Virginia Nelson's Blog, page 4
April 11, 2016
La Vie en Rose {Life In Pink} by L Y D I A M I C H A E L S
Sometimes the greatest scars are worn on the inside.
La Vie en Rose{Life In Pink}L Y D I A M I C H A E L SAmazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | GoodreadsEmma Sanders has always dreamt of being a bride, wearing fancy gowns, pretty pearls, and—of course—falling madly in love. Then life happened. Finding herself one fiancé short of her happily ever after, she leaves the fairytales behind. Some days are simply too perilous for pink gowns and pearls.
Riley Lockhart is the sort of man who can make a woman lower her gaze with only a smile. That he doesn’t realize his charm makes him all the more enchanting. Determined to save Emma the pain of her breakup, he steps in as a friend, but soon finds himself wanting more.
She was just a girl, but she somehow winds up being the strongest woman he’s ever known. Losing her is not an option and when life can’t be tied neatly in a pretty little bow, he holds tight to all that he loves—his Emma. His hero.
EXCERPT
It was amusing how the girls on the subway watched Riley. Emma supposed he was above-average handsome, but since he was Rarity’s older brother she never looked too hard.
Now, seeing him in his element, riding the subway in a Pet Shop Boys T-shirt, jeans, and battered chucks, she recognized what the other women on the train were seeing. Riley was hot.
His brown eyes were so clear they shined as though they were blue. Sloppy chestnut waves curled in perfect careless disarray, complimenting his naturally tanned olive skin. He even had the five o’clock shadow down to an art.
Scanning the surrounding female passengers, she counted six of them gawking at him, begging with their eyes for him to glance their way. Amazing. The pheromones could choke a prostitute.
Skimming the male passengers, she frowned. Not a single one was looking at her.
What if she was Riley’s girlfriend? They were standing close enough, but the other girls didn’t seem to notice her at all.
She rolled her eyes. Invisible. Meanwhile, Riley scratched his nose with his thumbnail—it was practically a casual pick—and three of the six leering women sighed as if he read a verse of poetry.
So unfair.
“Wait until you taste some of the food there,” he whispered in her ear.
Her chest filled with warmth as his voice sent a thrill of excitement tearing through her belly. It wasn’t sexual. It was what being feminine was all about. Who cared what he said? He was talking to her; the guy every other girl was drooling over was talking to her. And in that moment, the other women finally registered her presence. Every stink eye she got was so totally worth the thrill of attention.
Ha! Not only does he talk to me, he lives with me. I’ve seen him in his skivvies. Take that, ladies.
As the ride continued, her pride mended with each spiteful glance tallied in her favor. Not used to this catty need for attention, she chalked it up to recently being dumped. It was against her nature to behave like a clingy girlfriend, but with Riley it was all make believe, a temporary tonic for her battered ego.
Sometimes it was nice to be seen, though a great deal of her life had been conducted as a wallflower. Perhaps her affability gave her fiancé the impression that she wouldn’t mind him delving into another woman’s panties. Or maybe he’d already lost interest…maybe she wasn’t good at sex. Oh dear God, was she vanilla? A wallflower in bed?
Again, the emphasis she placed on other people’s perception concerned her. Riley didn’t care what anyone thought and people loved him. Even when they were in school, he was always a popular guy. Teachers loved him, jocks loved him, and, of course, women adored him.
Rarity was popular by default, because she was Riley’s sister. Publicly kissing girls promoted her to a novel level of cool only genuine lesbians could achieve in high school, but she’d always been cool by proximity first.
Emma was drawn to their energy like planets to the sun. No one was immune. They were simply attractive people. And as the permanent sidekick that existed in the cool guy’s sister’s shadow, it felt nice to have a bit of Riley’s innate popularity rub off on her as they stood together on the subway.
You’re pathetic. Those girls only know you exist because you’re pretending to be something you’re not. Oh, well! Self-esteem is in the gutter and pretending is helping.
She arched a brow at one of the gawkers.
“What are you grinning about?” he whispered.
Her attention jerked to his smiling russet eyes. He was almost a foot taller than her. Should she tell him? Would he laugh at her? Deciding she didn’t care, she whispered, “You’re inadvertently inflating my ego.”
Confusion tightened his brow so she tipped her head at the other passengers. Shockingly, it seemed the first time he noticed the other women.
“They all assume I’m with you. They hate me.”
He glanced at the other woman, each glare transforming to a seductive pout the moment his attention fell upon them. With his hand gripping the rail above her head, he leaned close. “And them hating you is a good thing?”
Didn’t he get it? “They’re jealous of me. Not many people are.”
The train rattled and slowed. People got off as new passengers climbed on and settled into seats as it whistled back up to speed.
His scrutiny heated her cheeks as he unabashedly studied her. “I can play that game,” he whispered.
“What game?”
Rather than answer, his mouth hooked in a half smile and he winked. She flinched as he dragged his curved knuckle down her bare arm, making the fine hairs rise in its wake. His fingers laced with hers and she watched, amazed, as every female followed the motion.
Her belly tightened with the thrill of exhibitionism. Her feet pointed toward the aisle. His pointed to her, his hip angled at their audience. Shifting a step closer, still holding on to the bar above, he spoke loud enough for the others to hear. “I caught you.”
Her eyes traveled past his lips, no longer shaped in a smile, and landed on those dark eyes. Her brow knit in confusion, unsure what he was doing.
“Looking at me,” he clarified. “You know how that makes me crazy.”
Oh, my God. She should have never told—
“It’s like this morning, when we were spooning in bed, my body pressed tight against yours, flesh to flesh, belly to back, nook to cranny. Everything was fine until I pressed that one kiss on the back of your neck right here.”
Her body tensed with awareness as his finger touched an extremely sensitive spot behind her ear. She couldn’t remember anyone ever touching her there.
“The second I kiss that spot you turn to liquid in my arms, soft and wet, and I can’t help but drink you up, taste every square inch of you on my tongue. My lips. Everywhere. When I catch you looking at me like that, it’s my kryptonite, my secret neck kiss.”
She swallowed and glanced at the women watching them. They were literally gaping, some even appeared to be quietly panting. Holy crap he was slick. “Um…”
Thank God he didn’t let her say anything. She didn’t have his skill. “Next time you look at me like that…” He tucked a curl behind her ear as chills raced over her shoulders. “I can’t be held responsible for what happens.” His fingers squeezed hers tightly and the train hissed and whined to a stop. He winked. “Let’s go. I’m suddenly ravenous.”
He tugged her off the train and into the loud subway. Musicians played for coin and people bustled through the underground world, racing to get where they needed to go. She saw it a thousand times before, but now it was brand new, her senses overstimulated and raw.
As they climbed the stairs to the street her heart pounded wildly. Wafts of traffic, people, and city food greeted them under the August heat. Voices and motion mingled into a cacophony of commotion until she was standing above sea level, fighting to catch her breath. What the hell had he done to her?
Laughing, he released her hand and turned—a totally unaffected grin on his charming face. “That was fun.”
“Y—yeah.” It wasn’t fun, it was thrilling and telling, and in some secret way, quite embarrassing. He’d been toying with those women, putting on a show, yet in those few seconds of phony attention, his artificial reverie trumped every real experience she had. She needed to get a grip.
Demanding her emotions go back into the shadows, she focused on their purpose. “So where’s this Smorgasburg?”
“Can’t you smell it?” He breathed deeply and grinned as his chest expanded, raising his broad shoulders. Weird. She didn’t want to keep cataloguing his every masculine trait, yet she couldn’t stop.
“Ah, it’s just past the bridge. Let’s move.”
The snap of her flip-flops put a melody to their strides. As the impressive Brooklyn Bridge stretched before her, she had one of those out of body moments that reminded her she lived in one of the coolest cities on earth. “I don’t appreciate New York the way I should.”
Walking beside her, a pleasant set to his mouth, he sent her a sidelong glance—not bothering to disagree.
“Becket and I never walked around like this. Once he took me to Tiffany’s, but we were in and out. I’m not even sure what he was picking up.” Probably something for his mistress. “He never stopped for street meats or pretzels. We only dined at restaurants that held reservations.”
“You can’t plan New York through a concierge. It’s meant to be experienced. It’s alive, pulsing, like an animal. We can only observe it and let ourselves be led by its verve. The minute we try to control it we miss something spectacular, like with nature. It really is the world’s largest organism. There are so many people setting its rhythm, better to experience it organically.”
“I never thought of it that way.” The scent of ethnic faire grew thick in the air; tempting her appetite out of hiding and drawing her steps toward the mouth-watering aroma of succulent meats grilled over open flames.
Voices traveled, rising in volume as they stepped into a mass of people patronizing what appeared to be a market of New York’s cleverest food venders. How had she not known about this event?
Riley rotated, a phenomenal grin on his face as though he’d entered man heaven. “Where should we begin?”
