My writer's voice seems to have laryngitis...now what?

Good evening!

Taking a break from the final home stretch editing for "A Hero's Spark"  I started reading Adriana Trigiani's newest book, "The Supreme Macaroni Company."   I'm halfway through and I've been reading it in my spare time over the last couple days.  I can't put it down.

What happens in the book, you ask?

Not much, really. I  mean, I'm halfway through the book, and really all that's happened is an Italian American shoe maker in her thirties is marrying an Italian tanner in his fifties...and her mother planned the wedding between Christmas and Valentine's Day.

Wow, you might say, so, no explosions, no sex, no car chases?

Nope.  And I can't put it down.

See, here's the thing about Adriana Trigiani's writing:  She tells small stories in a huge way.  Valentine, her heroine in this series of stories, in a girl in her thirties who is single  (until halfway through this book) but who lives with a very loud, very tight knit, very big family.  And it's the stories in and about the family that are wonderful.  I don't sew and I hate arts and crafts and yet I'm lost in wonder as she describes cutting patterns for new shoes.

She has an amazing writer's voice.

That's something we writers all hear about once the world realizes we might just be serious about this writing thing. "You have to find your voice."  I had a lot of critique partners, agents, editors all tell me the same thing over and over when I was marketing "Lies in Chance".  

It took me a while to find that voice, but when I did,  my first novel, "Dream in Color," was born.  If you ask my mother, the first 104 pages of "Dream" are the best writing I've ever done.

Finding your voice might be one of hardest things a writer has to develop but once you've got it, you've got it for better or worse.  Sustaining it through the length of a novel is then the challenge.  Sometimes we run into stretches where we produce zero words.  Some call it writer's block, I call it not being able to hear my voice. 

Those of you who know my work, know I write under two names.  (Ironically, the work that's closest to who I am in person is the work I don't publish under my own name. )  My plan, come this summer after "A Hero's Spark" is done, is to find yet another voice and start a new book series under yet another name.

Keeping that voice loud and clear is a big part of writing a coherent novel. Blogging has opened a door to millions who have a voice, have something to say, and can say it clearly, concisely, in short spurts.  I tend to blog when I'm stumped in my novels. Somehow, talking, just talking, which is all blogging really is, turns up the volume on my writer's voice.

Like everything with writing finding your voice and listening to your voice is an intangible.  Can you write a book without a clear voice?  Sure.  Will it be a great book many people love?  Doubtful.  If you can't hear your own voice, no one else will be, either.

So today, as you're banging away at the computer, listen.  Listen to the voice in your head.  You may have to listen closely, because your voice might have laryngitis.  But listen...you'll hear it...and you'll be a way better writer for it.

Sneak Peak Sunday: A HERO'S SPARK!

Good evening!

Well it's done...at least the cover art is.  And I've managed to settle on a title.  So, ladies and gents, take a look at the cover for my upcoming novel:  A HERO'S SPARK

This is the final book in my Wicked Women series.  The other two, Lies in Chance and Fresh Ice don't tie to each other, but both books are tied together in A Hero's Spark.  So my advice, before this is released in early May, would be to read the other two books.  You don't have to, to understand this one, but really, why wouldn't you want to?

Meanwhile, here's a tidbit from Spark to whet your appetite:

COLLIER

          What woke him, Collier didn’t know, but even still in the haze of deep sleep, he knew he wasn’t alone in the loft. Someone latched the door quietly and stepped closer to the bed before turning on the overhead light.

          “Who’s there?” he called out as the light flashed on, momentarily blinding him. A woman’s scream pierced through the shock of light and he squinted in her general direction. He recognized the black hair immediately. “What are you doing here?”

          “I could ask you the same thing.” She held her bulky shoulder bag in front of her like a shield. “Who are you?”

          Collier shifted to sit up. She froze. “Don’t move.  I’ve got mace in here.”

          “Calm down. I’m not going to move, since I’m pretty much naked here.” Collier grinned at her. “But you don’t have mace in there.”

          The angry light in her eyes quavered, giving way to uncertainty. “How would you know what I have in my bag?”

          “Well,” he kept his voice calm, sensing she was more afraid than dangerous, “because if you had mace in there, you would have started spraying it the minute you realized there was a man in the room. That’s what I hear from most women, anyway.”

          She blinked away the uncertainty, her face settled into a mask of defensiveness. “Oh, and you know most women, do you?”

          “No, Miss, I don’t. But I’m pretty sure most women wouldn’t ask any questions before mentioning they have mace. So relax, put the bag down and tell me what you’re doing here.”

          “Shara lets me stay here sometimes, when I need to.”

          “Sound mysterious. And also like a complete lie.”

          “Yeah, well, I’ve lived here almost my whole life, and you’re a stranger.  That’s enough mysterious for me to call the cops. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”

          “My uncle said I could stay here and Molly Hunter brought me here.”

          She seemed less likely to want to kill him, but her countenance remained stony. “Who’s your uncle?”

          “Archibald James.”

          “The lawyer?”

          “The same.”

          She relaxed. “Okay, maybe you’re not a mass rapist.” She sat in the rocker. “But still, you can’t stay here.”

          “Why not?”

          “Because, I’m staying here.”

Collier chuckled. “I was here first. And, I’m not wearing pants.”

          “I’ll close my eyes. Get dressed, and get out.” Her tone was clipped, cold.  Collier again sensed she was covering fear.

          “Why should I get out? I got here first. I was sound asleep, and you woke me up.” He gave her a small smile, hoping to soften the deep furrows in her brow.

          She shrugged. “Not my problem. You can’t stay here.”

          “It is your problem. I’m not leaving.” He grinned. “We could both stay here. It’s a big enough bed.” He patted the spot next to him.

          She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course that’s what you want.” Her eyes flashed hot and angry.

          “It’s not what I want, Ma’am. I want to go to sleep. But if you have other ideas, well, I am from the South.  We believe in accommodating women whenever we can.”

          She stared at him, and Collier doubted his humor was warming her attitude toward him. Clearly, some sort of battle waged behind her emerald eyes.

