contracted a novel and did the edits my job was done. You are never done, you must market anywhere and every chance you can. I pass out my books and cards to everyone I meet from my doctor to the utility men!

9: Great advice. Here's a question I always find interesting. Do you base your characters on real-life people? Not really but there are many scenes in my books that come from real life experiences including a scene in my first release 'Guilty Kisses' revolving around post pregnancy mammary gland problem. I'm not going to explain that one you have to read the book. (:

10: Okay, then tell us, how did you come up with the idea for this book?
I Honestly don't remember how Stand & Deliver Your Heart came to be. I am working on a MS right now about a 1800's female magician who has a Holland Lop rabbit for a sidekick. The idea for this one came from my 9 yr old son's black Holland Lop rabbit, Dexter who is quite the escape artist.

11: And, what are you currently working on?
I am very unorganized and have currently 11 MS on the go. Most historical romances, but also one contemporary and a tween fantasy.
12. Ah, you diversify, and is there anything else you’d like us to know about you?
This year has been a really amazing year, from the signing of my first ever novel contract in July 2010, talking the great singer/songwriter, Lawrence Gowan, into lending me one of his beautiful songs for my debut book trailer for Guilty Kisses, my husband almost losing his leg to blood poisoning, to my cancer scare last winter, but I wouldn't change a thing. All the trials in life make you stronger and sometimes add fodder for a scene in one of your books.

13.I admire your courage. Tell us where can we find you? Website? Blog?

Mistress Sarah was once a woman of promise, until a greedy relative left her to fend for herself on the cold, hard streets of London. Now she does the only thing she can to survive and care for those she has sworn to protect.
Lord Byron Cobbett has given up on life after the death of his beloved fiancee. On a trip to London to clear his family's name he is involved in a carriage accident.
Sarah gets more than she bargains for when she unwittingly rescues Byron. She must find a way to convince him to keep her secret. Can she allow her self to love him and still keep her promise? Will Byron stand and deliver his heart to the auburn haired bandit and risk his own freedom?

Contest:  Two Winners - Leave a comment and email address and you can win a copy of either Guilty Pleasures or Stand & Deliver Your Heart. Please make a note if you've read Guilty Pleasures so you don't win the same book again. 

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Welcome, Rose Anderson

Thank you so much for being here, Rose Anderson.

1: What genre do you write?
I write everything from early readers to suspense. Currently, I have two books published under the Erotic Romance category.

2: How long have you been writing?
I’ve been actively writing since 1990. I began with an early reader series for my kids.

3: What do you like the most and least about writing?
I’m one of those linear, fly-by-the-seat-of-my pants, authors. What do I like the most? I’d have to say it’s creating other worlds. The least? If I get distracted, the thought train derails.

4: What do you for fun and relaxation when not writing?
Mainly, I just hang out with family and friends. On weekends from April to November, I go to flea markets with my husband. We like hunting treasures.

5: Which authors do you like to read?
Diana Gabaldon is my favorite. I’m a huge fan of her style and attention to detail. I’m known to do the complete JK Rowling Harry Potter series once a year too.

6: What’s the one thing you’d most like people to know about you?
I’m a very good friend.

7: Tell me about your current novel, where I can find it?
My current novel is Dreamscape. Outwardly, it’s a ghost story set between two time periods, but on the inside it’s actually an Easter egg hunt. Easter eggs, in this sense, are intentional hidden messages. I tried to make them as visible as I could and in such number that readers would say to themselves, Was that intentional? It must mean something! Growing up, I was a huge fan of author Agatha Christie’s work. I remember reading And Then There Were None as a child. I didn’t fully comprehend the nuance of the story at the time, but after seeing Ten Little Indians, the movie adaptation, several years later, I reread the book. To my surprise and delight, it was filled with pointing fingers and arrows and some were veiled and some were out in plain sight. I loved that.

Avid readers, or even avid movie goers, should be able to pick out the clues by the third Easter egg. By then, I imagine their minds are saying, huh? Did she mean to write it that way? At least I hope they do! Those intentional hidden messages point to the truth.