“You’re my captain. I trust your instincts.”
Canopies and makeshift booths formed long aisles for people to wander. Steam clouded the various sites, eliciting attention with each peculiarly pleasant aroma.
Chefs acted as street performers, enchanting patrons, drawing them near with careful explanations for pairing fermented spices and specialized condiments with seared meats. It was a sort of live gallery, showcasing the artistry of New York cuisine.
Servings were sometimes dainty, offering a sampling of what could be the world’s most eclectic menu. The selection was endless, filet mignon sliders, fresh pecan bread sold by the slice, doughnuts the size of grapefruits, and even specialty booths for vegans and other diets she’d never heard of before.
“Oh, we have to start here,” he veered to the right and she followed. When the walkways became clogged with people, he reached through the crowd and pulled her to his side. “Watch this, Em. This is how meat should be treated.”
It was indeed a performance. The vendor tossed a steaming brisket onto the wood surface and unwrapped the charred foil covering. Juicy morsels of fat were trimmed away to unveil perfectly cooked, tender, pink beef. As the peddler made a show of slicing the meat in precise portions, it fell apart and her mouth watered.
Riley’s voice turned gravely. “Oh my God, we are so eating that.”
She grinned at him, loving the glazed lust in his eyes. Only men got that way with meat. She supposed beef and pork were to a guy what shoes and purses were to most women.
As the chef prepared their sandwich, Riley asked questions about the smoking process. The vendor was very friendly and informative. “You want everything on it?”
“What’s everything?” Riley asked.
“Cheese, pickles, hot peppers, sweet sauce.”
He glanced at her. “You afraid of hot?”
“No.” She wanted to taste the sandwich the way the creator intended it.
Riley grinned. “Give us the works.”
The man dressed the small sandwich until it was bursting with meat and dripping with sauce. Riley paid and she followed him to the side of the booth where coolers held the vendors’ supplies.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, eyes set with excitement.
“You taste it first.” She wasn’t sure what would be more enjoyable, watching his exhilaration or actually tasting it for herself.
“You sure?”
She nodded as he carefully held the messy sandwich and took a bite, bits of cheese and meat falling from his fingers. “Oh my God,” he moaned over a mouthful. “You have to try this.” She reached out, but he shook his head, still chewing. “Just open. It’s too messy.”
Opening wide like a ridiculous baby bird, she let him shove the corner of the sandwich in her mouth and bit down. “Oh my God!” she echoed.
“I know, right?”
An exquisite blend of flavors burst over her tongue. “It’s amazing,” she mumbled, holding her fingers over her lips so food didn’t fall out.
“I could eat twenty of these.” He took another bite.
“We so should.” She opened as he held the rapidly shrinking sandwich out for her again.
They didn’t waste time talking for the next few minutes as they devoured the most delicious sandwich she’d ever tasted. When they finished, Riley snagged some napkins and passed her several to wipe her mouth.
As they journeyed onward they sampled maple bacon cupcakes, Bangladeshi street cuisine, and even shared a pumpkin spiced S’more cooked under the flame of a blowtorch. It was an incredible festival of food.
“Do you like oysters?” he asked as they approached a merchant standing before a bowl of crushed ice.
“I don’t know.” She’d never tried an oyster before.
“Wanna try one?”
“Sure.”
As the chef sliced open the rocklike case and revealed an opalescent inner shell, she tried not to be revolted by the goopy booger looking mollusk inside. He shucked the blob loose, leaving it resting on half a shell, and placed it in a bed of crushed ice.
“What do they taste like?” she asked.
The chef continued to shuck. “Briny, like the ocean. If you’re virgins I can dress them in a mignonette sauce to soften the taste. I have a nice ginger cucumber one.”
“What do you suggest?” Riley asked.
“I’m a purist, sir. I like them with a bit of pepper and lemon and that’s it.”
Riley glanced at her.
“I think I should try it with the sauce.” The more she stared at the little glob the more unappealing it became. These were considered delicacies? If she was remembering correctly, they were also aphrodisiacs. She didn’t see anything sexy about them.
“Ready?” Riley asked, holding his lemon oyster while offering her the one dressed in the ginger sauce.
Timidly, she reached for the shell.
Their eyes met and he counted off. “One… two…three.” His head tipped back and her mouth filled with—
Oh my God. What the fuck is in my mouth?
“Not bad.” Riley grinned then started laughing. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, booger mollusk sliding around her tongue, and desperately searched the table for a napkin. You gag and it’s all over.
“Swallow it!” he shouted, laughing at her.
The vender passed her a napkin.
“No, don’t spit. Swallow!”
Oh my God, she was going to kick him if he didn’t shut up. People stared as they walked by and she spit the disgusting thing into the napkin and balled it up.
Riley shook his head. “Oh, Emma, I’m disappointed. Good girls swallow.”
“Shut up,” she snapped, her face burning.
He laughed and nudged her, tossing a few dollars on the table and directing her into the crowd.
“That was disgusting. Now I can’t get the taste out of my mouth.”
He stopped and ordered a cup of cranberry Brooklyn soda. “Here, you big tissue.”
“I’m not a tissue. I tried it.”
“Let’s sit for a while.” He led her to a stout cement barricade along the jetties and they sat facing the East River.
They’d walked miles in a matter of hours so she was grateful for the respite. The short wall was warm from the afternoon sun. “Today was really fun, Riley. Thanks for bringing me here.”
“I had fun too. It’s nice to waste a day taking advantage of everything the city has to offer. We can get immune from living here.”
She smiled, her cheeks tingling under the moist wind off the river. “There’s so much I’ve never experienced. I’ve never even been to the Empire State Building.”
“What?”
She laughed at his shock. “I know. I’m the worst New Yorker in the world.”
“You gotta get out more, Em.”
“I want to.” Letting out a deep breath, she relaxed. “I’m so sick of being me. It’s so tedious, always doing what everyone else thinks I should do.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I think you were right. I don’t think I loved Becket.”
“Conceivable.”
“Was it that obvious? Because if I’m being honest, I’m still getting over the shock.”
“Don’t hate me, but Becket was a prick. He didn’t bring anything to the table. You guys were always running off to meet his friends or attend functions at his father’s law firm.”
“Well, I do work there.”
“Exactly. You work for his family. When was it about Emma Sanders?”
There wasn’t an excuse at the ready. “I guess it never was.”
“Yeah, that’s not love. So when you say you don’t think you were in love with him, I can believe it.”
“You’re a pretty deep guy, Riley. Not a lot of men are like that.”
He shrugged. “I’m comfortable with you. I can just say what I feel.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, her mind drifting back to Riley as a tousled child in grass stained corduroys and wild curls. Although they knew each other since braces and bike rides, this was the first time they actually hung out alone. It was strange they never talked about personal things before, because she really was extremely comfortable around him.
“What do you say we head back and go get that mani-pedi?” he asked.
Her feet were killing her and the idea of a pedicure sounded divine. “Okay.”
He glanced down at her flip-flops and tsked. “I’m not sure they can help those stank walkers.”
She gaped at him. “There is nothing wrong with my feet!”
“Whatever. Where’s your baby toe?”
“It’s right here!” She lifted up her foot.
He leaned forward and squinted. “You can’t call that Darwin freak show a toe.”
“If it’s not then what the hell is it?” Her toes were perfectly normal!
“That’s a nubbin.”
“Whatever.” She stood.
He rose as well. “You think you can manage on you’re deformed hobbit hooves? We got a hike back to the subway.”
She stomped away. “Jerk.” And just when she was starting to think he was nice!
“Wait up,” he called. “Don’t be like that. We don’t have to wee-wee-wee all the way home. It was a good day at the market, piggy.”
She held up her middle finger and prodded on—laughing under her breath.
About L Y D I A M I C H A E L S
Lydia Michaels is the award winning author of 23 romance novels. Her novels from the darkly compelling Surrender Trilogy were iBooks Bestsellers and her work has been featured in USA Today. In 2015 she was the winner of The Best of Bucks Award and she has been nominated as Best Author in the Happenings Magazine two years running [2015 & 2016]. She is a four time nominee for the prestigious RONE Award. Her books are intellectual, emotional, haunting, always centered around love. Lydia Michaels loves to hear from readers! She can be contacted by email at Lydia@LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
Webpage: www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
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La Vie en Rose{Life In Pink}L Y D I A M I C H A E L SAmazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | GoodreadsEmma Sanders has always dreamt of being a bride, wearing fancy gowns, pretty pearls, and—of course—falling madly in love. Then life happened. Finding herself one fiancé short of her happily ever after, she leaves the fairytales behind. Some days are simply too perilous for pink gowns and pearls.Riley Lockhart is the sort of man who can make a woman lower her gaze with only a smile. That he doesn’t realize his charm makes him all the more enchanting. Determined to save Emma the pain of her breakup, he steps in as a friend, but soon finds himself wanting more.
