Rosalie Skinner's Blog, page 9

What could be BETTER THAN A RABBIT'S FOOT?

Let's ask the author of 'Better than a Rabbit's Foot'... 
S.S. HAMPTON, SR.To get a FREE copy of Better Than a Rabbit's Foot, to review,answer the simple question at the end of this post.Hi Stan,Your short story has recently been released through MuseItUp Publishing. Can you tell us a little about what inspired you to write “Better Than A Rabbit’s Foot”?
I was deployed in 2006-2007 with a security force, SECFOR, battalion. We were based at a camp a mile south of the Iraqi border from which Soldiers escorted convoys into Iraq every day. 
We had casualties from Improvised Explosive Devices. And lot of Soldiers had lucky charms that they took with them on missions. 
So I thought of a story about a Soldier preparing to go north, and upon learning of the death of a fellow Soldier he becomes painfully aware that he does not have a lucky charm. 
And the story took off from there. 
By the way, because I was an HR NCO I only went north on three short missions, and nothing happened. Not that I believe in lucky charms, but throughout my deployment I always wore a Celtic cross with my “dog tags.”
Who knows what would have happened if you didn't wear them. I am glad you did. 
Military fiction. Is your story based on your own experiences?
No. I was not lucky enough to have such a lucky charm mailed to me. The overall military background of course, is due to my military career and deployment experience.
What made you choose a short story formula rather than a novel?
I find short stories easier to write because they are—short. And for me the editing process takes a long time. It can take hours to edit a 3,000-5,000 word short story. Writing and editing an 85,000+ word novel is, well, not terrifying, but—anyway. I have made the move into writing novellas, though.
LOL My first series began as one book around 250k long. I don't understand short stories, so I find your choice interesting.Writing the story is only half the exercise though, isn’t it.
Oh yeah. As I said, editing takes a long time. I have a tendency to write the way I speak and that isn’t always suitable for a literary effort. 
So after writing and letting the story sit for awhile, I return with fresh eyes and make one “editing sweep.” 
After a little while a second sweep, and finally a third. Sometimes a fourth. Then I will finally submit the story—the entire process can take several months for a short story, let alone a much larger novella or novel.
 I only restrict the number of my editings because I can edit forever, agonizing over a word, a phrase, commas, etc. 
On a more pleasurable level, research is another part of the writing process. Quality research can help get around the “write what you know” mantra, and it assists in creating a believable world, whether a world orbiting a distant star or the world of a law office. 
And on a business level, be sure to develop your own marketing plan in addition to whatever your publisher has in mind. There are a lot of publishers and a lot of books out there—be patient and be persistent because unless you are extremely lucky, it can take time to find an audience so that your literary career can take off. 
As you noted, writing is only part of the entire exercise.
What was the hardest hurdle for you in getting your short story published?
The hardest hurdle is matching the story with the publisher. There’s a lot of publishers out there, and the story may not fit many of them. 
For this particular story, it went to five different publishers in a three year period, and it evolved from 1,000 words to its current incarnation. 
Fortunately, MIU liked it and saw sales potential.
What do you mean by “evolved”?
I mention above the story evolving from 1,000 words to its current almost 5,000 words. I believe in what I write and I know how to tell a story, but after several rejections, and letting the story sit for awhile, I will go back and read it carefully. I often see where something can be expanded or where something can be deleted, all to improve the story. 
Perhaps what I see is why the story was not being accepted for publication. I do not do this after every rejection, but when there are several in a row, it may be that I am missing something, hence the careful re-read.
Have you always been a writer?
I have wanted to be a writer since I was 15 years old, but there were many years when I did not write. My military career and ordinary civilian jobs, combined with family responsibilities, took precedent.

