Pamela S. Thibodeaux's Blog, page 45

#SaturdaySpotlight is on DiAnn Mills & Burden of Proof!

Good Morning Friends!

DiAnn is no stranger to our blog and she's recently shared thoughts and treasures with us but today we get a sneak peek into her latest release, Burden of Proof . Welcome DiAnn!

Reeling from a negotiation gone wrong, FBI Special Agent April Ramos is caught off guard when a frazzled young woman shoves a crying baby into her arms, then disappears. Worry for the child’s safety quickly turns to fear when a man claiming to be the girl’s father abducts them at gunpoint. April puts her hostage negotiation skills to use to learn more about who she’s dealing with: Jason Snyder, a fugitive accused of murder.

As Jason spins a tall tale about being framed for the killing of his business partner, April must sort through his claims to find the truth. A truth that becomes all the more evident after April overhears a conversation between Jason and the local sheriff and realizes something more sinister may be happening in their small town of Sweet Briar, Texas. But aligning herself with a known fugitive to uncover the burden of proof could cost April her job . . . or worse, her life and the lives of other innocent people.

Read an entire chapter Excerpt HERE!
Watch the Trailer HERE  Purchase HERE

DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She is a storyteller and creates action-packed, suspense-filled novels to thrill readers. Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne Du Maurier, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests.

DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, a member of Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. She is co-director of The Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writers Conference and The Mountainside Marketing Conference with social media specialist Edie Melson where she continues her passion of helping other writers be successful. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country.

Connect with DiAnn here: www.diannmills.com

Thanks for joining us today DiAnn and Friends. Wishing you ALL the best of luck and God's blessings!

PamT

#ThursdayThoughts with Gail Pallotta

Good Morning!

It is always a pleasure to have returning guests to visit with us and today's guest is no exception. Gail has shared Treasures with us and been in our Spotlight so please welcome her as she shares some thoughts with us.....


At Christmastime we think of gifts, especially the ones we buy and give to each other, but some of the greatest gifts we receive are free. I believe prayer is one of these.
Over the years I’ve heard different ministers suggest the way to pray, most of them following the Lord’s prayer in Matthew 6: 9 - 13. Nearly all of the pastors include praising God for all the blessings He’s given us, asking Him to forgive our sins and to provide for our needs while they emphasize it’s important to ask for God’s will to be done.
A few well-known prayers, other than the Lord’s prayer, include one by Moses from Exodus 33:13. “If you are pleased with me, teach me your ways so I may know you and continue to find favor with you.” (NIV).
Most of us have heard the following from Numbers 6: 24  -26, many times.
“The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.” (NIV)
Another is Jabez’s prayer from 1 Chronicles 4: 10, used in the book, The Prayer of Jabez.“Oh, that you would bless me and enlarge my territory! Let your hand be with me, and keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain.” (NIV)God placed mankind in the Garden of Eden and planned to have a relationship with us, but the plan was broken by sin. Still He’s left the door open for us to have conversations with Him through prayer. Testimonies abound of people who have been healed, protected or helped through prayers. It allows us to speak individually and in groups to God, to thank Him for His blessings, ask Him to fill our needs and forgive us. It’s one of the most powerful gifts we possess.
Do you know of anyone who’s received a Christmas miracle through prayer, or of someone who’s been helped or comforted with prayer at any time? If so, please share.

Bio: Award-winning author Gail Pallotta’s a wife, mom, swimmer and bargain shopper who loves God, beach sunsets and getting together with friends and family. A former Grace Awards Finalist and a Reader’s Favorite 2017 Book Award winner, she’s published five books, poems, short stories and two-hundred articles. Some of her articles appear in anthologies while two are in museums. She loves to connect with readers.
Sign up for her newsletter at https://www.gailpallotta.com/mainphp.html 
Visit her online at the following places:
Website at https://gailpallotta.com
Blog at https://gailpallotta.blogspot.com
Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/AuthorsandMore
twitter at https://twitter.com/Hopefulwords?lang=en (Gail Pallotta @Hopefulwords)
LinkedIn - https://www.linkedin.com/in/gail-pallotta-b368b220/
Amazon page. https://www.amazon.com/Gail-Pallotta/e/B00IN9A640

Gail's latest book, Hair Calamities and Hot Cash can be purchased at Amazon (Kindle), B&N (nook), Kobo and Pelican/Prism Book Group

What lovely thoughts, Gail, Thank You for sharing!

Hope you enjoyed today's post friends and that you'll check back regularly for Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlight.

Until next time take care and God bless.
PamT

#TuesdayTreasures with Stacey Weeks

Good Morning and Welcome to the first edition of Tuesday Treasures for December 2018!

Wow, I still can't believe 2018 is winding down so fast and Christmas is just 3 weeks away from today!

