Stacy Gold's Blog, page 11
May 22, 2018
Random Musings: Why I DNF Books
Once I learned to read in kindergarten, I was unstoppable. Books became my life. Or at least my escape from real life for a while.
For many years I read a book a day—everything from the classics, to sci-fi, poetry, fantasy, horror, non-fiction, the greats, thrillers, serious literature, dystopian YA, bestsellers, and all kinds of romance. I’ll read most anything…If it’s good.
Until about five years ago, I prided myself on having only ever DNF’d one novel (The Brothers Karamazov, if you’re wondering. One hundred plus pages to basically introduce your characters? Seriously?).
That has changed. Partly because, as I get older, I value my time more. I simply don’t want to waste it reading bad, or even mediocre writing. After spending fifteen years in marketing, communications and journalism, I have little patience for poor grammar or lazy writing. Or books that clearly need another round of editing–and not just to hunt out a few more pesky typos.
The other reason is, as an author, I’m constantly breaking down the technical aspects of a book as I read. Not just the grammar, but the plot, the character arc, the amount of tension, etc. A book has to be pretty damn good to keep me hooked despite my constantly peering behind the curtain.
The best books make me forget I’m reading and sweep me away to another world.
The top five reasons I DNF a book:
1) Info Dumps and Backstory Bonanzas – Too much backstory, especially in the first chapter or two (or even three) and I’m done. You stick even three sentences of backstory in that first chapter and you’ve probably lost me. Any more and you’ve definitely lost me.
I want the story I’m reading to unfold, I don’t want to know about all the past stories and incidences leading up to it—at least not right out of the gate. That stops the momentum of the current story (the one I bought the book to read) instantly.
Consider Netflix’ “Stranger Things”. If they had explained everything about the Upside Down and Eleven at the start, there wouldn’t have been much reason to stick around. It’s all about creating more questions than answers, especially in the beginning. Answers come much later.
2) Clunky Prose – So many examples of clunky writing exist in the world. I’ve been guilty of plenty of clunky-ass writing in my day (what writer hasn’t?). But clunky writing is only allowed in early drafts that no one gets to see. Editing is what fixes that, whether it’s self-editing or hiring an editor, or both.
By the time a book is published, the writing should flow smooth and easy, taking you along for a fun ride akin to going down a greased slide in the springtime (before the metal gets butt-blisteringly hot), but different.
3) TSTL Hero or Heroine – Do not open the basement door. Seriously, don’t do it. We all know you’ll die. (She blithely opens the door, despite the horrible screams coming from the other side, annnnnnnddd…I’m done.)I cannot handle it when the hero/heroine is Too Stupid to Live (TSTL).
Maybe they lack agency, so everything always happens to them and they’re the perpetual victim, never taking action. Or they keep “finding themselves” doing this or that. Or going here or there.
Maybe they take action, but it’s always the worst possible action for the dumbest of reasons.If 99.9% of their decisions don’t make at least some logical sense based on the person and their likely past experiences, I can’t read any further. Sure, their logic can be flawed, leading them to poor decisions, but they need to have some kind of logic I can follow.
4) Consent Issues – If a story has a serious power imbalance and/or makes me feel one character is taking advantage of another sexually—that’s a hard no from me. Ditto not using condoms with new partners. Even worse if they don’t even talk about it.
This has also made me less enamored of people getting together—especially for the first time—when they’re drunk or high. It’s even worse if only one of them is drunk or high.
Consent is sexy. I want to know that all participants are willing and excited—even if they have some reservations about the person or relationship.
5) Unbelievable Attraction – You know those romances where the man is kind of a dick, and the woman decides she’s in love with him anyway. Where they have absolutely nothing in common, and barely talk to each other, then decide it’s true love. Yeah, no.
I find this can be even worse in M/M romances, where chemistry or attraction doesn’t appear to always be a prerequisite for sex. Fine in erotica. Not fine in any other genre (Including the Oscar-nominated Call Me By Your Name. Seriously, zero chemistry there. Uggh. Ruined an otherwise lovely movie for me.)
Do you ever DNF a book? Why? Do you agree with my reasons? Have others to add? Please leave a comment below.
The post Random Musings: Why I DNF Books appeared first on Stacy Gold.
April 17, 2018
ENTER THE “I WANT ROMANCE GIVEAWAY”!
for Your Chance to Win One of Eight Prizes!
Enter the I Want Romance giveaway today and you could win 8 great prizes including a Kindle Fire, romance ebooks, or a Marc Jacobs leather wristlet to carry your phone and money in style!
Who couldn’t use a little more romance in their lives? Not to mention a pretty in pink Marc Jacobs leather wrist wallet that fits your smartphone? Or a Kindle Fire 7? Or maybe you’ve been lusting after the newest romance bestseller on Amazon. Well, you’ve got from now until April 22nd to enter to win, and hopefully add some more ‘romance’ to your life!
Want One More Chance to Win?
Plus, find a bonus giveaway when you check out our book fair, where you can choose from books in genres from contemporary romance to romantic suspense to PNR for 2.99 or less.
