Sneak Peak Sunday! FRESH ICE!

Good evening Friends!

Not sure if I've mentioned it, but I recently released my third novel, Fresh Ice  (Don't be confused, there are two books out there with the same title...mine is, well mine.  By SARAH J. BRADLEY)  Anyway, the tale of former figure skater Isabella "Izzy" Marks seems to resonate with most readers, so I thought I'd give you all a little more of  a peak into her world.  At this point in the book, she's decided to leave Wisconsin for good and move to Nashville to be closer to her daughter, who is attending college there.    Oh, and there's this sort of mystery guy she saw at a club...and she's intrigued.  So here you go!  (and for those of you NOT into Kindle, this book is also available for the Nook, any e-reader, if you click HERE!  It's also available in print if you click HERE!

            Izzy sipped her iced tea and tried to ignore the chatter floating around her like cottonwood pollen. Jenna and Mikayla carried on a loud discussion about what they would wear on the first day of classes. Izzy knew it was a hilarious conversation, simply by looking at Adele’s disapproving glare. Sean, probably thinking about the long day’s drive he had ahead of him in the morning, was quieter than normal, which only emphasized Izzy’s own lack of participation.

            I have to stay focused. I have to think of exactly the right words to somehow make this decision seem right for everyone involved, including Adele.

            “Ladies, I hate to break up your chit chat,” Sean pushed his chair back from the table, but we have a long drive tomorrow and us oldsters need our sleep.”

            Adele looked at her watch. “Oh you are right, Sean. Okay, girls, give me a hug.” She stood and held her arms out wide. Jenna and Mikayla stood and positioned themselves into her iron embrace. Izzy knew, from the girls’ body language, that this hug was not soft and motherly.

            If she’s hard and unyielding with the girls, what’s she going to be like with me when I flat out defy her?

            “Come on Izzy,” Adele could have been summoning a dog to her side. “Let’s go.”

            “No.”

            The word was out before Izzy had time to second guess herself. It hung in the air like the glow of an unexpected bold of lighting.

            “I’m sorry. What did you say?” Adele put her hands on her hips, a fighter, waiting for the bell.

            Sean and the girls froze in their positions. Only their eyes moved back and forth from Adele to Izzy.

            “I said no, I’m not coming with you.” Izzy struggled to keep a fearful waver out of her tone.

            Adele’s expression clouded. “I see. So you’re having a few moments with the girls before you turn in?”

            “No. I mean I’m not coming back to Wisconsin. I’m staying in Nashville.”

            Sean and the girls slipped back to seating positions and waited.

            “You’re staying here?”

            “Yes.”

            “You’re not coming back?”

            “No.” Izzy shook her head for emphasis.

            “What do you intend to do?”

            “I guess I’ll do what people do. I’ll find a place to live, a place to work. There’s nothing for me back in Wisconsin. The house is foreclosed, my job won’t support me.”

            “Oh, and there are so many opportunities here? What kind of job do you think you’ll get here? There isn’t much of a market for a former figure skater with no education and bad credit.”

            Adele’s words stung like a slap to the face. Izzy blinked, and glanced at Jenna, whose expression of fury steeled Izzy’s resolve. “My daughter is here. I have, or will have, enough money to get a modest place.”

            “How do you have any money?” Adele waited a beat. “Unless that man you were with paid you. Just how good are you that you can snag a dirty musician and suddenly have enough money to make a major move like this?”

            “Mom!” Mikayla shouted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

            “No Mikayla, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Remember yesterday when she was so sick she couldn’t help you move? Well, I found her out with a man, and they looked like they were headed to bed.”

            “All right Aunt Iz!” Mikayla cheered.

            “Adele, shut up.” Izzy kept her voice low. Fear was gone, replaced by righteous anger. “I was not headed to bed with a man. Collier was my best friend growing up. We happened to meet yesterday purely by chance. We talked, we had dinner. And then he put me in a cab and I went back to the hotel. Alone.” She glanced at Jenna, who gave her an uncertain smile.

            “Well at least you can’t ruin him like you ruined Jason. He’s already homeless.”

            Izzy staggered back at the force of this unexpected blow. “I didn’t ruin anything for Jason.”

            “That’s not the way I remember it.”

            “Adele, that’s enough,” Sean said quietly.

