Tory Richards's Blog, page 164

I don't know why it continues to amaze me that when we lo...

I don't know why it continues to amaze me that when we loose a family member or friend that the world goes on. Because it seems to stop for me. I get stuck in the moment the news is given to me, and then I go backwards. The memories I shared with that person flood my mind and hold me prisoner from temporarily moving on. I can't explain it any better than that. Some of you will probably understand what I mean.

We lost another family member today. Just before 7:00 this morning he was hit and killed by a semi. It was all over the news, but the first time I heard it meant nothing to me because it didn't affect me. Now every time I see it on the news, see the yellow tarp covering his body, it does affect me. It affects my daughter because he was her uncle. 

I hope they catch the driver of that semi, because the bastard kept going and just left his victim in the middle of the road. Thank God there were witnesses. It was said the semi driver was making a turn and aimed right for the pedestrian. I don't want to believe he killed him on purpose, but he did kill him. How do you not know you've run over someone?

Now, as the family pulls together and grieves in their own ways, I sit in my woman cave and look around me with a heavy weight on my chest. Everything, from the ceiling, to the ceiling fans, walls, windows, doors, closets, and electrical work this man did for me when I first moved in with my daughter. He made my woman cave.

We grew up together. I married his older brother. We weren't close, but we were still family. And it still hurts. Now I need to go out there and console my daughter, who in turn is trying to console her dad.

Blog Hop

CLICK here for other participating authors!
Make any New Year's Resolutions? I did, and not the usual ones either. You know, the ones you keep for about a week and than forget all about them, or they're too hard to keep. So this year I decided to make a resolution about my writing. I've never been very disciplined. Because I considered writing a hobby I always wrote whenever. Surprisingly four books were published last year, and I have three so far for this year. Now that I'm retired, there's no excuse for not putting myself on a writing schedule.

So, keeping my fingers crossed, I'm going to devote my afternoons and weekends to buckling down and writing. That means, no TV, no music, and no kids! My granddaughter will just have to understand that she can't come into my woman cave at will every day. Grandma is at work! I used to have a goal of putting out one full length romance a year. I've always surpassed that. But writing shorter, erotic romances, I should be able to put out a lot more. So my new goal? Publish a new erotic romance at least every two months. I hope no one reminds me of this later:)

What am I giving away at this hop? A download of my new release that comes out on 1/5/13... A PERFECT FIT ! Below are the grand prizes being offered up. There's  200 authors participating so you're bound to win something! Have fun and good luck!

                                         GRAND PRIZES
$100 GIFT CARD TO Eden FantasysA digital gift basket of 10 erotica books

&...

                               AUTHOR Bio

In addition to her critically aclaimed novels, Joan Hall Hovey's articles and short stories have appeared in such diverse publications as The Toronto Star, Atlantic Advocate, Seek, Home Life Magazine, Mystery Scene, The New Brunswick Reader, Fredericton Gleaner, New Freeman and Kings County Record. Her short story Dark Reunion was selected for the anthology investigating Women, Published by Simon & Pierre.

Ms. Hovey has held workshops and given talks at various schools and libraries in her area, including New Brunswick Community College, and taught a course in creative writing at the University of New Brunswick. For a number of years, she has been a tutor with Winghill School, a distance education school in Ottawa for aspiring writers.

She is a member of the Writer's Federation of New Brunswick, past regional Vice-President of Crime Writers of Canada, Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.

Website: http://www.joanhallhovey.com/



Suspense from Joan Hall Hovey by Joan Hall Hovey


BLURB:
THE ABDUCTION OF MARY ROSE 
A suspense novel interwoven with threads of romance and paranormal.
Imagine discovering everything you believe about yourself to be a lie. And that the truth could stir a killer from his lair.

Following the death of the woman she believed to be her mother, 28-year-old Naomi Waters learns from a malicious aunt that she is not only adopted, but the product of a brutal rape that left her birth mother, Mary Rose Francis, a teenager of Micmac ancestry, in a coma for 8 months.

Dealing with a sense of betrayal and loss, but with new purpose in her life, Naomi vows to track down Mary Rose's attackers and bring them to justice. She places her story in the local paper, asking for information from residents who might remember something of the case that has been cold for nearly three decades.

She is about to lose hope that her efforts will bear fruit, when she gets an anonymous phone call. Naomi has attracted the attention of one who remembers the case well.

But someone else has also read the article in the paper. The man whose DNA she carries.

And he has Naomi in his sights.


