Available Now - Book 2 in the Family Affair Series

I’m Beatrice Lulu Eberhardt. Some of you know me from my niece Callie Johnson. Callie’s the new Chief of Police of our little town and I first appeared in her book, All in the Family.

Callie doesn’t know it, but she’s my favorite. I annoyed her  sometimes because I tried to fix her up with a nice young man, well several nice young men. I didn’t want her ending up an old maid like I almost was. If Ed hadn’t come along – well I shudder to think what my life would have been like. Callie didn’t much care for any of the men I introduced her to. Praise God, she finally met a nice young man on her own.

But that’s neither here nor there. This story isn’t about Callie. It’s about me. That’s

right, me and pretty much no one else. I’m a bit of a sleuth. Some call me nosy or a busy body, but honestly, I’m only trying to help. I don’t mean to interfere.

It all started when Ed and I bought a cabin. It’s a beautiful place with its own lake. Ed loves to fish. We thought it would be fun to have a place just for us, away from everyone. You may not remember I’m from a large, crazy family. Crazy in a fun-loving way, of course. So Ed and I wanted a place to relax, not that it’s turned out that way. We’re seldom alone. Guess it’s because we genuinely like people. So now days when we go up there, someone always comes along. Usually Ethel and her husband, Greg. Ethel’s my sister, by the way. I have two other sisters, also – Charlotte, we call her Lottie,  and Lillian. Lillian is Callie’s mother, and we have a brother, Clyde, but we don’t see him as often.

Anyway, we bought the cabin and Ed and I went up there to clean it up. No one had been in it for years. Cobwebs filled more than the corners I’ll tell you that. It was going to take days, if not weeks, to clean it. But Ed promised we could fix it up and Ed never breaks a promise. That’s one of the things I love about him.

So there we were looking around, deciding what to do, and Ed decided to build a fire to take the chill and damp out of the air. The place smelled musty, the way empty houses smell after being locked up for a long time.

Well there I was, thinking about where to start when I heard a strange clattering noise. I thought Ed fell or something. I turned around and lying on the fireplace hearth was an arm – well what was left of the arm, bones and tattered flannel from a shirt, I assume. Although I’ve been told never to assume anything.

If you want to know what happens next you’ll have to read about it in All’s Well That Ends Well soon to be released from Books We Love.

If you haven’t read All in the Family – Book 1 of the Family Affair series, you can find it and all my books at Books We Love. Just click on the book and it’ll take you to the buy page. They're also available from Amazon and other markets. 

Freebits Friday

Michele swore she’d scream if she had to look into one more smiling face or listen to the words, ‘you make such a perfect couple’, one more time. And her feet hurt. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. To make matters worse, the warmth of Brad’s hand on her back sent heat coursing through her body. How

had she let them talk her into this?

The exquisitely decorated hall looked like a fairyland. Mother sure went all out this time. Twinkle lights sparkled through gauzy material that draped from the center of the ceiling and cast a glow on Brad’s face. He was so handsome in his tux. She could almost love him. That is, if she were inclined to love anyone.

The guests sat at round tables adorned with a single red rose in three-foot tall vases. Sure looked like they were having a good time while they awaited the announcement of the newlyweds. Michelle inhaled the scent of roses from her bouquet. The red roses that cascaded through the center of the bridal table looked beautiful, one of the few things Brad had insisted on.

Her mother had sure loved that. “Such a romantic gesture,” she had said. Little did her mother know the pact Michele and Brad had made. “Red roses,” he had told her, “not only mean love, they also mean respect. And though we don’t share love we promise mutual respect.”  A sweet and surprising comment.

Now their seats awaited them, their places of honor, the happy newlyweds. Ha, happy, Michele felt anything but happy. What she felt was tired, irritable, and just plain sick of this whole charade. If she had the nerve, she’d kick off her shoes and run out of here. But she didn’t and she wouldn’t - couldn’t - embarrass herself or her parents that way. She’d agreed to this charade. So she’d stay here, smile and play the happy bride.

 “Almost time to make our grand entrance,” Brad whispered. “Smile.”

It's Only Make Believe is available from Amazon

For More Freebits go to: Ginger's Blog 

Friday Freebits

Excerpt from Another Day

Someone once said a hangover felt like a sharp spear of light, slicing your eyeballs out of their sockets and leaving every nerve rubbed raw, while a hundred drummers played in your head, complete with cymbals. I couldn’t remember who said it, but I could attest to the truth of it. The room spun. My stomach churned, and my mouth tasted like sour milk. I squinted against the bright sunlight. Darn, why hadn’t I pulled the shades? What time was it anyway?  Rolling over and lifting my head just high enough to look at the alarm

clock, I tried to focus. My eyes hurt just looking at the digital numbers.

Ugh, eight o’clock already.

Slumping back down onto the soft mattress, I pressed my fingertips into my temples. Rotten headache, served me right. Had I really drank a half bottle of wine?  God, I had drunk so much and barely remembered anything from last night. Anything that is, except Paul’s hands all over me. Oh Lord, Paul. Memory of last night flashed through my mind.

What had I done? Trying to block out the memory, I pulled the sheet over my head, and inched my way to the other side of the king-sized bed, glad for the coolness of the soft cotton sheets. What had possessed me last night?  I wasn’t some sex starved teen. I was married for cripes sake.

Oh God, how would I face Andrew?

Tears stung my eyes. Suddenly, my actions from last night became all too clear. How could I have done this? Just because Andrew had been inattentive and away on business a lot didn’t justify having sex with another man. 

Published by Books We Love and Available at Amazon

For more Friday Freebits go to: http://mizging.blogspot.com

You'll Never Be Alone

From my work in progress, You'll Never Be Alone

So Ed opened the flu and stuck a wire brush inside to make sure nothing was jammed.

“What the hell?” Ed jumped back. I turned around in time to see something fall.

“What’s that?”Whatever it was shook Ed up. He pushed me across the room.

“You don’t want to see that. Come on, let’s go in the kitchen.”

Well dog gone it, no one tells me what to do, not even Ed. Leastways not all the time. I pushed him aside, went to the fireplace. “What the hell is that?” I bent down for a closer look.