            “No, Sean, this is a long time coming. My brother had everything going to him until her father bribed him to skate with her and then she trapped him with a pregnancy.”

            “Your brother was a grown man who got a young girl pregnant.” Sean’s face turned a shade of red Izzy had never seen on him.

            “Yes, and had she gotten the abortion like we all told her she should have, he wouldn’t have been exiled in shame.”

            “Mother…shut the hell up!” Mikayla put her arm around Jenna. “Do you listen to anything that falls out of that gaping pie hole of yours or do you just say every damn word that comes to your head?” Mikayla eased a stunned looking Jenna out of the booth. “You are one foul bitch. For your information, Aunt Izzy won the lottery. Not a million bucks, but certainly enough to tell your queen bitch ass to go to hell.”

            “Mikayla! Language!”

            “Whatever.” Mikayla hugged Sean, who was now also standing. “Sorry Dad. Have a safe trip back. Come on Jenna.”

            Without another word, the girls walked out.

            “Do you see what you did?” Adele turned on Izzy, her eyes blazing.

            “What I did? What I did? I didn’t do anything to you.” Izzy took three steps toward the door.

            “Everything you owe me, and this is how you repay me?”

            Izzy paused, her hand hovering over the knob. The idea of owing Adele anything froze her. “What on earth could I possibly owe you?”

            “If it weren’t for us, you and Jason would have been on the street.”

            “Adele, Jason more than paid for that and you know it.”

            Adele whirled her viper eyes on Sean. “Shut up Sean! That was nothing! That was a pittance! We gave them a life, we gave them livelihood!”

            “They paid for that. Izzy’s more than paid her share.”

            Izzy stared at Sean, his intense glare of defiance surprising her. Sean never stood up to Adele. What does he mean, we paid for it?

            “It wasn’t enough given the years I’ve had to put up with this!”

            Izzy’s glance whipped back to Sean as she waited for a spirited rebuttal, but the look was gone, replaced by his usual slack expression of defeat. I’m on my own against her again. Izzy squared her shoulders. “Well, Adele, I’m so very sorry you’ve had to put up with me all these years. So I guess I’m taking that huge task away from you. Whatever will you do with all the time you’ll have, now that you can’t think up ways to blame me for everything?” She didn’t wait for a response, and given the purple hue to Adele’s face, it was doubtful the one she got would have been pleasant. She whipped the door open and charged through it, rage speeding her steps.

            Once out on the street, the warm night air did little to calm her. She started up the street with a vague notion of tracking down Jenna. She didn’t realize she was nearly running until she crashed into another pedestrian and fell down.

            “Hey, where’s the fire?” The tall man held out his hand.

            “Thank you. I’m so sorry…oh, it’s you…” Her knees went weak as she looked into the clear, beautiful eyes of the mystery man from Jason’s funeral.

            He smiled, and kept his hand on her arm. “Yes it is.”

            “I’m so sorry. I mean, you’re the guy from the other night, the one who introduced the bands. Quinn…something.” Why am I blanking on his last name?

            “Yes. Yes, that’s what my stage name is; Quinn Something.”

            Izzy brushed herself off. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit preoccupied.”

            “I gathered that.”

            “Well, anyway.” She shook his hand. “Thank you for your help, Quinn Something.”

            “You’re very welcome, Miss. Look, can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?”

            Izzy looked up into Quinn’s face. Again she was mesmerized by his eyes. “Are you in the habit of asking out complete strangers?”

            “No, of course not. But we’re not complete strangers.”

            “Really?”

            “Really. I mean, you saw me at Chance’s, and we just ran into each other here. Plus, we know 25% of our combined names. We’re nearly old friends.”

            “Ah. So what would we be if we knew each others’ full names?”

            “Well, this is the South. We’d be kissin’ cousins.” He gave her a dizzying smile.

            Her knees went weak, and Izzy laughed out loud to cover her sudden flash of arousal. Her anger at Adele shed itself from her like a heavy coat. There was something about Quinn that put her at ease. Also, there were his beautiful eyes. “Say, you don’t have a twin, do you?”

            “No. Why do you ask?”

            “Then we have met before. My name is Isabella Marks, but everyone calls me Izzy. But you must have already known that.”

            A shadow crossed his face. “Why do you say that?”

