Jean C. Joachim's Blog: Stories of Love and Passion, page 13

MAGGIE’S STORY – TT – WRITEWelcome! Thanks for stopping b...

MAGGIE’S STORY – TT – WRITE

Welcome! Thanks for stopping by. We continue with Maggie's Story today, with a little surprise at the end. Scroll down for the link back to Tuesday Tales and some fine writers. 

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Maggie yawned and stretched. The antique grandfather clock in the hall chimed five, time to get up. No. Vacation. Forgot.  As she relaxed, her hand hit a warm, naked body. She turned her head and spied John lying next to her, sound asleep. Her expression softened as she touched his shoulder, then his short, dark, wavy hair. He stirred and she whipped her hand back to her side. He cracked an eye open.“Mornin’ darlin’,” he whispered. John had made love to her twice the night before. She pushed her toes down and smiled. “Mornin’.”“A right passionate one you are, Maggie.”“Look who’s talkin’”“That was nothin’. You get me blood goin’.” He rolled onto his side, his hand cupping her cheek. “Don’t blame it on me, Mister.”He chuckled. “Blame? Nothing to blame, sweetheart. It’s a good thing.”Warmth and satisfaction flowed through her. Last night was just what she needed. It bucked up her spirits to be wanted, desired. “I coulda gone all night.”“Why didn’t ya, then?” She rolled on her side.“Didn’t want to wear ya out. Not on the first night.”She giggled. “It’s a faker you are, John Eldridge.”He slid out of bed and her gaze follow his fine form to the dresser. He picked up a pen and wrote a few words, then opened a drawer and took out a rectangular box.

“This is for you my lady,” he said, returning to the bed.She read what he’d written, “To thank you for the first of what I hope to be many nights together. Love, John.”
Her hand trembled a bit as she opened the box. Inside lay the stunning emerald necklace she’d seen the week before.


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TUESDAY TALES - SMUDGE - MAGGIE'S STORY

    


Wecome! We return to Maggie's Story with today's prompt "smudge". Thank you for coming. Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales. 

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 With only three nights left of their vacation in the Roberts’ splendid apartment, Maggie didn’t know what to expect. John had been as attentive as a suitor, yet he hadn’t even kissed her. Maggie had no intention of taking any vows with such an a-sexual man.            She secured the feather duster under her arm as she padded into the master bedroom, muttering, “The Mister and Missus take a holiday, but dust doesn’t.” 
     John followed her. “True enough.”        
     She kept her back to him, but he was right behind her, so close, she felt the heat from his chest. She knew she should tell him to move back, but she didn’t. A pair of warm hands cupped her shoulders. She put the feather duster down and turned to face him.     “Look, a smudge.”                                                                               “Where?”                                                                                            “On your nose. I’ll get it.”          
                                   He stepped up and wiped it with his handkerchief. Maggie smelled the scent of his aftershave. It was clean, fresh and a touch piney. She liked it. Before her gaze met his, he lowered his mouth to hers. Maggie had wondered what it would be like to kiss him. He was gentle, but passionate, his lips soft. She melted in his arms. He drew her closer, crushing her against him.                   
“I want you, my girl. Come to bed with me.” He broke and took her hand. She followed him into his room. The bed called to her. It had been so long since a man had touched her, kissed her or made love to her. John was handsome, gallant, and good to her. 
“What do you say, Maggie?” John asked, his eyes aglow with desire.                                              
“I say, ‘yes’.” She peered shyly up at him through her lashes.                                                          
"You make me one happy man, my darlin’,” he said, unbuttoning her blouse.
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TUESDAY TALES - NECKLACE

Welcome! This week's word prompt is "necklace." We continue with Maggie and John's story. Thanks for coming! Scroll down for the link back to Tuesday Tales. 