An arm, in tattered red flannel soiled with soot, lay on the grate. I reached out to pick it up, and a finger fell off. I jumped back. “What the hell is an arm doing in our fireplace?”

You can find my books at Amazon 

Trouble Comes in Twos is available from Amazon for 99 cents for a limited time. Here's another fantastic design by Karen Cote.

I first met Vanessa Gleason on...

Christmas Eve. Oh, I’m Pastor Dan Jacobson, pastor of St. Matthew Lutheran Church. I came to check things out for my Christmas Eve service and there she was standing kneeling next to the Nativity Scene. She stood and turned toward me. I sensed the tension in her. I’m sure with the light behind me, she couldn’t see who I was right away. She was holding a baby.

I approached slowly and she immediately relaxed when she realized I was a man of the cloth, immediately mistaking me for a priest. Normal mistake, many people mistook me for a priest.

The baby wasn’t hers, she explained. She found it next to the crèche. Naturally, I was suspicious. Was she trying to pull a fast one? Her annoyance didn’t escape me as she pushed the note in my hand. Not that it proved anything, she could have written it. Thing is, she looked me in the eye and I’ve discovered people who are lying don’t look you in the eye.

Her eyes held sorrow, grief. This was a woman who was suffering. We sat down and I asked if she had children. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes. Slowly but surely, the story came out. She had a two year old daughter, whose father demanded custody, threatening Vanessa if she didn’t agree. She had no choice or chance of getting her daughter back if she didn’t take the money he offered and leave.

It wasn’t long before someone else entered the church. The baby’s mother raced toward us, crying. The poor girl was at wit’s end, not knowing where to turn. When she saw Vanessa come into the church, something made her scribble a note and run out. But, she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave her baby.

I knew I should call the police, but Vanessa came to the rescue, insisting the girl and baby stay with her. It was Christmas Eve and after the tale Vanessa just told me about her own child, well heck, how could I possibly call the police? So I got the address where they were staying and let them go, figuring I’d check on them later. Besides, I wanted to see Vanessa again.

To find out what happens next, you’ll have to read the book. It’s available from Amazon

EXCERPT

Vanessa’s stomach tensed. She had to get out of here. Needed some air, needed to escape.

She got in her car and started driving, to where was anyone’s guess. The quaintness of Strongsville, Ohio, especially the town square with the gazebo with all the Christmas decorations, brought tears to her eyes. Vanessa wiped the tears away and parked the car. Shoppers and carolers filled the sidewalks. Ignoring them, Vanessa hurried past decorated shops until she came to a small church. St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church, the sign out front said. Two huge wreaths hung on the heavy oak doors. The small white building beckoned to her.

Vanessa opened the door, walked up the steps and stood at the entrance. The quiet of the empty church filled her soul. It had been too long since she had attended services. Charles wasn’t particularly religious, but at least he had allowed her to have Alyssa baptized. She should have gone to church more often by herself, but after spending Saturday evening at the club, it was all too easy to sleep in on Sunday morning.

Light showed through the stained glass windows, illuminating the red carpet-covered aisle way. A nativity scene at the front captured her attention and drew her forward. Memories from her childhood flashed through her mind.

Her father always helped set up the nativity at church when she was a little girl, and they let her put Baby Jesus in the crèche. A noise came from the side aisle, interrupting her thoughts. Vanessa stopped, saw a flash of red and the side door slammed. Funny, she hadn’t noticed anyone else when she came in.

Oh, well, Vanessa shrugged and continued to the front and knelt down. What in the world? Next to the nativity scene sat a car seat. An infant, three, maybe four months old with dark curly hair, opened its almond shaped dark eyes and reached its chubby arms out to her.

“What have we here?” Vanessa unbuckled the seat belt. “Hello, precious.” She picked up the baby and a note fell on the diaper bag next to the car seat. Vanessa picked up the paper and read the scribbled words.

Please take care of my baby. Her name is Grace. Mary.

“Who could leave someone as precious as you?” Vanessa looked around. No one lurked in the shadows. Who left the baby? How long had she been here? God, what should she do? The baby cuddled against her. Vanessa inhaled the sweet smell of baby lotion, bringing back memory of Alyssa. Tears filled her eyes. For a minute, she was tempted to take the baby and leave, but she couldn’t do it.

Startled, when the door at the back of the church slammed, Vanessa turned toward the sound. A shadow loomed at the entrance and moved toward her. A tall figure walked down the aisle, checking the pews along the way. Vanessa hugged the baby against her, held her breath, and let it out when she saw who it was.

“Father, I’m glad you’re here. I came in here and found this baby. I was just about to call the police.”

“I’m a minister, not a priest. Pastor Dan Jacobson, Pastor Dan will do,” he said. “You found a baby?” His brown eyes sparkled with a glint of gold below raised eyebrows. “Who do you suppose it belongs to?”

“Yes, I ... uh.” The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her. Heck, she could have pretended Grace was hers. He wouldn’t have known. “When I came in someone ran out through that side door. I came up here to see the nativity scene and….” Vanessa walked away and sat in a pew, cradling the baby against her chest. What was the use, he didn’t believe her. She didn’t need this. Not now. She had enough problems of her own.

“I see, pretty little thing, boy or girl?” Vanessa stood and took a step closer to him. “Girl.” She stopped next to him. “You aren’t suggesting this child is mine, are you?” Vanessa looked him straight in the eyes. How dare he? Minister or not, what gave him the right? “Look, I came in here and found the baby. I told you someone ran out that door.” Vanessa took a deep breath, let out an angry sigh. “Here.” She pushed the note toward him. “This was lying on the diaper bag. I didn’t touch anything else.”

Pastor Dan stared at her, like he was studying her.

Vanessa stared back at him. Disbelief showed in his face. Like she’d try to pull off such a stunt? Imagine her abandoning a baby like this. The memory of Alyssa, clinging to her when Charles tore her away, flashed in her mind. Even now, Alyssa’s cries when Charles slammed the door ripped her apart.

Pastor Dan brought her back to awareness. “I see. Well, I guess we’ll have to call Social Services.” He read the note, then picked up the diaper bag and looked through it.