Review quotes:

"…Ms. Hovey's talent in creating characters is so real, you feel their emotions and their fears. You want to yell at them to warn of the danger . . . and you do! Your shouts fall on deaf ears . . . and you cry! The best suspense writer I've ever read!

Beth Anderson, Author of Raven Talks back

"...Alfred Hitchcock and Stephen King come to mind, but JOAN HALL HOVEY is in a Class by herself!…"

J.D. Michael Phelps, Author of My Fugitive, David Janssen

"…CANADIAN MISTRESS OF SUSPENSE…The author has a remarkable ability to turn up the heat on the suspense… great characterizations and dialogue…" James Anderson, author of Deadline


BLURB:
NIGHT CORRIDOR

At 17, Caroline Hill was torn from the boy she loved by her tyranical father. Then they took her child. Finally, her grasp on reality.

Now, after nine years in Bayshore mental institution, once called The Lunatic Asylum, Caroline is being released.

There will be no one to meet her. Her parents who brought her here are dead.

They have found her a room in a rooming house, a job washing dishes in a restaurant. She will do fine, they said. But no one told her that women in St. Simeon are already dying at the hands of a vicious predator. One, an actress who lived previously in her building.  Others.

And now, as Caroline struggles to survive on the outside, she realizes someone is stalking her.

But who will believe her? She's a crazy woman after all.

Then, one cold winter's night on her way home from her job, a man follows and is about to assault her when a stranger intercedes.

A stranger who hides his face and whispers her name.


Review Quotes:

"…another winner. I highly recommend it to any lover of suspense, mystery, romance, or thriller. You’ll not only race through this book, but clamor for more works by this talented and polished author. Aaron Paul Lazar, author of Healey's Cave

"...The mystery and suspense in this novel is outstanding, truly top notch, in the vein of Mary Higgins Clark, but—dare I say—even better? - In the Library

"…intricately plotted and the ending will surprise even the most devoted mystery and susense reader. Gripping suspense. – Sandy Heptinstall - Whispering Winds Reviews


 Excerpt: NIGHT CORRIDOR October 1973

He noticed her as soon as he walked into the bar. She was sitting with another girl, a blond; pretty, he supposed, but his attention was riveted on the dark-haired one. He ordered a beer and took a table in the far corner where he had a good view, while he himself was safe from watchful eyes. She had satiny hair to her shoulders, high cheekbones, was slender in a silk print top, black slacks, like a woman on the cover of a magazine. She was laughing at something the blond said, flashing perfect white teeth and his heart tripped. She's the one, the voice told him.

Excitement surged through him as he recast her in the movie that for years now, replayed endlessly on the screen of his mind.

When the two women rose to leave, he left his unfinished beer on the table and casually, so as not to draw attention to himself, followed them outside. She had put on a jacket and it shone bright white in the lights from the parking lot.

After chatting briefly, the two girls gave each other a quick hug, then parted and went to their respective cars, parked a good distance from one another. There was a rightness to it. They might just as easily have come in one car, or parked closer to one another. But they did not. The stars were finally lining up in his favor.

He came up behind her as she was fitting the key in the lock of the red Corvair. "I'm Buddy," he said softly, so as not to frighten her. Despite his best intention, she whirled around, eyes wide. "Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. What do you want?"

He felt the smile on his face falter. A mask, crumbling. "I just want to talk to you."

"Fuck off, okay? I'm not interested."

With those words, her beauty vanished, as if he'd imagined it. Her mouth was twisted and ugly. Disappointment weighed heavy on him. Anger boiled up from his depths.

"That was wrong of you to say that to me," he said, still speaking quietly.

Belying the softness of his voice, she saw something in his eyes then and he saw that she did, and when she opened her mouth to scream, he stuck her full in the face with his fist.

She slid down the side of the car as if boneless. He caught her before she hit the ground, then dragged her around to the other side of the car, blocking her with his own body in case someone saw them. Not that he was too concerned. If anyone did see them they would just figure she was his girlfriend and that she'd had one too many. But there was no one in the lot. Even her friend had already driven off.

He lowered her limp form to the ground while he hurried round to the driver's side and got the key out of the door. He put on his gloves, and opened the passenger door. After propping her up in the seat, he went back around and slid into the driver's side. Then he turned on the ignition and the car hummed to life.

Shifting the car into reverse, he backed out of the parking spot. He gave the wheel a hard turn and she fell against him, her hair brushing his face and filling his senses with her shampoo, something with a hint of raspberry. He pushed her off him and her head thunked against the passenger window. A soft moan escaped her, but she didn't wake.