The story revolves around Dr. Elaine (Lanie) O’Keefe and her recent purchase of the derelict mid-Victorian Bowen mansion. She has plans to renovate the property into a free clinic. This is no ordinary mansion in two key ways – Since she was a small child, Lanie has been dreaming of the house, as if she lived in the Victorian era. And, as is often the case in the many small towns across America, old abandoned houses are jokingly labeled haunted houses. There’s just one thing, old Bowen Mansion is haunted.

Jason Bowen, a doctor in his own time and a ghost in this one, roams the house contemplating his own murder in the century before. He has no recollection of the deed, only that his new wife and her lover are responsible. He soon becomes fascinated by the woman who’s moved into his house. What begins as an innocent experiment to touch her warm skin while she sleeps, leads to Jason’s discovery that, as pure energy, he’s able to ply Lanie’s synapse and live again through her dreams. He’s surprised to discover those dreams return him to the days leading up to his murder. Only this time, Lanie is there by his side. The questions now are: Can a ghost find love among the living? And, if so, what of that little insurmountable matter of Jason being dead?

8: Do you have any tips for aspiring authors?
I do.
·        Write for yourself. If you like it, chances are readers will too.
·        Learn from reviews if you can. Remember, not all of your books will be a good fit with every reader out there. Reviews are simply opinions. How many people do you know with opinions different than your own? Revel in the good ones, consider the bad ones, then move on to the next.
·        Know up front that writing the book is less than half the work involved. Promoting that book takes far more time.

9: Do you base your characters on real-life people?
My characters are often fleshed out by small slices of my friends and family, my heroes and heroines are all composites of who I am. But then they’d have to be wouldn’t they? I do because it’s easy to draw from the familiar. If readers knew me, they’d recognize my furnishings, my pets, the many cars I’ve owned, and even things about themselves. My life makes cameo appearances in one form or another in all of my books. Anything funny my characters do, chances are I’ve either done it or someone close to me has!

10: How did you come up with the idea for this book? I like to take the path less traveled. I really like offbeat turn-things-on-their-ear scenarios. In my first erotic romance, Hermes Online, there is the unlikely. In Dreamscape, there is the impossible. Dreamscape came from a conversation with a pen pal. He’s a poet but also a romantic. We were discussing writing technique when I thought of an impossible scenario – Could a ghost find love among the living? I wrote a three paragraph pitch around that thought, and suddenly realized I could make it work. Voila Jason Bowen and Lanie O’Keefe were born and before I knew it Dreamscape was written.

11: What are you currently working on?
I tend to work on more than one project at a time. I have a story of the American Midwest, one set in the Isle of Skye, and my three years in the making five-book series. Going back and forth like that helps keep writers block at bay.

12. Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you?
I love having my imagination tickled and my mind stretched. I often ask friends and family for writing prompts. If readers ever have an idea, they could pitch it my way and I’d take a swing at it. The more outrageous the better! J

13. Where can we find you? Website? Blog?
My website isn’t finished yet, but my blog CalliopesWritingTablet is up and running. Calliope was the writer's muse. Muses in general were considered the source of knowledge and higher learning. That being the case, I dedicated my blog to her because, it too is dedicated to learning -- my learning the ropes as an author and sharing what I've learned. Everything about my journey so far is in my blog -- from laurels to skinned knees: . Interested parties can follow me on Twitter to find out what's new:!/RoseAnderson_ as well as on my publisher's website . You can also find me on Youtube!  . I'm just about everywhere!