Her face slacked into exhaustion.  “Look. I need to stay here. Alone.”

          Collier’s curiosity made him push the point further. “Well, I’m from out of town and have no place else to go. From what I hear, Miranda Peirce, you live in Rock Harbor which means you do have someplace else to go.”   

          “Don’t call me that.”

          “Isn’t it your name?”

“Call me Mira.” A shadow crossed her face. “I’m not going to that house tonight. You can’t make me.” her voice held the echoes of a willful child. “And how do you know my name…oh, wait…”

          “Molly Hunter.”

          Mira nodded. “She knows everyone and everything thing in this town. Steer clear of her if you want to keep anything private.”

          “She didn’t strike me as a person who spread gossip.”

          “She doesn’t.  She just knows everything.  The potential is always there.”

          An interesting read on the lovely Miss Molly.  “So the two of you aren’t grand friends then?”

          She leaned back in the rocker. “I try not to make attachments. It’s easier to leave if there aren’t any attachments.”

          “Sounds like someone who wants to run away.”

          “I’ve always wanted to run away. I feel like I’m running away from something every day of my life.”

          Collier wanted to be annoyed by her cryptic statement, but he sensed it was probably the one completely truthful thing she’d said. Collier studied her, trying to assess her age. “You’re what, thirty? You’re old enough to go out on your own. What’s stopping you?”

          “I’m twenty-eight, thank you.”

          “Oh that’s a huge difference.” Collier nearly laughed out loud at the wounded expression on Mira’s face.

          “I can’t leave because it’s complicated. But I can’t go home tonight.”

          The glimmer of true fear returned in her eyes. Collier relented. “Fine. Just go…go in the bathroom for a minute, let me get my crap together and I’ll go sleep on the hay downstairs.”

          “You sure you’re okay?” She suddenly sounded younger, almost childlike.

          “Oh now that you’ve won the bed, you want to know what my opinion is?”

          The softness melted from her face and her jaw line hardened. “Not really. I couldn’t care less where you sleep tonight, so long as it’s not in here.”

          “Suits me fine. I’d rather sleep with horses than up here with you. Less shit to deal with.”

          “Oh very nice. They teach you that language in the south where men are supposed to be so mannerly?” She glared at him as she stomped into the small bathroom and slammed the door.

          “No!” Collier yelled as he pulled on his jeans. “I learned manners just fine, because where I come from the women aren’t complete bitches!” He stuffed a few things into his duffle bag and slammed the door behind him, startling the horses in the stalls below.

          There was a blanket hanging from a hook near a stack of hay bales. Collier spread the blanket over the bales and stretched out on the hay, thankful his years on the road in the Renaissance Faire circuit had toughened him. Staring at the ceiling, he watched the light that glowed from between small cracks in the loft floor. When the light switched off, he closed his eyes. Still, she is pretty.

          Pretty bitchy.

MIRA

         

          Mira waited for Collier to settle downstairs.  Within a few minutes, everything was still and quiet. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots, letting them drop to the wooden floor with a loud thud.  Collier’s muttered curse made her smile.  She wasn’t sure why annoying him gave her pleasure.

          She stretched out on the bed, still warm with his body heat.  She pushed her face into the pillow and inhaled his scent.  It wasn’t unpleasant.

          Closing her eyes, Mira saw him again, sitting in the bed, shirtless, the sheet and blanket pooled at his waist.

          Also not unpleasant.

          She shook her head.  Now is not the time to be thinking about a guy. No matter how good he might smell.

          She picked up her boot and tossed it in the air, giving it more velocity so that when it hit the wooden floor it sounded like a thunder clap.  The sound of the horses below whinnying and rustling in their stalls didn’t cover Collier’s curses, this time spoken at volume she knew was meant to reach her ears.

          Mira smiled, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

2013-2014: Looking backward and forward

Good evening!

Here we are, in the edge of yet another year.  World wide, good stuff happened, bad stuff happened and for the next several months, Hollywood is going to go crazy congratulating itself for all the work it's done in 2013.  (Ups and downs..."The Blacklist" is awesome.  "The Butler" is spectacular.  But did we need yet another Madea movie?  And "Fast and Furious 6"?  Really?)

In the spirit of the ending year I thought I'd look back and review my  year in writing, and then lay out my plan...a resolution if you will, for 2014.

2013 was wildly busy for me.  I got my rights back for "Dream in Color" and spent way too much time creating new covers for it.  I tried my hand at cover making for my books and for my friend, Author Linda Schmalz. 

I wrote and published my first short story:  Love is Elementary, which is actually going to be part of a bigger collection of short stories.  I'm so excited about writing shorter fiction.

I released my two Elsie W books, the first on in June, and the most recent one this past month.  (You can find everything at Amazon or on Smashwords. Just look for Sarah J. Bradley or Sarah Jayne Brewster.

November was awesome.  I took part in Nanowrimo and completed the 50000 word challenge.  As a result, my new novel, "Spark of a Hero" is well on its way to having a rough draft done. This is the book that will tie "Lies in Chance" and "fresh Ice" together so I'm excited about that.

So, after all that, what's up next for my writing life?  Well, quite a bit.  Which is funny, since when I was 13 and I started writing "Lies in Chance" I thought I had one story in me.  Turns out, I had a whole bunch of stuff going on in my head and I can't wait to get to work on it!

First of all, I have to finish "Spark of a Hero."  My goal is Valentine's Day, but let's be real...that's probably not going to happen quite that fast.

I have one more book in the Disaster Coworkers series...yes, Noelle C is getting a book.  I just have to buckle down and write it.

I've got three more short stories to go with "Love is Elementary" so there's that.

Finally, I'm and I really excited about this:  I'm going to create my third and probably final pseudonym.  S.J. Brady is going to be my name when I start my inspirational/mystery series.  I have a weak outline for the first book, but what's really exciting about this series is that it's a true series.  Nora Hill is going to be my new best friend as we wind up 2014 and get into 2015.