Grace squirmed in Vanessa’s arms and began to cry.

“Probably hungry.” Vanessa hummed and cuddled the baby and rocked her.

Pastor Dan pulled out a bottle of formula.

The warmth of the baby against her chest opened a hole in her heart, missing Alyssa even more. Her insides trembled, tears burned her eyes, threatened to fall.

“You have children?” Pastor Dan’s tone softened.

A tear escaped, fell on her cheek. She nodded, a lump caught in her throat.

“How many?”

“One.” Vanessa choked out the word.

How old?”

“Two.” The tears burst forth as if a damn had been unleashed. “I’m....” Vanessa couldn’t speak. She turned away, held back the tears, and paced across the front to the nativity scene, leaving him standing there.

***

Attractive woman and she held the baby like she cared about it. Was she trying to pull a fast one? Yet, something about her suggested she was telling the truth. Her eyes—that was it. She had honest eyes. Dan laughed inwardly. What was it with him and people’s eyes? He’d learned over the years that people telling the truth looked you in the eyes, whereas liars looked away, over your head, or down at the floor. This woman looked him full in the eyes.

And he’d gone and made her mad. She didn’t look like the sort of person he wanted mad at him. No, she looks like the sort of person who needed help. Like someone he wanted to know better. No wedding ring, but the pale mark on her tanned finger indicated she wore one recently.

Something bothered her, an inner conflict. The baby wasn’t hers, but there was something. A sorrow in her eyes, a deep hurt on her face. He had seen that look before, usually someone suffering from grief. He wanted to know more about this mysterious woman who showed up in his church and discovered the baby.

“Yes, I ... uh.” The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her. Heck, she could have pretended Grace was hers. He wouldn’t have known. “When I came in someone ran out through that side door. I came up here to see the nativity scene and….” Vanessa walked away and sat in a pew, cradling the baby against her chest. What was the use, he didn’t believe her. She didn’t need this. Not now. She had enough problems of her own.

“I see, pretty little thing, boy or girl?” Vanessa stood and took a step closer to him. “Girl.” She stopped next to him. “You aren’t suggesting this child is mine, are you?” Vanessa looked him straight in the eyes. How dare he? Minister or not, what gave him the right? “Look, I came in here and found the baby. I told you someone ran out that door.” Vanessa took a deep breath, let out an angry sigh. “Here.” She pushed the note toward him. “This was lying on the diaper bag. I didn’t touch anything else.”

Pastor Dan stared at her, like he was studying her.

Vanessa stared back at him. Disbelief showed in his face. Like she’d try to pull off such a stunt? Imagine her abandoning a baby like this. The memory of Alyssa, clinging to her when Charles tore her away, flashed in her mind. Even now, Alyssa’s cries when Charles slammed the door ripped her apart.

Pastor Dan brought her back to awareness. “I see. Well, I guess we’ll have to call Social Services.” He read the note, then picked up the diaper bag and looked through it.

Grace squirmed in Vanessa’s arms and began to cry.

“Probably hungry.” Vanessa hummed and cuddled the baby and rocked her.

Pastor Dan pulled out a bottle of formula.

The warmth of the baby against her chest opened a hole in her heart, missing Alyssa even more. Her insides trembled, tears burned her eyes, threatened to fall.

“You have children?” Pastor Dan’s tone softened.

A tear escaped, fell on her cheek. She nodded, a lump caught in her throat.

“How many?”

“One.” Vanessa choked out the word.

             How old?”

“Two.” The tears burst forth as if a damn had been unleashed. “I’m....” Vanessa couldn’t speak. She turned away, held back the tears, and paced across the front to the nativity scene, leaving him standing there.

Imagine being threatened and....

forced to give up your child. That's what happened to me. Oh, I'm Vanessa Gleason, by the way.

When I first met Charles Sanford, I lived in Cleveland. He often had dealings with the lawyers where I worked. He convinced me to quit and move to Cincinnati and work for him. It wasn't a difficult decision, I didn't have anything to keep me in Cleveland and I was already infatuated. He swept me off my feet, lavished me with gifts -flowers, jewelry, even clothes. It was a whirlwind romance, going to the club, theater, surprise trips to Cancun, the Bahamas, you name it. Before I knew it, he asked me to marry him. Of course I said yes, I was crazy in love.
It was obvious from the first day I met her, Mrs. Sanford wasn't thrilled with Charles's choice for a bride, but she took over, planned the most expensive wedding of almost a thousand people and even picked out my dress. Not that I cared, I just wanted to be part of the family.
It didn't take long to realize she was out to destroy my marriage. Little comments, tactfully made of course, about how I was too friendly with the help or how I shouldn't pick up after myself. I even heard her tell Joanna, Charles's sister, that I wasn't suited to be Charles's wife. Of course,she insisted I quit my job for Charles - Sanford women didn't work - and join them volunteering and at the garden club and other organizations. I hardly had a minute to myself.
At least I didn't until I had my daughter, Alyssa. Mrs.Sanford wasn't too happen I became pregnant so soon after our marriage. I didn't care. I was thrilled. Charles and I could be a family.
Or so I thought. My fairytail romance soon took a turn for a horror story.
Elusive Mission is available from Amazon

Excerpt

 Vanessa blinked back tears. The empty feeling inside wasn’t going to subside any time soon, and hiding away in a hotel room wouldn’t change anything. Besides, tears wouldn’t bring Alyssa back. But, somehow, someway she was going to get her daughter back. What was her baby doing? Did she miss her? Was she crying? God, she missed Alyssa. Missed their morning ritual—the loving, hugging, and cuddling. Every day for two years, they started the day the same way.

At least they did until two weeks ago.

Never in her life had she felt such anger and pain. Tears burned her eyes, slid down her cheeks. Powerless to stop them, sobs shook her body. Gulping back the sobs, Vanessa looked around the small hotel room. Okay, so it wasn’t the Ritz, but it was clean and reasonably priced. Luxury wasn’t important. Never had been before and sure as heck wasn’t now. The important thing now was figuring a way to get her daughter back. Time to pull herself together and get on with life, find a job. Two weeks of self-pity was enough. Vanessa swung her legs over the side of the bed, went to the bathroom, and turned on the water for the shower. She needed a plan. Crying wouldn’t solve a darn thing.