            “You were at my husband’s funeral, back in March.”

            Quinn was quiet for a long moment, his eyes darkened. “Yes, I was there.”

            Briefly Izzy wondered why admitting that fact was so difficult for him. She decided not to pursue the line of questioning.

            “So they call you Izzy.” He seemed happy to change the subject. “That is a  properly Southern nickname.”

            “I grew up here.”

            “Okay then, Miss Izzy,” he bowed low, and used an exaggerated Southern accent, “my full name is Quinn Murray. I did not grow up here, but here is where I have taken root.” He took her hand and brushed his lips lightly on the tips of her fingers. “So, where would you like to go?”

            “I don’t suppose there’s anyplace I could get some good coffee and grits, is there? I have a sudden urge for grits.”

            “Miss Izzy, this is the South. Finding grits here is like finding cheese curds in Wisconsin. And I know the perfect place for grits this time of night.”

            Ten minutes later, Izzy and Quinn were seated in a Waffle House, waiting for their food to arrive.

            “So Mr. Murray…”

            “Call me Quinn, please.”

            “Quinn. What are you celebrating?”

            “I do some charity events at Bridgestone Center and I just got something lined up for the spring that could help a very worthy cause in a big, big way. And today I got permission to use the Center for the event. I’m pretty excited about it.”

            “Well that is a reason to celebrate.” She set her coffee cup down. “You said some of the Admiral players were your friends. Are you a hockey player?”

            Quinn took a long time stirring cream into his coffee before he answered. “I work for the Nashville Predators, that’s the NHL affiliate of the Milwaukee Admirals.” He took her hand in his. “Ja-Your husband seemed to be well liked. I am sorry for your loss.”

            There’s something about his expression. He doesn’t look all that sorry.

            I’m imagining things.

            “Thank you. It’s been a big adjustment. I’ve just decided to move back to Nashville. My daughter is starting at Vanderbilt and I’ve got nothing holding me in Wisconsin.” Remembering Adele’s hurtful words, Izzy shook her head. “I’m celebrating moving back.”

            Quinn smiled at her, his clear blue-green eyes lighting up. “Well, then, I guess welcome back Izzy Marks. Welcome home.”

SNEAK PEAK SUNDAY! Fresh Ice

Good afternoon!

From the looks of things, many of you are finding my most recent novel, Fresh Ice.  It's heartening to see more reviews of the book on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.  Remember, if you read it and you liked it, no matter who the author is, let other readers know!

Meanwhile, here's a chapter for you.  I feel in love with the city of Nashville, Tennessee, a few years ago and wanted to write something set there.  Somehow, in building the character that eventually became Quinn Murray, it seemed so right that he lived in Music City.

Enjoy!


Izzy stood leaned over the railing and soaked in the sounds of the city. There was something peaceful about the sleepy silence that settled like a blanket over a district that had, as recently as four hours earlier, throbbed with music and barbeque and neon. She sipped the coffee she’d made herself in the tiny hotel coffee pot and wondered if she could truly pull herself away and go back to Wisconsin.

“Mornin’ Iz.” Adele stepped out of her room, still clad in her t shirt and lounge pants. “It’s really quiet this morning, isn’t it?”

“I know Like the whole city is sleeping.”

“Are you feeling any better?”

Izzy rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the faint ache that lingered within her. Surprised by Adele’s rare show of concern, Izzy was honest. “A bit. I took some Tylenol PM and pretty much just zonked out. How late was it before you guys got in?”

Adele stretched her arms over her head. “Late enough. But we should get the girls up. We’ve got a lot of moving in to do today.”

Izzy glanced to the parking lot where the U-haul trailer attached to Sean’s van waited for them. She suddenly felt exhausted, drained of any energy. “Adele, I don’t think I can help today.”

“What are you saying? Of course you can.” The civil tone, and the concern that went with it, were gone.

“I don’t think I can. I’m sorry. I’m exhausted and I need some rest.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t help move your own daughter in to the dormitory. Sean and I will just do that, just like we’ll have to move you into the house when we get home.”

Izzy bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her temper in check. “I’m sorry, Adele. I’m just not feeling well.”

Adele gave her a doubtful look, but said nothing more. Instead, she pounded on the girls’ door and shouted, “Girls! It’s moving in day! Get up!” before slamming her door.