He drove several miles out of the city, then turned left onto a rutted dirt road and stayed on it for a good ten minutes. Spotting a clearing leading into the woods, an old logging road no longer used, he eased the car in, bumping over dips and tangled roots. He went in just far enough not to be seen from the road on the off-chance someone drove by, but also taking care he wouldn't get stuck in here. The headlights picked out the white trunks of spruce trees, spot-lighting the leaves that seconds later receded into blackness, as if this were merely a stage set.

Beside him, the woman moaned again then whimpered, her hand moving to her face where he had struck her. Blood trickled darkly down one corner of her mouth and her eyes fluttered open. He knew the instant she sensed him there beside her, like the bogeyman in a nightmare.

Except she was awake now. When she turned to look at him he felt her stiffen, could see in her eyes that she knew she was in big trouble. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"Who are you?" she croaked, more blood leaking from the corner of her mouth, eyes wet with tears.

"What does it matter?"

"Please…please don't hurt me. I'm—I'm sorry for what I said to you. I shouldn't have. If you want to… I mean, it's okay. You don't have to hurt…"

His fury was like lava from a volcano and his hand shot out, the back of it shutting off her words in mid-sentence. "Shut up, whore."

She was crying hard now, heavy, hiccupy sobs, helpless, terrified. But her tears meant nothing to him. She was right to be afraid. He slid the knife from its sheath that hung on his belt and let her see it.

"Oh, God, no please…" She was choking on her tears, wriggling away from him, trapped, like a butterfly on the head of a pin. He smiled when she reached for the door handle on her side, and then drove the knife into her upper arm. She screamed and he wound his fingers into her hair. "Be quiet," he said, while she held her arm with her other hand and wept like a child.

As he had wept. As he wept still.

"You can't get away," he said. "There's no place to go."


Joan will be awarding a piece of Micmac jewelry - silver dreamcatcher earrings (her main character learns she is of Micmac ancestry) to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour (USA ONLY).

Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:

http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/10/virtual-blurb-blitz-suspense-from-joan.html


                                

HAPPY NEW YEAR'S

Please stay safe and have Happy New Year's Eve! No drinkin and drivin either!

Where's the cat?

Don't give up! It's in this picture I swear!

My coffee cups

I have 1-2 cups of coffee every day. And I have 5 favorite coffee cups that not only love and support my beloved brew, they come from favorite peeps or places. They have meaning.  I use a different cup every morning and after all 5 have felt the touch of my lips I start all over again. It's not often I share such a personal piece of my life. So soak it up!


1 - My good friend Rita brought back for me when she went home to Canada to visit her family. I used it this morning.

2 - The Winnie the Pooh and Tigger cup I received years ago from a friend at work. 

3 - The Phantom of the Opera cup I purchased when I went to the theater. Hot coffee turns the mask white. I bought my daughter and niece a cup, too. We had a nice night together.

4 - Earl had it made up of us years ago, while I was holding one of the many pandas that I collected. He had such a beautiful smile.

5 - My newest addition. A Starbucks cup with gold Christmas balls that my friend Rita gave me for Christmas this year. I plan to break it in tomorrow morning.

If any one of them disappeared or somehow got broken I would be devastated! 

I just saw that UP in Flames received another 4-STAR revi...

I just saw that UP in Flames received another 4-STAR review on Amazon today!  If any of you have read the book I would really appreciate you taking a moment to write a review on Amazon . It counts. Thanks!

Blurb - Rachel Masters has had a crush on her sexy boss for three years. As far as she knows the millionaire architect is oblivious to her, walking past her desk every morning with barely a nod in her direction. But when the power goes out and they're trapped in an elevator, the truth comes out in one steamy episode designed to take Rachel's mind off being claustrophobic.

James White doesn't have a crush on his receptionist. He wants her, it's as simple as that. He senses there's a real beauty hidden beneath the granny glasses and professional suits. And he plans to find out how hot she is as soon as the chance presents itself.

A friend stopped by today...

I Love You, Honey, but… 

Thanks so much for having me as your guest today, Tory! I’m thrilled to be here :)

It’s been so great over the past month getting reacquainted with Kate and Logan from the first PIRATES AT HEART book titled  LANDLOCKED . While Kate and Logan love each other passionately, they’ve always had their differences. It puts the fire in their relationship. In the sequel, SMUGGLER’S BLUES these differences come to a head and the fireworks fly. Kate comes face-to-face with Logan’s dark and reckless side; she must decide whether or not she can accept him for the pirate he is at heart. 
This got me thinking…while my life partner is the love of my life, he also does things that drive me up the wall. For instance he’s got a quick temper and he’s stubborn as hell. Not to mention he’s far sloppier than he thinks he is. Oh and he loves to push my buttons when I’m in no mood to have said buttons pushed. But I wouldn’t have him any other way.