I am glad you have time to write now Stan. It has been great to have you as a guest. Now for more information about“Better Than a Rabbit’s Foot.” 
BLURB: Sergeant Jerry Stanton is a young soldier serving in the War in Iraq. He is a gunner on a gun truck nicknamed “Lucky Bear,” one of those tireless workhorses that escort supply convoys from camps in Kuwait to destinations scattered throughout the war-torn country.
 In the early morning hours before a scheduled mission, a dust storm howls across his camp and threatens to bring convoy operations to a halt. Worse, the camp receives word that a gunner from his company was killed by an IED while on a convoy mission. 
Unlike most soldiers, Jerry doesn’t carry a lucky charm, but upon receiving news of the death of the gunner, he begins to mull over/ponder the merit/virtue of a good luck charm—only, what would work for him? Perhaps mail call will provide the answer.
EXCERPT: “People like a happy ending.”
Sergeant Jerry Stanton, an M4 Carbine slung across his chest, glanced at the dark form that trudged alongside him in the hot, early morning darkness. It was all the darker for the dust storm howling across the small camp, a dusty and sandy convoy support center, CSC, a mile south of the Iraqi border. He placed his hand over the tall styrofoam coffee cup from the messhall that was open at all hours to serve those about to head out on a mission. He felt the itchy dust filtering down his back, along his arms, and coating his fingers.
In spite of his short time deployed to Kuwait, he had learned that dust storms were worse than sand storms; they were hot and itchy while the sand storms stung exposed skin and chilled the air. Breakfast was good but tasted flat, more due to the question of whether their mission would be a go or no-go because of the storm that roared out of the midnight darkness hours before.
“What?”
“People like a happy ending,” the soldier repeated. He was a gunner from another gun truck as the squat, venerable M1114 HMMWVs, which were never meant to be combat vehicles, were called. He held up a rabbit foot that spun frantically in the wind and added, “I like a happy ending.  Especially now.” 
They rounded the corner of a small building, actually a renovated mobile home trailer with a covered wooden porch lit by a bare electric bulb. The gunner pointed to a small black flag, suspended from a log overhang, flapping furiously in the wind.
“Oh shit.” Jerry sighed as a cold chill raced through him.
“It’s been there for an hour or so,” the soldier said as he enclosed the rabbit’s foot within both hands and brought it up to his lips as if to kiss it. He glanced at Jerry. “I’m not superstitious, but still, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with having a lucky charm. You know?”
“Yeah.” Jerry nodded as he watched the twisting flag. “I know.”
The soldier looked once more at the black flag and then walked toward the shower and restroom trailers beyond which were the air-conditioned sleeping tents they called home…
BETTER THAN A RABBIT'S FOOT from Museitup Publishing.
BIOGRAPHY

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 grandchildren, and a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007).
 He has served in the Army National Guard since October 2004, and holds the rank of staff sergeant. He is a published photographer and photojournalist, an aspiring painter, and is studying for a degree in photography and anthropology—hopefully to someday work in underwater archaeology. 
His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories, and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, Ruthie’s Club, Lucrezia Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.


As of December 2011, he became the latest homeless Iraq war veteran in Las Vegas, Nevada.


" In June 2007 we were one month away from returning home and in several months my original enlistment in the Guard would be over. I wanted more time to decide whether to stay in. So, what better place for a writer to sign a 1-year extension than at the Great Ziggurat of Ur, Sumeria (Tallil AFB, Iraq), where writing was invented?" Stan,
It has been great to learn more about you and your writing.  I love your bios image. What an incredible place and photo. Thanks for being my guest today.


To get a FREE copy of BETTER THAN A RABBIT'S FOOT, to review, just answer this simple question...What did SS HAMPTON SR carry while deployed?and email your answer to the author.

Beth Overmyer talks about IN A PICKLE

Introducing Beth Overmyer, my guest today...

Hi there, Beth.
Your novel has recently been released through Museitup Publishing. 

Can you tell us a little about what inspired you to write “In a Pickle”. 

The title suggests a humorous adventure story… is that correct?
 Hi, Rosalie. “In a Pickle” came to me almost out of the blue. I was babysitting this wonderfully grouchy cat and I thought “I’d like to write a story about a cat that time-travels” (that’s how random my mind is.) 

Well, I sat down at my computer and a boy named Charlie appeared to me, so I ended up scratching the cat from the story. “What’s the boy’s last name?” Pickle was the answer, and his quirky moniker-hating self brought the story to life. 

“In a Pickle” is an adventure surrounding a ten-year-old orphan who gets into a scrape during one of his accidental trips to the past. While the story itself has some serious elements, there are nuggets of humor. 

My favorite line had me roaring as I typed it: “Don’t shoot! I’ve got a cookie.” Ahem. Context is important, but I don’t want to give anything away.

Do your characters follow your plot path or do they take on a life of their own? Do you keep them in check?

 My characters have minds of their own. Someday, sick of my attempts at manipulation, they’re going to jump through the computer screen and do me in. 

To be serious for a moment, I let my subconscious take over when it wants, and my characters tend to surprise me. Sometimes the results are good, other times I’ve written myself into a corner.

Writing the story is only half the exercise though, isn’t it. Becoming published is not always easy. Even with self publishing as an option. What do you think is the most important thing a writer needs to face, along the road to publication?
 I could say rejection, it keeps you humble, but that’s a given (almost everyone gets rejected.) You’ve got to face your fears. 