She was just a girl, but she somehow winds up being the strongest woman he’s ever known. Losing her is not an option and when life can’t be tied neatly in a pretty little bow, he holds tight to all that he loves—his Emma. His hero.
EXCERPT
It was amusing how the girls on the subway watched Riley. Emma supposed he was above-average handsome, but since he was Rarity’s older brother she never looked too hard.
Now, seeing him in his element, riding the subway in a Pet Shop Boys T-shirt, jeans, and battered chucks, she recognized what the other women on the train were seeing. Riley was hot.
His brown eyes were so clear they shined as though they were blue. Sloppy chestnut waves curled in perfect careless disarray, complimenting his naturally tanned olive skin. He even had the five o’clock shadow down to an art.
Scanning the surrounding female passengers, she counted six of them gawking at him, begging with their eyes for him to glance their way. Amazing. The pheromones could choke a prostitute.
Skimming the male passengers, she frowned. Not a single one was looking at her.
What if she was Riley’s girlfriend? They were standing close enough, but the other girls didn’t seem to notice her at all.
She rolled her eyes. Invisible. Meanwhile, Riley scratched his nose with his thumbnail—it was practically a casual pick—and three of the six leering women sighed as if he read a verse of poetry.
So unfair.
“Wait until you taste some of the food there,” he whispered in her ear.
Her chest filled with warmth as his voice sent a thrill of excitement tearing through her belly. It wasn’t sexual. It was what being feminine was all about. Who cared what he said? He was talking to her; the guy every other girl was drooling over was talking to her. And in that moment, the other women finally registered her presence. Every stink eye she got was so totally worth the thrill of attention.
Ha! Not only does he talk to me, he lives with me. I’ve seen him in his skivvies. Take that, ladies.
As the ride continued, her pride mended with each spiteful glance tallied in her favor. Not used to this catty need for attention, she chalked it up to recently being dumped. It was against her nature to behave like a clingy girlfriend, but with Riley it was all make believe, a temporary tonic for her battered ego.
Sometimes it was nice to be seen, though a great deal of her life had been conducted as a wallflower. Perhaps her affability gave her fiancé the impression that she wouldn’t mind him delving into another woman’s panties. Or maybe he’d already lost interest…maybe she wasn’t good at sex. Oh dear God, was she vanilla? A wallflower in bed?
Again, the emphasis she placed on other people’s perception concerned her. Riley didn’t care what anyone thought and people loved him. Even when they were in school, he was always a popular guy. Teachers loved him, jocks loved him, and, of course, women adored him.
Rarity was popular by default, because she was Riley’s sister. Publicly kissing girls promoted her to a novel level of cool only genuine lesbians could achieve in high school, but she’d always been cool by proximity first.
Emma was drawn to their energy like planets to the sun. No one was immune. They were simply attractive people. And as the permanent sidekick that existed in the cool guy’s sister’s shadow, it felt nice to have a bit of Riley’s innate popularity rub off on her as they stood together on the subway.
You’re pathetic. Those girls only know you exist because you’re pretending to be something you’re not. Oh, well! Self-esteem is in the gutter and pretending is helping.
She arched a brow at one of the gawkers.
“What are you grinning about?” he whispered.
Her attention jerked to his smiling russet eyes. He was almost a foot taller than her. Should she tell him? Would he laugh at her? Deciding she didn’t care, she whispered, “You’re inadvertently inflating my ego.”
Confusion tightened his brow so she tipped her head at the other passengers. Shockingly, it seemed the first time he noticed the other women.
“They all assume I’m with you. They hate me.”
He glanced at the other woman, each glare transforming to a seductive pout the moment his attention fell upon them. With his hand gripping the rail above her head, he leaned close. “And them hating you is a good thing?”
Didn’t he get it? “They’re jealous of me. Not many people are.”
The train rattled and slowed. People got off as new passengers climbed on and settled into seats as it whistled back up to speed.
His scrutiny heated her cheeks as he unabashedly studied her. “I can play that game,” he whispered.
“What game?”
Rather than answer, his mouth hooked in a half smile and he winked. She flinched as he dragged his curved knuckle down her bare arm, making the fine hairs rise in its wake. His fingers laced with hers and she watched, amazed, as every female followed the motion.
Her belly tightened with the thrill of exhibitionism. Her feet pointed toward the aisle. His pointed to her, his hip angled at their audience. Shifting a step closer, still holding on to the bar above, he spoke loud enough for the others to hear. “I caught you.”
Her eyes traveled past his lips, no longer shaped in a smile, and landed on those dark eyes. Her brow knit in confusion, unsure what he was doing.
“Looking at me,” he clarified. “You know how that makes me crazy.”
Oh, my God. She should have never told—
“It’s like this morning, when we were spooning in bed, my body pressed tight against yours, flesh to flesh, belly to back, nook to cranny. Everything was fine until I pressed that one kiss on the back of your neck right here.”
Her body tensed with awareness as his finger touched an extremely sensitive spot behind her ear. She couldn’t remember anyone ever touching her there.
“The second I kiss that spot you turn to liquid in my arms, soft and wet, and I can’t help but drink you up, taste every square inch of you on my tongue. My lips. Everywhere. When I catch you looking at me like that, it’s my kryptonite, my secret neck kiss.”
She swallowed and glanced at the women watching them. They were literally gaping, some even appeared to be quietly panting. Holy crap he was slick. “Um…”
Thank God he didn’t let her say anything. She didn’t have his skill. “Next time you look at me like that…” He tucked a curl behind her ear as chills raced over her shoulders. “I can’t be held responsible for what happens.” His fingers squeezed hers tightly and the train hissed and whined to a stop. He winked. “Let’s go. I’m suddenly ravenous.”
He tugged her off the train and into the loud subway. Musicians played for coin and people bustled through the underground world, racing to get where they needed to go. She saw it a thousand times before, but now it was brand new, her senses overstimulated and raw.
As they climbed the stairs to the street her heart pounded wildly. Wafts of traffic, people, and city food greeted them under the August heat. Voices and motion mingled into a cacophony of commotion until she was standing above sea level, fighting to catch her breath. What the hell had he done to her?
Laughing, he released her hand and turned—a totally unaffected grin on his charming face. “That was fun.”
“Y—yeah.” It wasn’t fun, it was thrilling and telling, and in some secret way, quite embarrassing. He’d been toying with those women, putting on a show, yet in those few seconds of phony attention, his artificial reverie trumped every real experience she had. She needed to get a grip.
Demanding her emotions go back into the shadows, she focused on their purpose. “So where’s this Smorgasburg?”
“Can’t you smell it?” He breathed deeply and grinned as his chest expanded, raising his broad shoulders. Weird. She didn’t want to keep cataloguing his every masculine trait, yet she couldn’t stop.
“Ah, it’s just past the bridge. Let’s move.”
The snap of her flip-flops put a melody to their strides. As the impressive Brooklyn Bridge stretched before her, she had one of those out of body moments that reminded her she lived in one of the coolest cities on earth. “I don’t appreciate New York the way I should.”
Walking beside her, a pleasant set to his mouth, he sent her a sidelong glance—not bothering to disagree.
“Becket and I never walked around like this. Once he took me to Tiffany’s, but we were in and out. I’m not even sure what he was picking up.” Probably something for his mistress. “He never stopped for street meats or pretzels. We only dined at restaurants that held reservations.”
“You can’t plan New York through a concierge. It’s meant to be experienced. It’s alive, pulsing, like an animal. We can only observe it and let ourselves be led by its verve. The minute we try to control it we miss something spectacular, like with nature. It really is the world’s largest organism. There are so many people setting its rhythm, better to experience it organically.”
“I never thought of it that way.” The scent of ethnic faire grew thick in the air; tempting her appetite out of hiding and drawing her steps toward the mouth-watering aroma of succulent meats grilled over open flames.
Voices traveled, rising in volume as they stepped into a mass of people patronizing what appeared to be a market of New York’s cleverest food venders. How had she not known about this event?
Riley rotated, a phenomenal grin on his face as though he’d entered man heaven. “Where should we begin?”
“You’re my captain. I trust your instincts.”
Canopies and makeshift booths formed long aisles for people to wander. Steam clouded the various sites, eliciting attention with each peculiarly pleasant aroma.
Chefs acted as street performers, enchanting patrons, drawing them near with careful explanations for pairing fermented spices and specialized condiments with seared meats. It was a sort of live gallery, showcasing the artistry of New York cuisine.
Servings were sometimes dainty, offering a sampling of what could be the world’s most eclectic menu. The selection was endless, filet mignon sliders, fresh pecan bread sold by the slice, doughnuts the size of grapefruits, and even specialty booths for vegans and other diets she’d never heard of before.
“Oh, we have to start here,” he veered to the right and she followed. When the walkways became clogged with people, he reached through the crowd and pulled her to his side. “Watch this, Em. This is how meat should be treated.”
