Annette Mori's Blog, page 17
November 5, 2021
Tease Me…
I read an interesting thread on Facebook about book teasers. It got me thinking, do people actually enjoy, read, and most importantly make book purchases from book teasers? As usual, I went on an internet search trying to find the oldest book teaser, or the origins of book teasers. Nothing, nada, nil. I didn’t find anything but advice on how to write a book teaser or more appropriately, what section to select when offering a teaser. However, I did find a tiny bit of information on the history of book trailers, which are a sort of teaser.
The earliest book trailer I found, was for the book Wildwood by John Farris, which incorporated images from his book cover along with various actors (none of whom I recognized). There is even an award for book trailers called the Traillie Award established in 2007. I like the book trailers that Affinity does with our new releases. If only we could convince Ruby Rose to make a cameo appearance…or maybe Angelina Jolie. I’m not picky…LOL!
In the thread, I posted about not really knowing if the teaser is worth the effort. There were quite a few people who remarked on enjoying teasers from this favorite author (not me…LOL). So…I wondered if that applies to all authors or just the famous ones? Lately, I’ve not been in the mood to do Facebook live teasers or much of anything besides this Friday blog. Honestly, it isn’t like going live is hard or copying a scene from an upcoming book to post as a teaser takes a lot of effort, but I just haven’t been in the mood lately. I even stopped doing Teaser Tuesday, which is a super quick post grabbing a quote from a book. Why? I don’t know…I can’t pinpoint the specific reason. Laziness? Maybe. But more likely it’s my less than positive attitude about whether there is a return on investment. Granted, it isn’t a lot of work but does take some time to find the “right” clip to read or post. And, I never feel like I’ve quite hit the nail on the head. More like hitting my thumb with a hammer (I have had to explain a teaser before that led people down a very wrong path).
Ultimately, I was re-energized by the comments, thinking that perhaps there is at least one person out there who might appreciate the teasers, even for someone like me who isn’t famous. So…or those who loved Bri, Sierra, Olivia, and Deb from Unconventional Lovers, here’s a teaser for the short holiday story coming out in Mid-November, called Donner Jr. Saves the Day. Fortunately, they changed the original title, Donner is Dead…LOL! Clearly, titles, blurbs, and probably teasers are definitely the bain of my existence!
The tinkle of the bell followed by a loud bang, alerted Olivia to the fact that something was seriously wrong. She was prepared for a medical emergency and not what she saw after emerging from the exam room.
The clinic wasn’t open yet. She’d prepped for the first appointment as she hummed while restocking the supplies. Running from the room she came face to face with her niece’s obvious despair. Tears were streaming down her face and the crooked grin Olivia was so used to seeing was absent.
If some ignorant asshat had said something hateful to her beloved niece, she would track the little bastard down and slice him open with a lecture of epic proportions. Most of the people in Moses Lake were kind, but lately those in prominent positions had given every closet bigot the license to spew hateful rhetoric. Suddenly, they’d emerged from those dark corners and their disgust for her niece’s innocent displays of affection to her wife resulted in not only disapproving gazes but revolting taunts. Others disguised their well-meaning opinions with old prejudices not only reserved for two young lesbians with Down syndrome but any Down syndrome couple. The worst one was when old Mrs. Cunningham had said, “At least they can’t procreate.” Olivia had come unglued with that statement and told her to take Fluffy to another vet clinic. She wasn’t ever going to allow someone to spew ignorance anywhere near her.
Olivia opened her arms and Bri ran to her. “Bri, honey, what’s wrong?”
“Donner is dead.” The wet tears began to soak Olivia’s scrubs.
“Donner? Who is Donner?” Olivia began stroking Bri’s back, attempting to soothe her and find out more. She was relieved her tears weren’t the result of a mean comment.
“Mr. Klausen’s reindeer.” Bri separated from Olivia, her eyes wide and pleading. “Oh, Aunt Olivia, you have to help. Cupid and Rudolf are sick, too.”
Olivia slung her arm around Bri’s shoulder and led her to a chair in her back office. She rolled her desk chair out from behind her desk. “Bri, you know I’m not a large animal vet, I’m not sure how much help I can be.”
“I can help. I’ll calm them. Please Aunt Olivia. You have to save Christmas. You’re the only one who can. Donner Junior can take over, but if any of the others die…”
Olivia patted Bri’s hand. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. You know Mr. Klausen is not Santa Claus, right? He may look a lot like him and have an implausibly similar name, but Santa Claus is not real. He plays the part for the kids.”
“I know that, I’m not a child.” Bri furrowed her brow, showing her rare bout of stubbornness. “His sleigh rides and the farm are important. It won’t be Christmas without them.”
“You’re right, honey. It won’t be the same. Where’s Siera this morning?”
Olivia saw the crooked smile return. “She’s going shopping for my present. I told Siera I would take the morning appointments.”
A smile of her own graced Olivia’s lips when she asked, “Oh, did Deb take her? Do you know what store they were going to?”
“You shouldn’t try to find out what Aunt Deb is getting you for Christmas, that’s wrong.”
“Who appointed you the moral police?” Olivia teased. “Besides, I’ll find out what Siera is getting you, if you ask Siera where Deb went to get my present.” Olivia touched Bri on the tip of her nose.