I’m terrified. 

I’m in a limbo right now, typing out my responses: I’m half high on adrenaline, and half-petrified that I’m going to say something that’ll expose the stupid side of me to hundreds (maybe thousands—egads!) of readers. 

But as fearful as I am of doing interviews and promoting myself, I sent out two press releases (one two hours ago) and did a verbal pitch to a librarian.

 You’ve got to face your fears. It makes you a better writer. And if you have no writing-related fears, then good for you. Now, go sky-diving and write us a book on it, there’s a good girl.

Sent out press releases... you go girl!!!

What was the hardest hurdle for you in getting your novel published?

 Besides finishing the book? The hardest hurdle was taking criticism. Yes, that sound vain and stupid, but it was hard listening to my editors. 

I believed enough in my work, so it was hard to be told that I had misused the ellipses or abused some adverbs. But I took their advice and the book is much stronger for it.

Have you always been a writer?

 I’ve been writing for over sixteen years now, and that’s more than half my life. I’ve always had a vivid imagination. Like, when I would lie in bed for hours on end, daydreaming stories up. 

In high school, I thought I was a poet—I soon found out that I was not. My science teacher, Dr. Cynthia Seng (AKA my cheerleader) really encouraged me to write fiction. 

She is now bragging that one of her “girls” is a published author. Imagine that!

Wonderful, to have her bragging about your work. It must be very satisfying. :)


What drew you to the MG genre?

What drew me to MG? Mr. Riordan, but of course. I loved Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. The voice, the humor, the—not exactly innocence. Lack of complete world-weariness are better words. 

I’ve always had a younger sense of humor, and I feel I can relate to younger audiences. 


Kids are awesome.

Oh, also: I’m a new aunt, and I’m hoping my niece will grow up to be an avid reader. Her tenth birthday present is going to be a copy of—you guessed it—“In a Pickle.” And maybe a pony…

Congratulations!! A new aunt. Wonderful news.

YOU CAN GRAB A COPY OF  'In A Pickle'... here and visit Beth's Blog  here.Blurb: 
Charlie Pickle can't stay put in the year 1920, due to an annoying habit of time-traveling. On a trip back to 1910, he meets a man with a secret. Murder makes the headlines that day, and Charlie's new friend knows who the guilty party is. Now, not only does Charlie have bullies and murderers to contend with, he's got some history to fix.

Excerpt: 

The screeching of gulls woke Charlie up several hours later. He sat up with a yawn, and the first thing he saw was Henry lying still, his eyes wide open. 

“Oh no,” Charlie whispered. Had Henry died too?

“Shut up, kid. I’m trying to listen.” It wasn’t the politest way to be greeted in the morning, but at least Charlie’s homeless buddy hadn’t gone to his eternal resting place.

“Pretty sloppy job, if you ask me,” said an official-sounding voice outside the shack. “The water here’s not five feet deep. Pretty easy to dredge up a body.”

Another voice spoke, even more official-sounding than the first. “And this Smith character you told me about had a hunch there’d be a corpse to dredge up?”

A corpse? What had happened this morning while he’d slept? Charlie had a strong urge to peek out and see if he could catch a glimpse of the body. A reproving look from Henry, however, stopped him.

“Smith sounds like an alias to me,” the second voice continued. “I recognize the deceased’s ugly mug. He had many enemies, Duke. I say we round up the usual suspects, see if we can’t find someone who’ll sing.”

“Sounds good, Inspector.” 

“All right, let’s pack it up.”

Charlie’s stomach roared like a jet engine. He hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day. 

“Henry,” he said, after he could no longer hear the policemen. “I’m starving.”
Henry seemed to think it was safe, too, because he got to his feet, not bothering to muffle his footsteps as he crossed to the glassless window. “How can you think about food after someone was stabbed with a…? No, you aren’t starving.”

Charlie narrowed his eyes at Henry. How could he know the person had been stabbed to death? Had he seen something while Charlie was sleeping? Maybe Henry had seen the killer. Charlie was about to blurt out an accusation, but his stomach rumbled again. 

“Yes, I am starving. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t eaten since two days ago. Try beating that, kid.”

Charlie shook his head. “You’re cranky. And why did we have to be so quiet? Shouldn’t the police know we are here?”

“No,” Henry said, as he pulled himself through the window.