Our guest has been in our spotlight with her books In Too Deep and The Builder's Reluctant Bride , but please welcome her back as Stacey Weeks shares something she treasures with us.....

I treasure a tablecloth. I know that sounds silly, but stick with me, and you’ll soon understand.

Years ago, I took a plain white tablecloth and wrote Psalm 106:1 down the middle using fabric markers. “Give thanks to the Lord for He is good. His love endures forever.”

We use that tablecloth every holiday and each person present writes down something for which they are thankful. Searching for notes from family members now with the Lord or notes from when children were younger is a holiday tradition.

Melody Staff celebrates many holiday traditions in Mistletoe Melody . When her family spends Christmas at a bed and breakfast in the village of Mistletoe Meadows they also pick up a few new traditions from Quentin Oxford and his endearing daughter, Janie.

 A former musician, Melody Staff, spends Christmas at a bed and breakfast in the village of Mistletoe Meadows. While everyone sings familiar carols of Christ drawing near, Melody stumbles over misplaced notes. Her recent diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis has scared off her fiancé and thrust her life into a grand pause. Will her heart ever sing again? Quentin Oxford has endured a devastating year. His preteen daughter suffered a stroke, and they’ve grieved his wife’s sudden death, but the Lord coaxes a surprising refrain from Quentin’s heart as God rewrites his and Melody’s score into a love song.

Mistletoe Melody is part of Pelican Book Group's Christmas Extravaganza and can be purchased at Amazon.

Stacey Weeks is the multi-award-winning author of Glorious Surrender (2016), inspirational romances The Builder’s Reluctant Bride (2016), Mistletoe Melody (2018), and inspirational romantic suspense novels In Too Deep (2017), and Fatal Homecoming (2019). Stacey lives in Ontario where she speaks at women’s conferences, teaches writing and bible study workshops, and writes about the things of the Lord. www.staceyweeks.com



What a precious treasure, Stacey! Thanks for sharing.
Hope you enjoyed today's post friends and that you'll check back regularly for Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlight.
Until next time take care and God bless. PamT

#SaturdaySpotlight is on Icy Snow Blackstone & Runaway Brother

Hello December!

Not sure if I'm ready or not but this year is winding down fast. One thing I AM happy about is that Medicare AEP ends in 1 week and boy am I ready! It's been a good season but I'm ready for the madness to stop LOL!

Today's guest, brought by Class Act Books, is new to me so please welcome Icy Snow Blackstone as she enters the spotlight for today - Welcome Icy!


Icy Snow Blackstone was born in 1802, in northern Georgia where her father, the Reverend John Blackstone, was prominent in local politics.  She married a minister, raised seven children, and lived there all her life.
Two hundred and five years later, her great-great-great-great-granddaughter began using her name as a pseudonym for her romance novels. The present Icy Snow Blackstone lives far from her Southern roots in Lancaster County, Nebraska, where she continues to write romances. 
As of 2017, Icy Snow has eleven novels published by Class Act Books. Her contemporary romance, Tuesday’s Child, was given the Paranormal Romance Guild’s Reviewers Choice award for Best Contemporary Novel of 2014. A SciFi romance, Earthman’s Bride and Vietnam-era romance Jericho Road, have also received awards.



At the age of twenty-two, newly-graduated Nicolo Liguori is forced by his three brothers to become care-giver for his father, who suffered multiple strokes.  For the next ten years, Nick gives up his own ambitions , working during the day in the family jewelry business in Vanderhoek, New York, and returning to the Liguori mansion every night, to be at his father’s beck-and-call. Then Papa dies and Nick is free…or is he?  Carlo, Marco, and Pietro expect him to continue life as usual, but Nick has other ideas.  Secretly buying a motorcycle, he starts to work one day and… disappears.
Nick gets as far as the southern coast of Georgia before an accident disables his bike.  Stranded, with no idea of the South except what he’s seen on TV, Nick isn’t certain what kind of reception he’s going to get.  Then, a pretty Southern miss and a white tank disguised as a temperamental horse named Shazam change his life as they and the citizens of Oceano teach a runaway Yankee about life and love in a small Georgia town.

