Brita Addams's Blog, page 4

End of year writing catch-up

This last week, the 2013 Rainbow Award winners were announced and I am humbled by my placing in the two categories I finaled in.

The cover for For Men Like Us, brilliantly done by Anne Cain, placed sixth in the Rainbow Awards Cover Contest.

I am particularly fond of that cover, I even have it frame and hung over my fireplace. Anne created that cover from the specs and photos I sent in and it so perfectly depicts one of the first scenes in the book.

I'm also fond of the book, and the two men who are the main characters. The reviews have been good, but in some cases, the book has been misread.

One incidence in particular is when a reviewer said that it seemed like everyone in Regency England was gay.

What I did in the book was create a cloistered residence, which Ben owns. There, he has closed off much of the estate and lives in a very small portion of it. The reason for this was that he employs men who are "men like us." In total, there are six gay men in the book, two in main character roles. No large staff is wanted, so none is on page. This is an artistic choice I made as the author. For me, this was a reasonable and compassionate turn of events and in no way eats up story real estate.

In other news:

Tarnished Gold made a wonderful showing in the 2013 Rainbow Awards. Up against some fierce competition, TG placed fifth place in the Historical category. I am more than pleased with the outcome of the voting. I was up against some of my favorite authors and, being new to the genre, I didn't expect to place high on the list. Fifth is very exciting.

I have gotten some wonderful reviews for the book, and each one humbles me. This story is extensive, a saga of sorts, and one I worked very hard on. I love the idea of a young man setting out to make his fortune and then have years pass in his quest. Combine the two, and I'm in.

One review questioned whether homosexuality was widely accepted in Hollywood in the 19teens, '20s, and '30s. To set the record straight: In the early days of Hollywood, homosexuality was indeed accepted, even revered. Gay men and lesbian women occupied position in every facet of the movie industry.

The point of the book was to depict how that acceptance diminished as time went on. With the implementation of morals and production codes in the late '20s and well into the '30s, gays were marginalized and pushed deeper into the closet. This situation existed until the late 1960s, and then it took many years after to change old attitudes.

I am proud that readers have nominated Tarnished Gold for Best Book of 2013 and for Best Historical in the Goodreads M/M Romance Group.



Tarnished Souls: Frankie and Gent is quite different from Tarnished Gold, in that it tells the story of two New York City gangsters, but this book was one that I had to write.

The next in the Tarnished series will be Tarnished Souls: Mac and Gray. Both those characters appear with Frankie and Gent and the novel (part two) will not only give Mac and Gray their story, but will diverge with the rest of Frankie and Gent. My hope is to have the novel written in the early part of 2014. Release depends upon Dreamspinner production, of course. I look forward to finishing Mac and Gray's story, and giving Frankie and Gent an ending as well.

After Tarnished Souls: Mac and Gray, I going to start Tarnished Hearts, the story of the gossip columnists in early Hollywood and the power they wielded. They could make or break careers. More, everyone feared them.

Getting that book done is my priority after the holidays. Before January 1, I am rewriting Demands of the Heart, preparing it for submission. This book was published and I received the rights to it when Noble Romance folded. As I can, I am rewriting all the books I had with them, eight in all.

New Release
I'm pleased to announce the release date for Freedom in His Arms, my lone contemporary. January 3, 2014 is release day. I hope my readers will enjoy this story of two guys who meet on a cruise and find the hope of a life together. I actually wrote part of the story on a cruise.

Here's the blurb:

On a whim, Boston doctor Bryan Newcastle books a Caribbean cruise for gay men, hoping for two weeks of sexual exploration with someone who’ll bring out the daring soul inside him.

With a simple slide of a keycard across a table, newspaperman Phil Sanderson plunges Bryan into world of sexual freedom where longing for more comes as naturally as breathing. As Phil takes Bryan to new heights, the cruise ends with so much unexplored.

During a visit with Phil in Des Moines, Bryan receives a call that changes everything. Together, they travel back to Boston, but Phil’s protective nature gets in the way of Bryan’s need to handle tragedy in his own way. While Bryan struggles to come to terms with all he thought real about his past, Phil must trust that Bryan is strong enough, or he might lose the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Portions of this novel originally published as separate stories: Free Me published by Amber Allure, June 2011; In His Arms published by Amber Allure, August 2011.
This book is available now for pre-order on Dreamspinner Press. 
I look forward to the next year, as a writer and in my real life. I hope you do as well.