Bri shook her head. “Nope.” She pinched her lips. “My lips are sealed.”
“Traitor.”
Bri giggled and just like that, Olivia had her perpetually cheerful and loving niece back. Olivia worried about the reindeer. If there was a disease spreading in large animals that could be disastrous for the community.
“When can you see Mr. Klausen’s reindeer? I told him you would help.”
Olivia raised her eyebrow. “Oh, you did, did you?” She poked Bri’s stomach and began tickling. She nodded again. “I said he needed the best vet in town and that’s you, Aunt Olivia.”
If you liked that teaser, I hope you’ll check out the short story and of course my other books. Simply click the links below! Don’t forget about this week’s sale books from my Affinity sister authors: Desert Heat by Dannie Marsden (a favorite of mine from Dannie) and My Fair Maiden, another favorite from Del Robertson.
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October 29, 2021
Trick or Treat
While Halloween is not my favorite holiday, it is one that ranks high on my list. I mean, really, what’s not to like? Adults get to dress up and eat all the extra candy that isn’t handed out. Because…of course, our mothers always taught us not to waste food. Who could blame us for eating the leftover candy?
Over the years I have been everything from a Teletubby to a carton of milk paired with my lover at the time who was an oreo cookie. I’ve also dabbled in the DC Universe and have dressed as both a Villain (Catwoman) and heroine (Wonder Woman). I can’t really say that I rocked either costume, but I had fun. I don’t know if it’s the COVID effect or something else, but I haven’t put any thought into this year’s costume and don’t think I’ll dress us. Although, I have been provided the perfect excuse to dress up because I will be joining a virtual Lady Grimm Halloween party hosted by IReadIndies at 3PM Eastern time. There won’t be any readings at the event, but there will be questions for all the authors and y’all get to decide if we are answering those questions with a truth or a lie. Oh….the fun I am going to have with that. Of course when you give a storyteller permission to lie…we can make up some whoppers…but don’t assume we’ll all be lying!
So…here is this week’s research on the topic…I wanted to know the origin of trick or treat. The origins are a bit fuzzy but can be loosely traced back to the original Celtic celebration called Samhain where villagers dressed in costumes and banquet tables were prepared with food. In Medieval times, the tradition evolved to people dressing as ghosts or demons who performed tricks in exchange for food. England took the traditions a bit further in the nineteenth century, where the less fortunate souls would visit the houses of wealthier families. On those visits, they would collect pastries called soul cakes in exchange for prayers for the souls of the homeowners’ dead relatives. Known as “souling.” This evolved to the modern-day tradition when children began going door to door asking for gifts such as food, money, and ale. Ah…to have lived during that time and gotten ale instead of candy! We can definitely thank the Irish fleeing the potato famine for bringing the Halloween traditions to the US.
I hope y’all will join the party on the 31st. It is sure to be a treat for all. Of course, I also hope you check out my books as we ease on into Fall. What goes better with reading than a roaring fire and a cup of tea or coffee? Just click the links below! Don’t forget to check out the sale books with MyLesfic.com. This week is Ali Spooner week, with two of my fellow Affinity sister’s books on sale: Sugarland and Bayou Justice.
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Affinity Author PageOctober 22, 2021
Ode to My Father
As many of you who follow me may know, I lost my father last Friday. While it was a very sad day for me and my family, we all wanted a peaceful passing for him because he was in so much pain in the end, and he had a very good life. As we reminisced and told not only Dad stories, but Mom, Grandmom and Grandad stories, I thought about the number of times I’ve woven bits and pieces of my parents and grandparents into stories. However, some of the best stories, have yet to be told. I guess that means I am not done writing until all those stories find their way into my books.
One of my father’s favorite things to do was to tell family stories, often about my grandmother who was quite a character. But I also learned that my father had gone fishing with Ernest Hemingway when he was a boy. As the story goes when he asked Mr. Hemingway what he did for a living, he replied, “I do a little writing.” In the end, he recycled a lot of those stories we had already heard, probably embellishing a few details here and there. It didn’t matter that we had already heard the same story at least a hundred times, because that is who my father was. He loved to entertain and was a great storyteller.
As we started the process of clearing out his house, we found letters he sent to my mother when they were apart back in the late 50’s and early 60’s. Those were true treasures because it provided a glimpse into who he was as a young man. It was clear that my parents were very poor, but even more apparent was his love for us and my mother. Every single letter talked about missing us and Mom and looking forward to when Mom would return with us after a visit with my grandparents. Because he had to work and they were so poor, I imagine that Mom took us for a visit with our grandparents and that is why they were apart. I don’t really know. The letters were in the spring of 1959 and summer of 1963. It was also fascinating to read the language of the time. Since my father was a school psychologist, one letter spoke of a boy he had tested who he got into outpatient therapy. He mentioned the boy had “latent homosexual tendencies.” What I don’t know is if my father thought at the time he should have therapy because of those tendencies. I wish I could ask him about it, but I can’t now. Ultimately, we all believe that my mother is taking good care of him and someone has been sending us messages. The lights and fan have come on during odd times when nobody is near the remote. We are confident, Mom or Dad is trying to tell us they are fine and finally together again. The last ten years were hard on him without Mom.