That's a ton of writing...but I figured something out this year.  I can sit down, I can write, I can produce even in the limited time I have to work between work, the kids, the husband, the house, and oh yeah, the cats.  I may not achieve all my goals in 2014, but I promise you this:  I'm going to keep you posted every step of the way, and I really hope I get feedback from you, because you are the ones reading my stories!

Sneak Peak Sunday! Lies in Chance

Good morning!

Well with the flurry of work I'm doing on a four story romance collection based on the four "couples" in the novel "Lies in Chance", I figured I would share a bit more of the novel with you.

By the way, you can purchase either Lies in Chance or the first short story from the collection, Love is Elementary, on amazon by clicking here! (Print or Kindle versions.)

OR if you prefer, and you read your books on something OTHER than a Kindle, you can purchase ALL my books on Smashwords by clicking here!


Meanwhile, enjoy this bit of fiction!

26: RICHARD

Richard Bennett leaned over against the glass of the window and closed his eyes. “Are you sure it’s her?”

“No, Mr. Bennett. That’s why we called you.” A short, barrel-chested detective offered him a Styrofoam cup filled with bitter smelling coffee.

Richard waved off the coffee and looked over his shoulder at Jennifer. She sat quietly in the corner, trying her best not to attract attention a feat, he knew, that was almost impossible for the six foot tall red head with a spectacular body.

Focus, Bennett. Focus on what you have to do here.

“Okay, Detective. I’m ready.”

The detective tapped on the glass and the coroner pulled back the glass. On the table, a foot away from the glass, was a body covered with a white sheet. Swallowing hard, Richard nodded. This time the coroner pulled back the sheet.

The body wasn’t human, couldn’t be human. Every inch was bloated, gray and filthy. Bile bubbled up in Richard’s throat.

“Mr. Bennett? Is that her? Is that your fiancé?”

Richard took a deep breath and looked at the mass on the table again. This just needs to be over. It needs to be over now. He looked closely, studying the repulsive figure. “Yes, yes it is. It’s Shara.”

The detective nodded to the coroner, who covered the body with the sheet again. “Thank you, Mr. Bennett. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Yes, thank you, Detective.” Richard looked past the man’s shoulder to Jennifer, who remained still in the corner, but the energy around her was charged, energetic. She seemed coiled, ready to spring. Her ice green eyes fairly glowed in the dim light of the room.

At last. It’s over. Time for me to move on.

 

 

27: SHARA

“What’s New Ear’s Eve?” Emma barely got the words out before a yawn split her tiny face wide open.

It was nearly eleven, but Shara was having so much fun with the kids, she lost track of time until Nate fell asleep in the middle of a rousing round of the Memory game. Drew, Joanna, indeed the better part of Rock Harbor’s entire population was over at the RHCS gym for its big New Year’s Eve party. The lights from the parking lot twinkled through the Shepaski’s front window.

“New Year’s Eve is the last night of the year.” She tugged Emma’s pajama top over the little girl’s head. “It’s the night that we all look back, think about the last year, and promise ourselves to make the next year a better one. A fresh start.”

“Like a do over?”

“Yes, like a do over,” Shara said with a smile. “Now, get into that bed. If your mommy finds out I let you guys stay up this late, I’ll be looking for a do over!”

“G’night-Bethany-I-love-you,” the girl mumbled sleepily.

Walking down the stairs to the family room, Shara paused at the wall of family pictures. Maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe Rock Harbor is my do over.

 

 

28: BRYAN

Bryan pulled into the Shepaski driveway, too engrossed in the radio news report to turn off the Jeep.

“Wisconsin’s number one mystery of the year has been solved. The body of Shara Brandt, the young woman wanted in connection with the murder of businesswoman Lydia Brandt, was found today in the Rock River just outside of Watertown in Jefferson County. Authorities received an emergency call just after noon today from a local man who discovered the body frozen in the ice near a city park. Brandt’s fiancé, Richard Bennett, who identified the body at the Jefferson county medical examiner’s office had this to say:”

“Shara was loved by so many people. While we may never know what struggles she faced that horrible night, we do pray that Shara has found the peace that avoided her in life. Those of us that knew her and loved her, we now must go on without her.”

“Asshole.” Bryan leaned back in his seat and stared at the ceiling of the Jeep, remembering Richard’s sardonic expression peering over Jenny’s shoulder. Maybe he’s feeling misery and loss tonight. Good. He got out of the Jeep and the pale, sad face of young Shara Brandt crossed his mind. Everything money could buy wasn’t enough to save her.

As he stepped into the house, Bethany looked up from the book she was reading. “Oh, hi. I didn’t expect you here tonight. I thought you’d be over at the school, kickin’ it up with everyone else.”

He took in the image of her sitting, legs draped over the arm of Drew’s favorite chair, completely at ease and happy. In the week since their trip to Green Bay, Bryan found himself mentally returning to the park bench and the feel of her leaning against him, smiling and laughing in the cold night. How big of an idiot was I to ever think she was Shara Brandt? “Dances bore me. Besides, I wanted to give you this.” He handed her a package. Bryan liked the way her eyes sparkled as she took the box from him.

“Bryan, you didn’t have to-” She got out of the chair, staring at the package as if it were gold.

“I didn’t really. Just open it.”

Bethany opened the present with controlled excitement. “It’s a coat!” She held it up for his inspection.

“I figured you were tired of running around in Molly’s old puffy monster coat.”

Bethany held the dark denim coat and touched the pink corduroy collar and cuffs. “Bryan, it’s so pretty.” Her eyes glowed as she looked at him. “You shouldn’t have-”

“Well, I didn’t, exactly. I was cleaning out a closet yesterday, and I found this. I think I got it for my sister ages ago, but she moved to Hawaii. I never got around to doing anything with it. I saw it and thought you’d like it.”

“I love it!” She held the coat in one arm and pulled him close in a forceful one armed hug.

Her sudden burst of affection surprised and pleased him. “Well, okay, good.” He settled into the armchair and changed the subject. “So, what’s for snacks? Need any help getting the kids in bed?”

“Thanks, but I got them in hours ago.” She hung the coat on a peg near the door and grinned at him.