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Maggie didn’t mean to pry, but the delicate chain with a small emerald in the middle caught her eye. The necklace was beautiful. She’d taken to cleaning John’s room, since they had become friends. She never expected to find something so lovely on his dresser.“Probably for Gladys,” she murmured to herself. John had been dating Gladys, Mrs. Upton Myers maid for some months. Still, she couldn’t resist holding it up to her neck and glancing in the mirror. The sound of a door closing in another part of the apartment jarred her back to reality.The last thing she wanted was to be caught admiring something that was intended for someone else. A touch of sadness sprang up in her. She and John were only friends and that was the way it had to stay. He had someone else and she was afraid of getting into trouble. Maggie had to be careful as she was alone in the States, and there was no one here to take her in if she got knocked up again.Returning to the kitchen, she almost bumped into John. He shot her a warm smile, which she did not return. Why get any closer to a man who was already taken? He caught her arm. “Whoa. Wait up a second, Maggie. Where you off to in such a hurry?”“Got rooms to clean.”“On vacation?”“The Mister and Missus may have left, but it’s never a vacation for me. If they get back to a dirty and dusty house, it’ll be my last day off.”“Can’t you take a break for a cup of tea?” He bent down to make eye contact. “I guess.”“I put the kettle on.” He guided her into the big, warm room. “You sit. I’ll get it.”When the whistle sounded, he turned off the flame and filled a pot he had ready. Maggie took four biscuits from a canister and put them on a plate. He joined her with the hot beverage and took the seat across. “So, when you steppin’ out with Glady again?” She asked, stirring her drink.John choked on his saliva. “What do you know about Gladys?”“I know you’re sweet on her and she on you. You’ve been seeing her for quite a while, haven’t you?”He cast his glance down to his cup. “That’s over.”“Over? Why?”He cleared his throat. “I’ve changed my mind. She’s not the girl for me.”Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”“Yep. Found someone better.”“Who?”“You.” He raised his eyes to hers.
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TUESDAY TALES - PICTURE PROMPT

We continue with Maggie's Story this week. Using this picture as a prompt, I'm limited to only 300 words. I'll try to make each one count.

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“I want to go there someday,” Maggie said, running the duster over the stunning oil painting.
“Tuscany?”She nodded. “The green reminds me of home. I didn’t grow up in London like you. I miss it in this city of concrete and brick.” “I’ll take you there,” John said, pulling the implement from her hand and laying it down.“You? On what? A chauffeur’s salary?”“Put on your coat. The fur one the Missus gave you.”“What for?”“I’m taking you out. We’ve seven more days before they get home. I don’t plan to spend it rattlin’ around this ole place. Come on, girl. Let’s have an adventure.”A soft snort escaped her throat.  “Adventure? On what? Two dimes and a nickel?”“Not everything’s about money, young lady. Let’s go.” He held the old beaver coat Maggie had received as a hand-me-down from Anne Roberts.John laced his fingers with hers as they walked briskly through the park. The biting wind stung her face, but her body was warm. “Here it is,” he said, turning left. They climbed the stairs. Inside, John paid for admission.
“Now, pretty lady, where do you want to go? France to see Van Gogh and Monet? Egypt to see the tombs? Japan, China or Mexico?”Maggie turned around slowly, taking in the foyer of the Metropolitan Museum of art. “All of ‘em, I think.”“Good lord! Then we’d better get started.”
“What about lunch?”  She pushed in her belly a bit to hide a low rumble.“They’ve a lovely restaurant here, milady. Will you be my guest?”Maggie’s cheeks heated. “Good. We’ll start there then,” John said, offering his arm. “You’ll be spoiling me, John Eldridge. Best stop now.” But she took his arm and followed along.“That’s the idea, Maggie. That’s the very idea.”


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10 WAYS NOT TO MARKET YOUR BOOK

I spent 30 years in the corporate direct marketing world, working for large ad agencies. People think I'm a marketing guru. I don't see it that way. I'm more of a try-it-and-see-how-it-does type. While I don't have any quick fixes for selling more books, I absolutely have the real skinny on how not to. 

(With a nod to two of my dearest friends, Kathleen Ball and Vicki Locey, for contributing to this list.)