Sometimes it’s a person’s flaws that cement a relationship. Gotta take the bad with the good. And I realize that he takes the bad in me mostly in stride (mostly *grin*). Let’s see, things about me that annoy him to no end? Well, I have a temper myself and I’m tend to get loud when I’m angry. I talk too much first thing in the morning. Oh and I eat crackers in bed. Believe it or not that one was almost the deal breaker, lol. But over the years we’ve developed a system of give and take that works pretty well for us. I used that life experience to help bring Kate and Logan to the same kind of accord.

Here’s an unedited sneak peek at conflict central to SMUGGLER’S BLUES:

“I’m sorry, Kate.” Logan traced her cheek with one finger.

“Uh huh.” She brushed aside his hand.

“Are you ever going to forgive me?”

“Probably.”

“Then why don’t we do away with all the fussing and fighting and make up already?”

“Not a chance.” She stood up and crossed the small cabin.

Logan sighed, rubbing his temples. He lacked the energy to fight with her though he knew she had every right to be angry with him. But Kate was Kate—she would vacillate between icy indifference and open hostility for days, possibly weeks. He’d sleep on the sofa every night and try to cajole her into forgiveness every day until finally she’d break

“Do you even understand why I’m angry?” She stomped her foot.

So it was open hostility then? Just as well, he preferred her this way. “Yes. I’m on a mission you don’t approve of. I got myself jailed which would’ve left you a single mother again, but you have to know I’ll always find a way back to—”

“You think this is about me? I’m not afraid of a future without you. I can take care of myself and our family just fine. But for the record, I’d much prefer to live out my life with you by my side.”

“And I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. A faraway look wiped the emotion from her face. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes.

Her head tilted, she opened her eyes slowly, fixing her gaze on him. “You know, last night I dreamed of snow. It used to snow just about every year in Leesburg, Virginia. We were so close to the Blue Ridge. We had the occasional white Christmas. It always made me feel peaceful. Happy.”

“What’s snow got to do with—”

She held up a hand. “It doesn’t snow in Texas and as much as I miss it, I have to accept that it does not snow in Texas. That part of my life is over.”

She arched an eyebrow, her cheeks sucked in. He knew that look all too well. Kate was making a point and it wasn’t lost on him, but how could she compare snow to his entire adult life? He’d been a sailor as long as he could remember and a privateer for the past twenty years. Was it so unreasonable that he wanted to carry on with the business as usual? He had to level with her whether it was a message she’d receive happily or not.

Crossing the cabin to stand in front of her, he touched her face with the back of his hand.

“I know I’ve behaved badly and I know I’m not a young man with no responsibilities anymore. And whether you understand or not, it’s you and the boys—your future security that I worry about. Do you know how much money this trip made for us?”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“I know you don’t. But this trip alone I netted enough for Nate’s education. I promise to be more careful in the future.”

“So you’ll give up this fool’s errand then?”

He wrapped his arms around her, the scent of her hair comforted him in a way he couldn’t put into words. “Kate, I love you and the boys more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything, but I’m not cut out to putter around the house and wait for death. I’m bored. Bored out of my mind.”

“So you’d rather rush to your end then? Or worse—rot in an RSA cell?”

“Won’t happen.” He stroked the back of her neck.

“It will.” Her posture stiffened. “And you know I hate the whole thing. Running moonshine makes you no more than a common criminal.”

With a sigh he released her. A common criminal. Is that what she thought of him?As a supporter of the former Resistance, he felt it was his obligation to defy the Puritanical hypocrisy of the RSA. Civil disobedience and all that. What right did they have to allow or disallow his actions on soil they’d stolen?

He could explain all this to Kathryn. Hell, they’d had this conversation before. She knew how he felt, but then again there was no truce to be drawn out of her tonight. That much he could tell. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to make peace right now either. Logan grimaced, picking up his hat, leather coat and sidearm.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to relieve the night watch. Get some rest.”

“Fine. Avoid the issue.”

“Fine.” He trudged out of his own cabin, biting back a more pointed reply.