The hot water ran down her gaunt body, and Vanessa lathered her tangled auburn hair. Was it only two weeks ago life seemed normal? How could things have changed so suddenly? But it wasn’t sudden. A divorce had been coming for a long time. She just never expected it to end without Alyssa. Vanessa shivered getting out of the shower and wrapped the towel around her. Her only chance of getting Alyssa back was to find a job, and to make a fresh start.

Showered and dressed, Vanessa caught her reflection in the mirror. High sunken cheekbones sat beneath green eyes that stared back at her with a vacant look. How had her face become so skeletal in two weeks? What happened to the woman, who had her hair done weekly, never appeared without makeup, and worked out every day? Not that she cared about all that pampering. None of that mattered, never really had. What mattered was her baby. Living without luxuries was easy. She’d done it all her life. But losing Alyssa left a hole in her heart. Never had she experienced such pain. Not even when her parents died. Losing her child tore her apart. Tears burned her eyes again.

Vanessa gulped back the tears and turned away from the mirror, straightened her shoulders and stood to her full five foot eight height. Through the years, her height had afforded her many advantages, and she’d been proud of it. Not so long ago, it had given her confidence and security. Time to regain that confidence. She was down, but not broken. No other way to beat Charles and his mother to win custody of Alyssa, and beat them she would. Darned, if Mrs. Sanford was going to raise her daughter. Not in this lifetime.

Charles—what a mistake he turned out to be. Although he had provided well for the past five years, the past was over. He didn’t matter anymore. Hadn’t really mattered for a long time.

She brushed the hair from her forehead, smoothed her blouse and took a last look at the unfamiliar person that stared back at her.

“Time to get down to business, first thing to find a job,” her voice in the empty room shocked her. It was the first time she’d spoken in almost two weeks.

Clutching her sweater tight to block out the wind, Vanessa hurried across the parking lot to the motel lobby and purchased a paper. Back in her room, she shivered, poured a cup of coffee, sat down at the small round table, and opened the paper to the classifieds. The settlement money from Charles was safe in an account, but she didn’t want to count on it to live. Besides, it wouldn’t last forever. It was time to do something for her, to feel worthwhile again. That money was the start to getting Alyssa back. Vanessa smiled. Nothing would make her happier than beating Charles with his own money. But it would take a lot more than what she had to find a lawyer who could beat him.

Memory of signing the papers and taking the money invaded her thoughts. That sneering smile and hushed tone of Mrs. Sanford made her skin crawl, even now. The words would be forever implanted in her mind. “Charles has been more than generous in his settlement. You ought to be grateful, dear.”

Oh yeah, more than generous, but at what price? And grateful, for what? That they forced her give up her daughter? That Charles had threatened her? Mrs. Sanford’s idea of grateful and hers sure didn’t agree. And that dear, if she never heard that term again, it would be too soon, especially the way Mrs. Sanford said it. But they weren’t going to win. Not by a long shot.

Vanessa set the paper aside, closed her eyes and remembered how happy she had once been. How could things have gone so wrong? All she had wanted was to fit in, to be the perfect wife and part of Charles’s family. Quitting her job at Mrs. Sanford’s insistence was her first mistake. Filling her time managing Charles’s large house, fulfilling commitments at the club, and volunteering with Mother Sanford and Charles’s sister, Joanna, was supposed to be fun. Fun, yeah right, nothing with Mrs. Sanford was fun.

Pushing the memory from her mind, Vanessa picked up the newspaper, circled some help wanted ads, and made a few phone calls. It didn’t take long to figure out Christmas Eve wasn’t the best day to look for a job.

Christmas Eve. She had lost track of time, Christmas, when she should be with her daughter. She had begged Charles to let her stay until after Christmas, but with his mother behind him, as usual, he refused. How could anyone be so cruel?

“What difference does it make what day it is?” Charles waved her off. “It’s over, the papers are signed. Take the money and leave before I change my mind.”

Vanessa left, knowing he meant it. She wouldn’t put anything past Charles Sanford these days. He sure wasn’t the man she married, or had she been too blinded by love to see the real Charles?

“But the fight isn’t over, Charles Sanford. Somehow, someway I’m going to win Alyssa back. No way is your mother going to raise my baby.” The choked sound of her own voice startled her. The thought of Mrs. Sanford raising Alyssa sent chills through her. No, that cold, unfeeling witch wasn’t going to raise her daughter. 

Welcome, Janet Lane Walters

Thank you so much for being here, Janet Lane Walters


First up is the obligatory question. When did you first begin writing?
If you're talking about creating stories, 1968 was the first time I became serious about writing. During my teens, I began a lot of stories and left them in a desk drawer. My mother threw them away. She thought story writing wasn't a good career choice. Perhaps she was right them, since I didn't know what I was doing. A lot of reading of books on writing helped me find the way to put down those stories bouncing about in my head.


2: What inspired you to write?

Was there an inspiration? I'm not sure since I was a reader from an early age. I think this is kind of an extension of my reading. I remember that year I had pneumonia and my sister-in-law sent me a bag of nurse romances. Since I was a nurse, I read them with interest and disgust. Few of the people writing them had any idea about medicine or what a nurse does. That was when I decided I could write one and I did. I had been dabbling in short stories before then.
3: What do you like the most and least about writing?
Funny thing is that I don't think there's much about writing I don't like. I often find the rough draft hard going at times but I plug along. I do love revision and making the story as good as I can. I look on writing as fun even during those times when things aren't flowing smoothly. I love creating people both good an bad people and finding what motivates them to act.


4: What do you for fun and relaxation when not writing?

First of all, I read and I re-read. Another thing I do when relaxing is spending time with my grandchildren, Seven of them. Three live nearby and are adopted from China. Four live in Florida and are the children of our adopted biracial daughter. I also like to clean and wax floors. I jokingly tell people my hobby is cleaning house since that's what one does in their spare time.