Not sure how to close this blog, but want to make sure you don’t forget about the two sale books in MyLesfic this week. One of them is mine, The Termination and the other is from the very talented Ali Spooner, Love’s Playlist.
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The Rear View Window and the Windshield
A common trope in romance centers around how a person’s past affects future relationships. It’s often used as a way to explain a person’s hesitancy to get involved with someone new. Sometimes it’s a bad break up in the past. Sometimes it is a deceased partner they simply cannot get over. Sometimes there is real and serious trauma that colors the way they see the world and try to navigate new waters. I don’t believe I’m the only one who enjoys reading about this. Probably because I think everyone does to varying degrees…allows the past dictate the future. And to a small degree we can take lessons from the past to help us shape a better future. That is healthy. Ruminating over the past is not.
I suspect all of us, no matter how emotionally healthy we are, have allowed our pasts to influence our futures. Sometimes it makes us stronger. It certainly is the foundation for a good love story. Angst sells. However, I wonder what this world would be like if those who have a hard time letting go of the past would embrace this simple insight that my brother in law shared with me…There is a good reason for the size of the rear view mirror in proportion to that of the windshield.
So…what does this mean? Simply put, looking forward and leaving the past in the past is a much healthier thing to do. Now, I am not saying this is easy, and there are so many reasons why people dwell on the past. However, finding a way to keep this perspective in mind has so many rewards. Constantly rehashing old hurts has never done a bit of good. Getting to that point where one can look forward, though, is easier said than done when the individuals involved cannot see a way past the hurt and trauma of the past. When we allow the rear view mirror to grow in size and block our windshield, it is nearly impossible to see that blessed future. This is probably the most profound thing I have learned in the past week as I struggle with the impending loss of my father.
I told my brother in law, I need to write this comparison of the rear view mirror into one of my books, it was so profound to me. Perhaps I will sneak it into my current WIP. Regardless, every great love story, has the main characters doing just that…not letting the past define them or their relationships. A bright future is the equivalent of a happily ever after. Want to see how I engineer that in my books…you know the drill, simply click the links below. And…don’t forget about the MyLesfic.com sales this week. I am so excited that my two best selling books, Asset Management and Locked Inside are on sale. Unfortunately, I jumped the gun last week…but honest…this week they really are on sale, as opposed to the little mistake last week that was promptly corrected…thank you MyLesfic!
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Kitten Therapy…
I don’t remember ever hearing the term kitten therapy when I was growing up. Coming from a family of psychologists (my father, sister, and brother-in-law) you would think this breakthrough therapy would have made it to the dinner table for discussion of the merits, but alas it did not! So, of course I had to do some research to find out when this particular form of therapy came about, and if it’s really a thing or just some new age term invented by the newer generations.
In my research, the only reference to kitten therapy I found was the development of a kitten box situated next to the Los Angeles courthouse by Soul Pancake (an organization started by actor Rainn Wilson) and Purina Tidy Cats. The article was from 2016, so I’m not sure if they coined the term or if it was used prior to 2016. They literally brought kittens from a local shelter, accompanied by a trainer and shelter representation into a box and let people play with them to reduce their stress. And…no big surprise…it worked. Here is a link to the video: https://youtu.be/35T8wtmTbVg Having worked in healthcare most of my adult life, I was of course knowledgeable about pet therapy that was periodically touted in the late 90s and early 2000s as a way to make the hospital stay or living in a nursing home a lot more pleasant. Hospitals rushed to develop pet visitation policies because allergies and other potential issues were very real issues to resolve if these programs were going to work. I remember our hospital debating about whether a miniature horse could visit, which apparently had sort of been allowed when the horse was brought to the patient’s window a few years back so she could see her beloved pet.
As the video says….”You can’t be stressed after sitting in a box full of kitten.” Truer words have never been said! I wonder if there is such a thing as “book therapy?” I often have the same effect when curling up with a good book. If you do as well, maybe you will grab one of my books and it will make you smile, laugh, etc. You know the drill, just click on the links below. Don’t forget that both Locked Inside and Sculpting Her Heart are now out in Audible and getting great reviews! Also, check out this week’s sales on MyLesfic.com, Alane Hotchkin has Once Upon a Time on Sale this week.
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Shiny New Objects
Most everyone knows I have a touch of OCD, but lately I’m wondering about my increasing lack of attention to any one thing. I’ll read while watching the news (and yelling at the news), then I’ll switch over to one of my games (Bingo, Word Serenity or Match to Win) or I’ll scroll through Facebook, Twitter, and e-mail, all while petting at least one of my attention starved cats. My wife vacillates between amusement and irritation over the amount of time I spend on these games. When I was addicted to Kitten Match, I would play all day, so I had to delete that app. Unfortunately, these games pay cash and I’m hooked, thinking the next scratch or win will be the big one for me! I dream of waking my wife up one morning, shouting that I just won a thousand dollars. But, what is evident to me is that I gravitate to the next shiny object. Eventually, I am sure I’ll delete these games and find something else to satisfy my miniscule attention span. I’m not sure if my cat, Nicky, takes after me, or I take after her. We joke about Nicky being our little ADHD kitty because she is constantly getting into something. It’s like she’s bored and just looking to get into trouble.