The “I Want Romance” Giveaway is Sponsored by these 67 Fabulous Romance Authors
Alexia Adams • Allyson R Abbott • Amy Ruttan • Anne Stone • Aubrey Wynne • Becky Lower • Bethany-Kris • Brenda Whiteside • Brighton Walsh • Cailin Briste • Calinda B • Candace Sams • Carla Krae • Carrie Whitethorne • Cate Tayler • CB Samet • Cecy Robson • Charmaine Ross • Crystal Dawn • Donna R. Mercer • E.B. Black • Eliza Daly • Elizabeth Meyette • Elizabeth Rose • Holly Cortelyou • J. L. Lora • J.E. Parker • Jacquie Biggar • JC Andrijeski • Jen Doyle • Jennifer Dawson • Joan Reeves • Joanne Dannon • Josie Riviera • Julieann Dove • Karly Morgan • Kim Petersen • Kris Michaels • Kristin Holt • Kristy Tate • L A Cotton • Lana Campbell • Laurel Greer • Linda Carroll-Bradd • Lola Karns • Madeline Iva • Mari Carr • Marilyn Peake • Megyn Ward • Melissa Belle • Melissa McClone • Michele Barrow-Belisle • Nancy C. Weeks • Patrice Wilton • PG Forte • Renee Ann Miller • Ruth A. Casie • Sarah Williams • Shereen Vedam • Soraya Naomi • Stacey Joy Netzel • Stacy Gold • Susan Jean Ricci • Susanne Matthews • Sydney Aaliyah Michelle • Victoria Saccenti • Aileen Harkwood
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April 5, 2018
Random Musings: Am I Too Old to Wear This?
The photo that got everyone so up in arms. Click it to see original post.
Kelly Ripa recently got ripped a new one (Sorry. Not sorry.) by the Twitterati for having a banging body and showing it off in a bikini on the beach at the advanced age of 47. People saying she’s too old, too thin, too ripped, but mostly, too old to bare her body like that.
She looks great. She appears to feel great. And her husband definitely appreciates seeing her in a bikini. So what’s the problem? Hell, even if she wasn’t thin and fit and “beautiful”, what’s the problem? If she, or anyone else, feels good in a bikini, they should wear one. Why not? The human body is something to be celebrated, not disparaged or vilified.
At least, that’s what my intellectual side says. But in all honesty, I’m turning 48 soon, (Ms. Ripa is just a few months younger than I am.), and with fifty looming on the horizon, I find myself analyzing what’s appropriate for me to wear.
Is that skirt too short? Is that top too young? What about my shorts, how long is long enough? It’s ridiculous, and I know it. Yes, what I wear is how I present myself to the world, but that is my choice—not anyone else’s (except maybe my husband, who has great fashion sense and therefore some veto power. Not to mention he’s the one who has to see me wearing whatever and be seen with me wearing whatever.)
So why am I even thinking about this, instead of wearing what I like and feel good in without giving it a second thought? Because for decades a bunch old white men and thirty-something women have made the rules about what I can and can’t wear in my forties, fifties, and beyond.
Once a woman is past her useful, child-bearing years, God forbid she still dress like she’s a desirable, sexual being. Mini-skirts are a no (unless you’re a rock star, or trying to look cheap and slutty). Bikinis are out. Not to mention shorts that don’t reach at least mid-thigh.
Nope. It’s time to look like a matron or a soccer mom, I guess so you’re not inadvertently fooling anyone into thinking you could still pop out a few babies. Or maybe so you’ll be taken a little more seriously. Except then you fade into the background and everyone says you look old and past your prime. All this while seventy year-old men can get away with jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt and a sport coat like a college student dressed up for a hot date.
The problem for me is, I like wearing all those things. I feel good in them. I think I look good in them and my hubby agrees. Besides, why shouldn’t I wear whatever I damn well please? Why can’t I still look and dress like a beautiful, sexy, vital woman as I age?
And why do I find myself making those judgments about myself and others (even if I do try to catch myself)?
It’s self-limiting and absurd. I’m determined to stop. And I’m not planning on giving up my bikinis, shorts, or miniskirts anytime soon.
What do you think about the Kelly Ripa bikini controversy, and/or how women should dress as they age? When are bikinis or miniskirts a no-no to you?
The post Random Musings: Am I Too Old to Wear This? appeared first on Stacy Gold.
March 16, 2018
ST. PATRICK’S ROMANCE GIVEAWAY MARCH 12-29
St. Paddy’s Day is coming up and I have three pots of romance reader gold I’m eager to share! I’ve joined forces with 70 other authors to bring you three ways to enter to win almost 80 prizes.
1) Visit our main giveaway and enter for your chance to win one of 7 prizes, including: a Kindle Paperwhite with matching leather case, Kindle Fire, or ebook prize packs where you choose the books on Amazon you want to win!
2) St. Patrick’s Day weekend, March 15-18, join us for an epic Facebook Hop with 70 chances to win a gift card.
3) Enter the BONUS gift card giveaway at our book fair, where you’ll find more than 65 ebooks in a wide range of romance genres to click, buy, and read.