5: Which authors do you like to read?
Authors - just about anyone who writes I'll read at least once. I'm more into genres, like mysteries, fantasy and romance. As far as favorites I really can't name just a few. I've read all of Tolstoy, Jane Austin to mention a few older writers. Lately I've been reading electronic authors, many of them are critique partners.


6: What’s the one thing you’d most like people to know about you?

What an interesting question. Maybe that I use Astrology to cast my characters. I look at their Sun, Moon and Rising sign.


7: Tell me about your current novel, where I can find it and your website/blog.

My current novel. Actually I have a lot of novels out there and mentioning just one would be hard. My books can be found at Kindle, Nook, and other places like this. My blog is http://wwweclecticwriter.blogspot.com/ and for a look at my many books, try this site. This is an extensive look. http://www.angelfire.com/stars4/kswiesner/jewels10.html


8: Do you have any tips for aspiring authors?

Persistence pays. Another thing is to find a good critique group. Having more than one person hear what you are writing is important.
9: Do you base your characters on real-life people?
Now I come to a yes and no. I often take a trait or two from a person I know plus a bit of myself. There's no one who has become a character in my stories.


10: Where do you get your ideas and what inspired you to write this book?
Ideas are all around. Sometimes something I read triggers a story. Sometimes the idea is just there. I have this wild imagination. My most recent release, February was The Chosen of Horu and the inspiration for this comes from my interest in ancient Egypt. This is a second in a trilogy. The Warrior of Bast was the first. I am using an alternate Egypt, though people often call this a time travel. It's not the ancient Egypt we know because I wanted camels and on the Discovery Channel I learned there weren't any camels in the time period I had selected for the stories.

11: What are you currently working on?

 At present I'm working on a novella that is spicy and the idea came because I needed another story in a series. I am also plotting a new mystery featuring Katherine Miller. The inspiration for this one came from the previous books because of her developing love match with an old friend. This is her wedding. I needed to find a way to have her leave her reception because a murder called. This was triggered by her love of mint teas and helping a friend. deal with a micro-manager's murder. Perhaps based on micro-managers I have observed.


12. Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you?
I often give away print copies of my books on my blog. I also enjoy hearing from readers. Recently got a letter from Canada from a reader thanking me for sending her a print book.

To Plot or Not - or Overcoming Writer's Block

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To Plot or Not, Overcoming Writer's Block

at

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Secrets, Lies & Love

Hi, I’m Meghan Shelby. My parents moved away from Littleton when I was seventeen, but now,  ten years later, I’m back.


I inherited the family home, a Queen Anne Victorian from my Aunt Beth. I always loved that house, so needless to say I was excited when I received the letter from my aunt’s attorney. Not that my aunt passed away, I was very sad about that, but coming back to Littleton after all this time was exciting.

I’m not sure why we moved away in the first place. It was all kind of sudden and we never even came back when Gran passed away. I never knew why. Every time I asked, the question went ignored. Eventually, I quit asking.

Anyway, here I was back in the town I loved, standing in front of a dilapidated, rundown house that used to be one of the most elegant in town. Shutters hung by one hinge, windows broken, the porch floor rotted and the back door lock didn’t work.

How had Aunt Beth allowed this to happen? I was half afraid to go inside, but curiosity got the best of me and I ventured in. What a mess. It was going to take a lot of money to get this place back to its glory days. And the stench was almost unbearable. Well, no wonder, I discovered a dead body in the living room.

Who he was, or why he was there in my house, I had no idea. For some reason, the sheriff wasn’t convinced. To top it all off, he caught me in the arms of my new boss, the principal of the elementary school and the guy I had a crush on all those years ago. Oh, I was hired as school secretary, guess you need to know that.

Needless to say, I was the main topic of conversation around town the next day. Gossipmongers in Littleton were having a ball at my expense.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the next day several eighth grade boys caught the principal kissing me in his office. I’d never live it down. Not that I minded being kissed, especially by Patrick. I just didn’t need it spread all over town.

Once I hired a handyman to fix the windows and change the locks, I rolled up my sleeves and got busy scrubbing the place inside so we could paint. I hired high school kids for that job. There was only so much I could do with working full time. But at least I was able to move in.

That’s when more trouble started. Someone broke in and I received phone calls warning me to leave. Obviously, someone didn’t want me here. If you want to know more, you’re going to have to read the book.

Secrets, Lies, & Love is available from Amazon. http://amzn.to/zZznVG

Excerpt:

Meghan loved this time of year, though a little too hot to start school in her opinion. Why they felt the need to go back in August was beyond her. She remembered her mother complaining about it years ago. “What was wrong with starting after Labor Day like they did in my day?” Her mother used to rant and rave for weeks before school started. Even got on the School Board. Not that it changed anything. School still started the last week in August. Meghan smiled at the memory.

Now that she thought about it, it was silly. Like they took the last week of vacation away from the kids. Bet the teachers didn’t like it either.

Meghan pulled into the school parking lot. Not much had changed here either. New landscaping, new windows, but that was about it. The old building looked pretty much the same.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty hall. She’d never been in the school when it was empty before. The strong odor of wax and other cleaning products prickled her nostrils. The clean smell lingered through the first few days of school.

It had been a long time since she’d been to the principal’s office and she stopped outside, took a deep breath and held it. Here goes nothing. Mr. Duncan said look for Mr. Mac. He must be new in town. It wasn’t a name she remembered. So what was the worse he could say? Letting out her breath, she hurried inside, before her nerve left her. A man stood with his back to her, unpacking a box of books.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. Mac.”

“I’m Mr. Mac.” He turned toward her.

Meghan’s breath caught in her throat. “Patrick!” The word slipped out of her mouth, before she could stop it. The love of her life stood in front of her, even better looking and sexier than she remembered. Her heart skipped a beat, her legs turned to jelly, and she grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself.

Patrick smiled at her. That easy smile she remembered from long ago. The smile she used to love. It lit up his eyes.

“Little Meghan Shelby. Not so little anymore I see.”

Heat burned her cheeks as Patrick looked her up and down, apparently taking in every inch of her. He remembered her. After all this time he knew who she was. Would wonders never cease?