“Holy carp, Mom, what’s up her butt?” Jenna emerged from her room.

“Don’t say butt, Jenna. She’s actually a little put out with me. I can’t help you guys move in today.”

“Still not feeling well?”

“Just not feeling up to moving.”

Jenna put an arm around her mother. “It’s cool, Mom. You know I don’t have much of anything to move it. It’s Mikayla that’s got all that furniture. Probably why Aunt Adele’s so bent, she knows it’s going to be a complete bitch to move up the stairs.”

“Jenna!”

“Sorry, I know that’s vulgar.” Jenna grinned, reminding Izzy a little of Jason in the days when they shared little jokes. “You feel better, Mom. I’ll check in with you tonight when we get home.”

“Thanks honey. You’re a good kid.”

“I have a good mom.” Jenna hugged Izzy, and returned to her room to get dressed.

Izzy returned to her room as well, turned the AC on high, curled up under some blankets and fell asleep.

**

Quinn checked the clock. Two more hours.

As he expected, Serena was not easily coaxed from her foul mood. Thanks to his short conversation with the two young women the night before, he’d had to do penance. Serena informed him moments after a fairly tawdry session in her bedroom, he was to fill in the Sunday afternoon spot.

She’s still blaming me for those girls calling her my mother.

The good news is, no one cares what I do, on a Sunday afternoon because everyone is at the Volunteers opening game of the season, and we aren’t airing it. So I can rerun a Titans game from five years ago and no one is going to care.

Checking the dials to make sure the rerun game was still playing properly, Quinn leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a rare moment of reflection on his history with the woman who held his darkest secret in her dangerous hands.

Serena Shipley Chapman, former world class figure skater, was also a world-class hellfire. Too well, he knew the story of Serena’s humiliation at the hands of Jason Masters, her long time skating partner. The fact that Serena experienced her biggest humiliation months after Jason left skating forever didn’t seem to figure into her equation of hate. She blamed him for forcing her to skate as a single.

More precisely, she blames Isabella Landry for stealing Jason and forcing her to skate as a single.

Getting on the Olympic team as a single’s skater was nothing more than a foot in the door for Serena; just enough of a push to get her on the plane. When the US champion shattered her ankle in practice, Serena got her golden moment.

Her story of how she was even at the event spread like wildfire. The relentless media dug up as much as they could on the strange chain of events that put Serena Shipley on Olympic Ice, alone.

The short program lasted two minutes.

In all the years Quinn had known her, Serena Shipley Chapman talked endlessly about everything else surrounding her skating career. But those two minutes of her life were a silent void. It didn’t take long before curiosity got the best of Quinn and he found the clip on the internet.

Even now, Quinn couldn’t stop a perverse little smile from crossing his face. To say the short program was a disaster was a complete understatement. Unaccustomed to skating alone, and skating a program she’d put together on the plane ride to the Olympics, Serena’s luck ran out. In two minutes, Quinn counted three outright crashes, two skipped tricks, and a triple axel that turned into an awkward single. Applause for her was lukewarm, unlike her scores, which were ice cold.

In the following days the press was merciless. Writers pointed to her age and her ego as the reasons for her failure. Stories about her backstage tantrums surfaced. Two days later, mere hours before she was to skate her long program, Serena contracted a sudden case of the flu. More rumors and commentaries flurried around her. By the time Serena flew home, every sports program and tabloid magazine mocked and reviled her.

But in true Serena fashion, she landed on her feet. Or, at least she landed on her back in the bed of someone who had enough money to put her on her feet.

For reasons no one understood completely, Serena moved to Nashville, hometown to the woman she blamed for everything; Isabella Landry. Isabella, of course, was already gone, vanished with Jason under a cloud of scandal after pregnancy rumors arose.

If Serena wanted immediate revenge, she was sorely disappointed.

Serena got a job as station manager at WNSH. That, of course, was a cover for her real intentions. She caught the eye of the aging station owner, Burkes Chapman. As the rest of the world prepared for another Winter Olympics, Serena Shipley married a very silent part owner of the Nashville Predators, and the richest man in Nashville.