From my house to yours, I wish you Happy Holidays.

Hugs,
Brita

2013 Advent Calendar on my site

Through Christmas Eve, I'm hosting author and bloggers friends on my website, with their holiday stories, recipes, pictures, and other fun.

We have presents for commenters as well. All you have to do is go to the site each day and click on the gift box for the corresponding day on the home page. We have such great stories and yummy recipes, and a new page goes live each morning.

Stop by and join the fun. All you have to do is go to the home page and click the gift box that corresponds to the day, and of course, those that come before it. A new page will give live each morning, right up to Christmas Eve.

On the home page, you'll see the listing of all the authors and bloggers that are sharing in the fun. Come on by.

Click the gift box and you'll be transported.

Where were you fifty years ago today?

Fifty years ago today
Where were you? Maybe not even thought of. If you lived, you will likely remember, as I do.

President and Mrs. Kennedy as they arrived at Love Field
 Dallas
November 22, 1963At about two o’clock eastern time, President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed in Dallas, Texas. I was in a small schoolhouse, with my eighth grade class combined with the seventh, on the second floor, with Mr. Mullaly teaching. I went out into the hallway to get a drink of water, when Chris Bingham ran up the stairs screaming, “He’s been shot, he’s been shot.”
Chris hung out with the school janitor, who had a radio in his office.
“Who’s been shot?”
“The President.”
Chris went from room to room, announcing what he’d heard. Everyone poured into the hallways, the day had ended for us.
Soon, the principal announced that the buses had lined up and that he had decided to dismiss early. I remember how quiet the bus was as we rolled toward my stop. My friend Jan and I decided not to hang out that afternoon. Instead, I ran into the house and monopolized the one TV set we had. I turned on CBS, and watched Walter Cronkite’s tearful announcement that the President had died.
I cried. I didn’t know him and knew less about his politics, but I knew he had two small children and had lost a baby the prior August. I knew, despite the fact that my parents fought like cats and dogs, I didn’t want to lose my dad.
Dad came home early too. At thirty-eight, he looked older than I’d ever seen him. He came in and sat next to me on the sofa, and there, for four days, we watched every moment we could, save for when we had to sleep. History unfolded before my eyes, and I watched. Maybe that's where my love of history started.
I witnessed, live, Jack Ruby burst through the crowd and shoot Lee Harvey Oswald. I saw him buckled and fall to the floor. That picture of him crying out in agony is one the world sees, but it was, obliviously a moment in time. I was angry with Ruby, because I wanted to know why Oswald had killed the president. Then a rumor circulated that Ruby had done it because he was a compassionate man and didn’t want Mrs. Kennedy to have to testify at Oswald’s trial. I understood, because my mother and Mrs. Kennedy were the same age, and I couldn’t imagine my mother faced with such a horrid task.

When U.S. District Judge Sarah Hughes swore Lyndon Baines Johnson in as our 36th President of the United States, Mrs. Kennedy stood to Mr. Johnson’s left, his wife the right.  

