Welcome Diane Scott Lewis

Originally from California, Diane Scott Lewis grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area. She has written since a small child and published poems and short-stories in school magazines. In high school she had a short story submitted to a literary festival. Diane joined the Navy at nineteen and met her future husband while stationed in Greece. After living overseas and raising two boys, the family settled in Virginia where Diane again pursued her love of writing. She joined a chapter of the Virginia Writers Club and works as a free-lance editor. Besides being a great friend, she's a treasured resource for author, Ginger Simpson and others for whom she critiques. You can find out more about Diane at http://www.dianescottlewis.com/


Blurb:

Forced from France by her devious guardian on the eve of the French Revolution, Countess Bettina Jonquiere must deliver an important package to further the royalist cause. In England, she discovers the package holds nothing more than blank pages. The address is false and she's penniless. Stranded in a Cornish village, Bettina toils in a bawdy tavern and falls in love with a man who lives under the shadow of his missing wife.

Excerpt:

“Trethewy isn’t going to be much help, I’m afraid. He never is, unless it benefits him. But he’s the only law in the area.” Everett assisted her into the curricle, his grip on her arm almost painful.

“I must agree.” The Justice bringing up Stephen upset her. But Everett had little reason to kill him and he’d been away, in London…hadn’t he? She rubbed a hand over her brow as if she could wipe away that thought.

The curricle and horses lurched up the steep grade to the main road. An edgy silence lingered between them. Bettina’s aggravation and confusion over the events boiled over. “I must find my horse. I planned to give him to—”
“You have to be careful from now on. You simply can’t go off unescorted. And never approach that man alone.” Everett snapped the reins and his team tossed their heads. “Trethewy should be reprimanded to do his duty.”

“I am leaving here as soon as I can arrange it, so I will not be a burden to anyone.” She struggled to keep her voice firm and shifted on the hard bench. “I wish that I had never come to Cornwall.”

Everett glared at her. “Don’t start sounding like Miriam.”

“Stop this carriage at once!” Bettina slid from the seat, forcing him to rein in the horses. She jumped down and ran toward the cliffs, not wanting him to see her angry tears.

Everett leapt from the curricle and chased after her. He caught her arm and swung her around to face him. “I didn’t mean that, I'm sorry. You don’t understand everything.”

“I do not understand anything!” She thrashed to free herself, but he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her to his chest. She refused to look at him. “I wanted you to love me.”

Welcome, C.K. Volnek

Thank you so much for being here, C.K. Volnek

1: what genre do you write?

Thank you for having me. I write mostly MG, Tween and YA. My middle son hated to read and it challenged me to come up with stories that could entertain, encourage and inspire my readers.

2: How long have you been writing?

I’ve been writing since I was in my teens. But my dream of writing novels was put on hold for many years while I raised my family. There just weren’t enough hours in the day, or enough energy in my body, to crank out my novels. But I wrote newsletters, articles and short stories all along, even getting a story picked up for Chicken Soup for the Christian Family Soul.

3: What do you like the most and least about writing?

I love to tell stories. Always have. I remember being the designated story teller around the camp fire when I was young. I love to take my characters and make them come to life, watching them go after their dreams and persevere even though obstacles try to stop them.

What I like least, is my internal editor. She seems to raise her head at times she shouldn’t causing quite a ruckus between her and my muse. She also likes to inflict the seeds of doubt at times when I can be very vulnerable, my own worst enemy.

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

I’m lucky to have a lot a hobbies. Mostly I like to spend time with my family. I also love to travel, especially hiking in the mountains. I like to draw and paint, play with my flower garden, make jewelry, take my Papillons (all 4 at once) for long walks, and relax with a good movie like Pride and Prejudice.

5: Which authors do you like to read?

I really like the voices of Jane Yolen, Deb Calleti and Edward Bloor. But I admit, I also love the stables of Anna Sewell and Jane Austin.

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

I’m nobody really special. Just an average person. Wife, mom, employee...but I have a passion for writing and with hard work and keeping my dream alive, I’m excited to accept my first two contracts. If I can do it, anyone can, if they want it bad enough to work for it.

7: Tell me about your current novel, where I can find it?

I have two novels coming out with MuseItUp Publishing. Ghost Dog of Roanoke Island will be released in September, 2011 and The Secret of the Stones will be shortly thereafter. Both are tween novels. Please check out my author page at http://museituppublishing.com/musepub/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=128&Itemid=82

8: Do you have any tips for aspiring authors?