EXCERPT: 
The track was getting narrower, barely two ruts now with a width of slender, wiry grass separating them.  He slowed the bike.  Don’t want to get that stuff caught in the spokes and stall the engine.Nick raised his head, looking around, then gave a loud sigh of exasperation.  Okay!  So I’m lost!  He’d just follow the road to wherever it went, probably to some farmer’s front yard.  When he got there, he’d apologize, turn around and get himself back to the main drag.  If he could find it.A broken branch loomed ahead, and he turned his attention to it, guiding the bike around it.               A second branch and several twigs littered the roadway.  Nick was so concerned with maneuvering around them he didn’t see the horse sail over the fence, wasn’t even aware it was there until he looked up and found the white shape almost directly in front of him.            He jerked the wheel to the right, forgetting to apply the rear brakes first.  The bike skidded, its back wheel rising off the ground as the front one stopped rolling.  He had a brief vision of the animal leaping forward, its rider clinging to its back, wide, frightened blue eyes, flying blonde hair...            The motorcycle went off the road, sliding into the ditch and running up the other side, the front fender striking one of the fence posts.  It bounced and rebounded, and Nick went flying over the handlebars, flipping in mid-air and hitting the same post with his back. The bike wavered a moment, then toppled onto its side.  Nick slid down the post, landing upside down in the ditch, his shoulders crushing coffeeweed into an aromatic mass.            The pounding hooves stopped.  He heard running footsteps, opened his eyes and saw someone running toward him.  He closed them again.            “Are you hurt?”            This time when he opened his eyes, he was staring at the upside-down face of a very pretty girl, at least she’d have been pretty if her face wasn’t screwed up into such a dismayed scowl.            “Am I hurt?”  He managed a growl as he slid further into the weeds and rolled over.  “I just hit a fence and got tossed into a ditch!  What do you think?”  Clambering to his knees, while she plucked ineffectually at one arm, he jerked out of her grasp.  “I can get up by my—  Ow!”              He’d gotten upright, took a step, and his leg buckled, turning at the ankle   “Here.”  She slid into the ditch, offering a hand.  Reluctantly he took it, being careful not to put too much weight behind it as he let her pull him to his feet.  He could see she was worried and he really wasn’t hurt all that bad, but he was angry because she’d been so reckless.            “What the Hell’s the matter with you?  Jumping in front of me like that!  If I’d hit that horse—”            “What are you doing riding this road?  This is private property.”            She was too pretty for him to pretend to stay angry at, so he toned it down, answering her question. “I got lost.  I only wanted to find the end of the road and turn around.”            “You have a way to go.  The house is about a quarter of a mile that way.”  She nodded toward a group of pines thrust into the road, hiding the rest of it from sight. Nick looked in that direction, then back at her.  She, in turn, looked at the motorcycle, still on its side in the weeds.  “You seem okay.  Is thathurt?”            Nick got down on one knee, feeling under the bike.  His hand came away wet.  He sniffed at his fingers.  Gasoline.He pulled off one glove, exploring gingerly.  Something had punched a hole in the gas tank and gasoline was pouring into the grass.  He had no idea how, but it didn’t matter.  What did was that he wasn’t going anywhere as long as that hole was there.            “Well?”  She appeared to be awaiting his diagnosis.            He wiped his fingers on the seat of his jeans.  “Gas tank’s got a hole in it, clutch cable’s severed. Is there a motorcycle shop around here anywhere?”            “No, but Marshall’s in town can probably repair it.  He does everything from lawn mowers to farm machinery.”            Oh Lord, deliver me from small town handymen!  He was about to tell her he didn’t want Marshall touching his bike when he realized, What else am I going to do?  Do you have a better idea, Mr. Runaway?            “So which way is town?”  He straightened, looked around as if expecting to see the city limits a few feet away.            “Too far for you to push that thing,” she answered, gesturing at the front wheel.  “Not with it twisted like that.”            “What do I do then, Miss Not-So-Helpful?  Since this is your fault—”            “My fault?”  Hands went to her hips.  And deliciously slim ones they were, too.  Nick had a moment to think she looked anything but angry, though it was apparent she thought she did.  Cute, maybe.  Hell, he might even say adorable with those blonde wisps floating around her face, but angry?  Nope!  “Who’s the trespasser?  Who had his head down, studying the ground when he should’ve been looking straight ahead?”            “You weren’t ahead of me,” he countered.  “You and that white tank of yours jumped a fence and came in from the side.”            “Never mind.  Just let me get the bike upright and point me in the right direction, and—”  “I’ll do no such thing.”  That made him stare at her, wondering if she was going to walk away, mount her white steed, and leave him stranded knee-deep in Kudzu or whatever-the-Hell these weeds were.  “I’ll ride back to the house and get my grandpa’s truck.  We”ll put the motorcycle in it.”            She clambered up the bank, running toward the horse now was grazing on the other side of the road.  Catching the reins and a handful of mane, she swung into the horse’s back—very gracefully, he noted—then turned the animal’s head and trotted it back to him.            “You stay right there,” she told him.  “I’ll be back in a jif!”  She kicked the horse in the ribs and sent it galloping down the road.            Nick turned his attention back to the V-Rod.  It hadn’t moved.  Did he expect it to get up and limp over to him like a dog with a hurt paw, whimpering for sympathy?  Shaking his head, he leaned against the edge of the ditch, back against a fencepost.            Welcome South, Brother!       
Runaway Brother can be purchased from the Publisher and Amazon.