I am embarrassed to admit that I do this with books as well. I’ll be reading one book and pop onto Facebook, only to be reminded of the next book that I must read based on recommendations from people I trust. This will cause me to download whatever new book catches my eye, even if I have ten already in the queue, and then I start on that book right away. This doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying whatever book I’m reading, I simply have the attention span of a gnat. This morning, I did that very thing, I was happily reading the other stories in the Lady Grimm II and very much enjoying them, but I had to have Hat Trick by KL Gallagher and Ali Spooner, so I promptly bought that book and started reading it. Now I am bouncing between the two, while playing games, and writing this blog!
If there are other people out there like me, who just have to get the latest book by a favorite author, maybe a few of you follow me and are looking for something new. Well…you know the drill, just click one of the links below. Besides The Others having come out in July (I know ages ago), I have a short story in Lady Grimm II, a short in The Lone Star Collection coming out soon, and Sculpting Her Heart is coming out in audio soon! Hopefully you’ll want to grab all of those shiny new objects! And…don’t forget about the two sale books this week from Affinity authors, with my book The Review on sale as well as Alane Hotchkin’s My Everything.
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My How Time Flies…
So…I woke up this morning (early) and when I looked at my iPad, I gasped. How the hell is it Friday already? Needless to say, I was not at all prepared with a blog. Somehow, even in retirement, the days seem to blow by quickly. Believe it or not, I’ve been busy writing, editing, baking and making pesto all week and before I realized it, Friday was here. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a topic to write about, and pulling something from my ass this morning is proving quite difficult. So…I am taking the easy way out and going to share the very first part of the WIP I am working on and hope the readers out there will give me a little slack for my laziness.
Right now, the working title is Georgetown Glenn: Queermunity Living at its Finest. Special thanks to Amy Bright for her suggestion of Georgetown Glenn and Vicki Harris for Queermunity Living. Without further ado…here is the teaser.
Chapter One
Lucy Manetti bounded into her two-bedroom condo, bouncing like Tigger the Tiger from Winnie the Pooh. Pushing back her bangs on her shoulder-length mostly dark-brown hair, compliments of good genetics from her mother, the mirth in her warm brown eyes sparkled as she shared her good news. At least, it was good news for Lucy. Bea, her wife, would undoubtedly overreact at first, but then Lucy was sure she would be as enamored with the idea as Lucy was. Sometimes Bea needed to get used to change or new ideas.
“You what?”
“I bought a ghost town,” Lucy exclaimed and grabbed her partner of thirty-five years, twirling her around.
Bea scowled, disengaging herself, taking a disapproving posture. Then, with her hands on her hips, she asked, “Where did you get the money?”
Lucy grinned. “I used my forced retirement settlement. What a deal, right? I’ve always wanted to be the mayor, and now I am. Ooh, you can be the sheriff and keep out all the riffraff.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? What the hell are we going to do with a ghost town?” Bea shook her snow-white bob and narrowed her blue-green eyes that had enamored Lucy nearly forty years ago when they’d met at a potluck.
“I always wanted to live out my golden years in a lesbian commune. Now we can. All we need is to attract a few more lesbians to join us. There isn’t much there right now, but there’s this lovely young couple who own an alpaca farm in the adjacent unincorporated areas. Cute as two little bugs, those two. Great legs and ass, too.”
Bea sat heavily on the couch. “Let me think for a minute. People have buyer’s remorse all the time. I’m sure there is some period where we can back out of the deal. We might lose a few thousand, but at least we won’t have thrown away the entire settlement. Who is the real estate agent you used?”
“Well, it was that cute alpaca farmer. She just got her real estate license. Apparently, it’s difficult making ends meet as an alpaca farmer. She needed another occupation. Real estate sounded easy enough.”
Bea’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits again. “How could you let a pair of great legs con you? Wait until I get my hands on that swindling hussy.”
“It wasn’t like that. You have to see this town. Come on, with your carpentry skills, we can bring it back to its glory. A little loving care and one of the bedrooms above the saloon will be perfect for us.” Lucy waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll bet those bedrooms used to have ladies of the night in them. Isn’t that a hoot? Not only do we own a saloon, but we also own the bordello attached to it. At least I think that’s what those bedrooms above the saloon were for.”
“We are not moving to some ghost town and into a place with rotting wood, no electricity, or plumbing.”
Lucy waved her hand in the air. “All easy fixes. We can hire a few baby dykes to install electrical and plumbing in all the structures.”
“How many buildings?”
Lucy shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. A dozen, maybe. Besides the saloon, there’s the mercantile, several old houses, the hotel, and the church. But, of course, we don’t need the church. We can turn that into a bingo hall or dance venue. Ooh, how about a theater for both movies and live performances? That would be awesome. I’ve always wanted to own a theater.”
“I cannot talk to you when you’re in this space. Your impulsivity is going to be the death of me.” Bea leaned forward, putting her head in her hands while ruffling her hair in that adorably messy way that had Lucy panting with want over the years.
Joining Bea on the couch, Lucy rubbed her back. “It’s all gonna be okay, Bea, I promise. We need a little excitement in our golden years. Admit it, my adventurous nature is what you fell in love with all those years ago. I don’t want to settle into some boring, sedentary retirement, gaining ten pounds a year until we’re too wide to get through the door.”