“But why not? We didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” Balancing on the window sill, Charlie lifted both legs through the opening and joined Henry outside. “It’s not a crime being homeless.” The words were somewhat of an afterthought, and he didn’t anticipate Henry’s response.

“Of course it is,” he spat. “The police…bah! They wouldn’t take my word for anything. I tried reporting a mugging before. A homeless man’s testimony means nothing. They’d think we’d done the man in ourselves.”

“I see. So, you’re afraid.”

Henry shot Charlie a look. “Charlie—”

“No, it’s okay. Even I get afraid sometimes. Like when President Wilson had a stroke. I thought I might have a stroke one day too, and it got me to thinking that I could actually die. So I was scared at first, but then I remembered my parents had died, and…What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Henry had stopped walking, and put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “President who?”

“President Wilson.”

“You mean Taft, don’t you? William Howard Taft?”

“Um…” This wasn’t the first time Charlie had almost blown his cover. One time, in 1902, he told a girl she should have a zipper put on her clutch. Charlie had gotten the strangest look and couldn’t figure out why until four days later, when he’d time-traveled back to 1913, and he realized zippers were a new invention.

“President Taft? Oh, right. I get him and that other guy mixed up sometimes.”

“But Taft hasn’t had a stroke. What president are you talking about?”

“I’m just a kid, all right? I can’t remember who’s secretary of state most days.” 

That earned him an even stranger look. “What?”

“You are one bizarre kid, aren’t you?”

Charlie looked at Henry with a grimace. “You have no idea.”


Thanks again for being my guest Beth. It's a great excerpt. You have me intrigued and I love time travel adventures. I can't wait to read...

IN A PICKLE... from Museitup Publishing

Beth Overmyer's Blog

One life changing moment...

DRAFT of an exercise in writing, done for a Workshop on Writing Memoirs.
A Life Changing Moment.
My world existed within the area defined by the delivery room doors. For now life ceased to exist beyond the sterile air, the beeping monitors, the rustle of hospital linen, the laboured breathing of my daughter, her partner's attentive focus and the efficient care of the hovering nurse .
Tension, already so thick it cushioned us against collapse after days without sleep, increased as my daughter's pain returned. Hope echoed in the faint fetal heartbeat, monitored for stress. Fear lurked in the scrubbed corners; in the white knuckled grip as my daughter clutched her partner’s hand; and in the ache twisting around our hearts as contractions continued.
“It’s time.” The nurse leaned forward, rested her hand on my daughter’s tight belly and addressed the unborn babe. “Cailyn, tuck your chin in. Little angel, keep your chin tucked in tight.” The nurse raised her head and explained, “She’s breech. If her chin gets caught…”she hesitated as though searching for the right euphemism, “things could get complicated.”
Complicated.
Complications began at twenty three weeks gestation when my daughter’s waters broke. Since that moment we counted every week, every day, every hour, knowing each moment in utero added to Cailyn’s chance of survival.
 Now the time for her birth arrived. The doctor worked with efficient calm while a team of specialists and nurses prepared the heated neonatal trolley.
Cailyn arrived with her chin tucked in, a handful of hope and love. Once delivered she was whisked away to vanish into the care of the waiting experts.
Time stood still. Between each ticking second a lifetime extended. My daughter, her partner, and I watched as fear strangled our desperate hope.  We didn’t breath. We didn’t move. Even our doctor and nurse stood statue still, willing the baby to grasp life.
Then, only moments after her arrival at 4:38am on Monday September 10th 2007 Cailyn gasped. A tiny almost inaudible breath exploded the silence, shattered the tension. Beyond the wall of specialists’ green gowns, hats, masks and backs she took on the ultimate challenge and began to fight for her life.
Our doctor and nurse turned as one. Above their surgical masks their eyes smiled. The doctor lifted her gloved hands, still stained with placental fluid, and gave us two thumbs up.
Born at twenty five weeks and five days, weighing 808gms (1lb 11oz) my granddaughter Cailyn’s arrival changed my life.
Now I know miracles happen.



********Post Script... Cailyn is now five years old and started school this year. :)I am still the proudest grandmother and, yes, I still see her as a miracle, every day.

One moment that changed my life...