This Giveaway is Sponsored by the Fabulous Romance Authors
Alicia Street • Alyssa Drake • Amanda Uhl • Angelica Kate • Anni Fife • April Fire • Ashlee Price • Authors’ Billboard • Bambi Lynn • Beata Blitz • Bree Dahlia • Bree M. Lewandowski • C.A. King • Calinda B • Cara Marsi • Carrie Whitethorne • Charmaine Ross • Chiquita Dennie • Chloe Flowers • Debbie White • Denise Devine • Donna Fasano • Donna R. Mercer • Donna Schlachter • Dystopian Fantasy Fanatics • Elizabeth Rose • Holly Cortelyou • Jana Richards • Jennifer Saints • Jennifer Vester • Joanne Dannon • Josie Riviera • Joynell Schultz • Julie Trettel • Karen Michelle Nutt • Kathryn Knight • Kristy Tate • L.D. Rose • Laurel Greer • Leanne Banks • Marsha A. Moore • Mary Abshire • Mary Morgan • Maureen Bonatch • Melissa Belle • Melissa McClone • Michele Barrow-Belisle • Mimi Barbour • Mona Sedrak • Monique McDonell • Nancy Radke • Natalie Ann • Pamela S. Thibodeaux • Pauline Creeden • PG Forte • Ruth Kaufman • S.A. Larsen • Sahara Roberts • Sarah Williams • Soraya Naomi • Stacy Gold • Stella Marie Alden • Stephanie Queen • Susan Jean Ricci • Sydney Aaliyah Michelle • Taylor Lee • Tena Stetler • Traci Douglass • Traci Hall • Aileen Harkwood
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March 5, 2018
Never You Playlist
Never You, book #3 in my Emerald Mountain series, is a steamy, enemies-to-lovers novella about two people who’ve been guarding their hearts, discovering they’ve been wrong about themselves, and each other, all along. *(Novellas in the Emerald Mountain Series are stand-alone, not chronological, and can be read in any order!)
Even though I love music, I don’t often listen to it while writing, or think in terms of story soundtracks. But Daniel, one of the main characters in Never You, almost always has music playing. Thanks to his mom, he’s a fan of nineties bands and classic rock.
In case you’re wondering what, specific songs were incorporated in this story, here’s a playlist…
Guns N’ Roses – Welcome to the Jungle
The Black Crows – Hard to Handle
The Eagles – Take It to the Limit
Stevie Ray Vaughn – Pride and Joy
The Rolling Stones – You Can’t Always Get What You Want
Van Morrison – Into the Mystic and Crazy Love
Dave Mathews Band – Everyday
Little Feet – Dixie Chicken
Sheryl Crow – I Shall Believe
Goo Goo Dolls – Iris
Haven’t read Never You yet? Here’s what this steamy little enemies-to-lovers story is all about…
Emerald Mountain Ski Hut Caretaker Morgan Monroe doesn’t do casual relationships. Not anymore. Certainly not with the obnoxious, flirty, too-hot-for-his-own-good chef she’s wanted to strangle all season. He’s the kind of man she wouldn’t date in a million years, even if he were the dating type.
Chef Dan Griffin doesn’t believe in relationships. But a one-night stand to celebrate the end of ski season? Hell yes! Especially with the gorgeous caretaker. She’s sexy but melt-in-your-mouth sweet, the kind of woman who could convince a man to get serious…if he were the relationship type. She kept her distance all winter, but he’s hoping he can convince her to get closer for one night of passion.
When things heat up on a cold winter’s night, will they play it safe or follow their hearts?
What’s inside? Approximately 115 pages featuring workplace romance in a remote mountain ski hut, backcountry skiing, deep powder, and smokin’ hot sex.
Read Chapter 1 of Never You or go here to grab your own copy now.
The post Never You Playlist appeared first on Stacy Gold.
February 28, 2018
Book Review: The Rogue Not Taken
I don’t read a lot of historical romance. But, I had the great pleasure of hearing feminist romance author Sarah MacLean speak at a conference last year (keynote and a workshop on writing dialogue). I picked up one of her books, The Rogue Not Taken, and immediately added it to my TBR list. I finally got a chance to read it recently, and I’m so glad I did.
I find it hard to resist quirky/punny titles. Most of all I love smart, strong, sassy heroines, and Sarah MacLean does not disappoint.
She’s an unmarried woman from a scandalous but well-to-do family who causes a scene at a London society function, creates a huge mess and then tries to walk away from it—and the high society life she never wanted. Along the way a Duke tries to rescue her even though he doesn’t really want to. I don’t usually care for the virgin deflowered trope (one reason I don’t read a lot of historicals) because it puts too much of the power in the man’s hands (pun fully intended), but this one is done oh-so-right.
The main characters’ banter is sarcastic, their attraction apparent, and the sexual tension scorching. My only quibble, and it is a mere quibble, is that the book could have ended a little sooner. I didn’t need the final plot twist to be satisfied—and neither did the heroine (yeah, pun fully intended again).
And of course, our hero is completely devoted to making the heroine feel A-mazing every time they kiss or touch or fool around. Love that!
I really enjoyed this book and ripped through it a little more than a day. Whether you read historical romance or not, this book is definitely worth your time. You can find it here.
