Sandra Cox's Blog, page 252

The Power of Words

It's a short one, but it makes a statement.

Thanks for sharing, Jeane.

Silverhills

So I was ambling through Amazon checking stats and genres when I glimpsed this cover. All I saw was Silverhills and I thought, What the heck? There's another Silverhills out there? Then I looked closer and saw it had my name on it. I knew it was coming out in print but I didn't know there was going to be a cover change.  Which do you like best the old or the new?
New Old    
Actually I found three other books with the word Silverhill in the title. One written by Phyllis Whitney. Show of hands if you remember Phyllis.

SBB: The Last Straw

BLURB:   Ally Tobin left New York after one too many bad dates, determined to rebuild a stable life and career as a private investigator in Silicon Valley. But when the man she knew as one name walks into her office with another, will her curiosity once again lead her to risk her heart?

The last thing Special Agent Jared Green needs is "security risk" stamped on the resume of his latest undercover identity. Especially by the woman his job forced him to leave in New York without any explanation. She may threaten his cover, but it's his heart on the line. 

He's good at playing a part. She's good at catching a fake. Can they trust enough to give love another chance?EXCERPT:  He sauntered through the door, a white, button- down shirt tucked into belted khakis. When his dark gaze found her, he stopped. Stared. Her throat dried and a rustling motion stirred in her abdomen.
“Hi. I’m Darren Ray.”
Keep your cool, she commanded herself, standing and reaching across the desk. His hand was rough.
She yanked her hand back and waved at the chair. “Please, have a seat.” He waited for her to sit before settling in the visitor’s chair. “So, Darren, according to this, you’re being considered for a programmer position in the IT department. Tell me about your background.”
A professional mask settled over his features. “As you can see on my résumé, I have several years of consulting experience.”
“Tell me something about your experience as a mechanic.” Working on his prized old Mustang had been a favorite hobby.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “What do you mean? That’s not in my résumé.”
“You don’t have the hands of a programmer. More of a mechanic.” Oh, his hands.
“Okay, you got me.” He was going to confess. This should be good. “When I’m not programming computers I’m working on my car.”
“And what were you doing in New York City?”
He reached across her desk for a piece of paper, plucked a pen from its stand and scrawled something.  When she took the note their fingers brushed. Meet me for dinner at Pico’s at 7. I’ll explain everything. Can’t talk here. AUTHOR INFORMATION: Nia Simone grew up on the side of a ski slope in Squaw Valley, USA. Later, while learning the craft of story writing, she worked in nonprofit and then high-tech. The best part of working in the computer field was meeting her husband. He took up skiing and she helped him document his computer inventions! They live in "Silicon Valley" in California where their favorite thing to do is cook together for friends. Nia’s specialties are dessert and veggies while her husband’s are entrees and sourdough bread.  Their only pet at the moment is the sourdough starter, which lives in the fridge and requires bi-weekly feeding. ​Nia blogs every day about travel, food, writing, books, skiing and photography at niasimoneauthor.com(where she won the Versatile Blogger Award and Inspiring Blogger Award).​ Buy link: The Last Straw(http://amzn.to/164srhC)Website: niasimone.intuitwebsites.comFacebook: facebook.com/niasimoneauthorTwitter: @niasimone4THE AUTHOR WILL BE GIVING AWAY:$25 Amazon gift card to one randomly drawn commenter. The tour dates can be found here:  http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2013/08/super-book-blast-last-straw-by-nia.html

Brrr and Anyhoo

Per my usual weekend routine: Saturday, I grabbed my coffee, computer and E Reader and headed out for the porch in my sundress. Now the majority of the female readership are probably thinking sundress? Instead of cutoffs or shorts? It's the weekend for goodness sake. You were at home. Why a dress? Well, it was Saturday. Saturday is laundry day and pickings were slim. And its a very comfortable dress. But anyhoo. I sat out there about ten minutes before I hied myself back in and put on long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. It was sixty degrees out there! First chilly day we've had since...well just let me say its been a good long while. I stayed out about an hour. The air was crisp and the breeze caused the rustling leaves to sound like rain.
Being more intrepid, Belle chose to stay out after I gave up and headed for the house and warmth.



A little aside here: I googled anyhoo to make sure I had the right spelling. This is the urbandictionary.com definition of anyhoo: 'Used by many people, usually mentally retarded, as a means of saying anywho or anyhow.'  Hmm.......