10 WAYS NOT TO MARKET YOUR BOOKS

1) Gather a street team together and have them post phony one-star troll reviews on the books of all your competitors. Don't worry about being discovered. When someone figures it out --and they will -- you can simply blame it on your street team run amok.

2) Have a series comprised of 8 books? Make the first seven free. After all, you'll keep them reading and you'll make it up on book 8. If you believe this, I have a bridge you might want to buy. It connects Manhattan with Brooklyn.

3) Post all about your book in a comment on the Facebook thread of another author. Steal their thunder right from under them on their own turf. Authors love that. Raising the level of competition makes everyone try harder. Then again, when you get unfriended, blocked and blacklisted, don't blame me.

4) When you leave a review on a competitors book, be sure to put in a few words about how your book on the same topic is so much better. Don't forget to include a buy link to your book, too. Makes it easier for the reader to find. Be careful not to use your real name or there might be repercussions.

5) Post the same promo copy about your book in 250 Facebook groups --every day! Out of sight, out of mind. Right? You need exposure. Don't forget to post controversial opinions about religion and politics. You'll get some "lively" discussions going and attention on your Fb page. 


6) Offer ten bucks to anyone who will agree to give your book a good review. Everyone says how important good reviews are. And why shouldn't you offer the reviewer some compensation? Wait, make that twenty bucks. If  you're too cheap you might end up with only four stars.

7) Never support another author. If the author is famous or even moderately successful, post nasty, snarky comments on her Facebook page, send out critical tweets about her. Let the world know you are soooo much better than she is. Much classier, too. Don't forget to add links to your books in those comments. Why should the reader have to hunt for your precious tomes?

8) Never buy a book from another author who is competing with you in the same genre. Unless you intend to plagiarize it, of course. Otherwise, why should you spend money on her books? Do you think she'd ever become your friend and buy your book, too? Nah. Doubt it. Everyone knows it's a cut-throat business. 

9) Whatever you do, don't waste your time and money on a professional editor. Write that book and slap the sucker up for sale before the ink is even dry. Yep, editors and proofers are a total waste of time and money. The sooner you get your books out there, the sooner you can be fleecing readers who think you might have written something worth reading. Too bad for them. You know what they say -- the best marketing is writing another book! 

10)  Last, don't bother with a professional cover artist. Tell your nephew, Herman, you'll bake him a batch of brownies if he'll create a cover for you. And don't buy pictures. Steal them from the Internet. What are your chances of getting caught? One in a thousand, right? And if you do -- take down the cover, "borrow" another picture and do a new cover. Plenty of people will think it's a new book and your sales will soar. 


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While these ideas may sound crazy to you, most of them are based on real actions my friends and I have observed.  

Don't be a low-class jerk. Take the high road. Support other authors, even those with competitive books. A little class can go a long way toward building a fan base and growing book sales.

Please feel free to leave a comment. Any comments with buy links to your books will be taken down. Lol!

Jean Joachim
Stories from the Heart
Contemporary Romance
www.jeanjoachimbooks.com 

Tuesday Tales - Toes - #British #English #Love

Welcome! This week, I'm continuing with Maggie & John's story. The word prompt is "toes". Scroll down for the link back to Tuesday Tales. Thank you for coming.
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When Maggie tucked a small, stuffed hedgehog under Penn’s arm, the little boy stopped sniffling. He turned the tiny beast over and over. “What is he?”“ A hedgehog.”“Hedgehog,” Penn repeated. “Can I have him?”“Yes. He’s a present. Take him on your trip. Be good to him.”The tyke nodded. Maggie leaned down and wiped his tears away with her thumb. She kissed his cheek. He hugged her neck, dropping the new toy, then promptly let go to pick up the creature. With the gift, Maggie’d diverted him from the pain of leaving. Anne Roberts shot her a grateful smile as she headed for the door, Penn in hand. The Roberts’ were jetting off for ten days to the Virgin Islands. Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. After having cooked for huge crowds for Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve parties, she was exhausted.  
 She and John, the butler and chauffeur, had the luxurious apartment to themselves. Anne told them to charge their groceries to the Roberts account and have fun. Maggie noticed a twinkle in John’s eye when he got the news. She had twisted a tissue in her hand. Ten days alone in the house with handsome John scared the crap out of her.