It was indeed a performance. The vendor tossed a steaming brisket onto the wood surface and unwrapped the charred foil covering. Juicy morsels of fat were trimmed away to unveil perfectly cooked, tender, pink beef. As the peddler made a show of slicing the meat in precise portions, it fell apart and her mouth watered.
Riley’s voice turned gravely. “Oh my God, we are so eating that.”
She grinned at him, loving the glazed lust in his eyes. Only men got that way with meat. She supposed beef and pork were to a guy what shoes and purses were to most women.
As the chef prepared their sandwich, Riley asked questions about the smoking process. The vendor was very friendly and informative. “You want everything on it?”
“What’s everything?” Riley asked.
“Cheese, pickles, hot peppers, sweet sauce.”
He glanced at her. “You afraid of hot?”
“No.” She wanted to taste the sandwich the way the creator intended it.
Riley grinned. “Give us the works.”
The man dressed the small sandwich until it was bursting with meat and dripping with sauce. Riley paid and she followed him to the side of the booth where coolers held the vendors’ supplies.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, eyes set with excitement.
“You taste it first.” She wasn’t sure what would be more enjoyable, watching his exhilaration or actually tasting it for herself.
“You sure?”
She nodded as he carefully held the messy sandwich and took a bite, bits of cheese and meat falling from his fingers. “Oh my God,” he moaned over a mouthful. “You have to try this.” She reached out, but he shook his head, still chewing. “Just open. It’s too messy.”
Opening wide like a ridiculous baby bird, she let him shove the corner of the sandwich in her mouth and bit down. “Oh my God!” she echoed.
“I know, right?”
An exquisite blend of flavors burst over her tongue. “It’s amazing,” she mumbled, holding her fingers over her lips so food didn’t fall out.
“I could eat twenty of these.” He took another bite.
“We so should.” She opened as he held the rapidly shrinking sandwich out for her again.
They didn’t waste time talking for the next few minutes as they devoured the most delicious sandwich she’d ever tasted. When they finished, Riley snagged some napkins and passed her several to wipe her mouth.
As they journeyed onward they sampled maple bacon cupcakes, Bangladeshi street cuisine, and even shared a pumpkin spiced S’more cooked under the flame of a blowtorch. It was an incredible festival of food.
“Do you like oysters?” he asked as they approached a merchant standing before a bowl of crushed ice.
“I don’t know.” She’d never tried an oyster before.
“Wanna try one?”
“Sure.”
As the chef sliced open the rocklike case and revealed an opalescent inner shell, she tried not to be revolted by the goopy booger looking mollusk inside. He shucked the blob loose, leaving it resting on half a shell, and placed it in a bed of crushed ice.
“What do they taste like?” she asked.
The chef continued to shuck. “Briny, like the ocean. If you’re virgins I can dress them in a mignonette sauce to soften the taste. I have a nice ginger cucumber one.”
“What do you suggest?” Riley asked.
“I’m a purist, sir. I like them with a bit of pepper and lemon and that’s it.”
Riley glanced at her.
“I think I should try it with the sauce.” The more she stared at the little glob the more unappealing it became. These were considered delicacies? If she was remembering correctly, they were also aphrodisiacs. She didn’t see anything sexy about them.
“Ready?” Riley asked, holding his lemon oyster while offering her the one dressed in the ginger sauce.
Timidly, she reached for the shell.
Their eyes met and he counted off. “One… two…three.” His head tipped back and her mouth filled with—
Oh my God. What the fuck is in my mouth?
“Not bad.” Riley grinned then started laughing. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, booger mollusk sliding around her tongue, and desperately searched the table for a napkin. You gag and it’s all over.
“Swallow it!” he shouted, laughing at her.
The vender passed her a napkin.
“No, don’t spit. Swallow!”
Oh my God, she was going to kick him if he didn’t shut up. People stared as they walked by and she spit the disgusting thing into the napkin and balled it up.
Riley shook his head. “Oh, Emma, I’m disappointed. Good girls swallow.”
“Shut up,” she snapped, her face burning.
He laughed and nudged her, tossing a few dollars on the table and directing her into the crowd.
“That was disgusting. Now I can’t get the taste out of my mouth.”
He stopped and ordered a cup of cranberry Brooklyn soda. “Here, you big tissue.”
“I’m not a tissue. I tried it.”
“Let’s sit for a while.” He led her to a stout cement barricade along the jetties and they sat facing the East River.
They’d walked miles in a matter of hours so she was grateful for the respite. The short wall was warm from the afternoon sun. “Today was really fun, Riley. Thanks for bringing me here.”
“I had fun too. It’s nice to waste a day taking advantage of everything the city has to offer. We can get immune from living here.”
She smiled, her cheeks tingling under the moist wind off the river. “There’s so much I’ve never experienced. I’ve never even been to the Empire State Building.”
“What?”
She laughed at his shock. “I know. I’m the worst New Yorker in the world.”
“You gotta get out more, Em.”
“I want to.” Letting out a deep breath, she relaxed. “I’m so sick of being me. It’s so tedious, always doing what everyone else thinks I should do.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I think you were right. I don’t think I loved Becket.”
“Conceivable.”
“Was it that obvious? Because if I’m being honest, I’m still getting over the shock.”
“Don’t hate me, but Becket was a prick. He didn’t bring anything to the table. You guys were always running off to meet his friends or attend functions at his father’s law firm.”
“Well, I do work there.”
“Exactly. You work for his family. When was it about Emma Sanders?”
There wasn’t an excuse at the ready. “I guess it never was.”
“Yeah, that’s not love. So when you say you don’t think you were in love with him, I can believe it.”
“You’re a pretty deep guy, Riley. Not a lot of men are like that.”
He shrugged. “I’m comfortable with you. I can just say what I feel.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, her mind drifting back to Riley as a tousled child in grass stained corduroys and wild curls. Although they knew each other since braces and bike rides, this was the first time they actually hung out alone. It was strange they never talked about personal things before, because she really was extremely comfortable around him.
“What do you say we head back and go get that mani-pedi?” he asked.
Her feet were killing her and the idea of a pedicure sounded divine. “Okay.”
He glanced down at her flip-flops and tsked. “I’m not sure they can help those stank walkers.”
She gaped at him. “There is nothing wrong with my feet!”
“Whatever. Where’s your baby toe?”
“It’s right here!” She lifted up her foot.
He leaned forward and squinted. “You can’t call that Darwin freak show a toe.”
“If it’s not then what the hell is it?” Her toes were perfectly normal!
“That’s a nubbin.”
“Whatever.” She stood.
He rose as well. “You think you can manage on you’re deformed hobbit hooves? We got a hike back to the subway.”
She stomped away. “Jerk.” And just when she was starting to think he was nice!
“Wait up,” he called. “Don’t be like that. We don’t have to wee-wee-wee all the way home. It was a good day at the market, piggy.”
She held up her middle finger and prodded on—laughing under her breath.
About L Y D I A M I C H A E L S
Lydia Michaels is the award winning author of 23 romance novels. Her novels from the darkly compelling Surrender Trilogy were iBooks Bestsellers and her work has been featured in USA Today. In 2015 she was the winner of The Best of Bucks Award and she has been nominated as Best Author in the Happenings Magazine two years running [2015 & 2016]. She is a four time nominee for the prestigious RONE Award. Her books are intellectual, emotional, haunting, always centered around love. Lydia Michaels loves to hear from readers! She can be contacted by email at Lydia@LydiaMichaelsBooks.comWebpage: www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
Sign Up for Lydia Michaels Newsletterwww.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com/newsletter/
March 2, 2016
#NewRelease #Paranormal Check out Ondrej by Saranna DeWylde!
ONDREJDrago Knights MCBy Saranna DeWyldeOndrej Tatsu and the Drago Knights MC are tasked with the protection and transport of the Princess Krysanthe—a gold nymph who has come out of hiding to make a great marriage and end the war between her people and the Remus Werewolf Pack. To keep her safe, Ondrej must separate from his clan and brave the long road alone. Something he’s more than prepared to do, until mating fever strikes and he realizes his one true mate is the one female he can’t have.
AMAZON | B&N | KOBO | GOOGLE | iTUNES
March 1, 2016
#New #ContemporaryRomance ROYALS AND ROGUES! #NewRelease #HeatherLong
ROYALS & ROGUES
Shelli Stevens, Carole Mortimer, Susan Stephens, Heather Long, J.C. Makk
BUY LINKSAmazon | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | ARe
Sexy and we know it! They’re on the hunt after your heart. Discover 5 brand new passionate tales of royals, rogues, dreams, passion and conflict. Escape with these modern tales, where happily ever after takes hard work, determination, and some good, old fashioned royal luck.
Discover the passionate Royals and Rogues with Shelli Stevens, Carole Mortimer, Susan Stephens, Heather Long and J.C Makk.