Friday's Vid

Woo Hoo, It's Friday. Enjoy it...And Just Pretend It's Not The Thirteenth.

English, Ain't It A Bitch

For inquiring minds who may or may not want to know, in particular Ms. Julia Rachel Barrett, I have finished Shardai. Done and done.
I was expecting a slam bam, thank you, ma'am, proof. But the Cox Law, similar to Murphy's Law, came into play. The Cox Law: NOTHING is ever easy. I'm in complete agreement with Richard Nordquist. 'The only fool-proof rule is that all spelling rules in English have exceptions.' Let me just paraphrase here. 'The only fool-proof rule is that all English rules have exceptions. Did typos snag me? Nope. Words left out? Nope. Capitalization? That's it, that's the one that had me swearing. I got snagged on endearments, forms of address and nicknames.  If, like me, you ever get confused about this,  here's some good advice from Grammar Girl @ quickanddirtytips.com:
"A term of endearment isn't interchangeable with a name the same way a nickname is, and terms of endearment aren't capitalized." 
A term of endearment isn’t interchangeable with a name the same way a nickname is, and terms of endearment aren’t capitalized. - See more at: http://www.quickanddirtytips.com/educ...

A term of endearment isn’t interchangeable with a name the same way a nickname is, and terms of endearment aren’t capitalized. - See more at: http://www.quickanddirtytips.com/educ...

Frankie and Durrango

The hh(and for those who wonder what hh stands for it's happy hubby) came into the house grumbling about critters. There was a young possum in the 'cat house' on the back porch and he was afraid it might bite the dog and give her rabies.

I explained that rabies in possums is a common misconception. While not impossible, possums getting infected with the rabies' virus is extremely rare. They have such low body temperature it's difficult for the virus to survive.

 In spite of those appallingly scary teeth, they're really shy little creatures.

 Our discussion reminded me of a true story that I've posted elsewhere and would like to share.  The story of Frankie, the possum and Darrango, the dog.

Among the many hats a friend of mine wears is that of wild life rehabilitator. One of the many animals, she rescued was a possum named Frankie.

 Frankie came to wildlife rehab along with her three brothers in the spring of 2008 when she was just a baby. That's where she met an Australian Shepherd - Sheltie mix named Durango. Durango had no interest in the three brothers but it was love at first sight when he saw Frankie. Durango and Frankie became fast friends. They ate together, played together, and even took naps on the couch together.

That summer when it was time to release the possums back into the wild, Frankie refused to leave. She stayed with her friend Durango. My friend tried to release her again a few months later. This time Frankie went, but every night for six months she came home to get her possum treats (cat food and yogurt) and spend time with her friend Durango where they would stand nose to nose on opposite sides of the fence and exchange doggie-possum kisses. Durango even had a special bark that was reserved only for his friend.

In March of 2009 Frankie stopped coming home.

In May of 2011, Durango passed unexpectedly. My friend buried him on the back of her property.  That evening, she glanced out her window and saw a shadow moving around Durango's grave so she went out to investigate.

 There beside the grave of his ole pal was Frankie.

When my friend called Frankie by name, Frankie 'purred' to her as she always did when my friend talked to her. Frankie lingered that evening at the final resting place of her friend before she finally headed back into the woods.

My friend hasn't seen Frankie since but there's no doubt in her mind or mine that someday, in some world, Frankie and Durango will be reunited and once again they'll eat, sleep and play....together.