She hated sitting with Burkes at the games. Quinn smiled at the thought of the lovely Serena standing in Burkes’ cloud of cigar smoke and bourbon. Old Man Chapman adored her…almost as much as his cigars and those Civil War pistols he has displayed in his owners’ box at Bridgestone Center. He gave her everything she wanted.

Except that gold medal.

The first time Quinn saw her, he was finishing his final game with the Predators. It wasn’t common knowledge to the fans, but the writing was on the wall. The Preds tired quickly of his bad boy image, and wanted to trade him. Quinn didn’t want a trade. He was done getting passed around the league like a bad joke. By then he’d fallen in love with Nashville.

It’s not that hard, even after everything, to remember how regal she was, looking down from the owners’ box. She was the queen. We were just part of her kingdom.

He must have made an impression on Serena as well, because a week after he retired, Quinn received and invitation to an owners’ event. Burkes was there, jovial country boy that he was, and Serena was on his arm. A brief conversation with the two of them, and the next thing Quinn knew he was the WNSH color commentator for Predators games.

Then Burkes died, and Serena took over.

And then Sally.

“Quinn Murray, what…the…hell are you doing here on a Sunday?”

Quinn shook himself to attention. Benny glared at him from the studio door. “I guess this should put to rest any ideas you have that I get special treatment from the boss, right?”

“Not really. I bet she’s tweaked because of your moment in the spotlight last night.”

Quinn smiled. “You are living proof that even a blind horse finds the gate once in a while.”

“You’re the horse that should have put on blinders last night, dude. I saw Serena. When are you going to get that she is never amused when other women drool on you?”

“She gave me an earful after I took her home.”

“I’ll bet. But dude, seriously, you could have mentioned the station once when you were on stage. She probably wouldn’t have minded quite so much.”

“I wasn’t there to promote the station. I was doing a friend a favor.”

“Your good deeds will kill you one day, my friend.” Benny adjusted his chair. “Yeah, well, you are owned by WNSH and you aren’t supposed to be going out into the public without express written permission from the headmistress. You know that.”

Quinn stood and stretched his arms over his head. “I just forgot.”

“At least tell me you noticed some of the prime women that were there. At least tell me you’re not completely dead inside.”

The image of Isabella Landry, standing in the balcony, came to his mind. The idea of someone like Benny staring at her like a piece of meat made Quinn’s stomach roll. “And you wonder why you can’t get a date, when you talk about women like that.”

“That’s a yes!” Benny raised his hand for a high five. Quinn responded with little enthusiasm. “You spotted someone and you’re trying to be cool because she’s classy, right? Although what a classy chick would be doing in a place like Chance’s is beyond me.”

“You’re a pig, Benny. And it’s time for you to go to work. The game I was airing is almost over.” Quinn pointed to the control board as he walked out of the studio.

Sneak Peak Sunday: Fresh Ice

 Hello all! 

 

In celebration of the holiday season, and in celebration of the Green Bay Packers' win today, I am posting the first chapter of my newest novel, Fresh Ice.  Enjoy!

 

ONE

 

I hope you’re enjoying your funeral, Jason; it’s the best your sister’s money could buy, since you left your own family with nothing.

Izzy Marks looked around the room hoping no one read her bitter thoughts. Her eyes rested on the silver urn. Inside was what was left of her husband. Izzy tried to keep her face smooth, calm; what her sister-in-law would want. It was a losing battle. Her sense of betrayal clung to her features like stage make-up.

Cremation is best, in cases like this. That’s what the mortuary told her a week earlier. It’s best when all that remains is what’s left after an explosion in an auto body shop. So there’s nothing left of you, like you left your wife and daughter with nothing.

She felt justified in her anger. Izzy recalled too well the years of working and saving and paying the mortgage. She knew about the life insurance policy Jason paid on every quarter. She knew about the money in the bank. She knew about the mortgage burning party they had three years ago.

What she didn’t know about until her meeting with Jason’s accountant three days earlier, was the two new mortgages on the house. She didn’t know every bank account was empty. Jason drained every asset they had in the span of three years.

Which made you look desperate, suicidal. And life insurance policies don’t pay on suicides. This much I now know.

What did you do that was so much more important than taking care of your daughter?

It was a question she’d asked herself a thousand times in the past week.

There were so many questions for which she did not have answers, and it never bothered until now. Married at a very young age, Izzy hadn’t finished high school, and never went to college after finishing her GED. By the time she was eighteen she was raising Jenna and keeping the house. Jason took care of everything else.