_______________________________________

So what drives you crazy about your mate? What do you do that makes them nuts? Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of SMUGGLER’S BLUES . Or buy your copy today at Ellora’s Cave! https://www.ellorascave.com/index.php/authors/index/author/slug/cindy-jacks

Cindy’s Links:
Website: http://cindyjacks.com/
Twitter: @cindyjacks
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/author.cindy.jacks
Blog: http://cindyjacks.blogspot.com/

BDSM

We have a special guest with us today and she blogs about a special topic. Some of you may find it very interesting, while others may find yourselves getting uncomfortable. That's okay. The topic is about BDSM, something I don't write. Heck, I still have to google, what does BDSM stand for? LOL But I've been interested in learning a little more about bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism and learning something new doesn't hurt. Please welcome Trillium and ask questions if you have one!

Would you allow someone to tie you up and flog you? More importantly, would you find that so sexually arousing that the mere touch of his or her hand would bring you to orgasm?

Or would you be able to kneel in a corner, content, waiting for someone to briskly tell you what to do, which might be balancing the checkbook, cleaning the silverware or servicing your master or mistress with your tongue?

Perhaps you might find it strange to control the moves of another human being, even to the point of putting them in a cage every night as a sign of your respect and love.

A wide variety of activities and commitment levels make up the BDSM scene. A couple, or a group in polyamourous relationships, can agree to play together, touching, tickling, using vampire gloves, whatever torment they can think up, but there’s no long-term commitment. At the other end are people in a committed lifestyle arrangement.

Why? Are these people sick? Are they looking for something they should have gotten growing up? The truth is sometimes that’s the case and anyone entering the BDSM scene for the first time needs to be on guard against people who are working out their issues on other people. (My story, The Awakening , deals with this problem.)


For some, the pain is an aphrodisiac. If it isn’t for you, that’s fine, but pain releases endorphins in some. It’s just the way they’re wired. And some gain endorphins from inflicting pain, seeing their partner writhe both in pain and pleasure as a result of their actions. The giving and receiving of pain begins to transcend the physical actions and the “players” can develop a tight bond that enhances the orgasm when it arrives (which may the dominant may forbid the submissive to have until the next day). It’s this heightened awareness of their unity that provides many couples with a glimpse of their own personal nirvana.

Have you ever gotten pleasure when you’ve deferred to another person, particularly someone you loved? Seeing your lover intent on a car chase in a movie, knowing it wasn’t your first choice, can intensify the flame of love inside you. What if you push your lover to do something outside his or her comfort zone and you have the joy of watching them master something they never thought they could do?

Push the envelope a bit and you have the intense emotion between two people who’ve agreed to trust each other enough to have new, if sometimes painful, experiences to achieve new heights of pleasure and communication. In the BDSM scene this is called “Power Exchange.” Done right, the BDSM experience helps each person in the relationship grow, come to terms with themselves as they really are and achieve new levels of relationship.

Not everyone gets to this point. Sometimes a person stumbles and a relationship crumbles. But like every powerful, strong relationship, the people who make it work are those willing to over-communicate, take a risk and continue their own personal growth.

The characters in all my novels have to achieve some growth in order to get the relationship they want. Sometimes they have trauma in their background, sometimes they don’t--kind of like the rest of the world. My latest book, Tuxedos and Corsets, brings together two people who already have experience in the BDSM scene, but need to learn to trust and work together, even though neither is ready to fall head-over-heels in love with the other…yet.

Trillium writes BDSM-oriented male/female erotic romance and mystery. Her website is www.trillium-author.com.

A Christmas Poem

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight. My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,My daughter beside me, angelic in restOutside the snow fell, a blanket of white,transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,Secure and surrounded by love, I would sleep,In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear. Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,A lone figure stood his face weary and tight. A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here! Put down your pack; brush the snow from your sleeve,You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light.Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right, I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore,I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before. My Gramps died at Pearl on a day in December."Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas Gram always remembers."
"My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,But my wife sends me pictures; he's sure got her smile." Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
"I can live through the cold and the being alone,Away from my family, my house and my home
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat. I can carry the weight of killing another,Or lay down my life for my sister or brother,Who stand at the front against any and allTo ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said, "Harbor no fright,Your family is waiting and I'll be all right.""But isn't there something I can do, at the least?Give you money," I asked, "Or prepare you a feast?It seems all too little for all that you've done, for being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,"Just tell us you love us, and never forgetTo fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,To stand your own watch, no matter how longFor when we come home, either standing or dead,To know you remember we fought and we bledIs payment enough, and with that we will trust, that we mattered to you as you mattered to us."