DRAFT of an exercise in writing, done for a Workshop on Writing Memoirs.
A Life Changing Moment.
My world existed within the area defined by the delivery room doors. For now life ceased to exist beyond the sterile air, the beeping monitors, the rustle of hospital linen, the laboured breathing of my daughter, her partner's attentive focus and the efficient care of the hovering nurse .
Tension, already so thick it cushioned us against collapse after days without sleep, increased as my daughter's pain returned. Hope echoed in the faint fetal heartbeat, monitored for stress. Fear lurked in the scrubbed corners; in the white knuckled grip as my daughter clutched her partner’s hand; and in the ache twisting around our hearts as contractions continued.
“It’s time.” The nurse leaned forward, rested her hand on my daughter’s tight belly and addressed the unborn babe. “Cailyn, tuck your chin in. Little angel, keep your chin tucked in tight.” The nurse raised her head and explained, “She’s breech. If her chin gets caught…”she hesitated as though searching for the right euphemism, “things could get complicated.”
Complicated.
Complications began at twenty three weeks gestation when my daughter’s waters broke. Since that moment we counted every week, every day, every hour, knowing each moment in utero added to Cailyn’s chance of survival.
 Now the time for her birth arrived. The doctor worked with efficient calm while a team of specialists and nurses prepared the heated neonatal trolley.
Cailyn arrived with her chin tucked in, a handful of hope and love. Once delivered she was whisked away to vanish into the care of the waiting experts.
Time stood still. Between each ticking second a lifetime extended. My daughter, her partner, and I watched as fear strangled our desperate hope.  We didn’t breath. We didn’t move. Even our doctor and nurse stood statue still, willing the baby to grasp life.
Then, only moments after her arrival at 4:38am on Monday September 10th 2007 Cailyn gasped. A tiny almost inaudible breath exploded the silence, shattered the tension. Beyond the wall of specialists’ green gowns, hats, masks and backs she took on the ultimate challenge and began to fight for her life.
Our doctor and nurse turned as one. Above their surgical masks their eyes smiled. The doctor lifted her gloved hands, still stained with placental fluid, and gave us two thumbs up.
Born at twenty five weeks and five days, weighing 808gms (1lb 11oz) my granddaughter Cailyn’s arrival changed my life.
Now I know miracles happen.



********Post Script... Cailyn is now five years old and started school this year. :)I am still the proudest grandmother and, yes, I still see her as a miracle, every day.

LOVE DELIVERY A romance for Valentine's Day.

Let's celebrate Valentine's Day with a little romance. 
Our guest today is the author of 
LOVE DELIVERY.
Penny Lockwood Ehrenkranz has published more than 100 articles, 75 stories, two e books, a chapbook, and her stories have been included in two anthologies. 

She writes for both adults and children. Her fiction has appeared in numerous genre and children’s publications and non fiction work has appeared in a variety of writing, parenting, and young adult print magazines and on line publications. 


 She edits for three small independent publishers.  



Visit her web site at 
http:// pennylockwoodehrenkranz.yolasite.com.
Her writing blog is located at http://pennylockwoodehrenkranz.blogspot.com/

Her three romance stories: Love Delivery, Lady in Waiting, and Mirror, Mirror are all available from MuseItUp Publishing. 

Her middle grade novels, Ghost for Rent and Ghost for Lunch, will be released by 4RV Publishing. 

Her short story collection A Past and A Future is available at Sams Dot Publishing.  

Two picture books, Boo’s Bad Day and Many Colored Coats are also scheduled for publication with 4RV Publishing.



LOVE DELIVERY

Blurb:

A waitress in a donut shop, Ann is happy with her single life and her cat, Mittens, until she finds herself interested in Tom, the handsome man who makes deliveries to the shop.  Unfortunately, Tom comes with some baggage, including five cats; Maria, his vicious ex-wife; and Maria’s adorable daughter he calls Kitten.  

When Maria is hired at the donut shop and learns Ann and Tom are beginning a relationship, she does everything she can to tear them apart.  Will Ann and Tom’s love prevail, or will the evil ex-wife win in the end?  Love Delivery is a sweet romance, which will bring tears to your eyes and a smile to your lips.

EXCERPT:

“Here it is,” he said, steering her to a quiet corner. Candles lit the table. A bottle of red wine stood open. Tom held the chair for her, and then sat close so their knees touched. “Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked, reaching for the bottle.

“No thanks,” Ann said. “I don’t drink.”

Tom poured a glass for himself. “Here’s the menu.” He handed it to her.

“I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

“Fettuccini Alfredo.” Ann shook out her napkin and placed it on her lap.

“This chicken dish is good,” Tom said, pointing to an item on the menu.

Ann grimaced.  Is he a control freak? I already told him what I want. “I don’t eat meat.” Her voice sounded harsh in her own ears.

“Ah, well, okay, then. Fettuccini Alfredo it is.” Tom called the waiter and ordered the Alfredo for Ann and a spicy chicken dish for himself.