Hope you enjoyed our guest today friends and that you'll check back regularly for Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlight!

Until next time good luck and God's blessings.
PamT

#TuesdayTreasures with Marilyn Baxter

Good Morning!

I pray your Thanksgiving was blessed and happy!

If you've followed me for long you know one of the things that gives me the most pleasure is to introduce you to a new-to-me author and today's guest is no exception. Please give Marilyn a huge, warm WELCOME!


Thank you, Pamela, for having me today!  When I think about the treasures in my life, I reflect on my writing days.  I came late to writing.  I sold my first story when I was almost 55 years old, and it appeared in True Confessions magazine.  In the years since, I have sold fifty or so stories and short features to the various confessions and romance magazines.  I learned a lot from the handful of editors I had at the magazines, and by way of a Yahoo group for “Trues Writers,” I met some wonderful people, some of whom I’ve met in person too. 
About ten years into my writing journey, an editor for a new small publisher came to speak to my RWA chapter.  I knew him by reputation because he had been with a large New York publisher that had closed.  During his talk to the group, he mentioned a contest they were having.  You wrote a novella based on a song title and got folks to vote for you.  The field would be narrowed down over a course of elimination rounds.  The editors would select the overall winner from the final 3.  I decided to go for it and submitted my novella, then staged a campaign to garner votes.  And I made it to the top 3! 
When the contest ended, and the winners were announced at the publisher’s open house at the 2013 RWA conference in Atlanta, the editors didn’t pick my novella as the overall winner.  But I had gotten the most popular votes, so they published my novella AND issued an invitation to submit a full-length novel too.  And the rest is history, as they say.  BETTER AS A MEMORY, my contest novella, was published in May of 2014, and DIRECT DEPOSIT, the full-length novel I submitted, was released in January of 2015.  Since then I’ve had 1 short story (called a Lunchbox Romance), 1 more full-length novel and 5 more novellas published. 
All these sales, all the other authors I’ve come to know, all the editors and other support staff I’ve worked with – they have filled my treasure chest with so much knowledge and joy.  And I hope I can keep adding to that treasure chest in the years to come. 
I love to connect with readers and other writers on Facebook or you can contact me via my website.  
Thanks again, Pamela, for the opportunity to share with your readers!
RESCUED features eight stories of love and rescuing while saving each other and a dog in need.  Publisher proceeds are being donated to Project Freedom Ride, a group that moves dogs from high-kill shelters to no-kill shelters and Marilyn Baxter is donating a portion of her royalties to the Greater Huntsville Humane Society. Contributing authors/stories are:  Bleu - L.P. Maxa,  Burnover - Diane Benefiel,  Abandoned Love - Cindy Holby,  Chaos - Gabi Stevens,  Sparks - Sheri Humphreys,  Oscar - Joan Bird,   Cocoa - Emily Mims and of course.....
Always a Hero - Marilyn Baxter 
When a hurricane threatens St. Magnus Island, deputy sheriff, Noah Tindall finds Lucy Jansen home alone. She hasn't evacuated along with all the other residents, and the reason - her foster dog is giving birth. Six pups later, Noah convinces Lucy to go to his home on higher ground. No power, a tornado warning, and cramped quarters make for intimacy neither want, but both end up craving. Forever.
Rescued can be purchased at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords and Kobo.

Wow, how wonderful Marilyn and what a great project! Thank YOU for sharing! 
Hope you enjoyed today's post friends and that you'll check back regularly for more Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlight.
Until next time take care and God bless. PamT

#SaturdaySpotlight is on Toni Sweeney & Regeneration

Good Morning!

I hope your Thanksgiving day and weekend was and continues to be BLESSED.

Today's spotlight guest is not new. Toni has shared treasures and the spotlight before but today she returns with her latest book, Regeneration !


Regeneration
Book 8,  the final entry of The kan Ingan ArchivesPart 2 of The Arcanian Chronicles


BLURB:
After the loss of his wife, home, and family, a position as Chief Researcher on the TerraFormation colony on Élysée seems a good way for Miles Sheffield to regain a normal life.
Aric kan Ingan sees becoming Head of Security on Élysée as an attempt at closure after the deaths of his wife and two eldest sons.
Neither counted on being the only men in a colony of fifty-three women.
Two men seeking redemption…a jungle sending eerie messages…a whispered word, the scent of a dead woman’s perfume…intrude into their psyches, offering metaphysical rebirth and a final chance for happiness.
…if a threat from Earth doesn’t destroy everything they’re regaining.