Bea turned her head and, with a tiny smile, said, “You’ll never be too wide to get through the door. You better take me to this town that we now own so I can assess the damage. And, I’m still going to want to have a conversation with the real estate agent.”
Lucy clapped her hands together. “That’s the spirit. Wait until you meet Fi. She’s absolutely adorable.”
“Fi?”
“The all-around fix-it gal that Amelia and Darcy recommended. She actually has a fancy degree in restorations, so she’ll be perfect for the job.” Lucy held up her hand. “Before you get all judgy and jealous, she’s practically young enough to be my granddaughter. Her full name is Fiona Riley. We talked about all kinds of things, but mainly about how she wishes she could find someone to share her life with. I guess it’s kind of lonely living in a town in the middle of nowhere. So we should help her find someone.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no. You will not play matchmaker again. Your niece does not need any help to find available partners. She told you that the last time you tried to set her up with the firefighter that came to our place when the propane grill had a leak and flames nearly burned our house down. So promise me you’ll stay out of her business. And who the hell are Amelia and Darcy?”
“The alpaca farmers. Fi is Amelia’s best friend, and Amelia didn’t think it was a horrible idea to introduce Fi to Chelsey.”
“If Amelia is the real estate agent, I already question her ethics, selling a ghost town to an old lady.”
“But…” Lucy began to protest.
“Chelsey will never forgive me if I don’t stop you right now. Besides, you’ll be too busy helping me whip into shape the dozen dilapidated buildings we now own.”
“Fi can help us. So can Chelsey. I’m sure she’ll want to lend a hand to her great aunt.” Lucy grinned at Bea, causing Bea to shake her head.
Since I haven’t even submitted this manuscript to Affinity yet, but they are tentatively holding a spot for next May, you may want to check out my other books that are already available. You the drill, just click on the links below. And…don’t forget about the two sale books available this week on the MyLesfic.com website: Soulwalker by Erica Lawson, and South of Heaven by Ali Spooner. Both are great books.
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Free, Free, Free, Free, Free
While there might not ever be a free lunch for anyone, I promise there are numerous free book offers out there. Some that come from very well known authors. Over the years, I’ve seen the free book promotions and on occasion I’ve taken advantage of those. Well…I know I am not as well known as the Jae’s or the Lee Winter’s of the Sapphic world, but starting today and for FIVE days only, Inspiration Takes a Vacation: An Epic Love Story will be free to EVERYONE. Yup, you heard that correctly.
I might have issues with Amazon on occasion, but the one thing I learned when I self published Inspiration Takes a Vacation: An Epic Love Story is that I could do a promotion for five days that would make the book available to everyone for free. I liked that because I do want to thank the readers, and this is a really good way to do that. Honest, this is not a gimmick or trick. You don’t have to sign up for my mailing list (unless of course you want to). There isn’t another book in the series that you need to buy. This is simply a stand alone book that you can get through Amazon for the next five days and if you like what you read, maybe you’ll check out my other books. I’m also not asking for reviews in exchange for a free book. Nope this one’s for free with no strings attached. Just enjoy…or not if it turns out not to be your cup of tea!
Here’s a little teaser for you in case you want to get a sense for what the book might be like:
Abigail Prentice had holed up in her tiny apartment for the past seven days. At least she’d graduated to showering every day. She’d engrossed herself in several television marathons—Netflix, Apple TV, Amazon Prime, anything to avoid her laptop. Abby imagined the damn thing glaring at her or the blinking screen simulating how a computer might telegraph hurt. If she was honest with herself, lately, the ghostly white glare reminded her of a cheap horror flick—a blinding light on her utterly blank manuscript.
In her head, she thought of what her laptop might say to her. “Why are you avoiding me again? You know how much I love it when your fingers dance across my keyboard.”
When Abby wasn’t spending her free time binge-watching the different shows, she posted cat videos on Facebook or slipped in random comments to posts already taking on a life of their own.
Danger lurked around every corner for Abby, which was why she thought a writer was the safest occupation she could have chosen. Unfortunately, she was in the midst of the most prolonged dry spell of her entire career. She hadn’t written a single fictional word in over three months. She’d joked on Facebook that inspiration had taken a sabbatical, and she wasn’t sure the persnickety woman was coming back.
“Screw it,” she muttered and flung the covers aside. After setting her iPad on the glass table, Abby shuffled into the bathroom and began brushing her teeth. What good does it do to live in such a beautiful place if I never leave my bedroom?
Peeking through the blinds, she was happy to see a tiny patch of blue sky far in the distance through the tall trees. Once the fog lifted, the beach might be a safe place to try to get back her writing mojo. Hadn’t she always heard that’s where writers teased forth their inspiration? How dangerous could it be to take a walk on the beach and clear her head from those maudlin thoughts? Lately, she’d wondered if she’d ever write another word. Although writing was in her blood, she didn’t worry about losing income. She had enough to retire if she wanted to.
Abby supposed she fit the stereotype of an eccentric writer. Single woman, living alone with her cat. If a person looked in the dictionary next to the word recluse, she imagined her mugshot would stare back at them. Sure, she was friendly with the locals because she didn’t completely lack social skills. Once she had her best friend, Jenny, and Jenny’s daughter, Nat, to hang with. Unfortunately, rather than literally plummeting, she’d fallen for Jenny and had an epic crash and burn. They weren’t talking to one another at the moment. No one had to tell her it was a bad idea to be in love with your straight best friend.