Two elements stand out to me when one is first writing. 1. Believe in Yourself and 2. Never give up!

1. It’s so easy to doubt yourself, believing that you cannot compete with the likes of J.K. Rawlings or Stephen King. But don’t believe it. Your story is important and if you don’t write it, no one else will!

2. It’s also easy to just give in and go on to do something else, especially at the first hint of criticism. But if you give up, you’ll never know how your story could have touched the people it was meant to touch, maybe being the lifesaver of just one person...

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

I do take bit and pieces of real people. The MC of ‘The Secret of the Stones’, Alex Ramsey, is based quite a bit on my middle son, down to the ‘middle child syndrome’ my character reacts with.

10: How did you come up with the idea for this book?

I have an overactive imagination. Seems I read anything and my muse automatically asks... ‘what if...’ That’s how ‘The Secret of the Stones’ came about. I was reading a short story about Merlin and Vivienne. My muse reflected on the movie The Sword and Stone and how Merlin changed him and Arthur into squirrels and fish. My muse automatically wondered what would happen if a boy today had that same power. It’s a rather humorous tale and one I delighted in writing as most of my stories or on the more serious side.

11: What are you currently working on?

I am currently working two books... ‘The Secret of the Wood’, the sequel to ‘The Secret of the Stones’, where Alex will continue his magical adventure. And I am also working on a YA titled ‘The Three O’Clock Hour’. It is a fiction story based on the school bus tragedy of my home town.

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

Hmmm... I’m a Christian. I love my family and hate it when we’re apart. I love dogs and horses, traveling, hiking in the mountains and strolling on the beaches. I love pasta and tulips, gardening and making jewelry. I am a night owl which works out great for my muse since my hubby is an early bird.

13. Where can we find you? Website? Blog?

I would love to hear from readers and writers alike.

My e-mail is ckvolnek@yahoo.com

Website: http://www.ckvolnek.com/

Blog: http://www.ckvolnek.com/blog.html

Thanks for having me. Have a wonderful day!


Unedited excerpt of Ghost Dog of Roanoke Island

A hurricane has hit Roanoke Island earlier than expected, catching twelve year-old Jack Dahlgren at home...alone. Thinking he’s heard his dad calling for help from the boat dock, Jack heads out into the storm. But his dad isn’t back from town. The only thing out in the storm is a giant tan and black Mastiff. Wanting to get the dog to safety, Jack follows him up the bluff next to their beach house, the very bluff his little sister had fallen off of, the bluff he’d been forbidden to go up.

And the rest of the chapter...

Jack’s stomach knotted as he reached the top of the bluff. The massive white oak stood like a sentry, its dead, leafless branches reaching so high they seemed to spear the dark clouds. It groaned as the winds battered its gnarled branches, twisting and turning as though possessed.

The storm was getting stronger.

Jack stopped and wiped at the rain on his face as he scanned the bluff. Where was that dog?

A sharp bark from the shadows on the other side of the tree made him jerk. He blinked, staring into the blurred shrubs, their branches whipping back and forth like swords.

But as if he were an apparition, the dog was gone, melted away. Jack pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and looked again. He searched the bushes and vines; checked the slope that led down the back to the forest. There was no sign of the Mastiff.

The wind pressed hard against Jack’s chest, forcing him to step back. Soggy leaves slithered into the mud with a sucking noise under the weight of his foot. He tipped unsteadily; tripping over the oak’s crooked roots and fell against the rickety fence on the edge of the bluff. A weathered rail jerked up and down in the wind, jumping at Jack like an angry animal. He pushed himself upright again, his eyes widening as he stared at the missing section of fence to his right. This was where Kimmy fell.

The normally shallow water below the cliff exploded as black water beat at the narrow strip of rocky beach. He stared south, toward the long point of the island. Frothy whitecaps topped the enormous waves making them look like giant rabid sea-monsters. The coast line blurred into a haze of grays.

Rain whipped sideways across the bluff, stinging Jack’s cheeks and ears. The wind whirled around him like giant arms, tossing him back and forth, shoving him toward the tree; to where the water pooled into a bowl-shaped gap between the roots, swirling and churning like a witch’s brew.

His feet slid in the mud, gripping at the tree, but the smooth trunk offered no hold. The wet soil slipped beneath him and tossed him into the whirling mire.