Dreamscape by Rose Anderson
PG Excerpt

He'd watched the pair as they walked around the grounds with pens and paper in hand presumably making notes for repairs. While assessing the pavers that lined his walkway, she looked up at his window curiously as if seeking something. Jason frowned. Did she see him standing there? How odd. He could only be seen when he wanted to. And he did not yet wish to be seen.
After the man had driven away in his automobile, the woman retrieved her bags from another smaller vehicle. He watched her coming up the walkway only to take another glance his way. She was smiling.
Below, the front door opened and closed, so he headed there, curious about the woman who at this very moment was moving into his house. He was grateful for two things, the first being he'd no longer be alone with only an occasional mouse for company. The second, this young woman bore no resemblance to his beautiful, black-hearted wife.
He thought about her from time to time, his duplicitous wife Cathy, her lover Richard Mason, and his sister Bertha, his murderers. He spent many a night listening to their congratulatory recounting of how they'd set him up, duping him into marrying a woman who from the onset had a lover in the wings. Like the Masons, Cathy too was born and raised in the south at the time of reconstruction and was reared on tales of the glory days. Their sole purpose from the onset in taking his life was so she would inherit all.
When they met she had been such a sweet and shy little beauty, the shyness he later learned to be false. When she comforted him over the untimely death of his father, he'd been surprised by how quickly he fell head over heels for her. Though she'd never voiced it while he was alive, he was well aware of her desire to live in the affluent manner in which her parents and grandparents had lived before the war took it all away. To that end, seeking to win her timid heart and encourage the comfort that would eventually lead his wife into his bed, he gave into Cathy's every whim. No more than two months had passed before he was compelled to offer her marriage. No more than four before he found himself dead with his spirit walking the halls.
He played the details of their courtship over and over in his mind, for what else did he have to occupy his thoughts? Cathy Ames had accepted his proposal eagerly, despite her less-than-enthusiastic response to his advances. These always met with a cool reserve he erroneously mistook for maidenly shyness. But Cathy didn't possess a shy bone in her body. No, far from it. He'd seen them together, his wife and his murderer. Seen for himself the eager way she gave herself, the way she clutched his body to hers and treated him to a carnal knowledge that obviously developed from years of knowing. Not only did it shock his senses to see it, it sickened him. What a fool he'd been. Because of that he kept to the only room they never visited -- the cupola at the top of the house -- and decades passed there with little concern, because time ceased to have meaning for the dead. Yes, they continued on with their merry lives, raised their foul brood, and got away with murder.
But all that changed with the last of them. Margaret, the great-granddaughter of his wife, and her accomplice had never married, and like the living, aged over time. He never minded Margaret Mason. How could he when she was as lonely as he? He appeared to her from time to time when the loneliness got the best of both of them. When she grew old, and became the last of Richard Mason's miserable line, he eventually told her the truth of her great-grandparents' treachery. The night she died in her sleep she called him to her side and told him she arranged her estate to his benefit as best she could. It was the least she could do after the wrong her family had done him.
Standing invisible on the stairway, he looked over his new house guest. What a pretty creature with her tight curves, porcelain skin, and lustrous raven hair. More than one hundred years had passed since a beautiful woman walked these halls, for Richard Mason sired unfortunate-looking souls who passed on their regrettable looks to each generation, including poor Margaret. Blood will out. Evil definitely had a way of marking the man's legacy as surely as Cane himself had been marked.
Following her into the kitchen, he watched her rummage for pots. She filled them at the tap then heated the water on the stove. He leaned against the wall appraising her. In all the years of his life, and certainly all the years after, this had to be the most beautiful woman he'd laid eyes on. She wore tight clothing, far tighter than he recalled women's clothing to be when he saw them on Margaret's television device. In fact her blue trousers fit her like a glove. These declared her legs to be slender and shapely and her bottom delectably rounded. Her breasts sat high and firm, and he found himself imagining what she looked like unclothed. The thought surprised him. He certainly harbored no such notion when the Mason horde lived here.
Hmm. In this fair company, he found himself still very much a man, despite being a dead one.
What a comely thing. With her long dark lashes framing eyes the shade of blue that fell somewhere between cornflower petals and a robin's egg. Lightly arched brows, an adorable nose, and full lips a lovely shade of rose pink. When she opened a paper sack to retrieve a sandwich and apple, the sight made him hungry. No, not hungry exactly. Rather wistful. Food was such an enjoyable thing and one he sorely missed. Occasionally, in the process of eating, she licked her lips, and that simple act made his body stir. Hmm, he mused, how about that?

Sunday, September 11, 2011


Tanja Cilia.
 A copy of Connections of the Minds is on its way. Congratulations, Tanja. I hope she enjoys it.

Thanks to everyone everyone who entered. I'm sorry you all couldn't be winners. 

Friday, September 9, 2011


Details to follow:

Did you ever have a feeling something bad was going to happen? You know kind of a premonition, intuition, omen or whatever you want to call it? When it happens, goose bumps run up your arms and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You try to pass it off as a coincidence, but deep down you know it’s not.