Warning: Contains royal heroes and heroines, tempestuous passion, second chances, roguish competition, and family ties binding them together. Sometimes a royal’s greatest challenge is love…
TITLES INCLUDE:
Her Marine Prince by Heather Long
Princess Francesca “Frankie” Grace has no interest in scandal or pomp and circumstance. Her desire for a military career puts her on a collision course with retired Marine Hugh Dillon.
Alexandre by Carole Mortimer
Billionaire ruler of a Mediterranean principality, Prince Alexandre of Androcco took one look at Anastazia Carmichael and knew he wanted her. And he’s determined to have her. In his arms. In his bed. Any way he can get her.
Seducing the Princess by Susan Stephens
Angel: The first time I met Gideon Black, I was a teen who hated him with a passion that kept me awake at night. Gideon: A tease at sixteen, Angel has grown into an irresistible, kick-ass woman. I know exactly what I want to do to her—how thoroughly, and for how long.
Corrupted by the Prince by Shelli Stevens
On the heels of his worse scandal yet, Prince Kostas of Mykorini decides to keep a low profile at his American beach home in the Hamptons. Taking a lover isn't part of his plan until he meets Eva. Evelynn Fairchild knows she should be wary of the bad boy prince, especially when she's considered the levelheaded one in her high profile family. But one earth shattering kiss makes her wonder if she should ditch her virginity status in what surely will be a one-night stand.
His Royal Redemption by J.C. Makk
Sir Antony Richarden is determined to win the King’s Favor, a prize which will save his family estate and secure his nieces’ future. His only obstacle? Princess Estelle of Dirksbee, the woman he left at the altar is going to make this competition more than difficult. Never mind the fact he still has feelings for Estelle…
January 20, 2016
Odd Mate is in the wild! #FirstChapter #SneakPeek #NewRelease
To celebrate the release of Odd Mate, I'm giving you all the first chapter for FREE!Odd MateVirginia Nelson
Kindle | Kobo | Inktera | ARe | Nook | iBooks | Print | Scribd
Add it on Goodreads
When a gamer wolf searches for love, only an odd mate will do.
Charly spends his days working in a used video game shop and most of his nights as the second to one of the rarest of their kind—a female Alpha. Most of the pack figured he and Dara had a thing, but her recent mating wakens a wave of unwelcome pity. He can't exactly admit the one wolf he ever loved left him years ago. At least, he can’t until she reappears close enough for him to try again.
Gretchen fell in love with a sweet, nerdy bear of a man, but ran from his side when she realized he'd hate her for something she couldn't change. Now she's back in town and drawn to his side. A twist of fate leaves her with no choice—she can be near the man she’s always loved again, but she must betray him and everything he holds dear.
Can a wolf sworn to destroy all coyotes claim a coywolf mate or will he be forced to obliterate the only girl he ever loved?
Chapter One Everyone knows a good story doesn’t begin with a dream sequence. Due to that simple rule of storytelling, Charly knew he wasn’t dreaming when he spotted her sitting cross-legged on the small dividing wall between the college campus and the parking lot. It was her, it had to be.
Lifting an arm to wave, he called out, “Hey, Gretchen!”
She didn’t turn, didn’t even seem to hear him, her golden head bent to look at something in her lap. Even from a distance, he recognized her profile and couldn’t resist calling again, “Gretchen!”
His heart accelerated, a direct and immediate reaction to finally putting his eyes on the one woman who ever managed to make him want to be the kind of guy he read about—some comic book hero hell bent on saving the world who could say the right thing and sweep the perfect girl off her scantily clad feet.
Not that Gretchen was nearly naked, but a guy could wish.
Closer up, he could see the cord that likely impeded her ability to hear him. She wore some kind of earbuds and a hoodie covered in cartoon characters. Her jeans were ratty and her hair as brilliant as he remembered. A trace of her scent—wild and a little heady—made it to him and he sucked in the familiar bouquet with a twist of bittersweet joy. He didn’t know why she’d just vanished one day, no trace left behind for him to track and no word on where she’d gone, but she had. He wasn’t letting her slip away so easily a second time.
Losing her once in a lifetime was enough to let him know he didn’t want it to happen a second time. Reaching out one hand, he planned to nudge her shoulder, get her attention, and maybe ask her out.
But a ball of fur in his periphery distracted him moments before wet and fangs closed on his arm.
Who would dare attack him in broad daylight?
The wild musky scent of the attacker alerted him before his human brain caught up with the program. Coywolf.
The dangerous breed of shifter was a combination of coyote and wolf, but not actually either anymore. Coywolves were bigger than wolves, more suited to urban terrain and altogether meaner than shit.
Not to mention Charly was in human form, it was daytime, and they were on a college campus, and if he did a thing to defend himself, his professors might see. Nothing ensured an A faster than a prof finding out their student could shift into a four-legged death machine, but he preferred his grades be based on his actual performance rather than sheer terror on the part of the humans.
Besides, it would really piss off Dara if he shifted in public. She’d never proved terribly understanding about that sort of thing.
Fending off the attack to the best of his ability, considering, he tried to also scan the area to see if any other coywolves were around. Last thing he needed was for one to attack Gretchen while he was distracted, meaning he’d shift to protect her and worry about apologizing to his Alpha later if he had to.
But he saw neither other wolves nor Gretchen. She’d vanished. Again.
“Dammit!”
Not sure if he was more pissed that he’d been attacked or that he’d lost sight of the girl of his dreams, Charly closed both hands over the snapping muzzle mere inches from his face. “You picked the wrong wolf to tangle with, Hybrid.”
The other animal didn’t answer, more focused on trying to tear out his throat than conversation.
Pinching down hard on the pressure points at the joint of the jaw, Charly managed to pry the creature off him in stages. Humans gathered, all gasping in horror and one pulling out their cellphone—yeah, a Vine of their interaction wasn’t on his list of things to do, either. He needed to end this and fast. One snap and he’d managed to boink the coywolf’s head off the pavement, stunning the creature. Once it was distracted, Charly shoved up and away and ran fast and hard toward the parking lot. Tugging up his hoodie to hide his face a bit, he ducked between cars, sneaking a look back towards the main hall of the school.
The coywolf shook off his stupor then turned to lope, looking unconcerned, away from the humans, most of which had cell phones out to snap pictures. Stupid animal—attention from the humans weren’t in its best interest any more than it was in Charly’s. As it vanished, Charly again scented the air, searching for a trace of her, but all he could smell was the reek of the coywolf, now rubbed into his clothes. He’d need a shower.
His phone chirped and he pulled it out to unlock the screen with a swipe of his finger.
Something going on at the campus of the community college. Twitter blowing up. You near there?
Scowling at the phone, he loped to his car, got in, and revved the engine before bothering to reply. I was the ruckus, got attacked by coywolf.
What? You okay? Dara’s text was short and to the point, a sign his Alpha worried.
Fine or I wouldn’t be texting, he replied.
Get to the warehouse. Emergency meeting.
KO, he typed back and shifted the car into gear. Looked like he’d be skipping another class.
Not that it was unusual. As beta to the local Alpha, Charly missed about as many classes as he managed to attend due to pack duties. Most of his profs found him to be a little lazy, thinking he slept through classes or spent his spare time gaming or something.
Wouldn’t they shit if he told them the truth? Doc, I’m a werewolf and I had pack business to attend to.
Yeah, that’d fly like Iron Man minus the rockets. But those worries were for another day. Today? His pack needed him and pack came first. Always.
It had to. He didn’t have anything else.
***
Gretchen accepted the fast and rough punch to the side of her head as her due. After all, she’d nearly let Charly walk right up to her. She’d been an idiot and she deserved to be punished. Garret didn’t have to look so damned happy about hitting her, though. Then again, she’d long ago accepted the leader of the coywolf’s dominance and bipolar behavior as part and parcel with the protection the pack of misfits offered her.
“I can’t believe you let him spot you. The timing is all wrong. The wolves can’t know we’re hedging in on their territory and can’t know we plan to expand into town. The fact I had to come save your ass is just another in a long line of failures on your part, Gretchen. How do you defend yourself?” Garret spit the words into her face, the reek of his unwashed body pungent and disturbing to both her beast and her human side.
“Look, I’ve told you, I can pass for wolf. I did it for a long time before I joined your pack and could do it again if I had to. You’re the one that shifted and attacked a wolf in broad daylight, not me. I was just sitting there minding my own business and—”
She didn’t duck away from his second punch, either, knowing before she did it that sassing him would likely result in another blow. He could punch her all day if it floated his boat. She would heal from punches.
Plus, she deserved them. She’d wanted to defend Charly, to attack her alpha. No wolf or coyote with a sane mind would dare something like that, yet she’d actually had to forcefully restrain her beast to keep from attacking the man who protected her.