The post Book Review: The Rogue Not Taken appeared first on Stacy Gold.
February 16, 2018
Read an Excerpt from Never You
What’s Inside? Approximately 115 pages featuring an enemies-to-lovers workplace romance in a remote mountain ski hut, backcountry skiing, deep powder, and smokin’ hot sex.
*The novellas in the Emerald Mountain series are stand-alone, and the series is not in chronological order.
Chapter 1
My phone vibrated against my thigh. I balanced my stack of boxes on the seat of my snowmobile, pulled off my glove with my teeth, and fished it out.
“Hey Sam, what’s up?” I crossed my fingers and stared up at the sky, just going lighter blue to the east. My breath puffed out in white clouds in the light from ski area lodge, where the early shift was prepping breakfast. Same thing I needed to be doing, but Sam’s news came first. For sure.
“I got in. Full scholarship.”
I punched my fist into the air. “Wahoo!” This was about to be the best, last day of the season ev-ER. “I knew you could do it.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Awww, come on. You’re the one with the engineering brain and the good grades. All I did was listen to you read your essay.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Your suggestions were spot on. And you’re the one who made sure I always made it to class. And had a hot breakfast.” Her grin came through in her voice. “Critical building blocks of success.”
“Whatever.” I fidgeted with flap of the box on the top of the stack. “I’m just really proud of you, Sam I Am.”
“Thanks, Daniel. You’ll come visit me at Dartmouth, right?”
“You know it. And we’ll celebrate together tomorrow night.”
“I can’t wait!”
A thump and muted voices came through the line.
“Hold on, Mom wants to talk to you. See you tomorrow!”
Switching my phone to my gloved hand, I stuffed my bare fingers under my armpit before they froze solid.
“Daniel, when should we expect you?”
“I ought to be home by five. Want help with dinner? I can pick up groceries, and make that pineapple upside down cake Samantha loves.”
“Yes, please. I’ll email you a shopping list.” She paused. “I’m glad you’re coming home. It’s been too long. The girls and I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. It’ll be weird when Sam leaves for college.”
“It will.” Her voice went low and soft. “The house is going to be so quiet with all three of you gone.”
“Awwwww, Mom. It’s not good for you to be alone. Maybe you should try dating again?” Not that she could ever replace Dad, but still. He’d been gone eighteen years. It was past time, and Mom deserved to do something for herself.
Her laughter came in a short, sharp burst. “I’m too old to start dating.”
I pictured her in our sunny yellow kitchen, lips pursed, hand on her hip. Her light brown eyes tight at the corners. The way she’d always looked when I pleaded permission for something she didn’t want me to do.
“No way. If I was twenty years older, and not your son, I’d be begging you for a date.”
This time when she laughed, the loneliness I’d heard before was gone. I grinned.
“I’ll make you a deal…” she said. “I’ll start dating when you do.”
“Ha. Good one, Mom.” Not like that was gonna happen anytime soon.
Lights came on in the lift shack at the base of the gondola. “Listen, I’ve got to run or I’ll be late. And hungry backcountry skiers can get violent.”
She laughed again. “Well, we can’t have that. The hut is a long way from first aid.”
I smiled. “Give Sam a hug for me, and I’ll see you all tomorrow night.”
“Okay. I love you. Be safe.”
“Love you, too.”
I shoved the phone in my pocket and did a little dance. Hella good start to my last day. If everything went according to plan, I’d be doing another kind of dancing tonight. With Morgan.
****
The roar of Dan’s snowmobile engine grew louder, and the ache in my jaw informed me I’d already started grinding my teeth.
I ducked down and reached deep into the back of the cupboard with my damp sponge. The ear-splitting rumbling ceased, remnants of it echoing through the valley. Cleaning the hut and locking it down for the season would take all day without interruptions. I wasn’t going to have an uninterrupted day.
Boots thudded on the stairs.
Nope. My solitude was going to end in three…two…one…
The door crashed open. “Good morning, beautiful! How’s my girl doing?”
Dammit. I ignored the booming voice and kept wiping. Ignored the ache spreading from my jaw to my temple.
The rustle and thump of boxes landing on the counter filled the space. I’d liked the quiet just the way it was.
“Get ready. Big group coming in this morning and I’m whipping up my world-famous Eggs Daniel.”
I swear he never stopped talking. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d be quiet until the guests arrived.
“I hope you’re hungry, because I put my whole heart into this recipe, and I’m dying to get a little piece of me, inside of you.”
Okay, there was obnoxious, and then there was plain gross. I threw the sponge on the shelf and backed out of the cupboard, glaring at the man doing his best to ruin my last day out here. And doing it in the first three minutes.
“Seriously? That’s your line?” I raised an eyebrow. “And I am not your girl.”
“Easy there.” He held out his hands, whether in supplication or defense it was hard to tell. “I’d guess maybe you didn’t get your beauty sleep, but you look gorgeous as ever. How ‘bout I make you coffee before I finish unloading the sled. Nothing like a good cup o’ joe to make the morning better.” Strong, even white teeth slashed his tanned face, practically glowing in the dim light of the cabin. “Well, maybe one thing.”