I guess we don’t agree on everything after all. He drinks and eats meat, too. I hope he doesn’t drink a lot. Maybe we weren’t made for each other. Not knowing what else to do, Ann took a sip of water and smiled.

Tom smiled back. “You’ll have to come meet my cats one of these days. Tyra, a gorgeous, long-haired black female, is my bathroom kitty. Whenever I’m sitting in there, she has to be in my lap. There’ve been times when my pants have been around my feet, and she’s curled up in my underwear.

“Then there’s BeeBee. She’s a Siamese. When I first got her, I thought she liked to cuddle, but it turned out she was just scared. It took me a long time, with lots of persuasion, to get her to come close to me. Finally, I was able to pick her up. I had her in my arms, and I put my face down to smell her fur. Suddenly, she turned and bit me on the nose.

“I think my favorite, though, is Loki. He’s the smallest of the bunch. He has allergies, and if I don’t get him to the vet for a shot in time, he loses his fur on his rear quarters, right by his tail. He loves to ride on my shoulders. Looks just like I’m wearing a fur collar.

“Then there’s the two new ones, they’re the kittens. They haven’t developed personalities yet. You should always get two kittens instead of one,” Tom said when the food arrived. 

“Why?” Ann asked. Her face hurt from laughing at Tom’s cat stories. Mittens never did any of the things Tom’s cats did.  

While she ate, Tom continued to share funny stories about the cats and kittens. “Kittens play with each other so you don’t need to play with them. You can just sit back and watch them. When I have kittens in the house, I don’t even turn on my T.V. set.” Tom twirled pasta on his fork. He lifted the fork halfway to his mouth and stopped. “Looks like we have company,” he groaned.

Ann turned. Maria and a curly-haired blond child entered. Ann watched Maria’s smile turn to a frown. Maria pulled the child toward their table. Ann gulped. Now what? Can’t she leave us alone? How can Tom and I ever get to know each other if she’s always showing up? She pasted a false smile on her face and clutched her napkin tightly.

“So you decided not to listen to me,” Maria spat at Ann.

“Daddy!” the little girl cried, holding up her arms.

“Hi, Kitten,” Tom said, scooping the child into his arms. He gave her a bear hug, and she giggled. “I want you to meet my friend, Ann. Ann, this is Kitten.”

“Hi, Ann. Daddy calls me Kitten, but you can call me Catherine.” The child put her arms around Tom’s neck and hugged him.

“Hello, Catherine,” Ann said, finding her voice.

“At least you could have gone somewhere else, Tom. We always ate here,” Maria accused and pushed Tom’s shoulder.

Tom moved Catherine to his other knee and glared at Maria. “Do we have to fight in front of Kitten?”

“Hey, Mr. Nice Guy, you’re the one who left us, remember?”

Removing Catherine from his lap, Tom stood up and faced Maria. “You’re creating a scene. Why don’t you leave before things get ugly?”

“Maybe you should have thought about that a long time ago.” Maria poked Tom’s chest with her finger.

Ann watched in fear. Only moments ago, she and Tom were enjoying dinner. Maria’s face now looked hard and dark. She swore at Tom and poked him again. Then she shoved him on the shoulder.

Tom grabbed her hand. Maria spat at him and reached up, clawing his face with her other hand. 

“I hate you,” she screamed, grabbed her child, and ran out crying.

Tom turned to Ann. There were bloody scratches on his face. Ann dipped her napkin in her water glass and dabbed his cheek. “I’m sorry, Ann, I guess this spoiled dinner.” 

This is never going to work for us, not as long as Maria is in the picture. Ann nodded her head. “Sure did. I’m not very hungry now. I think I’d better just go home.”
             **************

THANKS FOR BEING HERE TODAY PENNY... I hope your Valentine's Day is as Romantic as your novel!

Celebrating 25000 LIKES on Facebook...

Today the Chronicles of Caleath facebook page has reached twenty five thousand people.To celebrate I am giving away an ebook from the series to a few lucky people, randomly picked.Leave a comment here, or  a message on the Facebook page with your email address. Just name which book in the Chronicles you would like to read. Obviously, only those already released are in the giveaway.A HUGE thanks to all who have spread the word.

Finding the Fun in writing Fantasy...

Fantasy is a genre where almost anything goes. As an author I love to be transported into other realms where dragons fly, heroes ride war horses, and  the damsels in distress are not helpless but are talented and feisty.