That’s what happened to Rebecca Brennan. Her dreams and visions link her to another person. At first it was pleasant, feelings of accomplishments, pride, sometimes melancholy and contentment. But when danger began to invade her dreams and she started to feel actual pain, she was bound and determined to find out who shared her mind. Her search takes her to a quaint Victorian town filled with interesting people and puts her life in danger.


She grabbed Jeremy’s arm, pulled back, and knew he sensed it, too.

He nudged her aside, pushed the door open, and waited for a second, though it felt like hours. Crouching low, he looked inside.

She peered into the darkened room, gasped at the disarray. Her clothes strewn everywhere, and her suitcase lay opened on the bed.

Jeremy grabbed her hand and raced to the office. She ran to keep up with his long strides.

Ignoring Ethan, Jeremy punched in a number on his cellphone. “Sally, this is Jeremy. I’m at Ethan’s place. Get the chief out here now, along with the fingerprinting crew and photographer.”

Ethan stared open mouthed.

Jeremy turned to Ethan, flipped the phone closed, and began questioning him. “Who was in Miss Brennan’s room?”

Ethan’s mouth dropped open wider. “What? When?” he barely sputtered.

Jeremy paced the office, walked to the door, and spun around to Ethan. “You didn’t see anyone go into Miss Brennan’s room?”

Ethan shook his head. Poor man, Rebecca thought. His face drained of color. She thought for a minute he was going to pass out the way Jeremy interrogated him.

Within minutes, sirens sounded, and the hotel crawled with police carrying equipment, heading toward her room. Jeremy slammed the door behind him as he ran out to meet the chief.

Rebecca stayed in the office with Ethan while the police went through her room. Not that he said anything. The poor man looked to be in total shock. Although he did mumble to himself while he stared out the window. Rebecca could hardly make out what he said. Something about strangers coming to town and disrupting a peaceful existence.

Jeremy came back an hour later, her suitcase in hand. “You’re coming to my place.” It was a statement, not a question. Rebecca knew arguing wasn’t an option.

Connection of the Minds releases today , September 9th as an eBook from MuseItUp Publishing

To win a copy of Connection of the Minds, send  an email to  rodow62 at yahoo dot com with contest in the subject line.
Winner will be announced tomorrow night.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The sights and sounds of the season.

Fall is just around the corner. Mother nature will put on her usual  colorful display. Orange, rust, reds, browns,and golds mixed in with various shades of green will sparkle in the sun and dominate our landscapes . Cooler temps will erase the humid heat of summer. Fresh mowed grass clippings mixed with fallen leaves, and creating an aroma all their own, will mingle with the scent of wood burning in fireplaces to remove the chill. 
Wreaths made of dried grasses and gourds will adorn doors, while pumpkins, corn stalks, and scare crows will line the walks. Soon Halloween decorations will appear. 
I always feel melancholy this time of year. Although I love the beautiful colors of Fall, it's a sad time for me. I'm not sure why, I've been like that ever since I could remember. Maybe it had to do with going back to school and later sending my kids back. Summer fun was over.  I hated the early bedtimes and schedules.  And, soon to follow will be barren trees, dead plants and gardens gone to rot.  Gone are the family picnics and other outdoor activities. Gone the quiet walks in the woods, fires in back yard, and the grandkids swinging on the tire swing.

But there's always hope. Football parties with homemade chili and the holidays will be upon us before we know it. Families will gather once again, but inside this time, for feasts  fit for a king. 

Before we know it, the ground will turn white with fresh fallen snow. I love the first snow glistening in the sun, sparkling like diamonds. In fact, I look forward to it.