And before that, Daddy did. Or Mother. Or Coach.

“Hello, Izzy.” Adele Grady, Izzy’s sister-in-law, crossed the room and stood next to her brother’s casket. Mikayla, Adele’s daughter, stood just behind her, tears rolling down her face. Sean, Adele’s husband, stood in the background, as he always did around his loud, commanding wife.

“Hello, Adele.” Izzy attempted to smile, an expression she hoped was the one Adele expected.

“Aunt Izzy, where’s Jenna?” Mikayla dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

She’s dealing with the loss of her father calmly, like she deals with everything that comes her way. Izzy glanced over Adele’s shoulder for her daughter. “She might be in the bathroom. I know she’ll be glad now that you’re here, Mikayla.”

Mikayla nodded and fled.

“Are you holding up?” Adele handed her a tissue.

Izzy blinked and dabbed her eyes, trying to decide how to answer Jason’s overbearing sister. “I’m fine. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.”

Adele glanced at the group of mourners huddling near the back of the room. “Well, keep it together. A lot of people will be coming today. You don’t want a scene.”

Leave it to Adele to worry if I will embarrass her with a show of emotion at my husband’s funeral. “I know.” Izzy sighed. “I have a lot on my mind. There’s so much to do. I have to settle up the business. I have to go through his things.” Izzy dabbed her eyes again and squared her shoulders. “I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“Sean will take care of things at the business.” Adele’s voice was low, but her tone, as usual, was imperious and cold.

Izzy looked beyond Adele to Sean, who nodded. Relief washed over her and she smiled at her brother-in-law. Is it wrong that I just want to clean out the house and let Jason fade away?

“Izzy?”

Put on the right face, Isabella. Put on the right face and give the audience a great performance.

Izzy shook her mother’s words out of her mind. Where on earth did that come from? How long has it been since my mother said those words to me?

Jenna, her beautiful eighteen-year-old daughter, entered the room.

Nineteen years.

“Izzy?”

Izzy focused on Adele again and forced a weak smile. “Sorry. I’m drifting today.”

“Don’t drift too far.” Adele glared at her. “Sean and I will be here, for support, of course. We have always supported Jason, and you.”

Izzy did not miss the double meaning in Adele’s words.

Adele fished in her purse and pulled out tube of lip balm. “Here, take this. It’s going to be windy at the interment later. One thing you can depend on in Wisconsin in March. The weather will be awful. “ Adele frowned again. Izzy wasn’t certain if Adele was displeased with the weather for daring to be unpleasant on the day of her dear brother’s funeral, or if she blamed Izzy for the weather, as she blamed Izzy for so many other things.

It’s probably me. She believes Jason killed himself because of me. Left us penniless because of me. Ended his promising professional career before it even began…because of me.

Izzy took the tube and tucked in the pocket of her suit coat. “Thanks.” She blinked back a tear and focused beyond Adele’s shoulder. “Who is that?”

Adele followed Izzy’s gaze to a tall man standing a few feet away in the archway. “I haven’t a clue. He’s not some relative, is he?”

None of my relatives would be here. Izzy blotted a tear from her cheek. “No.”

“You sure?”

I think I’d remember someone like that. Izzy stared at the man. He was tall, very tall, and fit enough to be an athlete. He seemed frozen, unable to step inside the room. He scanned the room slowly, as if looking for someone or something specific. His gaze settled on Izzy for a beat. The stranger had, quite simply, the most beautiful blue eyes Izzy had ever seen. No, they’re green.

“If he doesn’t belong here, you should get rid of him.”

You’re right. I’m only the widow; I’ll get rid of the unwanted guest. You’re the one truly bereaved, you stay here and weep.

Izzy wiped her eyes again. The stranger was no longer in the doorway, but she had an overwhelming need to get away. “I need to run to the ladies’ room for a minute.”

Adele checked the archway. “No, not now. You can’t possibly leave this line; people will want to talk to you, after they’ve looked at all the picture boards and signed the guest book. I can’t cover for you all day, you know.”

Izzy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, something she learned to do in the years since she and Jason had escaped one angry, disapproving family unit only to join another. “Adele, if I don’t go now, I’ll pee in front of the mourners and that,” she allowed the corners of her mouth to turn up in this tiniest of victories, “would be bad manners.”