“Uh, um...” Oh crap. Now wasn’t the time to get tongue tied. “You’re the principal here?” Lord, could she work for him. See him every day?

“Yes, I am. I heard you were back in town. Are you staying then? Do you want to register your child?”

“Huh?” Her child, was he nuts? “Uh no I’m here about the secretarial position. Mr. Duncan was supposed to call you.”

“Really? You want the job?”

“Yes, didn’t Mr. Duncan call? He told me to come right over.”

“If he did I didn’t hear the phone. I’ve been in and out of the office.” He nodded toward the stack of books. “Too busy around here this time of year.” Patrick grinned and motioned her into his office. “So tell me about yourself. What qualifies you for the job?”

Qualifications? Think damn it. What was the matter with her? She’d lost all train of thought. “Well, I’m computer proficient. I’m good with math. And I love children.” What more could he want?

“I see. So why do you want the position? Tell me about your education.”

His deep voice sent shivers down her spine. Meghan couldn’t take her gaze from him. All sense of reason flew out the window. She had the most God awful urge to reach up and push his dark hair out of his eyes. “I’m a former Math major, have two years of college. I’m a quick learner.” Finally, she looked away.

Secrets, Lies, & Love is available from Amazon http://amzn.to/zZznVG
Website: http://www.roseannedowell.com/



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Say hello to Rosemary Morris

1: Thank you so much for being here, Rosemary. First up is the obligatory question. When did you first begin writing?

When I was a child.

2:That seems to be when most of us began. So, what inspired you to write?

Reading and my interest in history.

3: Ah, yes our love of reading. Tell us, what do you like the most and least about writing?

I most enjoy the anticipation of the journey ahead when I begin a novel.

I regret that there are never enough hours in the day to devote to writing.


4: Oh to have more time. Seems to be a consensus with authors. And, what do you for fun and relaxation when not writing?

Spending time with my family and friends. Reading fiction and researching my novels. Growing herbs, fruit and vegetables throughout the year in my organic garden. Visiting places of historical interest. Arts and crafts, knitting, embroidery, patchwork etc.
5: We seems to have some of the same interests. Tell us, which authors do you like to read? A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada’s translations of classical Indian literature such as the Bhagahavadgita. Translations of the Indian classics such as The Ramayan and Mahabharat. Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Charles Dickens, Sir Walter Scot – particularly Ivanho, Elizabeth Chadwick, Georgette Heyer, Helen Hollick, M.M.Kaye, Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind, Rosalind Miles, Colleen McCullogh’s Thorn Bids and too many others to list.
6: Wow, that’s some deep reading. What’s the one thing you’d most like people to know about you?

I try to treat others as I would like them to treat me.


7: Tell us about your current novel, where we can find it and your website/blog.

Historical Background to Tangled Love. When the outwardly Protestant Charles II died, he left a country torn by religious controversy and not legitimate children. The throne passed to his Catholic brother James.

It was an anxious time for the people, whose fears increased when James II became to unpopular that he was forced into exile. In 1688,Jame’s Protestant daughter, Mary and her husband, William of Orange, became the new king and queen.

Some Protestants, who had sworn allegiance to James II, refused to take a new oath of allegiance to William and Mary and joined him in France.

Tangled Love Loyal to his oath of allegiance, ten year old Richelda’s father must follow James II to France.

Before her father leaves, he gives her a ruby ring she will treasure and wear on a chain round her neck. In return Richelda swears an oath to try and regain their ancestral home, Field House.

By the age of eighteen Richelda’s parents are dead. Grief-stricken she believes her privileged life is over. At home her only companions are her old nurse and her dog. Clad in old clothes she dreams of elegant dresses and trusts her childhood friend Dudley, a poor parson’s son, who promised to marry her.

Richelda’s wealthy aunt takes her to London and arranges her marriage to Viscount Chesney, the new owner of Field House. Richelda is torn between her love for Dudley and her oath to regain Field House, where it is rumored there is treasure. While trying to find it will her life be at risk or will she find true love?

Forthcoming releases from MuseItUp Available from MuseItUp Publishing.com/bookssstore2/… Amazon Kindle and elsewhere.

Tangled Love January 2012
Sunday's Child June 2012
False Pretences October 2012
http://www.rosemarymorris.co.uk/
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com/


8: Wow, sounds like you did a lot of research for this one.Do you have any tips for aspiring authors?

However busy you are set aside time to write. If you write half a page every day you will finish a novel in a year. Join off or on line writer’s groups where you can mix with other writers, receive encouragement and encourage others.

9: Do you base your characters on real-life people?

Some historical figures feature in my historical novels but I do not base my characters on real-life people.


10: Where do you get your ideas and what inspired you to write this book?

I am inspired by incidents small and large in history. This novel was inspired by the turmoil created by James II. I asked myself: What if a young girl suffered as a result and wrote Tangled Love.


11: What are you currently working on?

I am revising two novels, one set in Queen Anne’s reign and the other in Edward II’s reign. I am also writing a new novel set in Charles II’nds reign.


12. Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you?

I am grateful for my many blessings.

Prologue

1693

Richelda Shaw stood silent in her nursery while thunder pealed outside the ancient manor house and an even fiercer storm raged deep within. She pressed her hands to her ears and, eyes closed, remained as motionless as the marble statues in the orangery.

‘Nine years old and you’ve not yet learned to be neat!’ Elsie, her mother’s personal maid, pulled Richelda’s hands from her ears. ‘Come, your father’s waiting for you.’

Richelda’s hands trembled. What was wrong? Until now Father’s short visits from France meant gifts and laughter. This one made Mother cry while the servants spoke in hushed tones.

Followed by Elsie, Richelda hurried down the broad oak stairs. For a moment, she paused to admire the lilies of the valley in a Delft bowl. Only yesterday, she picked the flowers to welcome Father home. After she had arranged them with tender care, she placed them on a chest, which stood beneath a pair of crossed broadswords on the wall above.

Elsie opened the massive door of the great hall where Father stood to one side of the enormous hearth. Richelda’s eyes searched for her mother before she spread her skirts wide and knelt before him.