 Once again the grandkids will be here, sliding down the small hill on their sleds or snowboards, making snow angels and building snowmen. The aroma of chili cooking on the stove, apple pies baking in the oven emanate from the kitchen. Ah, yes, I enjoy those first snowfalls.
All too soon, January bursts upon us and mother nature visits us with blowing winds and blizzards. Roads become impassable. What once looked like a beautiful blanket of snow, now becomes a hindrance, keeping us prisoners in our homes. The temperatures dip to well below freezing and often into the single digits, sending the chill factor below zero. Furnaces work overtime and smoke bellows from the chimneys.
Even now,  I shiver  to think of it. It's the worst time of winter. 
Our thoughts will turn to spring as we wade through the knee-deep snow, anxious for the flowers, green leaves on the trees, and warmer weather.
Spring is my favorite time of year. To me, it's a happy time. A time of new life, new beginnings. Temperatures rise and we shed our winter coats, go outside in shirtsleeves, and, praise God, open the windows. The air smells fresher and the grass turns green. Pastel colors emerge from the ground as tulips, crocuses, and daffodils peek their heads through. Ah, yes, summer will be upon us again before we know it.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Welcome, Karina Fabian

Thanks, Rosanne, for hosting me today on your blog. 

Journal of Joshua Lawson
Day One
I'm writing this journal in the hopes that it will help me keep my mouth shut while I'm at work.  I have the feeling I'll be needing all the help I can get.
I knew when I took this internship, that I'd be facing an uphill battle.  It doesn't matter how many years you've been working in the psychiatric field--when you're only 19 and all that work has been done alongside your psychiatrist father, people tend to dismiss it.  Well, most, anyway.  I think I have a couple of the staff convinced that I know my stuff--or at least enough that they can trust me with something more than bedpans and playing catch with the only teenage client, Ydrel.
Ydrel.  What a piece of work he's going to be.  He's got this idea that he's psychic--and he's real good at living it.  Maybe too good.  How the heck did he know about Mass in Pueblo?  Maybe he'd keyed in that I was Catholic--but he described Mrs. Montoya pretty well.  Spooky well.  Anyway, it doesn't matter, right?  No one is helping him here, and if I can, I will, even if it means trying to teach him control of "psychic powers."  Guess I'll be browsing the paranormal section, though I might start with Myth, Inc.  It's got ley lines and stuff, and anyhow, Ydrel needs to develop a sense of humor in a bad way.
Then there's Sachiko.  Oh, man!  She's beautiful and funny and she drives a Harley and I thought I was going to melt through the blacktop when she smiled at me in the parking lot and offered me a ride.  Do I want to ride with her!  And I can not, NOT, think that way this summer.  She's staff--a swing shift nurse, like five or ten years older than me, and Ydrel's pretty protective of her, too.  Apparently, she's taken care of him a long time.  Just the way to wreck any trust I build with him, not to mention professional image.  Besides, after Lattie, I promised to swear off women for the summer.  So why can't I stop hearing her beautiful voice?
Okay.  Enough for tonight.  Work in the morning--and I don’t know what traffic is like that early.  Rhode Island traffic is a far cry from Pueblo's.  Bless me Lord, and help me keep my mouth shut and my feelings to myself--especially around Sachiko.