He thrashed about, struggling to get out of the pool. But the slimy sludge only pulled harder. It sucked at his legs and arms. It filled his ears and coated his hair. It swirled him around and around, inching closer and closer to the void in the fence, toward the edge of the bluff, until the river of mud slithered over the edge … carrying him with it.

Welcome, Kay Dee Royal

Thank you so much for being here, Kay Dee Royal.
1: What genre do you write?

My new found passion is writing paranormal erotica romance, although under a different name I’ve written three Young Adult fantasy novels that remain work in progress.


2: How long have you been writing?

Since I could write the alphabet, but my serious writing began about six years ago.


3: What do you like the most and least about writing?

I love the moment an idea takes shape. The brainstorming process is a fun part, writing it all down is next, and editing is just as fun.

I think the least fun would be marketing my work. There’s a certain excitement in meeting people online, but it feels humbling to promote myself and my work. There are so many awesome authors out there.


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

Family time, fishing or golfing with my husband, or a nice wilderness hike are all fun, relaxing, and recharging. Of course, there’s always reading a good book to take me away from stresses in my life - nothing like living vicariously through a strong, intelligent heroine.

5: Which authors do you like to read?

I’m still establishing my favorites and look forward to the many choices I’ll find through Muse It Up Publishing and Muse It Hot! when they open their e-store on October 1, 2010. Until then I’m currently reading: Elisabeth Naughton, Kelly Armstrong, Christine Feehan, Susan Sizemore, Gena Showalter, Lora Leigh, Angel Knight, Emma Holly, and Nalini Singh, to name a few (smile). I read a lot!


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

Tough question, especially since I’m an introvert. Hmmm…maybe it’s that I’m always humbled (I’m using this word again) when I read a great novel. It pushes me to improve and strengthen my own writing. I hold great admiration for authors who’ve found publishing success.
I’ve come to realize the true meaning of patience and perseverance through my personal writing experience.


7: Tell me about your current novel, where I can find it?

Muse It Hot Publishing will be releasing my novel, Big Girls Don’t Cry Wolf, on March 1, 2010. My author web page is: http://museithotpublishing.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=74&Itemid=82
Or go to www.museithotpublishing.com and find my book or author page there.

Here’s a Blurb about my book:

During a raging storm, Brea and her family get swept off the road when their car plunges off the Tagerson Bridge. Her adoptive parents and Brea survive, but her twin sister is never found.

Brea takes over the family resort business, focusing her life on making it a success.

Everything becomes complicated when a hunky wolf in human form, Grey Dalton, and his twin brother walk into the resort for a relaxing vacation.

A rogue werewolf abducts Brea and danger permeates the situation. Brea’s world collides with theirs and who, if anyone, rescues her?


8: Do you have any tips for aspiring authors?

NEVER STOP WRITING! Patience and perseverance (as I’ve mentioned previously) pays off in the end. Write, write, write, read, and write some more.


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

Yes, my characters are a blend of real-life people, plus maybe a bit from characters I’ve read or seen on television. I think there’s a piece of me in all of them as well, even if it’s a buried piece.


10: How did you come up with the idea for this book?

My writing idea began when I saw an online writing contest calling for an intelligent, confident, plus-sized woman, who is comfortable in her body. I loved that idea and Brea, my character, did too. Much of my scene came from a combination of rustic areas where I’ve vacationed. It worked perfect for a paranormal romance.

11: What are you currently working on?

A fifty-five-year-old woman (widower of two years), lives in a rustic location and owns property, which she turns into an animal preserve. There’s a virile forester who enters her life, and yes he’s a shifter (were-wolf). Danger and sparks pursue.

Still work in progress, but I’m having fun with this one.

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

Maybe that I worked hard on my writing for years and when I finally joined a critique group, my writing strengthened. The best thing I ever did was bare my soul to fellow writers. It devastated me at first – I mean really, I thought every word I wrote was golden. Even with a couple of stabs and cuts I survived and stuck it out with even more determination. My critique groups have changed since the beginning. It’s important to find one that fits the genre you write and the members fit you as well. I would never give my current group up. They are valued, appreciated, and necessary.


13: Where can we find you?

I just created a blog and would love to have you visit: www.kaydeeroyal.blogspot.com

Otherwise, please visit Muse It Hot Publishing, http://www.museithotpublishing.com/


Unedited Excerpt from Big Girls Don’t Cry Wolf




Brea’s belly warmed and rolled into a major flip flop. Everything faded around her with the exception of the man in front of her. His eyes looked like gray slate in the strong sunlight, and he’d caught her staring. Those slates locked on to her, sending a bolt of electric sparks weaving through her insides. Her whole body tingled in a way she’d never experienced before.