He winked.
I winced. Jesus H. Christ. Who winks anymore?
It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. Instead, I went back to cleaning.
Dan Griffin had a nice smile in an even nicer face. I’d give him that. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a raging ass. Or that coffee was going to improve my mood. The only thing that might would be finding out I could stay on as hut caretaker all summer. Not possible, given the resort didn’t run trips out here in the summertime.
I’d settle for not having to spend my last full day up here dealing with Dan. Putting up with his loud music, and his never-ending innuendos and bad pick-up lines. But that was almost as unlikely.
The snowcat would be here in an hour hauling hungry skiers expecting a big breakfast before a half-day of epic, untracked powder skiing. By the time breakfast was cleaned up, it’d be time to prep lunch. And Danny-boy was the chef all day.
I scrubbed at a splotch of sticky funk stuck on the cabinet door, and crossed mental fingers that I’d be able sneak away after lunch and make a few turns alone. Otherwise, I’d be a surly, moody mess by the time dinner guests arrived.
“Coffee’s on, beautiful. I’ll be back in a flash with the rest of the groceries.”
Shaking my head, I ducked into the cabinet again and wiped with renewed force. Ignored the stomp of his feet each time he crossed the plywood floor.
If he could just stop talking, I could deal with him intruding in my space. Because, despite the ponytail, with his chiseled cheekbones and lean muscles, he certainly improved the scenery. He just could never shut up.
Pretty sure all he ever talked about was sex, skiing, and cooking. Oh, and himself. Not necessarily in that order.
I’d put up with his bullshit all season. Surely, I could get through one more day without strangling him. “Murderer” wouldn’t add much to my journalism resume. And with eight feet of snow outside, no way could I dig a grave to hide the body.
I snickered.
“Something funny? What did I miss?”
My head slammed into the shelf above it. Sonofabitch.
I rocked back on my heels, rubbing the tender bump already forming.
“Oops. Sorry.” A sheepish grin anchored itself on his sculpted face. Not nearly apologetic enough—not that I expected him to care about anyone other than himself.
“Maybe this will help.” He waved a big, blue mug in front of my eyes.
“Thanks.” A caffeine infusion might be enough to keep me from killing him before he had a chance to fix breakfast for the incoming guests. I took the mug, avoiding his touch and his too-bright gaze. I didn’t want to provide any possible openings for more of his lines.
A white froth heart on the top caught my attention. “You made me a latte? How?” I brought the mug to my lips, savoring the nutty scent, and trying to figure out where he stashed the espresso machine. And the electricity.
“A beautiful woman deserves a fantastic cup of coffee.” He took a sip from his chipped, white enamel cup, hazel eyes flashing over the rim. “And a man is much sexier with a few secrets.”
I snorted, narrowly missing shooting coffee out my nose. Gah. Where did he get these cheesy lines?
“Whatever,” I mumbled, setting my mug down on the floor, and reached into the plywood cabinet again to finish cleaning the bottom shelf. Only twelve more hours, and I would never have to deal with Dan Griffin again.
****
I watched Morgan’s ass sway from side to side while she cleaned the cupboards. Helluva nice ass. Attached to a helluv-an amazing woman. Not that I had time to gawk like a teenage boy. Not if I was going to be ready with a cold breakfast buffet, plus made-to-order Eggs Daniel with my signature fresh avocado Hollandaise, in forty-five minutes.
Grabbing the cardboard box closest to me, I pulled out my sweet new iPod and speakers, and dialed up some classic G&R. Welcome to the jungle baby.
I sang along and emptied each box, spreading everything across the counter. Then I got busy doing what I do best. Well, maybe not what I do best, but cooking comes in a close second. My Axl Rose impression a close third.
I placed a few serving plates and a cutting board on the butcher block counter. Man, Morgan was something else. I’d been watching her, getting to know her, all season, and I was damn impressed. Not many women could stay in a hut like this, with no running water or even a bed. And she seemed happiest up here, by herself, splitting wood and shoveling snow. Plus, she was smart. Smarter than me by a long shot.
Still, I had talents. Lots of ‘em. I’d love to show Morgan all my greatest talents. Instead I got to chopping and prepping. Because women like her were dangerous. Get in too far, and they’d crush your heart.
Thirty minutes later, the low thrum of the snowcat engine seeped through the split log walls of the ski hut. Perfect timing! I stepped back and surveyed my handiwork.
Sweet breakfast spread on the counter? Check. Water on the stove churning at a slow boil? Check.
I slapped a couple split English Muffins face down on the cast iron griddle and grabbed the sauce pot off the other burner. I whisked my Hollandaise, getting into the rhythmic scrape of metal on metal, loving the way the pale green creaminess folded in on itself with every stroke. Brought a smile to my face every time.
Morgan came in from sweeping the front stairs. “Ready?”
The cat engine died outside.
“Yup. All set to show off my madd skillz.”
She shook her head, and looked like she wanted to say something. Probably something about my amazing cooking.
Boots thumped on the stairs, and a rush of cold air and conversation flooded the one room log cabin.