“Hours?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“Fine. Minutes. And snacks are pretty thin, but I think there’s a little confetti pizza left. The kids ate most of everything.”

“Confetti pizza! I love that stuff! Let’s have at it.” She led him up to the dining area, but the last remnants of the dessert were hardly enough for him, and he pouted for a moment, just for her benefit. “It’s a good thing I brought provisions, then.” He ran back down the stairs and returned with a grocery bag. He pulled out several different bags of chips and crackers followed by a number of small containers of different dips.

“Let me guess. You mixed up Joanna’s dream shopping list with your own?” She giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand.

“Oh, fine. Ignore the fact that I went out into the wild and hunted and gathered all these provisions. You should have seen the grocery store. It was madness, madness I tell you!” He struck what he thought was a dramatic pose. “I had to bargain with some high school girl for this last bag of cheese puffs.”

She attempted a straight face. “So, you’re looking for an Academy Award for this performance, or are you going to open up that dip?”

“A true hero is never appreciated in his home town.” Bryan gave her an exaggerated sigh as he opened a container of dip and grinned at her. “You have no idea the idle chit chat and the starry eyes I had to endure to get these cheese puffs.”

“I thought you hated that whole ‘wounded hero’ thing. Or do you find it’s to your benefit sometimes?” Bethany’s laughter softened the teasing tone in her voice.

“Something like that.” He got up from the table and looked in the fridge for something to drink. “Somewhere out there, is a high school sophomore who is telling all of her giggling friends about her almost romantic encounter with Mr. Bryan Jacobs.”

“Lucky girl.” Bethany busied herself with the dips, but her tone held a note of something…else.

Was that sarcasm or jealousy? Bryan watched her tear into the bag of cheese puffs with the all the self-consciousness of a starving convict. I’m going with sarcasm “Hey, there’s a news story I’m following. Mind if I turn on the T. V.?”

“Go ahead.” Bethany followed him down to the family room, and settled on the couch, tucking her feet under her.

Bryan sat in the armchair, pointed the remote at the television and pushed the power button. In a blink Shara Brandt’s face stared at them. “Yeah, this is the story.”

She jumped up so quickly, she nearly knocked over the stack of magazines on the coffee table. “Oh, um, who is that?” She picked up the magazines and held them, hovering over the table.

Bryan looked at her, unsure of why she sounded like she was being strangled. “It’s that girl that shot her grandmother and fiancé and then disappeared.”

“Oh, yeah, the killer you thought I was, right?” She’d regained her composure and gave him a humorous look, although there was still a glimmer of anxiety in her eyes.

“Very nice. Remind me of my most idiotic moment.” He pointed to the television. “They found her body in the Rock River down in Jefferson County.”

“They did?” Still holding the magazines, she stared at the screen, her expression now unreadable.

“Yeah. Her fiancé identified the body. So I guess the case is closed. Poor kid. Would have been twenty-four next month.” He noticed that she kept slapping the pile of magazines against the coffee table. “I think those magazines are straightened up enough. Are you okay?”

Bethany gave him a blank look and set the magazines down. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m…I’m going to check on the kids, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Bryan watched her go and wanted to kick himself. Way to go, Jacobs. You don’t know what happened to her parents, why she was living with her grandfather. Knowing your luck, they probably all drowned in some freak family vacation thing. Idiot.

I'm not a drug addict, I just look like one online!

Good morning!

The joke around writer's circles is that many of us need to hide our Internet searches because, at the very least, our families would worry about us.  We joke about dating sites that suddenly send us endless emails because we did some online research for dating.  (Hey, Christian Mingle?  Yeah, you can remove me...I'm happily married almost 24 years now.)

Dating sites are one thing, but when our searches move to the darker side of human nature, that's when our online histories get weird and worrisome. 

For example, when I researched for Lies in Chance I had to study up on state police procedures and...ewww...what happens when someone finds a body in a river.

When I researched for Fresh Ice I did extensive study on mushroom poisoning.

Now, for my most recent attempt at a novel, Spark of a Hero (working title), I'm finding myself wanting one of my characters to have an IV drug problem.  (Maybe it's the after effects of watching 4 seasons of "Breaking Bad" in two months...who can tell?  BUT DON'T TELL ME HOW IT ENDS because I still have to watch Seasons 5 and 6.)

My online search history in the last couple days has taken me to some very dark places.  I thought I'd just get some dry facts on a couple websites, like I did the with the mushroom stuff.  Oh no, turns out, if you Google "track marks" you wind up on a website dedicated to IV drug users where they share their tips on how to get rid of or cover track marks.

It's a bit more than my middle aged, middle US sensibilities were ready for, I can tell you.

I also wound up on  very interesting blog, written by a mother, covering a couple weeks this past summer when she really started dealing head on with her daughter's drug addictions.  That was some very light reading...and I'm so sucked in to that blog, the last post is August 2 and there's nothing more.  What happened?  A writer's mind needs to know!

So if you're working on something and you suddenly find yourself looking at websites that might make your family think twice about eating the dinner you cooked, or your boss wonder if he should give you a drug test, just remember...you're not crazy, you're not a criminal, and you're definitely not alone!

You're a writer!

A NEW RELEASE! (I'm so happy I'm a flash drive hoarder!)

Good evening!

Some days, you just get up and something happens that you don't expect to happen.  That was very true today, although not in the way things typically go for me.

See, normally on Fridays I get up with all the intention in the world to write something brilliant.  With NANOWRIMO coming up in a few weeks, I have to get my discipline DOWN because I want to release a new Elsie Book AND a new novel before the end of the year.

One is nearly written and ready. One is soooooo not.

Anyway, I got up, had breakfast with Peaches at Denny's, like we do every Friday. I dropper her off at school, went home, did the dishes, started some laundry, paid the bills, and then sat down to work on the novel.

And now, some 9 hours later, I've just published a short story.

I should explain.  See, for years I've been toying with the idea of writing several short stories based on my characters from my novel Lies in Chance.  I actually almost finished one, and submitted the story idea to an editor, who said the male hero wasn't strong enough and the story wasn't sexy enough and blah, blah, blah.