“Damn it Blake, watch that thing,” his deep voice rumbled through the store.

His attention wavered, the connection shattered. Brea sucked in air like she’d just broke surface from a deep dive into a watery abyss. She physically took a step back to look at him, the energy in the air still heavy with the static strings that moments earlier connected them.

His fingers combed through the front of his hair, pulling it backward, but the dark curls bounced back over his brow, wild, unruly.

Brea couldn’t quite see behind Slate Eyes to know with whom he spoke, maybe a child. His bold language seemed a bit much for the likes of a child. He approached the counter where Brea stood. She swore the temperature rose about twenty degrees, even though a shiver spiked down her spine raising goose bumps over her skin.




Roseanne, thank you for having me as a guest on your blog. I would love to have you on mine soon. Blessings all, Kay Dee Royal

Welcome, Marsha Moore

Thanks, Roseanne, for inviting me to be here today. Since this month is all about Muse Publishing and getting to know its authors, I thought I’d invite you and your readers into my home to see where I spend lots of time writing.

I’m pleased to have a room to myself, an extra bedroom converted into an office space, I don’t have to share with anyone. In there are my laptop and desktop computers, and reference books about magic, alchemy, ghosts, demons, witches. I like to write late at night and my tiny dragon figurines keep me company. On the floor is a woolen Indian rug, part of my Indian art collection. I never worry if Indian décor mixes with fantasy dragons. This is a room for my inspiration.

When I take a break from writing, I use a separate desk for doing my watercolor paintings. Both desks are ages old, the painting desk an authentic Mission style from the turn of the century. They belonged to my dad, who is no longer with us and I miss much. Using his furniture brings me close to him.

As my writing time has increased, I’ve found one of the biggest hardships is giving up time outside. I often take notepads and write longhand at local beaches, easy to do year round here in Tampa. Last week, we finished a summer-long remodeling project in our backyard, expanding the patio area. It’s enclosed in a lanai to keep hungry Florida bugs away. After surviving plenty of sand, dirt, and cement dust for a couple months, we have finished with a nice floor of pavers leading from our family room. Finally, I have a comfortable place to sit at the patio table with my netbook and write outside, thinking about my characters while staring at the lagoon behind us. The hammock gives a nice spot to lounge and brainstorm plot twists. We have put in a hot tub, which I haven’t yet managed as a writing aide – the warm water seems to sap my strength. But, it does serve as a great reward after meeting a good day’s word count. I’m having no trouble getting comfortable writing outside in our new lanai.

I always like to see where other writers spend hours gaining their creative ideas. A writer’s workspace seems to have an energy unique to that writer. It’s been fun sharing where I like to create.

To learn more about me, my writing, and my upcoming Muse release, Tears on a Tranquil Lake, please visit my website at http://www.marshaamoore.com/

Here’s an excerpt of my coming book, Tears on a Tranquil Lake, Chapter Ten:

The Black Hawk made port and its crew secured her to a dock. In every direction I looked were pirate ships.

Sam sidled up to me. “Feast yer eyes, lass. There be every type of privateer vessel here today.” He pointed them out, one by one. “Next to us be a square-rigger, massive enough to store plenty of booty . . . over there be a nimble sloop fitted with its dress canvases . . . and there, a two-masted brigantine workhorse . . . and farther back, a fleet of schooners with shallow drafts to make swift course in shoal waters.”

“Amazing! And all fly the skull and crossbones flag,” I said.

“That be the Jolly Roger, the buccaneer mark displayed aside their own war pennants, like ours be a black hawk set on a red field.”

What a sight, seeing dozens of fine sailing vessels docked or anchored in the tropical cove.

With the gangplank finally lowered and secured all hands anxiously waited for the captain to come on deck to dismiss them. Although only a few moments passed, the men grumbled.

Black Sam shot them a long, fierce glare before Raphael appeared.

The captain grinned from ear-to-ear, his booming voice full of excitement, “Aye, ye scallywags, the Hawk sets sail again midday tomorrow. Be here or be left behind. Now get yourselves ashore.”

They all scampered onto the dock like mice, yelling and laughing in anticipation of merriment and adventure.

Raphael proudly extended me his arm. “Ciel, you look lovely. Let me now show you the wonders of Tortuga.”