Abby replayed the conversation she’d had with Jenny. The night had been perfect before her confession. Nat was at work, and Jenny had invited her over for dinner. She’d said she wanted to tell her something important. Abby had misread the cues. She was all smiles when Abby had arrived with pie and ice cream. After dinner, they’d sat close together on the couch, and Abby had jumped at the chance to tell her how she felt.
Jenny looked so good. She had such a glow about her that night, so Abby had blurted, “I’m in love with you, Jenny. I have been for a long time, but of course, I couldn’t tell you when you were still married.”
The smile slipped from Jenny’s face, and the small crinkle on her brow deepened. She sucked in a mouthful of air before responding.
“Abby, you’re my best friend in the whole world. I would like nothing better than to fall madly in love with you. I love you with all my heart. But there isn’t the tiniest bit of gayness in any bone in my body. I’m so sorry. I wish I were a lesbian or bisexual because I can’t think of a better partner or coparent for Nat, even though she’s all grown now.”
“Oh,” Abby barely whispered. “Well, this is awkward,” she added as her body moved of its own accord several feet from Jenny.
“It doesn’t have to be awkward. I’m sure we’ll laugh this off in a few months. Besides, you can do way better than an old divorcee with a daughter ready to start college.”
Abby stood abruptly, bumping her knee against the coffee table. “Shit,” she exclaimed. “Um, it’s late. I better go now.”
Jenny touched Abby’s arm. “Abs, don’t go. We should talk about this.”
“I can’t. Give me a little time, please?” Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.
“Okay, if that’s what you need. I know you like to process things on your own. Don’t take too long.” Jenny reached for Abby to embrace her, and selfishly, Abby melted into the hug, knowing it meant something very different to Jenny.
The first two months following the disaster had resulted in isolation and questionable hygiene. With everything except her writing, Abby believed she had started to turn a corner.
As quickly as the memory surfaced, Abby swallowed it down. No backtracking. She refused to let those feelings make matters worse than they already were. Shouldn’t heartbreak be an inspiration for a perfect romance novel?
She smiled when Plato, her orange tabby, trotted along behind her. He liked to follow her everywhere she went. In the middle of the night, this meant disaster. Four broken toes, a concussion, and too many bruises to count did not convince Abby that Plato was hazardous to her health. She needed someone to cuddle with at night, and the price for that comfort was not too high for her to pay.
“Plato, can you please give Mommy a little space? If I trip over you, I won’t be able to walk the beach and find inspiration. I wish that slippery little bugger would turn out to be a beautiful woman.” Abigail chuckled at her lame joke.
“Meow.”
“Yeah, keep meowing, will you? At least then I’ll know where you’re at and can avoid another unfortunate mishap.”
“Meow.”
Even though it was summer, the chill in the morning air was enough to warrant a bulky sweatshirt or light jacket. Sometimes the fog would hang in the air, reluctant to dissipate before noon, even with the persistence of sunshine in the distance. Abby thought the mist that often appeared in the Pacific Northwest was like a desperate beauty queen—unwilling to let go despite the telltale signs of aging.
Looking in the mirror, she saw evidence of the passing of time. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. It was such a childish thing to do but gave her immense pleasure. Lately, she’d moved closer to the mirror to inspect the fine lines around the corners of her eyes. Bit by bit, year by year, she was losing her youthful appearance. If she didn’t put herself out there, she was destined for the label of crazy cat lady.
Selecting the warmest sweatshirt, she pulled the soft fabric over her head and stepped into the chill of the morning air. A small shiver traveled over her body before she began the brisk walk to the beach. Soon, she was warm enough to feel the beginnings of perspiration underneath her protective clothing. Abby debated whether she should stop and remove her sweatshirt but thought better of it, knowing once she hit the beach and sat on a log, she would feel the crispness of the air. Then again, if she didn’t, her sweat would turn into a damp cold and burrow inside like an intruder. Unwelcome. Uncomfortable.
Walking close to the water, the wind whipped fiercely across Abby’s face. Her long brown hair kept slapping against her skin and sticking to the corners of her full lips. Her slim fingers continued to push her hair behind her ears. Eating her long strands was not her idea of a good time. The sting of her thick locks against her cheeks wasn’t pleasant either. She chastised herself for not bringing something to tie back the offending tresses. Bending her head, she attempted to keep the wind from doing more damage.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that she found herself in a face-plant spitting out a mouthful of wet sand. The bacteria in the sand would probably end up causing a fatal illness. What was unexpected were the two shapely legs less than a yard from where she was unceremoniously spewing the gritty substance.
A magnetic pull caused her to stop the purge as her eyes traveled to a sheer white coverall that barely hid the voluptuous body concealed beneath. The practical side of Abby thought that the swimsuit cover was utterly inadequate for the day’s weather. Another thought, undeniably salacious, was how easily the wind would cause the coverall to reveal the woman’s ample breasts. Please let her swimsuit be as skimpy as a boutique dares to sell.