So I dropped the project.  And today, while I was searching my flash drive for some pieces of my new novel, I found that incomplete short story.  I read through it and realized I still really liked the story, and I liked the idea of a compilation of stories sort of giving some background to the four "couples" mentioned in Lies in Chance.

Thanks to the magic of e-publishing, I'm happy to announce that, today, right now, if you read your books on any sort of device, you can download this first of four stories by clicking right here!  (You can get it for $0.99!)

If you want your story in a book form, or if you buy all your books on Amazon, it'll be just a couple days.  But hey, I'm now hot on the trail of getting the second story done, and I'm so excited that I didn't delete the bits and pieces of this book idea from my flash drive.

If that makes me a flash drive hoarder, so be it.  Meanwhile, enjoy!

Enjoy this story by clicking here!

Sneak peek Saturday (ON FRIDAY!) Lies in Chance

Hey all!
 
I haven't done a sneak peek day for a while, so I thought I'd share a tidbit from Lies in Chance.  I know we're not supposed to have favorite children, but as an author, I think this is my favorite book.  It's certainly the one I put the most work into! 
 
Enjoy!  And remember, you can get this book and any of my others, in print or digital form by clicking here!

Shara Brandt opened her eyes and stared at the gray clouds drifting overhead. More curious than concerned, she tried to blink away the gloom and change it to the ruffled pink canopy bed she’d awakened in every morning since she was ten. Not only did the clouds not disappear when she blinked, but Shara was suddenly very aware of the fact that her eyelids were covered with something sticky and, as she touched them gingerly and looked her fingers, red.

Am I bleeding?

The cobwebs brushed away from her mind and three facts because abundantly obvious. First, she had a cut, no, several, criss-crossing her face. Second, there was a spot at the back of her head and one just above her right eye that were very, very tender. Finally, she was sitting in cold, wet mud at the edge of a creek and ice water rushed over her feet, her bare feet.

Why am I outside? Where is Grandmother? Where is Richard?

Where am I?

She tried to move, tried to get to her feet, but a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. Closing her eyes to stave off the whirling white that threatened to spin her into unconsciousness, Shara took a deep breath and tried to remember the last several hours.

I was in a car.

I was in the trunk of a car.

No, that’s ridiculous.

The scent of a new car fluttered in her memory, comforting only in that it was something familiar. She’d grown up around new cars. She always equated the smell with her grandmother. It was not a pleasant smell.

Okay, I was in a car.

She opened her eyes, but the unfamiliar creek and trees yielded no answers. Closing her eyes again she tried to picture her grandmother’s office at the car dealership, the last place she remembered clearly.

I was at her desk, looking at magazines. At bridal magazines.

She eased one eye open and glanced at her left hand. No ring. There were plenty of red welts and a bright red spot on her knuckle just above where the ring should have been. That ring was too small. Richard was supposed to get it sized over the weekend, but he forgot. I must have taken it off.

She stared at her knuckles, as if expecting the bruised, torn skin to tell her where her engagement ring was. I didn’t take it off very gently, did I?

Come on Shara, think! You were in Grandmother’s office. You were waiting for Richard. You were working on plans for the wedding. And then someone came in.

An involuntary shudder of dread shook her. She hugged her knees and tried to focus.

Then Richard came in with Grandmother.

Richard…Grandmother…

There was a horrible flash of memory, and Shara opened her eyes, looking for the source of the screams that shattered the quiet morning air. She bit her lip, realizing she was the one screaming.

It’s all a dream. It’s got to be. It’s all a dream. None of this is real.

She curled herself more tightly against the cold mud, waiting to wake from the nightmare.

**

Bryan Jacobs looked forward to mornings with a relish that made his students nervous. The thirty-two-year-old fifth grade teacher loved the early morning quiet in the halls of Rock Harbor Community School, the stillness of the teachers’ lounge. He could not bring himself to tell anyone, not even his best friends, not Drew, not Joanna, and certainly not Molly, why. Not even they could understand how mornings reminded him of Jenny more than any other time of the day.

Bryan settled into his favorite leather armchair, and reached for the remote control. A news junkie who watched CNN religiously, Bryan once a week ignored the national news and focused on the local news for his Current Events class. Local news for Rock Harbor students meant Green Bay news, focusing on the Packers, or the grittier big city reports from Milwaukee. While Milwaukee was four hour and a cultural lifetime away from the rural confines of Rock Harbor, Bryan found that the students in his class felt in touch with any news that originated within the boundaries of their home state.

“Mornin’.”

Bryan did not need to look up. The only other person awake and not milking cows at this hour was the principal of RHCS, Drew Shepaski, a quiet man who spent most of his life in the shadow of his perpetually verbal, and currently pregnant wife, Joanna. “How’s Jo?” Bryan turned down the volume on the TV.

Drew switched on the coffee maker. “She sees a doctor today. A Green Bay channel? Did the cable go out again?” Drew tapped his coffee mug on the counter; a nervous habit picked up from every other teacher in the building who survived long night meetings by drinking a gallon of the bitter brew spewed out in the teacher’s lounge.

“Current events class.”

“Oh. So what’s the big story?”

Bryan shrugged. “Nothing earth shattering. We have Packer news, of course. Sunday’s win makes the whole season seem rosy again, what’s new? I was actually about the change it to a Milwaukee station. You want four or twelve?”

“Doesn’t four have that blonde traffic woman?”

Bryan grinned. “Yes.”

Drew filled his coffee mug and stared at the dark brew. “Better go with twelve, then. Jo’s got enough paranoia about how she looks right now. Word gets out I’m watching the blonde traffic woman on four, I won’t be allowed in the house.”

“Twelve it is.” Bryan grinned as he changed the channel. “Here we go.”

“Breaking news from the northern suburbs this morning. Prominent local businesswoman, Lydia Brandt, was found shot to death in the Shorewood Lexus dealership she owned early this morning. The cleaning crew found her body at about two…”

“It’s always those poor cleaning people who walk in on stuff like that, isn’t it?” Drew commented over the female newscaster’s voice as he sat at the table.