Along the promenade that followed the shore I struggled to match his gait. I was impeded by my less than agile tail flipper, and glad for his arm.

He sensed my dependence upon him and beamed, in high spirits. Smiling to familiar faces, he tipped his three-cornered black hat, its billowing white plume waving in the breeze. He looked dashing, outfitted in a purple waistcoat and gold brocade jacket. Slim black trousers and knee-high dress boots with shiny silver buckles accentuated his trim physique.

I smiled at him, pleased to be on his arm for reasons more than for physical support.

Everywhere I looked strode the most bizarre beings and unusually dressed people imaginable. At the sides of the promenade, men swallowed blades of any cutlass, dagger, or sword passing buccaneers might volunteer. In amazement I paused to try and discover their secrets, while Raphael pulled me along by the arm with my head turning back over my shoulder, mystified.

Scantily clad women preformed miraculous contortions, happily accepting gifts of doubloons tucked into any edges of their skimpy clothing or body orifices the seafarers wished to leave tips within. Their spines seemed boneless and I wondered if they were truly human.

Many merfolk, both male and female, accompanied pirates, while others sauntered alone or mingled in groups of their own kind. The mermaids all looked so beautiful, wearing lavish golden jewelry and their hair gleamed in the sunlight. I felt rather plain in comparison with only sea baubles for adornments.

The pirate captains and their staff all dressed in an eccentric array of finery. They lent a festive atmosphere, in their bright colors, fancy hats, and tall boots. Garb from around the world proudly boasted, of their travels in the Caribbean, as well as remote destinations of the Far East and Africa.

Amongst the mariners I caught a glimpse of one extremely odd creature strolling past who made me gasp. I could not help but stare. I knew not whether the being was male or female. I could see human legs, covered with pants and shoes, but also the upper body of a seal. I whispered to Black Sam beside me, “What is that sea creature?’

Noticing my bewilderment, he chuckled. “One of the bizarre wonders of the abyss. Pure magic. That be a common sight only on the land of this isle. He's a selkie who's not donned all his sealskin.” He pointed to draw my attention, which was unnecessary, since my eyes were already fixed to the sealman. “See that brown mass danglin' down behind him? That be the rest of it. Left out his legs, likely, so he can walk.”

“I envy him. I wish I could pull my scaly skin back to find some feet to walk upon.”

Raphael was smiling and listening to our conversation. “Don’t forget I can solve that problem for you, Ciel,” he whispered in my ear.

I sensed pressure to make my decision conveyed in his tone, and a wave of panic swept over me, taking my attention from the selkie.

The captain tightened his grasp upon my arm and looked imploringly into my eyes for that answer.

My pulse raced, unable to grant him the choice I knew he expected, yet also unable to leave his world behind for the sea.

Welcome, Krista D. Ball

So, Roseanne asked me to talk about all of the things that make me human. I'm not certain that I am human. Ever since the aliens took me, I've never felt quite the same, you know? Off somehow. But, let's try out this interview of hers on the slim chance that I'm still one of you.

Favourite thing: Newfie Screech. Whispering Oh, apparently I can't list alcohol as a favourite thing. Roseanne doesn't want me to perpetuate the stereotype of authors being drunkards. So, um, I've got nothing. I have lots of things that I like: a brightly-decorated pottery serving tray, these beige socks that are so comfy, a feather my eldest step-son gave me, a painting my youngest step-son gave me. I usually don't grow attached to objects so, once gone, it's gone.

Hobbies: Killing zombies. Whispering No, I'm not talking about killing people. Geez, that would be illegal. I'm talking zombies. Whispering. What? Zombies are not people, too. What on earth have you been reading? All right, all right. I'll list something normal. I like gardening with native Albertan plants.

List of my books: Oo! Oo! I can talk about this. I have several short stories available, but I'd like to mention two right now. First, is my light-hearted werewolf story, The Amazing Transformation of Wicca Dog. Robert is bitten by his werewolf nephew. But he's not worried. Werewolves are actually real. Unfortunately for Robert, mischievous Pan is trotting around, looking for something to do. You can read a sample and purchase the story here http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/19781

On October 1, my First Nations story, Harvest Moon, will be released through MuseItUp Publishing http://museituppublishing.com/musepub/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=25&Itemid=28
 Check out my trailer! link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EiSOvLTqD6Q&feature=channel




Here's an excerpt from Harvest Moon’s Chapter 1:

Cross-legged, Dancing Cat sat pounding the sun-dried Saskatoon berries between two hand-sized rocks. The stone, her hands, and her buckskin dress all bore the tell-tale signs of berry duty. Streaks of red dye, impossible to clean, striped her clothing and tanned skin. She tried pushing her hair off her cheeks, only to have the sticky residue coating her fingers glue the dark strands in place.
The black flies swarmed and buzzed, ready to feast.
She worked in silence as part of the greater circle of twenty women, who chatted as they worked. Dancing Cat had no reason to join in. They only spoke to her to criticize or belittle, never for companionship. The band no longer even called her by name.
Her attention faded away from her work. She stared past the women to catch a glimpse of Eagle Eyes, her brother, mounting his horse. He was only six years older than her and already leading hunting parties, while she sat, docile and obedient, making powdered berries. His gaze caught hers, full of warning. She looked away with the heaviness of her situation pressing against her chest. Dancing Cat pounded her berries harder, trying to crush her own aching loneliness.

You can find Harvest Moon at : http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore
or purchase it at:
http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage-ask.tpl&product_id=22&category_id=2&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1

Feel free to check out my website at http://www.kristadball.com/ for free stories and my appearances (both online and in person). To listen to my weekly rants, check out my blog at www.kristadball.com/blog. Occasionally, I'm funny.
Occasionally.

Welcome, Ginger Simpson

Career Choices

Most of you who know me, only know me as Ginger Simpson, the author. I doubt many of you realize that I drove a school bus for five years and many brain cells ago. I thought I might share some of what I learned with you. Every experience in our lives impacts us in some way, and I think driving a bus gave me some insight and inspiration for my upcoming young adult release, Shortcomings.

Driving bus seemed like the perfect job for a working mom…morning rounds, a kindergarten pick-up at noon, and then afternoon rounds. In between I dashed home, cleaned house, grocery shopped, ran errands then returned to the transportation yard to finish up for the day. I actually got to spend time with my son who was only two at the time. But I discovered later how clueless I was.

The bummer part was learning. All the seasoned drivers had the big, fancy crown diesels with dual wheels in the back…the ones that held ninety-one screaming children. The new people had to drive the old conventional ones…the ones with power steering in only one direction, and holes in the seats. I guess I should also mention the one with the spring that fell off the accelerator and stuck full throttle. Luckily I was alone at the time so no one saw me panic. Did you know that even if the engine is running full boar you can still stop by using the brakes, you don’t have to run off into a ditch?

When you’re a newbie, you have to be a substitute for others when they’re out. Boy that was fun. You found out who had rules and who didn’t. Somehow I always got stuck driving for the same driver…the one who evidently wore ear plugs and blinders. We drivers had just been instructed by the Highway Patrol to make sure we pulled as far to the right as possible when we stopped to cross children. Of course, you have to put on your flashing reds and take your little stop sign and walk the little dears across the street. The high school kids really love that!

The first time I subbed for good ol’ twenty-one, I had no idea what I had gotten into. On the first stop, I pulled just as far over as I could, turned on the lights and opened the door. I got up to lead the departees out the door. Ever stood dominos in a line and pushed the rear one forward? Well, to make a long story shorter, everyone was in a hurry. The back of the bus was in the front long before I stopped. So, add in the domino effect, and I went out the door, but not of my own accord.

I probably would have been hurt much more, if I hadn’t pulled close enough to the right, thus allowing me to fall into an irrigation ditch where the water cushioned my landing. I seem to have a thing for ditches. Thank goodness, I had traffic backed in both directions so I didn’t have to share my embarrassing moment alone. So, no one can say I didn’t do the hard knocks to earn my own bus.

Most of the kids are all right. The good thing is they are only on your bus just long enough for you to want to kill them then they get off. You have a cool-down period between pick-ups, so you can get ready for the next bunch. I think bus driving was the impetus behind the hand gun laws.

You learn a lot driving a bus. Things like, they hold off giving inoculations until right before they board the bus for home. Ever had twenty screamers in the vehicle while you drive? I have. When one kid pukes, it can cause a chain reaction. Gag and the world gags with you.

And high school students will try to smoke just to see if they can getaway with it. At least until I stopped the bus and walked to the back with the fire extinguisher. “Would you like me to put that out or would you like to do it?” It worked. No smoking on my bus, buster!