Perhaps you will decide to check out my other books…you know the drill just click on the links below. Don’t forget about this week’s sales books from other great Affinity writers: Racing for Love by Erin O’Reilly and JM Dragon and Running From Love by Jen Silver. Also I need to put in a quick plug for the Lady Grim II Anthology that comes out tomorrow!
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Affinity Author PageSeptember 10, 2021
Shorty Shorts Season
I know, I know…it’s the end of summer and Fall season is around the corner which is definitely not the season for shorts. But this is not the shorty shorts I am talking about. While I don’t have a new book coming out until January 2022, I have two short stories in two different anthologies, coming out in September and October. Holidays seem to be a popular season for shorts. I am excited for both anthologies to hit the market, but not because I think my stories are that amazing. Instead, I am joined by some incredible authors in the second Lonestar Collection and also the Halloween favorite, Lady Grimm II.
Almost always, I offer short stories for charity. In the Lady Grimm collection, proceeds go to The Trevor Project which helps with LGBTQ+ youth. The Lonestar Collection helps to support the Lonestar Lesfic Festival which unfortunately has not happened the last couple of years due to COVID. Instead of a long rambling blog with obscure research on equally obscure topics, I’ve decided to share two teasers from both stories in the hope that you will buy both anthologies!
From Rainstorm in the Lonestar anthology (sorry, you might have to pull out your box of tissues):
When I was a kid, one of my favorite things to do was walk in the rain during one of the famous summer rainstorms in Houston. It was like taking an outdoor shower. I shouldn’t have done that when I moved to Amarillo, where the rain is freezing cold, even in July. It hadn’t stopped me from trying.
Like a horse returning to their corral, I saw the rain, and I wanted to dance and sing in it. I wanted to reinvent the scene from Singing in the Rain. I needed to be silly again. Act like a child and simply enjoy those simple pleasures before the reality of adulthood completely overtook my body and soul.
Thank goodness I still danced in the rain, even as I eased into adulthood. If I hadn’t, I would have never met my wife.
I’m old now as I watch the rain splatter against the pane of the window in my hospital bed. I lift my head an inch above the pillow and stretch to see the fat wet drops splatter against the clear glass. My wife is holding my hand and smiling at me. Her hair frames her face. She was never one to follow the rules and decided there was nothing wrong with shoulder-length hair on an old woman. No cropped silver hairdo for her. I’d given up on long hair years ago, finding a short haircut a lot easier, especially after I became ill.
“Can we?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and that sad, indulging smile appears. “They would never let me take you outside.”
“Please.”
She knows it won’t be long, and I see her resolve starts to wane. The mischievous smile appears, and I know I’ve won this last request. Her head turns to the right and left, and then it lands on the wheelchair beside the bed. I know I won’t get to dance in the rain on my own two feet, but I can still sing. My wife will twist and turn with me in the wheelchair, and we’ll do a modified dance in the rain.
“Okay,” she agrees, and her silver hair moves with her laughter. “We’ll have to time this so Nurse Ratchet doesn’t catch us.” She’s still quite the jokester.
I giggle. My mind takes me back to the day we danced in the rain for the very first time.
For those who actually bought The Dream Catcher and enjoyed that story, I’ve done a continuation short called Nightmare on Pennsylvania Avenue. This story will be in Lady Grimm II that comes out on September 18th. Here is a teaser for that:
I felt the tickle of a tiny sandpaper tongue on my cheek as my eyes slowly opened. A fluffy orange kitten was giving me a bath. I giggled before taking in the scene before me. I’d done it again, conjured hundreds of kittens. Maya simply smiled and shook her head. Scolding me was not her style. That was reserved for Syl. She never appreciated the result of my good moods and hated when I went to my dark place, which thankfully wasn’t often after my hard work at the Dream Seeker’s Commune. I’d come a long way with the assistance of the love of my life, Maya.
“I think I’ll get a few of the kids. They won’t want to miss out on your treat for the day. At least this one is more PG than the twin strippers. Although, several of the older girls were quite enamored with that dream manifestation. They really wanted Syl to inject you with something that would make them last a smidgeon longer. I didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered that they had a surprising resemblance to me,” Maya said.
Forrest and Rain were the first to arrive, squealing with delight. “Oh my God, they are so adorable.” Rain scooped up a black and white kitten.
“You can have this dream every day,” Forrest exclaimed while grabbing two squirming tabby kittens.
Syl entered my bedroom and scowled. “Why can’t you do anything in moderation? There must be a hundred of these furry critters. If they pee and shit all over the cabin, you’re going to have to clean it up.”
“Aw Syl, we love when she conjures kittens. Can’t you try out the new serum so we can play with them a little longer? Thirty minutes isn’t nearly long enough,” Rain pleaded.
“I am holding you responsible, too, Maya. You were supposed to be working with her to rein in her gift. A hundred?” Syl glared at Maya.
Maya shrugged. “What’s the harm? The girls love it. At least she didn’t dream up a hundred She-Hulks or Godzilla’s. I don’t think they would have fit in the cabin,” she joked.
Syl crossed her arms over her chest. “Actually, I did not come here to scold you about the kittens. We have problems. I need both of you in the conference room.”
Maya quirked her eyebrow. “What now?”