 Unlike her characters, Karina Fabian lives a comfortably ordinary life.  Wife to Air Force Colonel Robert Fabian and mother of four, her adventures usually involve packing and moving, attending conventions, or giving writing and marketing advice in one of her many workshops.  She's always had an overactive imagination, however, and started writing in order to quell the voices in her head--characters who insisted on living lives in her mind and telling her their stories.  Winner of the 2010 INDIE award, winner and finalist for the EPPIE and finalist for the Global e-book awards, she's glad people enjoy reading the tales her characters tell.
“Obviously. Did Edith tell you about the one time they did release me? The first thing I did was smash all the bottles in my uncle’s liquor cabinet because the butler—yes, Joshua, they have a butler—is an alcoholic and was obsessing on it, had been obsessing on it for years. It was that or drink myself stupid, just because he wanted to. That was nothing. My aunt took me
shopping. All those people, all those thoughts…It was like ants crawling in my skull. I was just managing to ignore them, and I felt this woman screaming—”
“Yeah, felt. Inside my head. I couldn’t help it. I snuck away from my aunt, followed the thoughts—she was so scared!—I found her in a part of the mall that was being renovated. This guy had her pinned. He was going to—” Ydrel broke off.
“What did you do?” Joshua asked.
Ydrel shivered. “Beat him unconscious. Then I tried to knock myself out, too. See, he was so full of hate, and he wanted to— So I did, too. And the girl tried to stop me and I yelled at her and scared her all over again and I tried to run but the police showed up. So I ended up back here, where the environment, at least, is controlled, even if it isn’t exactly normal. Even then, it’s not always safe for me. Sometimes, Malachai puts someone in the room next to me…to study my reaction, sometimes to punish me.” He looked up and his eyes were wide with fear. “I’ve got to get out of here, Joshua. It’s not safe for me anymore.”
Joshua was beginning to think it wasn’t safe for him either. The last thing he needed on his internship was to get caught up in some problem between a patient he wasn’t supposed to be taking on, and the head of the institution—a friend of his father. Still…
Earlier, when Ydrel had laughed at the idea of Joshua helping him, Joshua had moved his arm in a very deliberate way. Now he used that same motion to recall those feelings of hope and interest Ydrel had expressed. He waited as Ydrel calmed, watching him take a shaky breath and release his hold on his hair, his fingers running through the length, before he spoke again.
“We’ll work on it, Ydrel.”
The younger man nodded.
“OK. You have some barriers. You’ve said that they work sometimes. I want you to think about one thing that keeps you here that your current barriers don’t protect you from.” He couldn’t see Ydrel’s eyes, for the patient had shut them, but waited for other cues.
“When my barriers work sometimes, or not at all?”
“Your choice.”
“The Miscria.”
“You don’t have to tell—the what?” Curiosity got the better of him.
“The Miscria. It calls me, and when it does, I can’t help it—I fall into this trance. I can be doing anything, even walking, and just—boom. Then I have to tell it everything it wants to know before it lets me go with some new assignment, and for weeks I’m studying God-knows-what until it calls me again.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Information, Joshua.” Ydrel opened his eyes and waved impatiently to the pile of books on his desk.
Joshua walked over and examined the covers. “The Miscria wants to know military history?”
“Tactics. Swordsmithing. Triage. Medieval fortress architecture. So I go cra—I have to learn everything I can about the subject, and it just wants more. At least we have a good librarian. He humors me, you know.”
Joshua set down the book he was leafing through: Eye in the Sky, A Warfighter’s Guide to Space Reconnaissance, by Felix Monroe.
“So this ‘Miscria’ calls you, you pass out in your oatmeal, and you tell it everything you know about whatever subject it’s told you to study? So...ever refuse?”
Ydrel blinked. “I— But it needs to know.”
“Why? Ever ask it?”
Now Ydrel sat forward, dumbfounded. “I… It never occurred to me to ask.”
“How about going inside yourself and asking it now?”
Ydrel shut his eyes, furrowed his brow. Joshua stayed standing by the desk, watching the young man first tense completely, then seem to relax every muscle, much the way someone under hypnosis would relax while remaining straight in their seat.
Several minutes passed in silence before Ydrel shook his head. “I can’t. It has to call me.”
“Then that’s your first assignment. When it calls you, try this:  First, see if you can establish some kind of arrangement so that it doesn’t call you at inconvenient times—you decide together what that means. Second, find out more about it, like why it needs this information so badly.”
“What if it refuses?”
“That’s really up to you. Myself, I’d hold out. Blackmail can work wonders.”
Ydrel met his eyes in a steady gaze, not challenging and not trying to see into him, yet searching. “You don’t believe me about the Miscria, do you? You think it’s some weird part of my unconscious. You don’t believe it’s an outside entity.”
Joshua moved his hand as part of a shrug. It was a visual anchor he’d used many times and it was a natural movement for him. “It doesn’t matter either way. The process works the same. Just give it a try. You don’t have anything to lose.” A yawn escaped his mouth, surprising him. He hadn’t realized he was so tired. “I’m sorry, but I’m beat. Finish that drink off, if you want it, and go to bed. I’ll see ya in the morning.”
He started for the door when Ydrel called him back. “Are we going to be friends? I mean, regardless of what Edith asked you to do?” he asked.
He regarded him for a moment, a spoiled and snarky kid dealing with something he didn’t think he could control. Josh could help him; he knew that. But be friends?
Then he thought about how this spoiled kid had jumped up to protect the nurse he considered the one good person in his life. There was definitely more to him than met the eye.
Joshua smiled. “Yeah, Ydrel. I think we are.”