BB: Verity's Lie

Verity’s Lie by Grace Elliot Charles Huntley, Lord Ryevale, infamous rogue…and government agent.In unsettled times, with England at war with France, Ryevale is assigned to covertly protect a politician’s daughter, Miss Verity Verrinder. To keep Verity under his watchful eye, Ryevale plots a campaign of seduction that no woman can resist– except it seems, Miss Verrinder. In order to gain her trust Ryevale enters Verity’s world of charity meetings and bookshops…where the unexpected happens and he falls in love with his charge.When Lord Ryevale turns his bone-melting charms on her, Verity questions his lordship’s motivation. But with her controlling father abroad, Verity wishes to explore London and reluctantly accepts Ryevale’s companionship. As the compelling attraction between them strengthens, Verity is shattered to learn her instincts are correct after all – and Ryevale is not what he seems. If Lord Ryevale can lie, then so can she…but with disastrous consequences.Excerpt:Verity closed the library door and wilted.  With toe-curling embarrassment she recalled her prudish disapproval and cringed afresh.  Why couldn't she have appeared worldly and calm, instead of behaving like a stuttering, prissy schoolgirl.  And why Lord Ryevale, of all people?  If she hadn't been distracted by plans to confront her father, then she wouldn't have been caught so off guard.  Verity took comfort in that it was unlikely their paths would cross again.            Clutching Cicero against her chest like a shield, Verity composed her thoughts before facing her father, then made for the garden.  The root of her discomfort lay in noticing Lord Ryevale earlier that evening.  When he arrived, the atmosphere had changed tangibly; women became more vivacious and men bristled defensively.  He moved with the self-assurance of a pack leader and, when he passed close by, a wicked smile quirked across his intriguing lips—and Verity didn't usually notice mouths.  But more alarming still were his eyes—nut brown and intense—and when he had glanced in her direction, she felt as if he could read her mind.  Shaken, she wondered if she had inherited her mother's weakness for the opposite sex, a sobering thought that worried her.            From his wide chest and broad shoulders, to the square jaw and strong cheekbones, Ryevale filled her mind; so when she had received her father's note to fetch his copy of Cicero, she had welcomed the excuse to leave the ball and calm her wits.  That was, until she opened the library door to find the man she was running from in a compromising position with another man's wife.            After three laps of the garden, her cheeks had cooled and her mind felt more ordered.            Tonight she would seize the moment; before her father left on business, she would appeal for more freedom.  Her speech planned out, she was ready to face him.            Verity hurried along the corridor, pausing outside the study door to straighten her hair. This was it: now or never.  She knocked and, at a gruff acknowledgment from the other side, entered.            Between the gloomy room and being a little nearsighted, it took Verity a moment to assimilate three men were present: her father, the prime minister and a figure in the shadows.            "Father.  Lord Liverpool."  She squinted, trying to identify their guest.  As Ryevale stepped forward, her pulse hit a crescendo.  Alarm fluttered in her breast, threatening her ability to breathe.  "My lord."  How her voice held steady, she had no idea.            "Good evening."            He stood at ease, which irritated her.  Why did her wits scatter like pigeons before a cat when he smiled in that bone-melting way?  Annoyed at herself, she answered his smile with a glare before turning to her father.  "Your book, Father."            "Ah, Verity.  Thank you."            Her father took a cursory glance at the spine then set the Cicero aside.            Verity longed to escape, to be able to breathe and to release the tension swelling in her chest.            "If that's all, I won't intrude further."  She felt Ryevale's gaze, hot against her skin, and some unnamed sensation coiled and tightened inside.            "Ah, Verity, let me introduce my guest."            "We've already met," she replied tartly.BUY LINKSAmazon .com http://amzn.to/13CxrN1 Amazon.uk      http://amzn.to/12aEqI6Author bio and linksGrace Elliot leads a double life as a veterinarian by day and author of historical romance by night. Grace lives near London and is passionate about history, romance and cats! She is housekeeping staff to five cats, two sons, one husband and a bearded dragon (not necessarily listed in order of importance). “Verity’s Lie” is Grace’s fourth novel. Subscribe to Grace’s quarterly newsletter here:  http://bit.ly/V7T6JdGrace’s blog ‘Fall in Love With History’  http://graceelliot-author.blogspot.comWebsite: http://graceelliot.wix.com/grace-elliot Grace on Twitter: @Grace_ElliotGrace’s author page on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Grace-Elliot/e/B004DP2NSU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Grace-Elliot/173092742739684?v=wall&sk=wall

Bad Ass Web

Is that not one bad-ass spider web? I took it from the screened-in porch. Luckily, Ms. Spider and her gourmet kitchen were on the other side.
~*~  So, I was mowing the side of the yard. The side that's hilly, rough, and wet--and yes you shouldn't mow when it's damp, but its been damp since spring--slipped and sat down unexpectedly. One moment I was on my feet, the next--bam--my hinnie was making contact with terra firma.  Aw, the joys of home ownership.

What about you? Were you industrious or did you go play? I vote for play.

It's The Weekend

This one's long, but pretty funny:)Enjoy the weekend, my friends.