Which meant she wasn’t sane, really. When she’d realized what it meant to be coywolf, she accepted that it meant she likely wasn’t sane. Better to stay away from Charly and keep her taint—and insanity—to herself so he could go on with his life and maybe settle down with some nice she-bitch who wasn’t bad blood.
Gritting her teeth, the pain of Garret’s punch still ringing through her head like a klaxon, she blinked back tears. The alpha would likely think they were tears of pain, and they were.
Pain at leaving the man she thought might be her mate behind for his own good. Maybe if Garret hit her enough times, she’d quit being stupid enough to risk Charly. He deserved better, would have better. Even if the idea of him with someone else cut her soul like shards of swallowed glass.
“Wait, I have an idea,” Garrett spun away from her and she took the respite as a moment to breathe. To try to clear her mind of the chaos seeing him—of seeing him being attacked on top of it—caused inside her.
“Yeah? I hope it doesn’t involve me.” She mumbled the response, half hoping that Garett forgot she was even there. He did that sometimes, forgot they were around. For an alpha, he sure got distracted a lot. She reminded herself to find that charming—that he followed the beat and voices of another drummer, one playing just for him in his head. It was the mark of a creative mind, after all.
Or someone totally batshit crazy.
Shaking her head, she tried to shove the disloyal thought down. The pack was her family, they stood by her when wolves would’ve likely torn her throat out because she was an abomination. Regardless of her ability to pass, to blend into wolf society, she wasn’t wolf.
She was coywolf, other, hybrid, bad blood and any number of other unsavory titles.
“It does involve you, actually.” When he turned his animal yellow eyes on her, Garret had a smile that was a little too cheerful stretching his lips. Madness, she thought again, but that wasn’t unusual. That was what the wolves called them, after all. Mad.
“How so?” she asked.
“You can pass, you have passed before, like you said, for pure wolf, right?” Garret came close to her again, too close. Her animal clawed at her guts, wanting to scrabble away from him and the power he radiated. She shouldn’t want that—she should want to be close to her alpha and the fact she didn’t was simply more proof stacking up in the column which said she was wrong, not right in the head.
“Yeah, so what?” Closing her eyes, she hoped the bubble of nausea turning her stomach radiated from the pain of his punches, not the stink of rotted meat on his breath.
“You infiltrate their pack, you apply for membership and you watch them. You learn their weaknesses, earn their trust…then, when they’re least expecting it, we hit them where it hurts. We shove them out of this territory and we take it for our pack.” Garret’s voice was hardly more than a whisper of sound, but it rang in her head as loud as if he’d spoken on a megaphone.
“No, I can’t do that. It isn’t right and—”
“Do you want our people to have a home? To have someplace safe to be where we aren’t constantly shoved around by wolf packs? Or do you want to be the one responsible for the fact we have no homeland, have no place to call our own? There are children, weak ones, people who need protected, people who need the security of their own space. Are you going to stand in the way of me protecting our people, Gretchen?” His hand stroked down her chin, a movement intended to soothe her, no doubt, and sway her to his way of thinking. Her beast cringed away from the contact, not wanting a thing to do with Garret or his half-baked plans.
“No, but—”
“No buts, girly-girl. You go in there and you help me save this pack. That is an order.”
Swallowing hard, she couldn’t help the tiny part of her that surged in joy. She’d get to see him again, be near him again.
But to betray him?
The command in the alpha’s tone sizzled home, grinding its way into her bones and settling like a mantle of unwanted responsibility. “Yes, Alpha.” Garret’s smile didn’t make her feel better about the plan, but what choice did she have?
January 17, 2016
Dear Virg, How many rejections does it take to prove I'm never going to be an author? #OnRejection
To answer a question I got in the email... How many times were you rejected?
Well, for the first book, I was rejected a lot. Hang on, I can be more specific.
I sent it out to various agents and publishers to begin with and was very picky. I didn't want just ANY publisher. I wanted a GREAT publisher -- clearly, I'd written the NEXT BIG THING.
Then I got rejected a lot, so I sent it out to 27 agents/publishers a week for a year. I know, arbitrary number, but that was what I did. That comes out to about 1,404 rejections in that one year alone, although some of them never did get back to me.
Since then, I've gotten rejected here or there (never that many times on one story again, though) so...
Yes, I've been rejected lots and lots of times.
The person was asking me the question, by the way, because they've gotten five rejections and wanted to know if this was evidence that they should just give up. They thought five rejections meant they weren't good enough and never would be.
In my opinion -- and I openly admit I could be wrong -- writing is like everything else in life. When you were learning to walk, you fell. You fell a LOT before you got the knack of the thing.
Everything else you learned to do took much practice and quite a lot of failures.
Writing novels? No, you're probably not great when you start. How can you be? You've never done it before. But you'll never get good at it if you say, "Clearly a failure. Time for something new," the first time you skin your knee... or pride in the case of writing. Or the fifth. Or the 1,405th.
xoxo
virg
I didn't make it through college on the first try, either. I enrolled in 1996, never began classes, in 2001 and dropped out and in 2002 and dropped out... I enrolled again in Fall of 2011 and made it to my two degrees. I tried many things when I was younger... and failed at miserably. That said, I'm rather stubborn.
Random Personal Note -- Here's my first digital (I sent many copies out in paper before I tried emailing copies of my book...) rejection letter:
We’d like to apologize for the impersonal nature of this standard rejection letter. Rest assured that we do read every query letter carefully and, unfortunately, this project is not right for us. Because this business is so subjective and opinions vary widely, we recommend that you pursue other agents. After all, it just takes one "yes" to find the right match. Good luck with all your publishing endeavors.
This was for the original version of Odd Stuff and it was dated 5/1/2007.
Well, for the first book, I was rejected a lot. Hang on, I can be more specific.
I sent it out to various agents and publishers to begin with and was very picky. I didn't want just ANY publisher. I wanted a GREAT publisher -- clearly, I'd written the NEXT BIG THING.
Then I got rejected a lot, so I sent it out to 27 agents/publishers a week for a year. I know, arbitrary number, but that was what I did. That comes out to about 1,404 rejections in that one year alone, although some of them never did get back to me.
Since then, I've gotten rejected here or there (never that many times on one story again, though) so...
Yes, I've been rejected lots and lots of times.
The person was asking me the question, by the way, because they've gotten five rejections and wanted to know if this was evidence that they should just give up. They thought five rejections meant they weren't good enough and never would be.
In my opinion -- and I openly admit I could be wrong -- writing is like everything else in life. When you were learning to walk, you fell. You fell a LOT before you got the knack of the thing.
Everything else you learned to do took much practice and quite a lot of failures.
Writing novels? No, you're probably not great when you start. How can you be? You've never done it before. But you'll never get good at it if you say, "Clearly a failure. Time for something new," the first time you skin your knee... or pride in the case of writing. Or the fifth. Or the 1,405th.
xoxo
virg
I didn't make it through college on the first try, either. I enrolled in 1996, never began classes, in 2001 and dropped out and in 2002 and dropped out... I enrolled again in Fall of 2011 and made it to my two degrees. I tried many things when I was younger... and failed at miserably. That said, I'm rather stubborn. Random Personal Note -- Here's my first digital (I sent many copies out in paper before I tried emailing copies of my book...) rejection letter:
We’d like to apologize for the impersonal nature of this standard rejection letter. Rest assured that we do read every query letter carefully and, unfortunately, this project is not right for us. Because this business is so subjective and opinions vary widely, we recommend that you pursue other agents. After all, it just takes one "yes" to find the right match. Good luck with all your publishing endeavors.
This was for the original version of Odd Stuff and it was dated 5/1/2007.
January 13, 2016
Local Event - Free and Open to the pubic!! #signing #Event #books #MeetTheAuthor #Goodies #free
What : Ashtabula County District Library Third Mondays Author Series Signing and event When : January 18th, 2016 6pm
Where: 335 West 44th Street Ashtabula
Ohio Event Registration:
https://www.acdl.info/content/third-mondays-author-series-virginia-nelson-ashtabula-library
The event is free and open to the public. I plan to have goodies available for everyone to take home and will also be selling books (and happy to sign for you!) I'll have a questions and answers period, so feel free to ask me whatever. If I don't know the answer, maybe I'll even make something up. ;)
I really hope to see you there!
Some of the things I will have with me...
December 15, 2015
Spotlight on LYDIA MICHAELS! #SimpleMan #Spotlight
MEET LYDIA MICHAELSAward winning and bestselling author, Lydia Michaels, writes all forms of hot romance.
She presses the bounds of love and surprises readers just when they assume they have her stories figured out.
From Amish vampyres, to wild Irishmen, to broken heroes, and heroines no man can match, Lydia takes readers on an emotional journey of the heart, mind, and soul with every story she pens. Her books are intellectual, erotic, haunting, always centered on love. SIMPLE MANby Lydia Michaels
Buy Links
Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | Website
Behind every simple man is an unsung hero waiting for love...