After the family left, Maggie faced him. “Are you going home for the holiday?”“No. Thought I’d rather enjoy New Year’s in New York instead of London. You?”Maggie shook her head. “No money. Besides, doubt they miss me.”“I can’t believe that!”She fidgeted for a moment before heading to the kitchen. “Tea time,” she muttered.“Let me help,” John said, tagging along. She stopped dead. “Look. Don’t be thinkin’ I’m gonna be your cook and slave, waitin’ on ya hand and foot while the Mister and Missus are away. You go your way and I’ll go mine.”“Of course. I’d never ask you to do that.”“Good.” She made her way to the stove. “But you’ve got to eat. And I’ve got to eat.”Swinging around with hands on hips, she glared at him. “John Eldridge! After what I just said…” “But I’ll help. I can cook, too. Not like you, but I make a mean scrambled egg or French toast.” His hazel eyes danced.Maggie cooled down. Cooking for one bored her. Besides, she hated to eat alone.“I’m a great dishwasher, too. I promise to clean up, if you cook. You’re a way better cook than I.”“That I am.”The kettle whistled. She turned off the flame and took down one of the Roberts’ elegant porcelain teapots.“Which do you fancy?” She asked over her shoulder. “Whatever you wish, milady.”“Early Grey, then, and I’m not your lady.”

Maggie measured the loose tea into the pot, then poured the hot water. When she turned around, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. The tiny nook where she and John ate was set with the best plates, cups, and silver. In the middle was a small platter filled with scones, petit Madeleines and cookies. John pulled out a chair and stood waiting. “Where in the blazes did this come from?” She placed the teapot on a hotplate.“I bought it.”“On their account?”“Nope. With me own cash.”“Why?”His tone softened. “For you.”
She eased onto the chair and he pushed it close to the table before he joined her. She took his cup and poured. John held the plate while she took one of each of the delectable treats.She fixed her tea the way she liked it with some sugar and milk. “Spending ten days alone here with you, Maggie, is a dream come true.” She looked up, her brown eyes meeting his. John took her hand and placed it to his lips, sending a tingle all the way to her toes.   
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Tuesday Tales - Toes - #british #English #Love

Welcome! This week, I'm continuing with Maggie & John's story. The word prompt is "toes". Scroll down for the link back to Tuesday Tales. Thank you for coming.
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When Maggie tucked a small, stuffed hedgehog under Penn’s arm, the little boy stopped sniffling. He turned the little beast over and over. “What is he?”“ A hedgehog.”“Hedgehog,” Penn repeated. “Can I have him?”“Yes. He’s a present. Take him on your trip. Be good to him.”The little tyke nodded. Maggie leaned down and wiped his tears away with her thumb. She kissed his cheek. He hugged her neck, dropping the new toy, then promptly let go to pick up the creature. With the toy, Maggie’d diverted him from the pain of leaving. Anne Roberts shot her a grateful smile as she headed for the door, Penn in hand. The Roberts’ were jetting off for ten days to the Virgin Islands. Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. After having cooked for huge crowds for Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve parties, she was exhausted.  
 She and John, the butler and chauffeur, had the luxurious apartment to themselves. Anne told them to charge their groceries to the Roberts account and have fun. Maggie noticed a twinkle in John’s eye when he got the news. She had twisted a tissue in her hand. Ten days alone in the house with handsome John scared the crap out of her.