EXCERPT:
It got darker as the sun set but he didn’t turn on the lights. The robot maid hadn’t reset the kelvin beams before she left, so the wall was still open, letting in sounds from the jungle…a soft chirping like that of crickets…here and there a faint cheep as if birds were calling to each other, and the occasional harsh croak of a bullfrog. He wondered how much water was nearby. Was there a river or lake where frogs lived among lily pads while cranes waded in its current hunting for fish and other birds flew overhead?Am I getting fanciful or what?Aric never considered himself to be one for flights of imagination. Being a margrave usually drove out creativity except in ways to wage war or conduct intrigues, but looking out at that green darkness… He could see the shapes of trees, vines draped and swaying in a slight breeze. There was the rustle of branches brushing together. The wind brought a faint scent into the suite, lily-like and clean, like…freesia. Wasn’t that the name of the flower Susan had liked so? The fragrance changed, becoming the silvery bittersweet of parsilflowers, Pallas’ perfume.Aric breathed in the fragrance, feeling his body react as it always had when he smelled it…with longing. Could flowers native to Terra or Arcanis also be found on this planet?Abruptly he was very weary, wanted to do nothing more than immerse himself in the clear water in the pool, just float for a little while and sip his wine, then go to bed. He had no idea how late it was but six o’clock would come soon enough and he wanted to be alert and on his toes for his first day in his new life.It would probably be a bit of a madhouse, getting the children ready for school, fighting off eager females... Would he be expected to go with the children or would Net take care of that? He should’ve asked but he didn’t want to reactivate the droid now.Let her recharge. She’ll need every bit of energy she can absorb for tomorrow. Another thought struck. I hope to the gods Michael behaves himself.His eldest son was beginning to worry him. So far RD wasn’t a problem except when he tried to emulate his older brother.I suppose I should be grateful neither was old enough to tag along with Riven and Auric. Otherwise I might’ve lost a third son, too.Setting the goblet on the edge of the pool, Aric went to the cabinet Net had indicated.For once, I’m not going to worry, he decided. I’m not going to have a plan set up and mapped out. I’m going to adopt some of that lackadaisical Milky philosophy…let it come as it comes and if tomorrow’s disorganized, so be it. Work can be as regimented as possible. My private life can be chaos. I welcome it.He hoped he knew what he was talking about.The cabinet reminded him of his shirt chest at Lindenscraig, having six shelves behind its double doors. Instead of shirts, however, it held stacks of neatly folded towels fashioned of sheet-sized fluffy-napped white bamboo-based fabric. He took one out, opening it. It was big enough to wrap around his body. He dropped it over the back of a nearby chair and standing on one foot and then the other, pulled off his boots, then began to undress, placing his clothing in the chair.At the end of the pool there were tile steps leading into it. Picking up his goblet, Aric slid naked into the water. He wondered again why the pool was built inside the house. As he waded to the far edge, the answer came to him in the form of a memory, a fresco he’d seen in the newly-opened Museum of Alien Studies in Aljansur City. There was a depiction of something called a Roman bath and it looked very similar to the way the pool in his own living room was set up.This isn’t simply a swimming pool. It’s a social medium…a place where one invited guests. The exhibit said several territories on Terra used such places, where people gathered together, enjoying each other’s company, even talking business, while floating in sun-warmed water. That’s why the pool was divided by the wall. Inside was for socializing, outside was only for swimming. Of course.He doubted if he’d be doing much socializing of any kind, however. He certainly wasn’t going to be getting into the water if all his guests were female. Aric’s Arcanian heritage forbade men and women swimming at the same time. He wondered if he’d be able to overcome that prejudice if there were more men inhabiting the colony, especially if they were Terran men who thought nothing of swimming with members of the opposite sex.Of course, if it did happen, he’d have to invest in what the Milkies called swimsuits.Right now, however, for him inside was going to be for thought and reflection. The water was warm enough to make him drowsy. There was a gentle current as it was pulled by the drains through a filtration system and recycled out again. It gurgled loud enough to make a monotonously soothing sound. One arm along the pool’s edge, Aric leaned back and allowed himself to be lulled.Here I am…just Miles and myself, two men in a colony of fifty-three women. Whenever I use the word he from now on, I’ll be referring to Miles and no one else. Our sons don’t count. Can we really make this work?Remembering how women pursued him when he was an Exile, he had no doubt it’d happen again. Even with all the other men on Pyras, they’d singled him out because he was untouchable. And here? No matter what rules were laid down, he was certain he and Miles were going to be viewed as prizes in a contest between all the females, whether they were encouraged or not. As Delia said, they were all in the race.He hoped there’d be no problem between him and Miles.Please gods, don’t let any woman cause dissention between us.They’d never had any on Pyras. For part of the time there, Aric had been under the vows of celibacy enforced by his Exile, while Miles’ post-adolescent hormones sent him running rampant among the younger women in the colony. Then Miles found Becky and Aric admitted he loved Susan.Now, we’re both older, though perhaps not wiser. Let’s say more cautious…Anyway, what did it matter? As long as the women managed to keep a professional demeanor during working hours……who the Hell cares what happens once the office doors close?