With magic and science to play with it is great fun to be in the process of plotting an new novel. For a few years I have been concentrating on releasing the Chronicles of Caleath.
Now I am looking forward to continuing the adventure on another world, across the vast distances of space.

Finally my Muse has awoken and with a vengeance. The scope of the plot has me itching to write. The cast of characters are waiting in the wings. They have come to life in book one of the series...with the working title 'Signs'.

Now all I need is to put pen to paper and craft the world.
This is going to be fun. :)

INTO THE DARK. Romantic Suspense by Stacy Green

Into the Dark by Stacy Green... a Romantic Suspense
Creme de la Cover competition... please take a moment to vote...

Into the Dark is doing well, but could use your support.

Suspense Romance

A two-hundred-mile labyrinth of dark storm drains serves as refuge for the delusional stalker who will go to any lengths to possess fragile, emotionally isolated Emilie Davis. To survive, Emilie will have to confront the secrets of her past she has kept locked away from everyone, including herself.

Emilie is a master escape artist—she’s fled a manipulative mother and a controlling ex-husband. But it’s impossible to evade a stalker who uses a bank robbery as a ruse to kidnap her. He’s still out there, hiding in the Las Vegas tunnels and dodging police. Emilie’s life careens out of control as her assailant continues his pursuit. She has nowhere to turn but to Nathan Madigan, the hostage negotiator who worked the robbery.

Nathan is haunted by his failure to protect a loved one fourteen years ago and has dedicated his life to saving others. Determined to catch the lunatic hunting Emilie, he finds himself losing his professional detachment. He fears history is about to repeat itself if he cannot protect Emilie from the Taker’s obsession.

The police close in on the Taker’s identity as Nathan and Emilie grow closer to each other and to resolving the misery of their own pasts. At the height of The Taker’s madness, his attempt to replace someone he’s lost will either kill them all or set them free.

Planning a trip Downunder? Australian Oddities

Here is a little guide to avoid confusion when you arrive Downunder.
Settle down, I’ll boil the billy and we can chew the fat. 
If you’re planning a trip to Australia, Downunder, the Great Southern Land… you could find a few things perplexing. I hope you find the links entertaining. :)

Alright, apart from the time zone difference, once you set foot in Australia there are a few discrepancies that might confuse the tourist.

Driving on the wrong side of the road makes perfect sense to us. We prefer you to do the same while visiting. In case you forget, we've put up 'Keep left' signs before roundabouts.
Our currency is colourful, as is our language. Apparently our accent is unintelligible but that’s ok. We know what we mean. There are those who say we talk to fast. Good reason for that, too much to do, see, enjoy, to waste time making ourselves understood.
So the beach is looking good? Well, sunshine and surf have their own confusing traits. The sun burns even when the day is overcast. Time and tide conspire to create rips and undercurrents. Although the sand is golden, the waves seem perfect, the temperature is high and the water invites immersion, beware. 
Quote from EXILED: Autumn's Peril
Book One in the CHRONICLES OF CALEATHRips do exactly that, they rip the swimmer out of their comfort zone and transport them to depths unknown. The water between the flags, though more crowded is monitored. Unless you have gills, best to keep within sight of the surf lifesavers. 
They aren’t called  Life savers because they are sweet. Watch out for budgie smugglers. No, they don’t endanger the wildlife but they can be scary.
Travelling inland, you may come across our cuddly critters. Don’t be fooled. They aren’t cuddly at all. Koalas have spurs. They are noisy, cantankerous and relatively hard to see. They can be cute and lovable, but don’t think of hugging one without a handler.


Mind you if you have the time and the energy a ride though the Snowy Mountains on horseback is an amazing experience. Share the beauty of our 'mountains' and wild brumbies. 

The taste of billy brewed tea is memorable as is being caught in a snow storm in the middle of summer.
The platypus probably isn’t our most outgoing creature. They might look confusing if you manage to see one. Don’t be tempted to touch. The male has a poisonous spur. Friendly hey!
Ditto the kangaroo. They can be aggressive. Those long toes have been known to tear the unsuspecting human. They too are cute and have their place. Taste good on a BBQ.
Speaking of BBQ’s… although the advertisement says ‘throw another shrimp on the barbie’, in actuality we call them prawns. ‘Shrimp’ where I was raised is a term used to describe someone of diminutive size, so if you are shorter than average… No, we wouldn’t call you that…
Emus, kookaburras, cockatoos… not cuddly. If you watched Steve Irwin back in the day, you will know our bush is full of dangerous biting critters. It’s a wonder we venture outdoors. Really… come on. You have bears. We have tiny spiders, snakes, ticks, scorpions. I know which I would prefer to run away from.  from EXILED: Autumn's Peril
CHRONICLES OF CALEATH
Sharks… have a look at the videos at sharkviews.blogspot.com and you will understand that the sharks we swim among, aren’t great whites, bull or tiger sharks, they are our own grey nurse sharks. 