“Welcome to the Emerald Mountain Ski Hut.” Morgan’s chiming voice cut through it all. “You can hang your coats and gear on the hooks along the wall. I’m Morgan, hut caretaker, and this is your chef, Dan. Breakfast is ready. Just step up to the counter and he’ll take care of you.”
Eight sets of eyes, attached to eight curvaceous bodies in the process of being unwrapped, turned my way.
I let my smile slide across my face until it hit peak wattage. “Welcome. Step right up ladies, and allow me to serve you.”
Want to keep reading? Preorder your copy of Never You from one of these fine retailers, for delivery March 5th, 2018.
Amazon Canada
Amazon UK
Amazon France
Amazon Australia
Amazon Germany
The post Read an Excerpt from Never You appeared first on Stacy Gold.
Never You Excerpt
What’s Inside? Approximately 115 pages featuring a workplace romance in a remote mountain ski hut, backcountry skiing, deep powder, and smokin’ hot sex.
*The novellas and shorts in the Emerald Mountain series are stand-alone, and the series is not in chronological order.
Chapter 1
My phone vibrated against my thigh. I balanced my stack of boxes on the seat of my snowmobile, pulled off my glove with my teeth, and fished it out.
“Hey Sam, what’s up?” I crossed my fingers and stared up at the sky, just going lighter blue to the east. My breath puffed out in white clouds in the light from ski area lodge, where the early shift was prepping breakfast. Same thing I needed to be doing, but Sam’s news came first. For sure.
“I got in. Full scholarship.”
I punched my fist into the air. “Wahoo!” This was about to be the best, last day of the season ev-ER. “I knew you could do it.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Awww, come on. You’re the one with the engineering brain and the good grades. All I did was listen to you read your essay.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Your suggestions were spot on. And you’re the one who made sure I always made it to class. And had a hot breakfast.” Her grin came through in her voice. “Critical building blocks of success.”
“Whatever.” I fidgeted with flap of the box on the top of the stack. “I’m just really proud of you, Sam I Am.”
“Thanks, Daniel. You’ll come visit me at Dartmouth, right?”
“You know it. And we’ll celebrate together tomorrow night.”
“I can’t wait!”
A thump and muted voices came through the line.
“Hold on, Mom wants to talk to you. See you tomorrow!”
Switching my phone to my gloved hand, I stuffed my bare fingers under my armpit before they froze solid.
“Daniel, when should we expect you?”
“I ought to be home by five. Want help with dinner? I can pick up groceries, and make that pineapple upside down cake Samantha loves.”
“Yes, please. I’ll email you a shopping list.” She paused. “I’m glad you’re coming home. It’s been too long. The girls and I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. It’ll be weird when Sam leaves for college.”
“It will.” Her voice went low and soft. “The house is going to be so quiet with all three of you gone.”
“Awwwww, Mom. It’s not good for you to be alone. Maybe you should try dating again?” Not that she could ever replace Dad, but still. He’d been gone eighteen years. It was past time, and Mom deserved to do something for herself.
Her laughter came in a short, sharp burst. “I’m too old to start dating.”
I pictured her in our sunny yellow kitchen, lips pursed, hand on her hip. Her light brown eyes tight at the corners. The way she’d always looked when I pleaded permission for something she didn’t want me to do.
“No way. If I was twenty years older, and not your son, I’d be begging you for a date.”
This time when she laughed, the loneliness I’d heard before was gone. I grinned.
“I’ll make you a deal…” she said. “I’ll start dating when you do.”
“Ha. Good one, Mom.” Not like that was gonna happen anytime soon.
Lights came on in the lift shack at the base of the gondola. “Listen, I’ve got to run or I’ll be late. And hungry backcountry skiers can get violent.”
She laughed again. “Well, we can’t have that. The hut is a long way from first aid.”
I smiled. “Give Sam a hug for me, and I’ll see you all tomorrow night.”
“Okay. I love you. Be safe.”
“Love you, too.”
I shoved the phone in my pocket and did a little dance. Hella good start to my last day. If everything went according to plan, I’d be doing another kind of dancing tonight. With Morgan.
****
The roar of Dan’s snowmobile engine grew louder, and the ache in my jaw informed me I’d already started grinding my teeth.
I ducked down and reached deep into the back of the cupboard with my damp sponge. The ear-splitting rumbling ceased, remnants of it echoing through the valley. Cleaning the hut and locking it down for the season would take all day without interruptions. I wasn’t going to have an uninterrupted day.
Boots thudded on the stairs.
Nope. My solitude was going to end in three…two…one…
The door crashed open. “Good morning, beautiful! How’s my girl doing?”
Dammit. I ignored the booming voice and kept wiping. Ignored the ache spreading from my jaw to my temple.
The rustle and thump of boxes landing on the counter filled the space. I’d liked the quiet just the way it was.
“Get ready. Big group coming in this morning and I’m whipping up my world-famous Eggs Daniel.”
I swear he never stopped talking. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d be quiet until the guests arrived.
“I hope you’re hungry, because I put my whole heart into this recipe, and I’m dying to get a little piece of me, inside of you.”