BUY LINKS:
Paperback exclusively from the publisher’s website: http://www.classactbooks.com/cat-romance/regeneration-9212018-09-13-19-44-56-detailAmazon for Kindle and e-books: https://www.amazon.com/Regeneration-Part-Arcanian-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B07HD6CQ5H/

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Toni V. Sweeney has lived 30 years in the South, a score in the Middle West, and a decade on the Pacific Coast and now she’s trying for her second 30 on the Great Plains.
Since the publication of her first novel in 1989, Toni divides her time between writing SF/Fantasy under her own name and romances under her pseudonym Icy Snow Blackstone.   In March, 2013, she became publicity manager for Class Act Books (US) . She is also on the review staff of the New York Journal of Books and the paranormal Romance Guild. In 2016, she was named a Professional Reader by netgalley.com.
Find out more about Toni:
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/tvsweeneyAmazon Author’s Page: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002BLQBB8MySpace: https://myspace.com/tvsweeneyGoodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard
Twitter:  @ToniVSweeney
Hope you enjoyed today's spotlight and that you'll check back often for more Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlights.
Until next time take care and God bless. PamT

Happy Thanksgiving!

There is no Thursday Thoughts guest today so I just wanted to take a moment and wish YOU and YOURS a Blessed and Happy Thanksgiving!


I am going against orders from my massage therapist here and spending a little time on the computer. Seems the muscles in my arm (between wrist and elbow) as well as shoulder (not uncommon for me since an accident in 2004) - anyway, the muscles in both locations are severely knotted up. 
I will be taking the entire weekend off to rest those muscles.
God bless Each and Every One of YOU!
I appreciate you ALL more than words can express

If you're not out shopping (or wore out from shopping) PLEASE visit on Saturday and support my spotlight guest, Toni Sweeney.

PamT

#TuesdayTreasures with Carol James!

Good Morning!

Today's guest is brand new to our blog so please give Carol James a huge WELCOME! as she shares something she treasures with us....


Mom's Dishes.....I gently placed the small yellow platter on the counter and smiled at the salesperson. “This was my mother’s dinnerware pattern. I have a blue bowl and a green bowl at home . . . all that’s left from her set. And this is the first time I’ve never seen any pieces in an antique store.”            “Don’t you want the pink one, too?” She winked.            I hadn’t seen it, but yes, I definitely wanted it. My best friend and I had walked into the little antique store in Clarksville, Georgia on a whim, just to pass the time. I had no idea the treasure awaiting me there.             I guess you could say my mother was a minimalist. When I was a child, I always wondered why our house lacked the delicate knick-knacks, lovely wall art, and the forests of plants my friends had. But as an adult, I understand.             My father was a career military officer. The longest we ever lived any one place while I was growing up was two years. An average timeframe was much less. More possessions meant more to pack when you moved and more to grieve over when things became broken or lost in transit. So early in her marriage, my mother made a decision. Her treasured possessions were her family.             My Mom loved cooking, so the one extravagance she allowed herself was setting a beautiful table. We always ate on her pastel dinnerware with sterling silver flatware and crystal glasses. Never plastic or stainless, and paper plates were for picnics only.             I can remember her teaching me how to use part of my index finger as a ruler to evenly align the bottom edge of the dinner plates and silverware with the edge of the table. Forks on the left, knives and spoons on the right, dessert cutlery across the top. The knife edges and napkin openings always faced inward toward the plate. When my job was done and the table was set, she’d go outside and take clippings of whatever plants were growing around our quarters and create a centerpiece a florist would be proud to claim. 
            When my father came home, our family would sit around the candlelit table. He’d say a blessing, and we’d eat and share our days. The meal would always end with a similar appropriate comment. Daddy would say, “Lillian, I believe that’s about the best pork chop I ever ate.”            The four pieces of my mother’s dinnerware are beautiful to me. Not for their monetary value, but for the memories they evoke and for the lesson they symbolize about priorities, about what is lasting. About what we should truly treasure. What a Wonderful story, Carol and definitely something to treasure!
Carol James is an author of inspirational fiction. She lives in a small town outside of Atlanta, Georgia with her husband, Jim, and a perky Jack Russell "Terrorist," Zoe.

Having always loved intriguing stories with happy endings, she was moved to begin writing to encourage others as she'd been encouraged by the works of other authors.
Her upcoming novel, The Waiting, will be available January, 2019.
Her Christmas novella, Mary’s Christmas Surprise, is currently available for pre-purchase on Amazon and on the Pelican Book Group website.
   Connect with Carol at:www.carol-james.comFacebook.com/CarolJamesAuthorhttps://www.instagram.com/caroljamesauthorhttps://twitter.com/CarolJamesAuth 
Thank you so much Carol for sharing your treasures with us. 
I hope you enjoyed the post friends and that you'll check back for more Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlights.
Until next time good luck and God's blessings! PamT

#SaturdaySpotlight is on Laura DeNooyer & All That is Hidden!