Father strode forward and placed his right hand on her bent head. ‘Bless you, daughter, may God keep you safe.’ He smiled. ‘Upon my word, sweetheart, I vow the colour of your hair reminds me of a golden rose. How glad I am to see roses bloom in these troubled times.’

Richelda chewed her lower lip again. She did not know him well and dared not speak. Therefore, when he sat and beckoned to her, she hesitated.

Putting an arm round her waist, he drew her to him. ‘Come, do not be nervous of your father, child. Now, my daughter, do you know King James II now holds court in France and that his daughter, Mary, and William, his son-in-law, seized his throne?’

‘Yes, Mother told me we are well rid of King James and his Papist wife,’ she piped up, proud of her knowledge.

With a sigh, Father lifted her onto his knees and held her close. ‘Richelda, I must follow His Majesty for I swore an oath of allegiance to him. Tell me, Richelda, while the king lives how can I with honor swear allegiance to his disloyal daughter and her husband?’

Unable to think of a reply, she lowered her head.

Father held her closer. ‘Your mother pleads with me to declare myself for William and Mary and begs me not to return to France, but I am obliged to serve King James. Do you understand, Richelda?’

She nodded. Her cheek brushed against the softness of his velvet coat and she breathed in his spicy perfume.

‘If you remain in England, you will be safe. Bellemont is part of your mother’s dowry and I doubt the Crown will confiscate her estate.’

If she remained in England! Startled, she stared at him.

Smiling, he popped her onto her feet and stood. ‘Come, we shall ride. I have something to show you.’

Before long, they rode away from the house and estate. They drew rein on the brow of a hill. At its foot lay Field House, their ancestral home seized by the Roundheads soon after poor King Charles I execution.

He pointed at the Elizabethan manor house. ‘Richelda, I promised my father to do all in my power to regain the property.’ Grey-faced, he pressed his hand to his chest. ‘Alas, so far I failed to keep my oath and now I cannot,’ he wheezed.

Richelda yearned to help him keep his promise to her grandfather. She also yearned to find the gold and jewels legend said her buccaneer ancestor, Sir Nicholas, hid.

After her father breathed easy, she ventured. ‘If we found the treasure trove you could buy Field House.’

‘Ah,’ he teased, ‘You believe Sir Nicholas did not give all his plunder to Good Queen Bess.’

‘Elsie told me legend says he hid some of his booty in Field House,’ Richelda said, excited by the thought of pearls and rubies, diamonds and emeralds, gold and silver bars and coins. Less shy of him, she asked. ‘In his old age, when Sir Nicholas retired from seafaring, did he put his ship’s…’ she broke off for a moment in an attempt to remember the word and continued triumphantly, ‘…his ship’s figurehead, Lady Luck, in the great hall?’

‘Yes, for all I know she is still above a mighty fireplace carved with pomegranates, our family’s device.’

‘I want to find the treasure.’

He chuckled and wheeled his thoroughbred mare round. ‘Come, time to ride back to Bellemont.’

‘Do you know our family motto, Richelda?’

‘Fortune favours the brave.’

‘Are you brave, my little lady? Will you swear on the Bible to do all in your power to regain Field House?’

To please him, she nodded.



Forthcoming releases from MuseItUp
Tangled Love January 2012
Sunday's Child June 2012
False Pretences October 2012

http://www.rosemarymorris.co.uk/
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com/

For Unto Us A Child is Born

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.  Isaiah 9:6 

I remember singing this song in the choir many years ago.I miss those days. Life was simpler then, although I didn't think so at the time.  My children were still young, in school and I worked as School Secretary. Life was good. Christmas was exciting. It was fun waking up Christmas morning and watching their faces as they unwrapped the gifts. We had a system. I didn't want them to just tear into them. It would be over too soon. So we started with the youngest first and with each gift the next youngest opened one first. I made sure there was enough to go around so each child had a turn at being first.

I loved waking up, often before the kids. I'd put on the coffee and wake them each in turn, telling them Santa had come. Yes, we still believe in Santa. How could we not. It's not the same now, hasn't been for years. The kids grew up and married, have their own children and made thier own life. Now they have the pleasure of watching their own children.
For many years now, it's been just my husband and me. Not quite the same excitment. We've started to open our gifts on Christmas Eve when we got home from celebrating with my brohers and sisters. It was usually past midnight, so technically Christmas.
But the excitement of waking on Christmas morning just wasn't there. I have to wait until later in the day to watch the excited faces of my grandchildren. The hours seemed to drag by. I guess I'm still lke a child with the excitement of Christmas. Besides, I love spending time with my family. I'm not used to being alone. I went from a family of eight (a brother and sister were still at home when I got married) to eventually having six children of my own. Obviously, it was a noisy, exciting household and Christmas was a special time. It was my mother's favorite holiday and I followed in her traditions. We started the holiday right after Thanksgiving with decorations, Christmas music and baking. It was a busy time of year.  I wasn't used to living in a quiet house, especially around the hoilidays. 
Finally, the hour came for the kids to come over.  I loved the excitement of everyone, especially the kids. We still didn't let them tear into their gifts. It's so much fun to watch each individual child.
This year, we're doing something different. We're going to my son's for breakfast with my oldest daughter who's children have left the nest. This will be her first Christmas with no children in their house. I remember that feeling. So we're sharing the morning with my son, who wasn't blessed with children.
It won't be the same as when they were young, but at least I have something more to look forward to.
No Christmas morning will never be the same, but the reason for the day will always remain.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. Luke 2:11

I wish everyone a blessed and Merry Christmas.

An interview with editor, Tanja Cilia

Today, I'm interviewing Tanja Cilia. First of all, Tanja, thank you for being here today.  

1.    A question many authors used to ask me -What qualifies you to be an editor?

It’s a combination of things – an eye for detail; the ability to enhance a writer’s voice rather than stifle it; an extensive vocabulary; General Knowledge; a reasonably good memory; a sound knowledge of syntax… and practice, practice, practice.

2.  All of that is very important. I know you work for MuseItUp Publishing. Tell us,  how much input do you have in accepting a story that’s submitted to MuseItUp Publishing?