Whitehaven Beach /Hamilton Island

The diving experience at South West Rocks, Coffs Harbour, and Lord Howe Islandequals the thrill of the Great Barrier Reef and Hamilton Island. 
Coral on Great Barrier Reef
We all know how amazing a swim there can be. Don’t worry about the irikanji or the salt water crocs… 
Diving is a wonderful adventure further south… all year round. 

Worth a trip Downunder all on its own. Diving through FishRock Cave and emerging through the Heavenly Window to be among fifty friendly sharks has to go on your ‘bucket list’.
Another confusing concept tourists come up against here in Oz, is distance.  “Just down the road…”  Probably doesn’t mean what you think it means. When Dad says he’ll check the front gate and he’s gone for the day, gives an example of the size of properties ‘out back’. 
An outback station can be the size of Texas. Driving between towns means driving through what appears to be empty tracts of land. For hours and hours and hours. 



If you want to experience the distance safely and in comfort try a trip from Sydney to Perth on the Indian Pacifictrain. First class travel, air conditioned comfort as you cross the continent. Three days to experience the vast distances. Or travel from Adelaide to Darwin on the Ghan. This trip gives you the feeling of true desert distances. Even on the coast the empty land between towns can surprise tourists from Europe.
Visit Alice Springs, walk the ToddRiver. The dry river bed lies six feet above the river. It runs underground. Now, what’s confusing about that? Makes sense when the temperature above ground averages86deg F most of the year.
The Flying Doctor Service, the life line for those living in the north, has headquarters in Alice. The map in the base shows the country they cover. Six faint outlines of Great Britain lie within area marked as the scope of the Alice Springs base. Three or four planes take care of all the people living within that region. Even on the coast, tourists mistake distances. 
No, you aren’t going to drive to Cairns from Sydney in one day. Sydney to Brisbane sure… allow twelve hours. 

You will want to stop at Byron Bay for a look at the lighthouse and a swim. 
Or break your trip after five hours and stop at Coffs over night. If it’s winter, take a whale watching trip out of the Harbour and enjoy the Pacific Ocean in all its glory. 
The whales never fail to entertain.



We eat tea, keep chooks in the backyard, boil the billy for a drink, throw snags on the bbq, spin yarns to confuse tourists and love our country with a passion. 

Wanna hear a yarn? Ask about drop bears… tree funnel webs… or a bridge for sale in Sydney!!


Damn, looking up the tree funnel web… seems the stories told around the campfire were true. I will be more careful next time I venture into the backyard paddock where I used to live!

 Ask me about our biting ants… and discover where the inspiration for the Tarackin my Science fiction Fantasy novels The Chronicles of Caleath comes from!
Right you are, hope these few snippets of information straightens a few things out for you… see you soon!

Two Reviews for UNDERGROUND: The Day of The Sun

 First Review for 
UNDERGROUND: THE DAY OF THE SUN
 from Award Winning Author EDITH PARZEFALL 
FIVE STARS 

 I don't know how Rosalie Skinner does it. 

This is the sixth book in The Chronicles of Caleath, and still no moment of boredom. 
In Underground: The Darkest Day, she comes up with fantastic twists and introduces charming or chilling new characters that quickly whisked me away on Caleath's wondrous next journey.

Rosalie Skinner's beautiful prose is a treat, her imagination limitless but never out of bounds. Suspension of disbelief sets in immediately as her sci-fi fantasy world unfolds, offering new shades of dark and glimmers of hope. 

Can't wait for Adrift to be released. At the same time I'm starting to worry that soon these wonderful adventures might come to an end.



Review Received by Email from Ruth Williams
Oklahoma.

Rosalie ALWAYS creates a story in which you FEEL as if you are right there, every minute with Caleath, whether riding a horse, swimming, fighting for life or whatever. 

She has been my favourite FANTASY writer for years. I've read every book she has published, including those not yet in the public view, and it seems she NEVER lets the suspense fail in each book she has written. 

No boredom moments where you have to make yourself read through in order not to lose some important event. Want to get out of this world for awhile?

Go get Rosalie Skinner's CHRONICLES OF CALEATH!
The PERFECT answer!