Okay, there was obnoxious, and then there was plain gross. I threw the sponge on the shelf and backed out of the cupboard, glaring at the man doing his best to ruin my last day out here. And doing it in the first three minutes.
“Seriously? That’s your line?” I raised an eyebrow. “And I am not your girl.”
“Easy there.” He held out his hands, whether in supplication or defense it was hard to tell. “I’d guess maybe you didn’t get your beauty sleep, but you look gorgeous as ever. How ‘bout I make you coffee before I finish unloading the sled. Nothing like a good cup o’ joe to make the morning better.” Strong, even white teeth slashed his tanned face, practically glowing in the dim light of the cabin. “Well, maybe one thing.”
He winked.
I winced. Jesus H. Christ. Who winks anymore?
It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. Instead, I went back to cleaning.
Dan Griffin had a nice smile in an even nicer face. I’d give him that. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a raging ass. Or that coffee was going to improve my mood. The only thing that might would be finding out I could stay on as hut caretaker all summer. Not possible, given the resort didn’t run trips out here in the summertime.
I’d settle for not having to spend my last full day up here dealing with Dan. Putting up with his loud music, and his never-ending innuendos and bad pick-up lines. But that was almost as unlikely.
The snowcat would be here in an hour hauling hungry skiers expecting a big breakfast before a half-day of epic, untracked powder skiing. By the time breakfast was cleaned up, it’d be time to prep lunch. And Danny-boy was the chef all day.
I scrubbed at a splotch of sticky funk stuck on the cabinet door, and crossed mental fingers that I’d be able sneak away after lunch and make a few turns alone. Otherwise, I’d be a surly, moody mess by the time dinner guests arrived.
“Coffee’s on, beautiful. I’ll be back in a flash with the rest of the groceries.”
Shaking my head, I ducked into the cabinet again and wiped with renewed force. Ignored the stomp of his feet each time he crossed the plywood floor.
If he could just stop talking, I could deal with him intruding in my space. Because, despite the ponytail, with his chiseled cheekbones and lean muscles, he certainly improved the scenery. He just could never shut up.
Pretty sure all he ever talked about was sex, skiing, and cooking. Oh, and himself. Not necessarily in that order.
I’d put up with his bullshit all season. Surely, I could get through one more day without strangling him. “Murderer” wouldn’t add much to my journalism resume. And with eight feet of snow outside, no way could I dig a grave to hide the body.
I snickered.
“Something funny? What did I miss?”
My head slammed into the shelf above it. Sonofabitch.
I rocked back on my heels, rubbing the tender bump already forming.
“Oops. Sorry.” A sheepish grin anchored itself on his sculpted face. Not nearly apologetic enough—not that I expected him to care about anyone other than himself.
“Maybe this will help.” He waved a big, blue mug in front of my eyes.
“Thanks.” A caffeine infusion might be enough to keep me from killing him before he had a chance to fix breakfast for the incoming guests. I took the mug, avoiding his touch and his too-bright gaze. I didn’t want to provide any possible openings for more of his lines.
A white froth heart on the top caught my attention. “You made me a latte? How?” I brought the mug to my lips, savoring the nutty scent, and trying to figure out where he stashed the espresso machine. And the electricity.
“A beautiful woman deserves a fantastic cup of coffee.” He took a sip from his chipped, white enamel cup, hazel eyes flashing over the rim. “And a man is much sexier with a few secrets.”
I snorted, narrowly missing shooting coffee out my nose. Gah. Where did he get these cheesy lines?
“Whatever,” I mumbled, setting my mug down on the floor, and reached into the plywood cabinet again to finish cleaning the bottom shelf. Only twelve more hours, and I would never have to deal with Dan Griffin again.
****
I watched Morgan’s ass sway from side to side while she cleaned the cupboards. Helluva nice ass. Attached to a helluv-an amazing woman. Not that I had time to gawk like a teenage boy. Not if I was going to be ready with a cold breakfast buffet, plus made-to-order Eggs Daniel with my signature fresh avocado Hollandaise, in forty-five minutes.
Grabbing the cardboard box closest to me, I pulled out my sweet new iPod and speakers, and dialed up some classic G&R. Welcome to the jungle baby.
I sang along and emptied each box, spreading everything across the counter. Then I got busy doing what I do best. Well, maybe not what I do best, but cooking comes in a close second. My Axl Rose impression a close third.
I placed a few serving plates and a cutting board on the butcher block counter. Man, Morgan was something else. I’d been watching her, getting to know her, all season, and I was damn impressed. Not many women could stay in a hut like this, with no running water or even a bed. And she seemed happiest up here, by herself, splitting wood and shoveling snow. Plus, she was smart. Smarter than me by a long shot.
Still, I had talents. Lots of ‘em. I’d love to show Morgan all my greatest talents. Instead I got to chopping and prepping. Because women like her were dangerous. Get in too far, and they’d crush your heart.
Thirty minutes later, the low thrum of the snowcat engine seeped through the split log walls of the ski hut. Perfect timing! I stepped back and surveyed my handiwork.
Sweet breakfast spread on the counter? Check. Water on the stove churning at a slow boil? Check.