Manuscripts are placed in a loop and we editors each give our points of view about them. What is interesting is that something that screamsyes! to me may be inane or a total loss to someone else.  It may need a total change of point of view, or a drastic re-write and re-submission, according to someone else.

3.    Who decides which editor gets which story?

Again, it’s a combination of things. If it’s YA or MG Science Fiction, I will ask for it upfront – other editors have their own preferences. Sometimes, writers have their preferred editors, and vice-versa. However, Lea sometimes says “You’ll love this!” to one of us.

4.    What do you like best about being an editor?

The fact that I get to read both the raw book and the finished version; the friendships I have forged with writers over the years; and that I learn new things from my authors all the time.

5.    How do you handle a situation where you suggest a change and the author refuses?

If it’s a question of coherence, logic, anachronism, flow or unity, a regional or time-restricted word, the writer usually concedes the point. Sometimes, my suggestions would be at odds with the universe (in Science Fiction) in which the story is set; so minute details to clarify this would have to be inserted elsewhere into the story.  If it’s a deadlock, Lea gets the last word.

6.    Do you have a particular genre you prefer editing?

Definitely – it’s Science Fiction. I was weaned on the Gollancz Yellow Jacket series, you know! The fact that the Public Library was ten minutes away from my childhood home was a bonus.

7.    What’s the one thing you wish authors would avoid?

Some authors think that writing a book is just like writing a long essay – that a beginning, a body, and a conclusion to tidy up loose ends ought to do it. So they jump through loops to make sure that stock characters behave according to (what they think is) type, and woe betide anyone who dares point out that deep sea divers, for instance, do not necessarily pepper their speech with puns about salt and fish and seas non-stop.  Murderers do not consider each person they meet a potential victim.  I also wish authors would stop relying on spell-check.

8.    Do you have a job other than editing? If so, what do you do?

Since I was 14 years old, I have been writing for Allied Newspapers (Malta).  Apart from that [see elsewhere in this interview] I do several other writing-related matters, in Maltese and English, online and in print.

9.    What do you like about editing? What don’t you like about editing?

It’s nice when an author says “Good catch!” or “I never thought of that!” I like it even more when they say I helped them polish their book to as near enough perfection as does not matter. I do not like it when they sleep on the edits although they know that a deadline is looming, in the hope of panicking me into letting awkward bits in the manuscript through because time is short.

10.  What’s the difference between a content editor and line editor? Which would you rather do?

This is a tricky question – for me, at least, when I do content edits. Since I am also a proofreader for magazines, a translator (Maltese to English, English to Maltese), a ghost-writer and a journalist, I tend to tweak language, offer suggestions, check for redundancy and repetition, correct grammatical errors, punctuation and spellings, and point out inconsistencies (including indicating whether the reading level is readership-appropriate) as I go along with content editing – which I prefer. I know that strictly speaking, some of these are the province of line editors. When I do line edits, on the other hand, I cannot resist pointing out some things that are content editor territory.

Tanja has graciously given us one of her flash fiction pieces.

The Stranger at The Crossroad

You know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction?  Well, you can believe it’s true. 

So there I was, convalescing in Rome, reading Murder on the Orient Express, while on one of those buses that have the middle like an accordion so they can go round corners. Bendy buses, I think they call them.

I was thinking that this would have been the ideal vehicle on which to kill someone – you just sit at the back, with a potential victim, when all the people are in the front half, and do the deed. Then you alight from the door serving the hind part of the vehicle, and Bob’s your uncle.

And then it happened. You know how in another book - or was it another film? - Miss Marple saw a man strangle a woman on another train, and since a body was not found the police assumed she was rambling, what with being old and all? We were just nearing Le Quattro Fontane (the Four Fountains) – that group of four Late Renaissance fountains located at the intersection of Via delle Quattro Fontane and Via del Quirinale, the most famous crossroads of the world – or so the Italians say.

Well – I happened to look out of the window and I saw a bus coming the other way, and – suddenly – I saw a woman stand up thump a man on the head with what looked like a frying pan, and then, she just rolled him out of the emergency door.  I gasped, and followed the body with my eyes.

Suddenly, from behind the sill of the Fountain of Diana (the only one of the four, as I recall, designed by the painter and architect Pietro da Cortona, for the rest were the work of the fortuitously-named Domenico Fontana), up jumped a man dressed in black from head to toe.  He sneezed, and put his little fingers to his lips – I am assuming he whistled in that shrill chav ways I hate so much. A Black Maria-like car drew up, the driver hopped out, and together they half-pulled, half-lifted the man into the back.   Hecate would have been proud of them.
Our bus rounded a corner - I rang the bell but the driver did not stop.  I ran to the front of the bus, but I could not make the driver understand what I wanted him to do.  My Italian is patchy at the best of times, and he kept saying something like “Espresso, diretta, non posso fermarmi”.  I couldn’t have cared less about his offer of coffee when we got to the terminus - I just wanted him to stop, so I said “Polizia” and he said something that sounded like “My my my!” and I thought he was telling me I was making a fuss.

Of course, the nuns at the Convent of Saint Elisabeth, at whom I was staying, saw how shaken I was, and they understood what I was saying because a couple of them spoke almost perfect English.  They explained that I had inadvertently caught the direct line that did not stop. What the driver had really said was “Mai!” which means “never”.

So they drove me to the police station where I made a report about what I had seen. They found the body a week later, when they dredged the section of the Tiber nearest the place I indicated, weighted and dumped. Later on, the full story was splashed across the papers, on all three RAI television stations and on the Mediaset ones too. The woman was an Albanian hooker, and the man she attacked had been her pimp. The man at the crossroad was her boyfriend – an ex-client who wanted to give her a better life and had hatched the plan. The pimp had been threatening to have her deported, because she was not earning him enough money, and she did not want to go back home.

I had to stay in Italy longer than I planned, but since I was a key witness I was given free board and lodging for the extra fortnight I remained; and of course, my Italian improved no end, in that short period.  For a time, I was quite the media star.

This is weird, considering that I am a Maltese nun.