A few hours later, Mrs. Kennedy, her hand held by the president’s brother, Robert, arrived in Washington. Blood marred her stockings and her beautiful pink suit. Somewhere during the day, she’d lost her signature pill box hat and of course, her smile. She moved robotically, her gaze straight ahead. Someone had asked her to change her clothes before her arrival in Washington. The TV reported that her answer was, “No. Let them see what they’ve done to Jack.”
Scenes from Dallas played endlessly on television as news departments refused to relinquish their hold on programming. Sometime in the course of those days, or perhaps after, Abraham Zapruder turned over film he’d recorded that day. He captured the moment the bullet struck the president, how he leaned toward his wife. In a panic, she tried to climb out of the convertible, over the trunk, to get help for her stricken husband. 
One of many poignant scenes.
Once in Washington, Mrs. Kennedy retreated to the White House, to, we supposed, inform her very young children of the death of their father.
On Saturday, November 23, 1963, movers quietly made way for the Johnson administration. They wheeled President Kennedy’s rocking chair, something that eased his chronic back pain, out of the office and into storage. It resides at the Kennedy Presidential Library in Boston, along with the desk he used as President. I’ve been there, I’ve seen them, and they touch me deeply.
President Kennedy’s casket lay in state in the East Room at the White House, Lincoln’s had a hundred years before, in April, 1863. Television coverage said that in the wee hours of the morning, when everyone had left, Mrs. Kennedy stole down to the room that has seen balls and where she herself, entertained world leaders, and sat beside her husband’s casket.
On Sunday, a horse-drawn caisson took the flag-draped coffin the Capital. The procession included dignitaries from around the world, but most prominent was Mrs. Kennedy, flanked by her brothers-in-law, Edward (Ted) and Robert (Bobby) Kennedy. She walked stoically, dressed in black, looking years older than her thirty-four years.
At the Capital, the president’s body lay in state in the Rotunda. President Kennedy’s coffin rested on the catafalque used for Lincoln. A shared fate.
Around the clock, world leaders and the common man flocked to Washington to pay their last respects to the fallen, forty-six year old president.
My dad and I watched as sometime in the afternoon, the commentator told us that there would be a brief ceremony held and that the viewing had stopped. The political elite filed into the massive Rotunda, and then the family, including young Caroline and John, Jr., who both celebrated birthdays over that most tragic of weekends.
When Mrs. Kennedy stepped forward, holding Caroline’s hand, I remember my dad putting his arm around me. They knelt, Mrs. Kennedy kissed the flag, and little Caroline slid her hand beneath to touch her father’s coffin.
On Monday morning, uniformed representatives from all four military branches, carried the president’s body down the steps of the Capital. The solemn ceremony kept me enthralled, at the same time, I didn’t want to see it. The finality of that day—the day they’d lay the president to rest.
At the bottom of the stairs, to the left as we watched, stood the two Kennedy brothers, Mrs. Kennedy, and her children. Both were dressed in light blue outfits, Caroline in a coat and John, Jr. in a coat and shorts.
While the children went by car, Mrs. Kennedy left the procession to St. Matthew’s Cathedral, where a funeral mass was held. During the ceremony, young John grew restless. He turned three that day, and despite the solemnity of the day, three years old is three years old.
Also in picture: Ted Kennedy, Peter Lawford.
Caroline hold a missal someone gave
John to occupy him during the ceremony At the benediction, everyone filed out of the magnificent church and as the bearers carried the casket down the steps. John grew restless again. As they placed the flag-draped casket on the caisson, Mrs. Kennedy bent down and whispered something in young John’s ear. Before our stunned eyes, the child stepped away from his mother, stood stiffly, and raised his chubby little hand to his forehead, as he saluted his father’s coffin.
I lost it that day, and still do, each time I think of it, and of course John’s own fate, some thirty-four years later.
The eternal flame at the president’s grave in Arlington National Cemetery touched me deeply when Mrs. Kennedy lit it. The site doesn’t look much like it did in 1963. They’ve had to shore it up for the millions of visitors over the years. Robert, whose death happened as my mother sewed my prom dress, rests next to his brother and Mrs. Kennedy, with the children they lost at birth.

I’ve taken my children there, and related the above story to them—that moment in history when the world stopped, when politics didn't matter. 
President Kennedy's death changed a lot for many people. Hate him or love him, when all was said and done, like all of us at the end, those four days were about him and his family. 
The rest of us? We were shaken from the innocence of the '50s and early 60s, and knocked headlong into a new age. I've heard November 22, 1963 called the day innocence died. Sad, but maybe so.   
Links to various videos

Excerpt from Tarnished Souls: Frankie and Gent

Welcome to the first day of the Tarnished Souls Blog Tour. Please enjoy this excerpt, which opens the book. 
Of course there's a giveaway: Two winners per blog stop.
One random commenter will win an ebook copy of Tarnished Gold or For Men Like Us. Another commenter will win a swag pack, with signed bookmarks, and a couple other goodies.   Winners chosen on November 27.