I slapped a couple split English Muffins face down on the cast iron griddle and grabbed the sauce pot off the other burner. I whisked my Hollandaise, getting into the rhythmic scrape of metal on metal, loving the way the pale green creaminess folded in on itself with every stroke. Brought a smile to my face every time.
Morgan came in from sweeping the front stairs. “Ready?”
The cat engine died outside.
“Yup. All set to show off my madd skillz.”
She shook her head, and looked like she wanted to say something. Probably something about my amazing cooking.
Boots thumped on the stairs, and a rush of cold air and conversation flooded the one room log cabin.
“Welcome to the Emerald Mountain Ski Hut.” Morgan’s chiming voice cut through it all. “You can hang your coats and gear on the hooks along the wall. I’m Morgan, hut caretaker, and this is your chef, Dan. Breakfast is ready. Just step up to the counter and he’ll take care of you.”
Eight sets of eyes, attached to eight curvaceous bodies in the process of being unwrapped, turned my way.
I let my smile slide across my face until it hit peak wattage. “Welcome. Step right up ladies, and allow me to serve you.”
Want to keep reading? Preorder your copy of Never You from one of these fine retailers, for delivery March 5th, 2018.
Amazon Canada
Amazon UK
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Amazon Australia
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February 8, 2018
Random Musings: Society’s Subtle Subjugation of Women
“Abandon the cultural myth that all female friendships must be bitchy, toxic, or competitive. This myth is like heels and purses — pretty but designed to SLOW women down.” — Roxane Gay Bad Feminist, August 2014
I’ve been watching The Handmaid’s Tale lately (which, if you haven’t seen it, is dark and disturbing and abso-frickin-lutely A-mazing), and one scene from the show has been stuck in my head. It summed up a line of thinking I’ve been following for the past few years in a frighteningly perfect way (Don’t worry. No spoilers).
In the scene, Joseph Fiennes, who plays The Commander, offers Elizabeth Moss, his Handmaid, a contraband copy of a woman’s magazine along the lines of Cosmo or Glamour.
She smiles, unsure, but clearly interested in this item that reminds her of better days, and could provide a tiny escape from the horror of her current dystopian life. He flips through the pages and says something along the lines of, “I never understood why women like these magazines. All they do is tell you, you aren’t pretty enough, or smart enough, or good enough in bed.”
The voice in my head said, “Riiiiiiiiiiight?”
Being Thin Enough, and Fashionable Enough, and Pretty Enough
Women have long been set a higher bar for how we’re supposed to look and act. According to magazines, movies, and social media we’re supposed to be very thin (but healthy, and with nice boobs and a booty), perfectly made up and put together at all times, and able to catch bad guys even in stilettos.
That bar is so high I’m not sure anyone can reach it without photoshop, plastic surgery, or an eating disorder. But damn, so many women keep trying, and then feeling bad about themselves for not achieving these impossible ideals.
So we go through life thinking we’re not good enough, and doing and buying everything we’re told in a vain effort to fix a problem that doesn’t exist. We even think we wear those horribly uncomfortable shoes and outfits for ourselves. Really though, who benefits? Corporations, the already wealthy, and the men in power who’d rather women not have the time, energy, money, or courage to challenge them or the status quo.
How is a woman going to find time to do anything when she’s juggling kids, work, and debt up to her bra straps—and trying to look and act perfect to boot? She’s not. As long as we’re focused on trying to make ourselves thin enough, fashionable enough, and pretty enough to be loved and respected, we’re letting our power be taken away. It’s a way of controlling us.
“Heels and purses are pretty but designed to SLOW women down.”
Carrie Bradshaw famously said she “likes her money where she can see it—hanging in her closet.” That’s all well and good until your car dies, or you want to buy a house, start a business, or retire. Or you finally decide to walk out on the cheating/abusive SO you’ve been living with, only to realize no one will take a pair of Louboutins as deposit on an apartment.
Having financial freedom means having the freedom to make choices and changes in your life. To move across the country, leave a bad relationship, change careers, get a degree, or write the great American novel. Spending tons of time and money making sure you always have the latest outfit and perfectly manicured nails isn’t moving your life forward. It’s holding you back.
Imagine if women were happy with themselves. If we believed in our innate value, power, and beauty without all the expensive lotions and potions and paints and must-have outfits. Imagine what we could accomplish if we used that time, money, and emotional energy to start a business, fight for a cause, or achieve our dreams.
When women realize we don’t need to waste our precious time and money on all this highly-marketed crap to be beautiful, smart, powerful, and respected (or find true love), we’ll be unstoppable.
What do you think? Do you see a connection between the media’s example of beauty, and product and fashion marketing, and the subjugation of women?
Please share your thoughts by leaving a comment below.
The post Random Musings: Society’s Subtle Subjugation of Women appeared first on Stacy Gold.
February 1, 2018
14 Days of Romance Giveaway Starts Today!
Whether you’re with the love of your life, going it solo, or something in between, every romance reader deserves a little extra love on Valentine’s Day. That’s why 50+ romance authors (including me) have gotten together to offer you an amazing set of romance giveaway prizes every day, for the next 14 days!
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