Months after Shane Martin’s sister vanishes, life crashes down and he finds himself the guardian of a nephew he never knew existed. Blissfully ignorant, Shane trades in his musician status, full of late nights and fast women, for midnight feedings and lullabies. But when Kate McAlister, his prissy, stuck up caseworker, arrives unexpectedly, he realizes he could lose everything.
Kate isn’t impressed by Shane’s messy bachelor pad, rocker image, or sexy tattoos. As a matter of fact she finds it all very sophomoric. The sooner she’s off the case the better. Everything from his long hair to his sarcastic attitude threatens her professionalism. But when he lowers his guard and asks for help, she discovers a side to this tattooed musician she can’t resist.EXCERPT:
The trailer existed under a thick smog of dirty air. Everyone was laughing. He tried to smile at all the appropriate times, but felt nothing inside. The music, which was blaring suddenly cut off and everyone got quiet.Shane opened his eyes and saw why. Kate stood at the stereo, scowling. Oh, pretty Kate. She was so good.“Shane, what the hell’s going on?” she hissed.She wore a shirt that said Save Ferris.“I like your shirt,” he slurred.She shook her head. She wasn’t amused.“Hey,” he yelled, trying to hoist himself off his couch. “Do you guys know that Kate has a tattoo of a gremlin?” The others acted interested, but Kate eyes widened with fury. “Can I talk to you? Outside?”God. Déjà vu. Noel, standing in that very spot, saying those very words, shimmered in his memory. He laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. “What’s up?”“Outside. Now.”She turned and marched through the door, which slammed behind her. She had a great ass. “Hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” he grumbled as he stumbled to his feet.He tripped out the front door and saw her standing by his car. Kate did nice things, like bring his car back when he left it places. He clumsily walked up to her and hugged her.She stiffened and pushed him away. He pulled her back and kissed her, jamming his tongue in her mouth until she shoved his face hard.“What is wrong with you?”He glowered at her, disliking the sharp sting of her open rejection. “Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”“You stink.”“Gee, thanks.”“Shane, what are you doing? Do you think acting like this is solving anything?”Anger made him turn away. What could he say? His head wasn’t thinking clearly. She was smarter than him and he had nothing intelligent to bring to the table. He walked to the trailer and pushed against the siding. “Why are you here?”“Because I’m worried about you?”“Why?”“Because I care about you?”He laughed and spit in the sand. “You’re supposed to be smart, Kate. When are you going to get it? I. Am. A. Loser.”“You’re sure acting like one now.”He pivoted and nearly fell. Catching his balance, he scowled at her. “Don’t be like that. You’re not a bitch.”“And you’re not a loser so stop acting like you are.”“Really? I don’t have a job. I live in a trailer. I’m on fucking food stamps. And I just lost the only person, aside from you, that I care about in the whole world. It won’t be long before you wise up and leave me too. Yeah, I sure sound like a winner.”She marched up to him and jerked a fistful of his shirt. He looked down at her. It was like being attacked by an elf, which was kind of funny.“You listen to me, Shane Martin, the only way I’m leaving you is if you push me away. Now stop acting like an idiot and grow up!”“I am grown up!” He’d been a grown up since he was seventeen fucking years old!“No, you’re being a child right now! If you’re unhappy with your life, do something about it. Don’t sit here and drink your liver away, waiting for situations to fix themselves, because it’s not going to happen.”“What do you know? You have everything!”She got in his face. “Do you think those things were just given to me? I worked my ass off for everything I have—”“And I didn’t? I sweat my ass off pouring concrete in a hundred degree weather. I bust my balls trying to make extra money playing guitar when I can. I’ve been struggling to make ends meet since I was seventeen fucking years old and God decided to pull the rug out from under me! I follow the rules. I play the game, but no matter what I end up getting fucked! I didn’t have the opportunities in front of me that you did, so excuse me if I don’t see us as equals.”She shook her head. “You may not have had the same opportunities as me, but don’t act like this is your only option. You have yourself so pegged as this lower class bum, because you’re afraid if you try to be anything more, you’ll fail. It’s a shitty self-fulfilling prophecy and if you think that way, you’ve already lost.”His jaw locked as he breathed rapidly through his nose. “You don’t know what it feels like to be me.”“You’re right. I don’t. But I could say the same thing about you.” She put her hands on her hips and looked down, taking a deep breath, as if collecting her thoughts. “I’ve watched you, for months, go against all odds and do something most men could never do. You sit here and claim to be this simple man. Well, I don’t see a simple thing about you. As a matter of fact, you’re so complicated, I was afraid of getting too close to you. I knew, the minute I let you in, I’d fall for you. Shane, I love you, but this,” she waved her hand in front of him. “This is not the man I love.”He looked down. Everything he loved, everyone that ever loved him was always taken away. “Don’t love me, Kate.”Her hands cupped his jaw. He fought her hold, too ashamed to meet her gaze. She turned his face until he finally looked at her. “Too late.”It was too much. Everything finally collapsed inside of him and he broke. Shutting his eyes tight, he fought the tears, but it was a losing battle. His face twisted as a sob broke painfully from his chest. “I’m dying inside.”She wrapped her arms around him. “I know.”He hugged her tight, probably tighter than she could take, but she let him.
Other Titles by LYDIA MICHAELS
Falling In Breaking Out Coming Home Sacred Waters Skin Chaste Faking It Forsaking Truth As Tears Go By Hold Me Fast Simple Man Breaking Perfect First Comes Love If I Fall Something Borrowed Remember Me Called to Order Calling for a Miracle Destiny Calls Call Her Mine Why We Go Protégé Blind La Vie en Rose
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Lydia Michaels loves to hear from readers! Lydia@LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
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Twitter Handle: @Lydia_Michaels#SIMPLEMAN
Webpage: www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
November 28, 2015
Things I've learned as I become old
They say that with age comes wisdom, and I don't know if that is true or not. What I do know is that I've come to recognize some things as truths to me.
They might not be your truths, but they are mine.
Me, as Freddy5. There is no movie I absolutely have to see in the theaters.
There are movies I'd like to see on the big screen. I love going to movies, so for me, paying to go is all about the experience I have when I'm there. The big bucket of popcorn (white cheddar cheese sprinkles, please) and the surround speakers... It is an experience.
That said, movies release to Netflix four months after their theatrical debut. They release to DVD in about three months... and sometimes those numbers fluctuate. Mostly, I can wait three months. Sometimes I don't want to, but still... I CAN wait and will wait for most movies since I can sit in my pjs and have taco night with my kids rather than going to a theater where I'm not even allowed to play Candy Crush during the slow parts of the film.
4. There is no piece of new technology that I have to have.
My sis & me at Christmas in the 80sArguably, if I lost my arm and they came up with a new arm device, I might actually have to have the device. But the new Apple or Android phone? Yeah, you've got to be kidding. I'm not paying five or six hundred dollars for a phone that I fully recognize that I'm going to drop the minute I try to get in my car. I'm an author, so my paycheck fluctuates a LOT, but say I was making minimum wage in my current home state (Ohio) which is $8.10 an hour. (Note: If I went out to get a job today, I'd likely be making just that for at least a while...) The new iPhone 6s Plus (with 128GB!) is currently available
Assuming I work about 40hrs a week, that's a week and a half for a phone I won't be able to find when I need it. For something I'm going to drop on the ground. For something I don't actually NEED, but I might just want. Nope, nope, nope.
for $499 so we're going to round that to $500 to make the math easier for me to do. At minimum wage, I'd have to work sixty-two hours to afford an iPhone... plus the contract or however I wanted to activate the phone.
3. If my kids don't get a pile of presents as tall as them, they will not think I don't love them.
Cranky little meI can't buy their love, and although my logical brain recognizes this fact... I kind of want to recapture every year that magical look of wonder they used to get when they were little. I tend to get a little panicky around the holidays because I ask them to make me a list and WHO CAN AFFORD ALL THESE THINGS?!
But my kids are cool as hell, so they sometimes get that look when I take them to a new place. They get that look in a museum (which usually has free admission) and they get that look when we're all hanging out and laughing.
So nothing I put under our tree is going to give them the pleasure that my time, my willingness to be in the present with them, and my love will give them.
Me and Aunt Lee2. I can fix almost anything, but I can't fix dead.
I can't talk to my Aunt Lee again, no matter how many times I want to call her. I can't get another hug from her or smell the uniquely Aunt Lee smell ever again. I can remember her. I can tell my kids about her... But she is gone.
And I really loved her face. She wasn't classically beautiful or anything, just incredibly lovely to me.
With that knowledge, I can realize that I need to spend time with the people I love today, because I don't know if they or I will be here tomorrow.
1. And it doesn't matter how I look.
Me & my nieceAlso a reflection because of Aunt Lee... I realize that it doesn't matter what I wear. It doesn't matter what makeup I put on my face or what fancy beauty techniques I use...