“Seems that way, doesn’t it.”

“Police confirm that Mrs. Brandt was killed by a gunshot wound to the face.”

“Oh that’s messy.” Bryan jotted a note on his note pad and looked back up at the screen.

“Also seriously wounded was Mrs. Brandt’s sales manager, forty year old Richard Bennett. Mr. Bennett spoke to our reporter, Blair Dailey, from his hospital bed at Froedert Medical Center this morning.”

“Ya know, I’ll probably get in a ton of trouble for saying this, but there are days I almost wish Rock Harbor had some kind of interesting news going on, just so Blair Dailey could come up here and interview the locals.” Drew stirred three sugar cubes into his coffee, his gaze never leaving the TV screen.

“You’re worried Jo will find out you’re watching the traffic girl on four and you’re sitting here wishing from some kind of drama in this town just so you can meet—ho-ly hell!” Bryan leaped from his seat and turned up the volume to maximum.

“What?” Drew stared at the man’s face on the screen. “You know that guy?”

“That’s the guy…the guy from the loft.” Bryan nearly gagged on the words.

“That’s Jenny’s guy?” Drew threw a glance at Bryan. “Sorry. I mean, that’s the guy…from the loft? Someone shot him?”

“I’ll bet it was some poor slob who just happened to have an attractive wife.” Bryan backed up from the television and stared at the face. He tried to ignore the twisted sense of satisfaction that washed over him as he studied the man who stole Jenny from him three years ago. Sucks to be you…

“Yes, Blair, I am blessed to be alive. Losing Lydia like that…” Richard Bennett stared right into the camera lens, a tear glistening in the corners of his blue eyes.

“Were you able to get a look at the assailant?” Blair Dailey, roving reporter, stuck the microphone back to him.

“No. It all happened so fast. And now…Shara is missing. And if anyone has Shara, please bring her back…to the people that love her.”

“Oh shut up you…you lying…sack of…bastard.” Bryan’s voice was a deep, heavy growl as he glared at the face on the screen. So smooth, even from a hospital bed. Ass.

Blair Dailey, obviously now outside the hospital, continued her report. “Mr. Bennett refers to Miss Shara Brandt, Lydia Brandt’s twenty-three- year old grand-daughter, who is also Mr. Bennett’s fiancé. Miss Brandt is wanted for questioning in the murder of Lydia Brandt, but she is currently missing. Police are asking for your help in locating this woman.” Here a picture, what looked to be a high school senior portrait, of a thin, pale girl flashed on the screen. The face didn’t register with Bryan, who was still stuck on the fact that Richard was engaged…and not to Jenny. “Son of a bitch.”

“Hey, Bryan? Take a deep breath and remember we’re at school.” Drew said in a low voice as he looked over his shoulder at the door. “We don’t need the rest of the staff thinking you’ve had a relapse, right?”

“Yeah, okay.” Bryan turned off the television. “Pity they didn’t get him in the face…One less wife stealing bastard on the planet wouldn’t be a bad thing.” His steps to the coffee maker were measured, almost painful. He noted the worried expression on Drew’s face. “Sorry. I wasn’t planning on airing out old wounds this morning.” He gave Drew what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

“I’m thinking maybe you should stick with the Packer news.”

“You’re no fun.” But you’re probably right.

“I know. The fine families of Rock Harbor Community School appreciate that fact,” Drew replied with a grin. “Not to mention the even finer folks of Rock Harbor Community Church, you know the group that pretty much signs your checks?”

“Daddy! Come quick!” Six-year-old Nathan Shepaski burst into the lounge. The dark haired boy was a younger, louder version of his father.

Drew, unflappable, reminded his son of the rules. “Nate, you’re not supposed to come in here. And what do you call me when we are at school?”

Nate swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath. “When we’re at school, I’m supposed to call you Mr. Shepaski. But Daddy-”

“Nate.”

“Mr. Shepaski, Mrs. Hunter says to come quick. There’s a girl, just walked out of the creek like a ghost or somthin’.”

Both men followed the boy out the door without another word.



Side note, if you don't like Amazon, friends, you can get Lies in Chance, and all my books by clicking here! (It'll take you to Smashwords, where you can download my books to pretty much any reading device, including your computer!)

Have we marginalized romantic heroes too much?

Good morning!

Yesterday I went on a rant about how we, ladies, as a gender seemed to have lost our feminine sense of mystery or shame.  In the process of being feminists, we seem to have forgotten how to be feminine.  I used the example of the woman on the radio show who got into an argument on the radio with a man she'd slept with after one date.  While she had no problems admitting she had sex with someone after one date, she was embarrassed and enraged that he didn't call her for a second date...because he didn't like how she had or had not groomed her private regions.

Friends, there is a reason that romance novels, especially historical romance novels, continue to thrive in an era when all other publishing loses ground.  There's a big reason shows like "Downton Abbey" have a massive and rabid following while "edgier"  TV dramas flounder in spite of their sexual

I can't picture any of these ladies griping that someone
didn't ask for a second date because the man didn't
like the way they trimmed their pubic hair.

content and language.  We, and by we I mean women, crave manners.  We crave polite conversation.  We ache for a romantic hero to come save us from this muddled world.

Thing is, we simply cannot admit it.  We are so busy being independent, strong, capable, that we can't admit what we really want is a good looking guy to die in defense of us. 

This trend is seeping into the romance novel world.  When writing my novel "Lies in Chance" I was in a really dark place in my own life.  I ached for someone, anyone to be my hero.

But my critique group had a different direction.  They told me that in today's world, the woman has to rescue herself...otherwise she's looked on as week and not someone today's modern readers are interested in.

I stood fast and held on to my flawed hero, (Because I love flawed heroes), but yes, my heroine became less of a weak girl and more of a strong young woman.  Still, in making the changes I needed to make to fit today's mores, I still wondered...what's the point of having a romantic hero if he 's not allowed to be a hero?