Oh, and let’s not forget the perks of field trips. I got to drive the HS Marching Band to Disneyland for three consecutive years. I can’t explain why I did it for the second two, but I imagined having a romp roaring time in the park with the kids on the first one. WRONG. The drivers didn’t get to go in. They had an all-night coffee and donut stand where most of the old men that drove tour buses gathered to play poker, but unless your school “kicked down” for a room, you got to sleep in the bus. Imagine trying to sleep on a school bus seat. Now imagine it with “It’s a Small World” playing continuously the entire night. I hate that song now!

Sometimes, your own bus had to be serviced and you were forced to revert back to one of the old conventionals. I had a favorite…number eight! Number seven only had power steering in one direction and sometimes not even that, and six just was too dang ugly. Number eight was the only automatic transmission bus we had. On the morning of my appointed service day, I came in and fueled up number eight and got “her” ready. We had a routine: come in early, wash the windshield, gas it up, sweep it out, check out the lights, let it warm up, and go in the lounge and have coffee while you waited.

The busses were parked in a single line in the middle of a big yard, thus allowing you to drive out of your slot, turn left and go behind the line to the gas pump. Number eight was second from the very end, closest to the exit gate, with the fuel pump being at the other end. In order to get back into line after I fueled, I really had to crank hard to make it.

So, now my bus is ready, warming up, and I’m in for coffee and war stories till my pick-up time. In about five minutes, someone stuck their head in the door and asked who was driving number eight.

“Me, I’ve already fueled it and checked it out.” I possessively announced.

Imagine my surprise when she told me that it was just going out the gate. I was ticked. How dare someone take the bus I’d already checked out? I ran outside prepared to do battle. Someone was about to get a piece of my mind. Taking someone else’s ride that’s road ready is not bus etiquette.

Much to my dismay what I saw was my supervisor chasing a driverless bus through the gate. Now, if I hadn’t already believed in God, this would have cinched his existence for me. I forgot to take the bus out of drive—not used to an automatic—and since I had cranked the wheels so hard to get back into line, they were turned just enough to avoid disaster. When the motor warmed up and overrode the parking break, number eight crept out of line, made a perfect left-hand turn, and went right out the gate. Now mind you, it did this while clearing the busses on both sides AND getting through the gate all on its own. Luckily, the furrows in the field across the street eventually stopped it. You ask why I think God intervened? Because, directly in front of where number eight was parked were six brand new driver’s ed cars. So, yes there is a God, and he does drive a school bus.

I’m going to be sharing more stories like these on my own blog, so please drop by http://mizging.blogspot.com and become a regular at Dishin’ It Out. You can find my books listed there, and on my website, http://www.gingersimpson.com

Welcome, Frank Scully

Thank you so much for being here, Frank
Thank you for inviting me, Roseanne.

1: So, Frank, what genre do you write?
I write mystery/suspense/thrillers. The mantra is write what you know and love and that is what I love to read. Also, as a lawyer, I have some experience to draw on as well.
2: How long have you been writing?
I’ve been writing in one form or another all of my career which has spanned now 40 years. Most of that was non-fiction work related matter. I started writing fiction with an eye to publication 20 years ago. Back when computers were just coming on the scene and before the internet. I started on a dedicated word processor which was little more than a glorified typewriter with some memory. It had always been my dream to write novels and finally my wife got tired of my dreaming and forced me to start actually doing something.

3: What do you like the most and least about writing?
The part I like the most about writing is when the story takes an unexpected and unplanned twist and you have to follow that. Imagination takes over and creativity flows. The movie is running in my head and the hard part is to keep up with it and get it down on paper. The part that I like the least is when you realize that something you spent a lot of time writing isn’t working and the story is going nowhere and you have to go back and start over.


4: What do you for fun and relaxation when not writing?
I read a lot. Writers need to read. Not only in the genre they write but in many other genres. When I am not reading I am working in the garden in season or playing poker. Poker is as frustrating as life. You can do everything right and still lose while someone does everything wrong and still gets lucky and wins.


5: Which authors do you like to read?
My favorites are authors such as Martin Cruz Smith, Michael Connelly, James Lee Burke and John Sanford. Len Deighton is one of my favorite authors for his ability to keep a plot going through so many books while keeping the story and the characters fresh and exciting. Truly masterful. I read so many different authors it is impossible to list them here. It would be easier to simply say take a look at the top 100 mystery authors on Amazon.

6: What’s the one thing you’d most like people to know about you?
I really want to have my readers be entertained. All else is secondary.