Good Morning!

In September I introduced you to Laura DeNooyer when she shared treasures with us. Laura returned in October with some thoughts on the elephant in the room. Today we're getting a peek into her novel, All That is Hidden so please give her a warm WELCOME....

“All of God’s earth to my brother Nick and me were the streams for fishing, the fields for planting and harvesting, a world snugly enclosed by the blue-misted Smokies. . . . Other than the seasons, nothing ever changed. . . .”

Until the summer of 1968.
Ten-year-old Tina Hamilton’s life changes forever. Trouble erupts when a proposed theme park threatens her tiny Appalachian town. Some folks blame the trouble on “progress,” some blame the space race and men meddling with the moon’s cycles, and some blame Tina’s father. A past he has hidden catches up to him, his family, and the entire town. Suddenly, the clash of a father’s past and present becomes the microcosm of the clash between progressive ideas and small town values.
Tina struggles with her shaken confidence in a father who, in hiding his past, has made a string of choices that shape her childhood. Gradually, Tina gains insight into her father through seemingly unrelated circumstances: her feud with a fellow ballplayer, her friendship with Old Joe who lives alone on the mountain, a gift left to her father by a neighbor fourteen years dead, and a broken promise.
Meticulously researched, this moving and engaging coming-of-age tale is a delightful, richly-textured tapestry of family stories woven with the timeless wisdom of generations past, all of which guide Tina and create the fabric of a journey to forgiveness that will warm your heart.
Tina is forced to answer a difficult question: are secrets worth the price they cost to keep?
Pour yourself a cup of tea, settle in, and come along. Then you decide.


EXCERPT:

Dad spoke differently with Phil than with anyone else I knew. In addition to his northern speech, longer sentences and complicated explanations took the place of his short, pithy quotes and simple observations. It must have been how they used to talk together up in New York.
Phil said, “I’ve done my homework, too, and the job problem has not yet been solved.”
“Well, I don’t care to have a repeat of the Blue Ridge Parkway project. That, too, supplied jobs and necessary revamping but it also built so many new and good roads that life here changed forever, the biggest change in my mind being the tourist draw. We’re not called the Good Roads State for nothing. And this park, to be successful, would warrant more development—”
“The Parkway project is an unfair comparison,” Phil countered. “Besides, the theme park will complement, not destroy, the nature and heritage of these mountains, while improving the economy at the same time.”
“Of course I understand that, but even if it starts out that way, it’s not always going to live up to its good intentions. We’ll end up overcrowded with cheap souvenir shops and silly amusements. Investors will come to set up shop and exploit us. Fields and trees will be plowed over and we’ll all be run by clocks and schedules.”
“Some things will be sacrificed, yes, but not without great reward. Think of all that land out there going to waste! We’re going to make it more available to everybody—”
“And reap money out of their pockets.” Dad’s voice was agitated. “Is that how we measure the land’s value, by how many people use it? By how much money we can make from it?”
“Drew,” Phil spoke deliberately, “I find it hard to believe that you are one of the finest and longest standing members on this town council yet you are blind to the unemployment situation. You put a bigger price on preserving that land out there than you do on people’s welfare—”
“That comment is out of line and you know it.”
“I’m not so sure. Look, whatever side of Civil Rights you’re on, when that whole rioting business blows over, both colored and whites alike can be served by this park. We could be a model town of progress not only in our county but in our state. Your vehement opposition to this is unfair to all those in town who are so easily influenced by you.”
There was a pause and I could picture my father taking a deep breath to compose himself, the way he did with me on the verge of reproof. He spoke again, his pace slower, his tone reasonable. “Phil, I never tell anyone what to think and I don’t appreciate your inference. I merely believe that the list of cons outweighs the pros and I’m happy to pass that list along to any interested party. Not to mention—this is the south. Let’s face it. A park that serves both colored and whites alike is not necessarily going to be welcome here.” The couch springs squeaked as Dad sat back down and calmly continued. “And even with all your Economics Research Associates feasibilities studies, you’ve no guarantee of the park’s success.”
Papers rustled again as if for emphasis. Phil said, “The same numbers you quoted earlier to prove that the tourist industry is alive and well are the same numbers that guarantee the success of this park.”
“But you can’t operate on idealism here,” Dad countered. “Every attempt by anyone else to try something similar to Disneyland has failed and that would surely be a waste of our resources. And even if it were successful, I’m not so sure I want a Disneyland duplicate around here.”
Phil took on a sarcastic tone. “Yes, and we all know how much artistic integrity Disney sacrificed to create his little paradise. You of all people shouldn’t be threatened by your architectural bias. This is truly ironic to hear you—”
“People change. I’ve seen what happened to the Cherokee tradition around here, adulterating real Indian crafts and customs. Something is lost when things go on display like museum pieces that tourists can walk by, point to, and remark how quaint it all is.”
Another pause lingered, then Phil spoke with quiet pity, as if delivering a diagnosis for a terminal illness. “I’m sorry you’ve grown so opposed to progress.”
“Progress? Progress? Now that’s a misnomer if I ever heard one.” Again, Dad stopped to collect himself. “To have to market ourselves in order to be worth something is a downright falsehood. Is it progress to link our town to highways and big cities, the rat race, and rushing around? And when our kids have to wake up every morning wondering who’s going to beat them to the big job or the big salary? When they start counting money and positions instead of old-fashioned values and—”
“Baseball cards, Drew. Baseball cards and home runs. Kids can’t stay sheltered from the rest of the world forever. They’ve got to learn there’s more to life than just a sandlot game. And it’s not our intention to cash in our small town values, but instead to bring in some big town ideas for the betterment of everyone. Now that’s progress.”
“You may see the park as a ticket for that, but I see it as a one-way ticket from tranquility to a lot of things I never want my children to see.”
“Like what you did in New York?” Phil’s voice was sharp. Mom’s head perked up as she stood washing dishes.
My father did not reply so Phil added, “It’s a shame we can’t work together like we used to. Until today, I still had hope that there was even a speck of the old you. But now I see you’ve really changed, Drew.”
“I see it as a change for the better.”