I have to think, since historical romances continue to sell so well, that the idea of a super...wildly handsome...amazingly strong man coming to our aid is not distasteful.  And I see the continued popularity of classic books like "Pride and Prejudice" or "Gone with the Wind."  Yes, the female characters are strong.  But they need a stronger man to save them.  This is really obvious in GWTW because Scarlett can run her own business, fight her own battles, but she is clueless how to open herself up to true love.  P& P is a bit different since Miss Bennett is ready and willing to stand alone in life for her principals.  Still she needs Mr. Darcy to rescue her from a lonely life, just as he needs her to rescue him from the same.

The concept of a mutual rescue is something I cling to because if I allow my heroines to simply rescue themselves all the time...the what's the point of writing a hero?  And if there's no hero...where's the romance?

Which brings us right back to that radio argument, which was decidedly NOT romantic.

Ladies, and I'm talking to the ladies right now, it's perfectly fine to admit you're not the strongest person in the room.  It's okay to admit you like a guy picking up the check, opening the door, maybe even standing up when you enter a room.  Maybe if we let men treat us like ladies, they wouldn't treat us like objects.

And wouldn't THAT be romantic?

Sneak Peak Sunday! "FRESH ICE"

Good morning!

Haven't done a Sneak Peak Sunday in a few weeks, and with "Not While I'm Chewing" due to come out this month, I thought I'd just remind you all that I have 3 other books available for your reading pleasure! 

Click here to purchase "Fresh Ice," "Lies in Chance," or "Dream in Color."

 

Today I'm giving you a quick chapter from "Fresh Ice."  I hope you enjoy it enough to check out the whole book!

*************

“Now that was a good meal!” Adele held the door open as the girls, Sean, and Izzy stepped out of the dark, closed space of the Irish pub and into the sticky damp of the early Nashville evening.

“Who knew you could get the best Irish food in the South?”

“Show me, Sean, where deep fried pickles are Irish food.” Izzy grinned.

“Okay, you got me there. So, who’s up for a stroll downtown? Maybe find a place with great live music.”

“Sounds like fun. Girls, you wanna hang out with the parents a bit more?”

“I’ve got just the place!” Mikayla tossed her hair and laughed at her mother. “A place called ‘Second Chance’s.’ Jenna, you are going to love the bands they have there and the guys are seriously hot, it’s a complete meat market!”

“Oh yes, that’s what a mother wants to hear from the mouth of her daughter.” Adele frowned at Mikayla. “Izzy, how about you?”

Izzy glanced in the direction of the hotel. “I was thinking I’d just turn in early.”

“Oh Mom, come on. Please come with us?”

Izzy looked at her daughter and smiled. “Okay. Where is this place?”

The walk to Second Chance’s was several blocks down to the heart of the music district. As warm rays of the sun lengthened and cooled in the settling of night, revelers filled the sidewalks and the doorways of the countless clubs and eateries. Music and neon throbbed through a haze of mouthwatering food smells. Dazzled with the color of it all Izzy was hardly conscious of the distance they’d walked until Sean opened a door and said, “Here we are!”

The girls evaporated in a sea of dancing bodies while Sean led Adele and Izzy up the stairs to the bar, where tables lined the railing overlooking the stage.

“I’ll go get the drinks, ladies, you enjoy the show!” Sean left as Adele and Izzy looked at the band on the stage.

“At least it’s not a howling band.” Adele toyed with the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “I can’t abide howling bands or bands that are too country, you know what I mean?”

“Sure,” Izzy answered vaguely, leaning on the railing to get a better look at the band.

Sean returned with drinks, and the rest of their conversation faded from Izzy’s consciousness as she lost herself in thoughts of her future now that she held a winning lottery ticket. She sipped her drink and nodded politely whenever Adele glanced in her direction, but her brain was busy sorting out what she was going to do. She was so deep in thought, she wasn’t aware the music stopped until she realized Adele was shoving her roughly. “What, Adele, what do you want?”

“Why does that man look familiar?”

As she focused on the tall, dark haired man on stage, Izzy took in a deep breath. The man was perfection. Under the hot lights his dark, gleaming hair just brushed his strong jaw. I’ve seen him before.

“Ladies and gents,” his easy, light Tennessee accent stirred something warm and wanting deep inside Izzy. “I’d like to thank you for coming out tonight and listening to some great local bands.”

“We love you Quinn!”

The unified shouts of several women startled Izzy, breaking her trancelike concentration from the man

Quinn smiled back at the audience. “I love you all, too. Most of you know I make my living talking about sports, but music has been a passion of mine for years. How about a big hand for Chance, for keeping this place open and bringing us fantastic independent music night after night?”

Here he pointed up to the balcony, where a spotlight suddenly glowed near Izzy. She didn’t look toward the owner of the bar, who waved at the crowd below. Her gaze was locked with the clear, blue-green eyes of the singer. She couldn’t look away and she couldn’t blink. Those are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.

He’s the man from the funeral.

Everything around her narrowed until all that was left was the glow of the spotlight around her. Izzy saw nothing but Quinn’s eyes looking up at her. He held his gaze steady with her for a silent eternity. Everything else was dark and silent, like a protective cloud around them. There was no time, no sound, just the glow of recognition in his beautiful eyes. It didn’t matter one bit that they were strangers and would probably never be closer to each other than in this dumpy space. There was a connection between them, and Izzy was lost in it.

“What are you staring at? Do you know that guy?”

Izzy blinked at the staccato blast of Adele’s voice, and the connection was lost. The party below raged on as the band Quinn introduced started playing. Quinn was gone.

Izzy, too, ached to leave. “I’m sorry, Adele. I’m not good company tonight. I don’t think I feel well. I’m going to go back to the hotel.”

“You’re not sick are you?” Adele’s eyes narrowed. “We have a lot of moving to do tomorrow you know.”

No room for discussion about that. “Oh, no,” Izzy wiped her eyes. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need…I need some air. I think I’ll walk back to the hotel.”

“What, right now? Alone?”

“Sure. It’s not that late, really, and besides, you and Sean, you guys need some time alone, too. So I’ll just get back.”

“Are you sure?”