Adele’s frown deepened, but she said nothing as Izzy scurried out of her reach.

Once in the lobby, Izzy breathed more evenly. I’ve got to stop letting Adele have that effect on me.

A cold fog washed over her. With Jason gone she had very few choices, and her most logical one, the safest one, the easiest one in many ways, was to move in with Adele and Sean. It was really the only option Jason left her.

She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and bumped into someone.

“Oh excuse me.” She opened her eyes. In front of her was the stranger. Blue-green.

“No, pardon me. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

His voice warmed her. While his accent was clearly Midwestern, there was the slightest hint of a drawl that she remembered all too well. It made her homesick, and she ached to hear him speak again.

“Is that a family member you’re mourning?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat, hoping a stronger sound would come out. “Yes, my--my husband.”

The man took her hand in his and patted it. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Are you…did you know my husband?”

Something, a shadow, crossed his face and his eyes darkened slightly. “No.” The word came out hard, strained, as if he were denying something. The shadow left his face and he smiled, “I’m here, with friends. Some of the Milwaukee Admiral Hockey players are here to pay their respects.”

“Oh yes. Jason did a lot of work for them. He rebuilt classic cars.”

The man nodded. “Yes, I know.” He looked beyond her. “Someone’s looking for you.”

Adele, no doubt. Why should I be allowed a conversation with anyone she doesn’t know?

“Again, I am sorry for your loss.” He dropped her hand and backed away.

She stared at her hand, his warmth lingering. I never got his name. She looked up, but he was already gone.

“Aunt Izzy, Mom says if you don’t get your ass back in there, she’s going to make you live in the garage.”

Izzy smiled at Mikayla. “I’m sure she didn’t say that.”

“No, but what she said wasn’t enough to get you to smile.”

Izzy hugged her niece. “Thanks kiddo. I guess I should go in there and greet people.”

“It is the tradition. Sort of barbaric, if you ask me, walking past the dead person.” Mikayla put an arm around Izzy. “But I guess people need to say good-bye, right?”

Izzy walked back to her station at the side of the casket and stared at the people gathered to say farewell to her husband. There were friends, coworkers, and people who knew Jason because he rebuilt automotive works of art for them. She could match each face with the pristine classic car they owned. My parents aren’t here. You’d think after all these years they’d forgive us. They should be here for something like this. How long am I supposed to pay for my sins? I gave up my career. I gave up my life. I lived in exile for almost twenty years. Now Jason’s gone and everything we had went with him. How much more must I pay for that one night?

Let the music take control!

Good evening!

So the production manager at my job gave me a task this month that is one part awesome, and two parts expected.  See, every other office gig I've ever had has started with these words:

First, you need to fix our filing system.

It started right after I was first married and I took a temp job at a medical equipment company. My predicessor, a girl they called, "The pizza girl" for a number of reasons...none of them appropriate for this forum...filed EVERYTHING under "D"  for Doctor.

Which means we had 16 drawers for the letter D and ten for the rest of the alphabet.

That job took me almost two years to completely fix.

This time around, twenty years later, I was sure I'd avoided the dreaded task because I've been here for more than 6 months and the closest I've come to the filing cabinets has been on Wednesdays, for about six minutes.

And then 2012 rolled around and with it a need for more file cabinets...

Unless...

Let's just say I'm spending many of my days in the almost unheated shop converting alphabetical files to numerical files for the past 7 years.  It's going to take me months.  And I love it mostly because I'm good at it and it keeps me away from the nit wit I work with in the office.  (She of the Elsie W fame.)

I told you that so I can tell you this:  While I'm sorting and filing and assembling in the shop, I get to wear my beloved iPod.  And sometimes, I get to sing.

I've been so immersed in working on the Elsie W book(s) that I've sort of put "Fresh Ice" on the shelf.  Until this morning, when, while sorting through the year 2007, Night Ranger's "Goodbye" came on.

I had to stop what I was doing.

I was suddenly transported to a cavernous badly lit club in Nashville, where a tall, devastatingly handsome former NHL bad boy was onstage singing this touching song.  I...well, I of course was the recently widowed former Olympic figure skater in the balcony, falling in love without even knowing his name.