BIO:
Award-winning author Laura DeNooyer lives with her husband Tim near Milwaukee, Wisconsin. They have four adult children. On either end of child rearing, she taught middle school and high school English, creative writing, and/or art. She currently teaches writing to home schooled students, participates in writers conferences and critique groups, and hosts a blog that celebrates creativity: Journey to Imagination. Laura has a young adult fantasy series underway, as well as historical fiction for adults. Find out more by visiting Laura's Blog and connecting with her on Facebook. 
All That is Hidden can be purchased at Amazon.
Thanks for sharing your book with us, Laura! We certainly wish you the best of luck and God's blessings.
Until later, friends....take care and God bless. PamT

#TuesdayTreasures with Erin Unger

Good Morning Friends and Welcome to another edition of Tuesday Treasures!

Today's guest is new to our blog so let's please give Erin Unger a huge....H-E-L-L-O and Welcome!

Hello everyone! Tuesdays are the best days. They are quite literally a treasure to me. And how cool is it to have a chance to chat with you on my favorite day? I’m sure you’re wondering why I’d pick that day of the week as a favorite. It is a bit odd. But the reason I love it is because I’m fortunate enough to have the majority of my family over for family night every Tuesday. If you came for a visit that day, you’d be swamped by the best good-natured people you could meet. We average 14-30—or more—people every time. Aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, my mom and dad, friends, cousins ... everyone is welcome. Just bring a potluck meal to share. Add a game and fun conversation to the merriment and you can see why we love our get-togethers.

Every meal is themed. We all get to vote on what we want to have the following week. Sometimes it’s pizza night, sometimes tacos, you name it, we’ve probably shared that meal together.
In my romantic suspense novel releasing March 29, 2019, Maddie Clare also loves family time with her cousins. She enjoys a good board game or two—when she’s not running from a stalker. Throw in a chance to one-up her arch enemy ex-boyfriend, Joze Evans, in a game of monopoly, and you can see why she can’t wait for the next get-together of her own.
Do you get to share precious time with your family? Comment below on your most treasured times with family.
Erin Unger was raised in the hills of Virginia, exploring abandoned houses and reading the scariest books she could find. After marrying so young it would make a great romance novel, she has enjoyed an exciting life with her hubby. But her fast-paced life sometimes rivals the suspense in her books thanks to all her mostly grown children and a couple grandkids. Find out more about Erin and follow her at her website, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Erin's novel,  Practicing Murder , releases March 29, 2019. Find her other books on her Amazon Author Page.
Book Blurb: Graduate student Maddie Clare is never talking to her ex-boyfriend Joze Evans or God again. Broken from her past and Joze’s betrayal, she must go home for her Aunt Lonna’s funeral. But after a run-in with a stalker, who insists Maddie knows the secret that had Aunt Lonna investigating him, she’s afraid for her life and must accept Joze’s protection.
As the stalker draws closer, how will Maddie and Joze face the past and their love that never died? And will Maddie stay out of the stalker’s grip long enough to figure out what secret he possesses?

Oh wow, Erin, how fun and interesting! Thanks for sharing.
Hope you enjoyed the post friends and that you'll check back regularly for Tuesday Treasures, Thursday Thoughts and Saturday Spotlight. 
Until next time, good luck and God's blessings PamT