Izzy looked over the balcony hoping to spot Quinn, but she couldn’t find him. “Oh, I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

***

She’s here. Quinn walked backstage and laid his guitar in its case. Isabella Landry is here, in this building. I could reach out and touch her and it wouldn’t be weird or stalkerish.

But what could I possibly say?

Well, she seemed really interested in what I saying. I could go up and maybe thank her for coming or something. That wouldn’t seem weird. Quinn rubbed his hands across his face. That’s the best reason I can muster for going up to meet a woman? Good manners? My, how the mighty lady killer has fallen. Shaking his head at his own folly, Quinn started for the stairs.

“Quinn, dude, where ya goin’?” One of the musicians put a hand on his arm.

“I saw someone…I have to catch up with.”

The musician’s face creased with a lecherous grin. “It’s a chick, isn’t it? I spotted a couple out there I’m thinkin’ of scorin’ on, too.”

Quinn shook off the drummer’s hand, repulsed by the lecherous expression on his face. “You’re a pig.”

The drummer shrugged. “Yep. I’m a pig. But I’m a pig that’s gonna get laid.”

Quinn ignored the band members’ cat calls as he ran through the back stage and up the stairs. Once in the bar, he scanned the crowded room. She’s gone.

“Hey, Quinn!” Chance shouted over the din of conversation. “I told you, didn’t I? You’re good for business!”

Quinn nodded to Chance, but searched for Isabella.

“Who ya lookin’ for?”

“There was a woman up here. Probably at that table where that couple is.”

“Buddy, there are a thousand women here and quite a few of them are age appropriate. Take your pick.”

“No, Chance, this one was…well, I’m looking for her. You don’t remember if she was with that couple?”

“Quinn, are you kiddn’ me? Look around! I’m workin’ here! If you’re so interested, go ask them if they know her.”

Quinn nodded to Chance and stepped away from the bar. He studied the couple at the table and toyed with the idea of approaching them. A light tap on his arm broke his concentration. Looking to his left, he saw two women, girls really, both looking very interested in him. “Hello, ladies.”

“My friend and I think you are the hottest thing in this place.”

Quinn’s face warmed as the two women moved close enough for him to be very aware that neither was wearing a bra…and both were young and firm enough, not to need the support. “Well, um, thank you ladies.”

“So how about if we get out of here?”

Quinn closed his eyes. How often have I turned down an offer like this?

Never.

When was the last time anyone offered?

Sally.

The thought choked him. He couldn’t breathe the air in the bar anymore.

“Oh Quinn, you must introduce me to your new little friends.”

Quinn shivered at Serena’s icy touch. Of course she showed up. She’ll find a way to make me regret doing something remotely fun without her.

He looked down into her glittering green eyes and gave her a smile. Hopefully Isabella Landry left before Serena sniffed her out.

That would be something for the gossip reporters.

Quinn almost smiled at the thought.

“Ladies, you’ll have to excuse us. Quinn has a previous engagement.” Serena’s eyes narrowed as she glanced at the girls.

“What, you really have to leave so soon?” The braver of the two also seemed to be the denser of the pair.

She is clearly not reading the dynamic here.

“Yes, I’m sorry, little girl. But I sure there are more age appropriate men elsewhere in this…place.” Serena gave a little sniff to remind Quinn how much she hated Chance’s.

“Geez Quinn, can’t your mom let you come out and play?”

Ah you brave little idiot. Quinn didn’t need to see Serena’s face to know exactly what she was thinking. She buried her nails deep in the skin on his forearm.

“Listen here, co-ed…” Serena’s normally cool voice was a ragged snarl.

“Okay, ladies, how about we all just say good night?” Quinn freed himself from Serena’s claw and put a hand on each of the girls’ shoulders. His fingers dangled just close enough to their twenty-one-year-old breasts to make both the girls giggle. I’ve still got it.

I can’t make use of it anymore. But at least I’ve still got it.

“Now my lady friend and I are going to move on, but I’m going to have my friend chance take care of you this evening. Chance!” Quinn pointed to the two girls. “You take care of these ladies, and put it on my tab, okay?”

Chance nodded and winked at Quinn.

“There, now you two have a wonderful night on me, and thanks for coming out tonight.” Mustering up every ounce of Southern charm he had, he kissed each of their hands lightly, causing them to erupt in another wave of giggles as he ushered a still seething Serena out the door.

Once outside, Quinn inhaled the humid night air. “So, that was fun, wasn’t it?”

Serena’s hand stung across his face before he saw her move.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Don’t you ever act like that around me again, Quinn Murray!” The light of an over head streetlamp made her sharp features seem hollow, dark. Yet her eyes glowed with rage.

“Act like what? I was trying to keep you from killing those girls.”

“Why? They were horrible little bitches.”

Quinn put both his hands on her shoulders. “Yes, they were horrible little bitches. Horrible little co-eds whose daddies would probably love to bring a lawsuit against you and the station if you actually did tear their eyes out.”

“You weren’t thinking about me. You were thinking about those girls the whole time, wondering what they’d be like.”

“Serena…” he crouched slightly to look her in the eye, “when in the last two years have I not been thinking about you?” At least that much is true. The thought of her haunts my every waking nightmare minute.

Her jaw tightened. “Why would you even be here, on stage? You were the one who got up on stage and made them all want you, just like you used to. And I won’t have it, Quinn. You belong to me now.”

Her words shattered against him like glass against a stone wall.

As if I could ever forget. You won’t let me replace you with other women and I won’t let myself drink you away.

Isabella Landry is back in Nashville. And not even that thought can wipe out our little arrangement.

“Serena, of course I belong to you.” He draped an arm around her shoulders and guided her up the street.

“Really?”

He knew this new, desirous tone, well. “Sure.”

“Then let’s go back to my place and you can prove it.”

“Great idea,” he replied with hollow enthusiasm. Isabella Landry, the woman I’ve adored for two decades, is somewhere in this town, and I’m shackled to Serena.

He pictured Isabella’s face as she watched him from the balcony. Her face melded to Sally’s.

And what could I possibly do to deserve anything else?