To those that matter, they will see me as lovely because they love me. To those that don't matter... they won't see me regardless of what I wear. I read once that most people are too concerned about what they look like to even worry about what you look like... and I've found that to be mostly true. Sure, maybe job interviews or other professional situations are the exception--since the goal is to make a good impression--but for regular day to day life? It doesn't matter.
The ones that love me will be happy to see me. They missed me, they want to be near me, and what is on the outside? That's not the important part.
My little niece loves me very much, but probably not as much as I loved Aunt Lee. She runs into my arms and gives me snuggles and tells me all the wonders of her world. I adore her, but she doesn't care if I brushed my hair. She doesn't care if what I'm wearing is name brand... she sometimes cares about my nails, but only because she wants to polish them.
Love doesn't care how you look. And if it does? I don't think that is love.
Just some random thoughts I was having today, so I thought I'd share them with you all.
xoxo
mama virg
They might not be your truths, but they are mine.
Me, as Freddy5. There is no movie I absolutely have to see in the theaters.There are movies I'd like to see on the big screen. I love going to movies, so for me, paying to go is all about the experience I have when I'm there. The big bucket of popcorn (white cheddar cheese sprinkles, please) and the surround speakers... It is an experience.
That said, movies release to Netflix four months after their theatrical debut. They release to DVD in about three months... and sometimes those numbers fluctuate. Mostly, I can wait three months. Sometimes I don't want to, but still... I CAN wait and will wait for most movies since I can sit in my pjs and have taco night with my kids rather than going to a theater where I'm not even allowed to play Candy Crush during the slow parts of the film.
4. There is no piece of new technology that I have to have.
My sis & me at Christmas in the 80sArguably, if I lost my arm and they came up with a new arm device, I might actually have to have the device. But the new Apple or Android phone? Yeah, you've got to be kidding. I'm not paying five or six hundred dollars for a phone that I fully recognize that I'm going to drop the minute I try to get in my car. I'm an author, so my paycheck fluctuates a LOT, but say I was making minimum wage in my current home state (Ohio) which is $8.10 an hour. (Note: If I went out to get a job today, I'd likely be making just that for at least a while...) The new iPhone 6s Plus (with 128GB!) is currently available Assuming I work about 40hrs a week, that's a week and a half for a phone I won't be able to find when I need it. For something I'm going to drop on the ground. For something I don't actually NEED, but I might just want. Nope, nope, nope.
for $499 so we're going to round that to $500 to make the math easier for me to do. At minimum wage, I'd have to work sixty-two hours to afford an iPhone... plus the contract or however I wanted to activate the phone.
3. If my kids don't get a pile of presents as tall as them, they will not think I don't love them.
Cranky little meI can't buy their love, and although my logical brain recognizes this fact... I kind of want to recapture every year that magical look of wonder they used to get when they were little. I tend to get a little panicky around the holidays because I ask them to make me a list and WHO CAN AFFORD ALL THESE THINGS?!But my kids are cool as hell, so they sometimes get that look when I take them to a new place. They get that look in a museum (which usually has free admission) and they get that look when we're all hanging out and laughing.
So nothing I put under our tree is going to give them the pleasure that my time, my willingness to be in the present with them, and my love will give them.
Me and Aunt Lee2. I can fix almost anything, but I can't fix dead.I can't talk to my Aunt Lee again, no matter how many times I want to call her. I can't get another hug from her or smell the uniquely Aunt Lee smell ever again. I can remember her. I can tell my kids about her... But she is gone.
And I really loved her face. She wasn't classically beautiful or anything, just incredibly lovely to me.
With that knowledge, I can realize that I need to spend time with the people I love today, because I don't know if they or I will be here tomorrow.
1. And it doesn't matter how I look.
Me & my nieceAlso a reflection because of Aunt Lee... I realize that it doesn't matter what I wear. It doesn't matter what makeup I put on my face or what fancy beauty techniques I use...To those that matter, they will see me as lovely because they love me. To those that don't matter... they won't see me regardless of what I wear. I read once that most people are too concerned about what they look like to even worry about what you look like... and I've found that to be mostly true. Sure, maybe job interviews or other professional situations are the exception--since the goal is to make a good impression--but for regular day to day life? It doesn't matter.
The ones that love me will be happy to see me. They missed me, they want to be near me, and what is on the outside? That's not the important part.
My little niece loves me very much, but probably not as much as I loved Aunt Lee. She runs into my arms and gives me snuggles and tells me all the wonders of her world. I adore her, but she doesn't care if I brushed my hair. She doesn't care if what I'm wearing is name brand... she sometimes cares about my nails, but only because she wants to polish them.
Love doesn't care how you look. And if it does? I don't think that is love.
Just some random thoughts I was having today, so I thought I'd share them with you all.
xoxo
mama virg
November 24, 2015
#NewRelease Desert Wolf by Heather Long #WolvesOfWillowBend
Desert Wolfby Heather Long
Wolves of Willow Bend #8
Cassius, Alpha of Sutter Butte, leads the most ruthless and dangerous pack in the United States. Misfits, castoffs, and forgotten wolves, they rose to create a pack more than a century ago in utter defiance of the order of the day. Seen as pitiless and cruel, Cassius wants more for his people than a yearly bloodbath as they fight for a better spot in the pecking order. To change his pack means to change himself, and he will find rebellion on all sides, not to mention from his own defiant heart.
Sovvan Stark, Omega of Delta Crescent, lives a cherished, beloved life in the center of her pack—a delicate and hard won balance. Though she is not the only Omega, she is the most experienced with the tremors of pack upset when power shifts from Alpha to Alpha. When her Alpha approaches her about Sutter Butte’s request, Sovvan considers the matter for several months. While she might hold within her the key to helping the Sutter Butte Alpha, the undertaking could very well kill her.
Accompanied by a single Hound, Sovvan begins a journey to help Cassius rebuild the foundation of his pack, but first she will have to transform him…
Buy Links Kindle | Nook | Kobo | ARe | iBooks | GooglePlay | Goodreads
November 22, 2015
#Spotlight on Sly "Bullhorn" Brodsky, Offensive Line (First & Ten Book 5)
Sly "Bullhorn" Brodsky, Offensive Line (First & Ten Book 5)By Jean C. JoachimSly “Bullhorn” Brodsky wished winning the heart of Samantha Drake was as easy as protecting his quarterback. A top offensive lineman in the NFL, Bull tried to live down his rep as a womanizer. Locker room chatter had elevated him to the level of “player” in more than football. But Samantha Drake, dark-haired, stunning sister of a teammate, didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Or did she? On his best behavior, Bull pulled out all the stops to woo the reluctant beauty. He was making progress until a woman from his past reappeared. Tiffany, the one woman who broke his heart, is in trouble. Is Bull the only man who can help?
Samantha is overcoming her doubts about Bull until Tiffany arrives. Is the blonde really in hot water or does she just want another chance with the man she discarded?
Enjoy the return of your favorite First & Ten characters in this book, too. Surprises, twists, and football action scenes will keep you turning the pages.
Buy Links Print | Kindle | Amazon UK | Amazon Canada | Nook | iBooks | Kobo EXCERPT:“I’m grubby. I need a shower,” she said, pushing to her feet to glance in the mirror.The next image to take over his mind was stepping into a steamy shower behind Samantha. He blinked a few times and took a deep breath, hoping his thoughts wouldn’t inspire an erection.“You okay? Were the boxes too much?” Her dark, chocolate brown eyes held concern.He laughed. “You kiddin’? That’s nothin’. I take down guys ten times that weight in every game. Geez. What do you think? I’m a pussy or something?”She made a face.“Sorry. I need to clean up my words.” He sensed color in his face. He’d never had a girlfriend like Samantha Drake. She was smart, beautiful, and nice. She did volunteer work at the New Life Shelter for battered women and kids. But she wasn’t his girlfriend, only a friend. With no benefits. He sighed.“My brother, Devon, talks like that too. You’d think football players never went to college.” She handed him a cold bottle of water.He downed the liquid. “What’s next?”She turned around in the room and sucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Bed, books, clothes, rocking chair. Hmm. How many boxes are still in the car?”“Two.”“Then that’s it. The place looks pretty empty.” She perched on the mattress, tucking her feet under her.“You’ll have it furnished before you know it. Come on. I’m gonna bring those boxes up then take you out to dinner.”“Thanks. Be right back.” Her thousand-watt smile turned his innards to jelly.He sat in the rocking chair while Samantha washed the dirt off her luscious body. Or what he assumed was luscious. Sylvester “Bullhorn” Brodsky, known to his teammates as “Bull,” had the hots for Samantha Drake, and it was keeping him up nights. While he waited for her to want him back, his imagination ran through a half dozen things he’d like to do to her under the warming spray of hot water. She was a little slip of a thing, and he was huge. Six foot three inches tall and two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle, the offensive lineman could lift her up with one hand.