After the family left, Maggie faced him. “Are you going home for the holiday?”“No. Thought I’d rather enjoy New Year’s in New York instead of London. You?”Maggie shook her head. “No money. Besides, doubt they miss me.”“I can’t believe that!”She fidgeted for a moment before heading to the kitchen. “Tea time,” she muttered.“Let me help,” John said, tagging along. She stopped dead. “Look. Don’t be thinkin’ I’m gonna be your cook and slave, waitin’ on ya hand and foot while the Mister and Missus are away. You go your way and I’ll go mine.”“Of course. I’d never ask you to do that.”“Good.” She made her way to the stove. “But you’ve got to eat. And I’ve got to eat.”Swinging around with hands on hips, she glared at him. “John Eldridge! After what I just said…” “But I’ll help. I can cook, too. Not like you, but I make a mean scrambled egg or French toast.” His hazel eyes danced.Maggie cooled down. Cooking for one bored her. Besides, she hated to eat alone.“I’m a great dishwasher, too. I promise to clean up, if you cook. You’re a way better cook than I.”“That I am.”The kettle whistled. She turned off the flame and took down one of the Roberts’ elegant porcelain teapots.“Which do you fancy?” She asked over her shoulder. “Whatever you wish, milady.”“Early Grey, then, and I’m not your lady.”

Maggie measured the loose tea into the pot, then poured the hot water. When she turned around, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. The tiny nook where she and John ate was set with the best plates, cups, and silver. In the middle was a small platter filled with scones, petit Madeleines and cookies. John pulled out a chair and stood waiting. “Where in the blazes did this come from?” She placed the teapot on a hotplate.“I bought it.”“On their account?”“Nope. With me own cash.”“Why?”His tone softened. “For you.”
She eased onto the chair and he pushed it close to the table before he joined her. She took his cup and poured. John held the plate while she took one of each of the delectable treats.She fixed her tea the way she liked it with some sugar and milk. “Spending ten days alone here with you, Maggie, is a dream come true.” She looked up, her brown eyes meeting his. John took her hand and placed it to his lips, sending a tingle all the way to her toes.   
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TUESDAY TALES - CANDY

The word prompt, "candy", has taken me back to a story I deserted last September. It's Maggie's Story. She's the housekeeper for a very wealthy couple who have a young son, a boy who was the same age her child would have been had her parents not forced her to have an abortion. 

They'd shipped her off from England to the United States, where a cousin helped her get this job. The scene takes place on Christmas Eve. John is the butler and chauffeur, also from England. 

Thank you for coming. Scroll down for the link back to Tuesday Tales and the fine stories awaiting you there. 

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Friday night, Maggie went up to her room. The party was still going strong, but the crew the Roberts had hired were serving and staying to do clean up. John hung around to supervise. Maggie stood at the window and parted the curtain.  She watched a group of carolers climb down from a hay wagon and sing for the party. She heard the soft melodies of carols and the applause. Mrs. Roberts passed around a basket of candy and each singer took some.Maggie missed her yule traditions. She wondered what they were doing at home, which of her six siblings had returned for the occasion. She wondered what they were eating and drinking. She could hear, in her head, the songs they always sang and hummed the tunes softly. She wrote a short message on the Christmas card, added the money order, addressed the envelope to her father and sealed it. One more month and she would be paid up. She sighed. That might be the last communication with her parents. I guess you don’t keep a daughter who brings disgrace to your home. The knock on her door meant John had retired. Maggie had retrieved her present for him. When he entered, she turned to face him. Her heart hurt, loneliness surrounded her like the fur coat the missus gave her. But it chilled her instead of warming.
“Here you go. Merry Christmas, John.” She handed him the rectangular box. He opened it carefully, his eyes glittery, darted from her face to the gift. “Holy Mary Mother of God, Maggie! What’d you go and do this for?” He fingered the expensive, Countess Mara silk tie. “Don’t you like it?” Pain stabbed her heart.“It’s beautiful. I love it. But it’s too expensive.” “Wanted you to have one like the Mister wears.”John’s pale cheeks flushed slightly. “Very thoughtful.  Very nice, Maggie. It’s beautiful. I’ll save it for special occasions.”She put her hand on his arm. “I want you to wear it all the time, John.”He nodded. “All right. Thank you.” He kissed her, then bid her goodnight
Maggie gazed up at the cold winter moon and sighed. She slid under the covers and spread her new cashmere sweater from John out on top. She fell asleep with her fingers stroking the soft material.
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TUESDAY TALES - Word Prompt: Pencil #nfl #sportsromance #football