“Your brother has surfaced.” Syl uncrossed her arms and bit the bottom of her lip in a gesture I’d often seen when she was over-stressed. I’d never heard Maya talk about her brother. I didn’t even know that Maya and Leah had another sibling. If her brother had the same talents as Leah and Maya, that could be a really good thing or something awful. Considering Syl’s expression, I was sure this meant doom and gloom for us.
“Shit,” Maya muttered.
“You have a brother, too?” I asked.
“Not now, Heaven,” Maya snapped.
Maya had been nothing but patient and kind with me, and she’d certainly never used that tone before. She was the chipper, self-confident one. My good mood was heading into dangerous territory. I hoped tonight I wouldn’t conjure up anything that could do harm to the compound.
She must have realized that she’d been harsh because she immediately apologized. “Oh, God, Heaven. I am so sorry. I honestly didn’t realize that my brother was still alive or in the US. This is bad, really bad.”
“Rain, Forrest, can you watch the kittens until they disappear? Don’t let them pee on the bed,” I instructed.
“Sure thing, Heaven,” they both responded.
More of the younger Dream Weavers and Catchers shuffled into the house as we left our cabin, squealing with delight. At least they would have a good day. After we had rescued them from the awful Dream Center, my mission was to ensure a smooth transition to the Dream Seeker’s Commune. I had a first-row seat on the atrocities they’d all had to endure. I shuddered to think about that torturous time in my life.
In some ways short stories are easier to write, and in other ways, they are more challenging because the author has to create an entire story arc in ten thousand words or less. With these two short stories, that brings my total shorts to fifteen. Certainly less than the number of full-length novels, but something I have always loved about writing shorts is my ability to continue with beloved characters. The majority of my shorts are based on characters from my full-length novels. Thus the reader gets a pseudo sequel without me having to actually write one. For those of you who know me, I’ve only reluctantly traveled that road a few times. Anyways…I promised I would not ramble, so I hope you will check out these two anthologies and also read or re-read my other books. You know the drill, just click on the links below! Don’t forget this week’s sale books from incredible Affinity authors, Erin O’Reilly and Erica Lawson. Next Time and Possessing Morgan are both on sale!
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Affinity Author PageSeptember 3, 2021
The Pumpkin Spice Wars…
With the Fall season right around the corner as September firmly plants its feet in the ground, we’ll all soon begin to see the debate around pumpkin spice heat up. The vitriol behind the chatter on this seasonal flavor is truly mind-blowing. It’s a spice, people, not something as important as having one’s reproductive rights stripped away. You’d think those of us who love the season and the spice were shoving it down everyone’s throats without their permission. But, I suppose if there are millions of people unwilling to get an FDA approved vaccine to save their life and the lives of those around them, it doesn’t boggle the mind as much to hear the divisiveness of a fall flavor so much anymore. I just had to know why there are such strong feelings on pumpkin spice, but not other seasonal flavors, such as peppermint during December. Of course I did a little research and here is what I discovered….
The first Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks came out in 2003.Within a decade of the launch of the Pumpkin Spice Latte, the drink became a top seller.Considered a “feminine” versus “masculine” food craze, some have linked the derision to sexism. Think about it…does anyone have issues with barbeque, IPA, or flaming hot Cheetos. I think not. Because all of those are considered “masculine” foods.Sixty-six percent (yup that is a majority) use or consume in the US at least one pumpkin spice product during the Fall season.Both nutmeg and cinnamon caused wars to break out and the Dutch actually traded the island of Manhattan to corner the trade in nutmeg.The earliest recorded recipe for pumpkin spice was in 1670 when a chef cooked down pumpkin and added butter and spice. Yummy!Pumpkin spice which is a blend of nutmeg, ginger, cinnamon and allspice was invented by McCormick in 1934.Some articles suggest that the Pumpkin Spice Latte became a symbol of capitalism, pretentiousness, and crazy food fads. People do like to hate on Starbucks.When first developing the Pumpkin Spice latte, Starbucks company lore says the researchers drank espresso while eating pumpkin pie to nail down the exact flavor desired for Pumpkin Spice Lattes.Mmmm….Pumpkin Spice Latte, thanks Mom!
So…the next time you’re tempted to make fun of someone who enjoys pumpkin spice, think about what you really have an issue with. If it’s capitalism or pretentiousness, attack that, but leave the flavor alone. You may be inadvertently playing into sexist views of the flavor, including passing along those terrible stereotypical memes of white women in leggings and Uggs sipping their fad flavor for the Fall. I have never once owned a pair of leggings or Uggs and I love Pumpkin Spice Lattes. And…if I want my ass to smell like pumpkin spice, that’s no one else’s business but me and my wife! Just to set the record straight…there is no pumpkin spice tampons or pumpkin spice condoms…those are fake pictures!
Just like with books, it’s personal preference, people. No one makes fun of the mayonnaise ice cream in Scotland, so please leave our Pumpkin Spice Lattes alone! Speaking of books, while I might not have a break out book like the Pumpkin Spice Latte, I’d like to think that maybe someday my unconventional writing will be the fad that leads the Sapphic community. A girl can dream….If you want to check out my books, you know the drill…click the links below. And….don’t forget the sale books from my sister Affinity authors, the fabulous late AC Henley, Fran Heckrotte and Alane Hotchkin with their books: Rapture: Sins of the Sinners and Blackhawk Chronicles: Book One Beginning of the End.
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