7: Tell me about your current novel, where I can find it?
Resurrection Garden is a story set in 1904 on the North Dakota prairie. Settlement of this part of the west had only really gotten started in the 1880’s. New settlers were still arriving in 1904 to homestead land.
Jake Turner, a scarred veteran of the charge up San Juan Hill, has been a lone drifter through much of the settling of the west. Opportunity was growing out of the newly turned sod of the North Dakota prairie in 1904 when he stopped to take a part time job as a Deputy Sheriff, expecting to move on again when the dark parts of his past catch up to him.
An investigation into a murder of a man hated by everyone has threads that lead to his best friend, Isaac. Jake is ambushed and almost killed, but is nursed back to health by Isaac. While Jake follows the clues into a labyrinth of hatred, sordid crimes and missing money he becomes attached to an eight year old orphaned boy named Andy and falls in love with Isaac’s sister, Alice. After being alone for so long with no hope or care for what tomorrow might bring, Jake finds it difficult to accept these new emotional attachments.
Jake believes in Justice, but before he had only his own life on the line. When Andy is kidnapped and almost killed, Jake knows the killers will do anything to stop him. In order to protect Alice and Andy, he must break their hearts and leave them and North Dakota behind.

Jake knows he’ll be back. So do the killers. Trap and counter trap are laid. Jake knows there will be graves. He just doesn’t know who will be in them
It will be available from Muse It Publishing at http://www.museitpublishing.com/ on January 1, 2011 and at a variety of other vendors.

8: Do you have any tips for aspiring authors?
Write and then write some more. You can’t get good at it until you do it and practice it everyday. As you refine your craft you will develop your style and voice. Write because you enjoy it. Don’t write to make money.

9: Do you base your characters on real-life people?
There are elements of real people in all of my characters but none are based completely on any one person, living or dead. The characters in my books are their own unique individuals.


10: How did you come up with the idea for this book?
I live in North Dakota and during one particularly bad blizzard the germ of an idea came to me about a book set in North Dakota during the early days. It took almost 3 years before I fleshed it out and started writing. And, of course, a blizzard plays a part in the story.


11: What are you currently working on?
I currently have 5 books under contract with Muse It Up and hope to submit another soon for 6. I have a seventh in work. It is a novel set in current time whose main character was one of the Vietnam boat people. A mixed blood American Vietnamese who goes on to be a lawyer and former CIA employee who gets involved in a missing persons case that has him traveling to Bangalore, India, Moscow, and a variety of other places as he follows leads and stays ahead of a kill squad.

Excerpt from Resurrection Garden

The Sheriff joined me in my contemplation of the body. It wasn’t pretty. Thor had never been handsome, and the ravages of being frozen under the snow for the winter and having birds and other animals picking away at the skin as the snow thawed and exposed the body made what was left of him downright disgusting.

One thing was evident though. He didn’t die easy. Freezing to death is relatively painless. Wander out in the cold, get lost, fall asleep, and don’t wake up. That wasn’t what happened to Thor.

“What do you think? Shotgun, maybe?” the sheriff asked.

“At least,” I answered. The hole in his chest was big enough to put a fist through. “But why? He musta been dead already when he was shot.”

“Yeah, first someone beat him to a bloody pulp then gutted him and slashed his throat. And then shot him. Ain’t that what you said, Doc.”

“Looks that way to me,” Doc answered. “Can’t tell you much more until he thaws out all the way.”

“Somebody wanted him deader than dead.” The sheriff shook his head.

“Takes some hate to do all that,” Doc commented. “Got any suspects?”

Doc and the Sheriff both turned to face me.

I let out a deep sigh. “I suppose you want me to find out what happened to him.”

“Seems as how you should. After all, you found him, and you’re my deputy up there,” the Sheriff answered.

I stared at Thor and wondered when I would be able to sit down.

Doc came up behind us and commented, “Jake, you might ought to get some new britches or something. You’re hanging out your back end. Probably scare the ladies and kids if you went out in public like that.”

I reached around and felt bare skin crisscrossed with stitches. “Damn, just got these new this Christmas.”

“I’m sure one of the widow ladies you’ve been helping out will be happy to lend you some spare pants.” Doc grinned. “And I’m sure these new scars will get you lots of sympathy and special care.”

“Speaking of widows,” the Sheriff interjected. “You’ll need to tell Mrs. Thorsgaard we found her husband.”

And that’s when the real pain started.