Welcome! I'm sorry for leaving last week's Tuesday Tales as a cliffhanger. This is the second half to that post. It should answer your questions. It's a continue of Griff Montgomery's story in OVERTIME, book 8 in the First & Ten series to be published soon.
Scroll down for the link back to Tuesday Tales. Thank you for coming.
**************************************He rushed into the room to find the bed empty. Panic rose inside him. He ran around, checking every room –even the ones Kathy and her family would occupy. No sign of Lauren. The only thing he had was the bloody towel. Tears of frustration and fear clouded his eyes. He picked up his cell and dialed his wife, but no answer. He heard a ringing and followed the sound to find Lauren’s phone on the floor of the bathroom. There were smudges of blood on the door knob, the sink and the toilet, too. His heart beat so fast it reverberated in his ears.

He didn’t know what to do, but calling the police seemed the best option when his cell rang. The number was unfamiliar. He answered. “Mr. Montgomery?”“Yes? Who’s this?”“This is Mary Anne McDonnell. I’m a nurse at County Hospital.”“Oh my God. Is Lauren there? What’s happened to my wife?” Perspiration broke out on his forehead and under his arms. He picked up a pencil by the phone and broke it in two. “Yes, that’s why I’m calling. She’s here. She’s had a miscarriage, but she’s all right.”“A miscarriage?”“I take it she didn’t tell you yet that she was pregnant?”
“No, ma’am. She hadn’t.”"Goodness. Well, she wasn’t very far along, which is a good thing. I guess that’s why.”
“We have two children. No time alone to talk.”The nurse chuckled. “Been there, done that.”“Is she all right?” “Yes. She’s fine. We’re going to keep her here for a little while. She’ll call you when she’s ready to come home.”“Can I talk to her?”“She’s asleep right now, but I’ll have her call you as soon as she gets up. Didn’t want you to worry none. These things happen.”“Yes, they do. Thank you. I appreciate your calling. I was just about to call the police.”“Goodness! My timing was just right then.”“Sure was. Would you tell her something for me?”“Sure.”“Tell her,” he coughed and felt himself redden, “tell her I love her.”

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TUESDAY TALES - picture prompt - beach scene - #football #nfl #romance

Welcome! This week we have a picture prompt and a 300-word limit. My snippets from my WIP, "Overtime" will continue for another few weeks. It's the last book in the First & Ten series and will be published soon. This week we have Griff's story. His wife, Lauren, has sprung a surprise vacation on him. They headed to the beach in Florida. Seems there was a bigger surprise in their future than either had anticipated.
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He’d made plenty of mistakes in his life, but marrying Lauren wasn’t one of them. He blew  up an inflatable beach ball and bounced it to the kids. After a lively game of catch, they ran to the ocean, where Griff took their hands and waded into the surf, ankle-deep. They shrieked with joy and ran up on the warm sand, then back into the water over and over.He layed out a blanket. The kids sat long enough to eat the food Lauren had packed. They pelted the quarterback with questions, which he answered as best he could. Where did the ocean go? Where did pelicans come from? He didn’t know the answers. Their curiosity charmed him. As their beach time edged toward two hours, Chip and Gracie slowed down. His daughter crawled into her stroller and Chip lay down on the blanket. Griff knew it was time to head home. He brushed the sand off them as best he could then layed them in their beds and covered each with a light blanket. Lauren’s face had appeared drawn when they got in the car at the airport. Concern knitted his brows as he wondered if she was coming down with the flu. He had hoped not as this vacation was her idea and he wanted her to enjoy it, too.
Feeling pooped, he popped a beer and sat in the shade outside on the deck. Lauren often took naps, but never quite this long. On a hunch, Griff climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. Before he arrived, the sight of a bloody towel on the floor stopped him cold. He picked it up. The blood hadn’t completely dried yet, but it wasn’t fresh. Something had happened to Lauren and not in the last hour. 
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