Yep...I just remembered, I write fiction!  I write romantic fiction!  I fall in love with my leading men all the time!

You all know that I'm one of those writers who writes as the spirit moves.  Well, right now I'm furious with Elsie W, and I see no humor in her.  However, I'm in love with Quinn Murray again, so this weekend I'll be traveling back to Nashville, the Waffle House, and the Wild Horse Saloon. 

I can't wait.

It's sometimes that easy for writers.  Even if you haven't been writing for whatever reason, a song will come on and suddenly you need to get to the nearest computer, the nearest notebook, the nearest quiet spot and write.  It's how I wrote "Lies in Chance."  I would set it aside for years at a time because people told me it simply wasn't worth any more of my time.  And then I'd hear that wonderful Kansas song, "Hold On" and I'd have to go back to Rock Harbor.

Maybe I'm insane.  But I don't think so.  At least not about this.

Curse you Winona Ryder!

Good morning!


Those who know me know that I have to have the TV on when I fall asleep. All you sleep experts, go ahead and scold me, but my brain simply will not shut down without the white noise of the TV going on. Since I don't have a cable connection in my bedroom, I use DVD movies to lull me into some sort of sleep.


The movies I use to fall asleep to are very specific. They have to have low key speech, no music, and I have to have seen them many times.


I have a list I won't bore you with, but one that's found its way into my DVD player a lot lately has been the Winona Ryder version of "Little Women." Granted, there's a bit of music playing at the beginning, but by the time I'm seriously drifting off, there's no music, it's just talking.It's perfect.


Except for one very small thing. There's a scene in Little Women where Ryder's character, Jo March, is reading her latest story to her sisters. It's a wild fantasy complete with a cliffhanger. After she reads the chapter, her sisters applaud and Beth, played by Claire Danes, says, "I never know what to write." To which Jo responds, "The first rule of writing is never write what you know."

This is the quote that rolls around and around and around in my brain all night long.


Every writer has taken at least one creative writing course. And in that course, every write has been told, "Write what you know." And every single writer has obediently bowed their heads, and given up writing for a good long time because really...who wants to read a story about a suburban woman raising kids and working a job she hates?

(Actually, I have that very story in my brain right now, but the suburban mom turns into a mass murderer, blaming her online persona for the deaths of those around her who piss her off. It's a dark, dark comedy really. Well, it makes me laugh.)


The problem with what Jo March says, never write what you know, is that every writer wants to believe that. We all want to write about some fantastic fantasy place we've never been. The problem is, the story doesn't sound good then. My daughter who at 13 has written more than I had at twice her age, has never been to Italy, but that's not stopping her from writing a story set in Italy. The difference is that she's doing exhaustive research on the country, the language, everything.


Obviously, when it comes to fiction, there's a huge element of "making it up." Believe me, I've met enough romance authors to know that not a single one of them knows a rakish duke personally. Research is the key to fiction, always. The best authors can create their own reality based on research. The best historical romances are written by the authors who know their history and are willing to create a story within that history.
So it's the eternal question. Do you write what you know, or what you make up? My mother would tell you that my best writing is when I just talk about my own life. Well, that may be amusing on a certain level, but that's not that writing that tugs at my heart. The stories about my childhood, about my foibles as a mother, those can make you laugh. But as a writer, I want more than that for myself and for my readers. I have a world of stories in my brain!



If you read "Dream in Color," there's no mistaking my thumbprint on everything. The story is set in the Upper Midwest, a part of the country I've lived in my whole life. Yes, I worked in one of those offices like Ramona does. Yes, I've spent hours online with fan groups, ignoring my own real life in the process. But then there's the fiction. I've never, regardless of what my family might say, gone on the road in search of the love of an aging rock star! (I did drive to Nashville a couple of years ago to see Rick Springfield, but I brought hubby along, so I don't think that counts!)



So curse you Winona Ryder! Curse you for telling me to never write what I know! Curse you for reminding me that it's a balancing act we writers have to do, the one between writing something so vivid the reader can touch and see it and writing something that whisks the reader to a foreign place and time. Curse you for making me ache to break the "write what you know" mantra!

Maybe I need to get a cable hook up in my bedroom. I don't have this kind of reaction to late night episodes of "Friends."