TARNISHED SOULS: Frankie and Gent 
Monday, July 9, 1934
THE EARLY part of the evening turned out to be a real lulu. The wrap party for Cullen Reilly and company filled Suede to capacity. Reilly had just finished a picture for MGM and wanted to blow off some steam. 
Often did after a long shoot, or for any reason at all. Frankie Monetti’s best customer for the restaurant, bar, and not-so-secret activities on the top floor of the club. Reilly ordered up four muscular humps to keep him occupied while the party thrummed downstairs.
The district attorney’s bet with the mayor about who could win more at the craps table made for some swell action in the gambling room. Suede’s main floor filled with the curious, while both DA Fitts and the mayor peeled off C-notes as though they’d printed them in their basements. In the end, neither won as much as the house. A good night for Monetti’s lone legit venture.
At two fifteen, the party broke up, but not before Frankie did some serious ogling. From his usual booth, he watched the pretty boys sway and paw each other. He feasted eyes on the young bucks, who were only too happy to have their local mobster watch them fuck each other insensible.
Duke, his number one, drove him and a few of the boys home. Frankie always kept four close, just in case. “You fellas get some sleep.” Duke, Fat Artie, Wild Eye, and Johnny went to their wing, while Frankie unlocked the door of his Holmby Hills mansion.
The night quiet, Frankie leaned against one of the fluted white columns under the portico and stared up at the fat moon, his senses dulled but not nearly enough, despite his being bent. As the clock in the foyer chimed three, he gave a fleeting thought to waking Tommy, his houseboy. “All good boys should be in bed.” He chuckled. “With me.”Slivers of moonlight slipped into the breach as Frankie stepped over the threshold, into his foyer, then slid the bolt into place. For a few hours, no work, no orders to give.
The grandfather clock ticked overloud as moonlight glinted off the heavy pendulum. An orange glow caught his attention as he passed the middle arch that led to the living room. Through the open damask draperies, light from the streetlamp filtered in to reveal a shadowed figure, deep in the recesses of the room. Acrid cigarette smoke wafted through the still summer air.
His black onyx pinkie ring caught on his pocket as Frankie dug deep for the security of his body-warmed .38. “Who’s there?”
Another bright glow, then the sizzle of cigarette paper. “That any way to greet an old chum? I figured at least you’d remember me.”
The familiar gravelly voice lifted Frankie’s boozy haze like a movie curtain. Fear slithered down Frankie’s spine. Yeah, he remembered the Ansonia Hotel, the Turkish baths. “Gent? What are you doing here?”
“Hey, hey. Don’t need the hardware. I’m here to talk.”
“You shouldn’t be here. If Sal finds out, you know—”
“Sal sent me.”
The cock of the hammer echoed off the walls. Frankie’s finger froze on the trigger. “Why?”
“He sent for ya. I’m here to make sure ya come in.”
The grit in Gent’s voice scraped over Frankie’s nerves. “Sent for me, huh? That doesn’t sound good.”Frankie glanced into the empty foyer, his gun in hand.
Gent flipped on a lamp, then shifted in the corner sofa chair, his Fedora pulled down over his eyes. “T’ings don’t add up.”
“What things? He thinks I’m cheatin’ him?”
“Yeah.”
Frankie walked fully into the room, his grip still on his gun. “Like what?”
“I’m takin’ ya in. All I know is Sal wants ta talk. You have to explain.”
“Why’d he send you?”
“It’s what I do.”
“Everything’s copacetic here. Guaranteed.”
Gent shrugged. “He don’t believe it. Not bad enough, you fucked up the hit on McGregor. The one t’ing he asks you ta do, and you botch it. He ain’t happy, Frankie. Not happy at all.” Gent raised his head and tipped his Fedora’s brim back with the gun barrel. “I’m here ta clean up, then take you back. No more complicated ’an dat.”
The six-foot-four-inch Gent unfolded himself from the chair. His shadow loomed on the wall behind him—Sal’s hulking avenger.
When Gent stepped into the light, uncharacteristic fear ripped through Frankie and wrung him inside out. “Stay right there.”
“I ain’t killin’ you here and only on Sal’s word. We can keep our rods on each other, but I’m gonna do what Sal sent me to do.” Gent inclined his head, then stubbed out his snipe in the glass ashtray beside the chair.
“What’s he wanna know? Why now? Why you? I haven’t heard from you in five years. He said we ain’t s’posed to see each other. ’Member?”
Gent sighed, then tucked his gun into the chest holster. “All’s forgiven about that. Sal’s got a new bone to chew. Money and McGregor. He’s got ’em both stuck in his craw, and you gotta come get ’em out.”
“Fuck McGregor. As long as I steer clear, he’s got nothin’ to do with me.”
“Bullshit. He holds press conferences, accuses the Syndicate of shit they never thought of. Yak, yak, yak. He’s gonna clean up Los Angeles. Sooner or later, that flatfoot is gonna find somethin’ to hang on ya, and that makes Sal nervous.” After Gent sprinkled tobacco for a new cigarette, he licked the paper with a delicacy that belied his muscled bulk.
Being sent for was as harsh as it got. You go in alive and come out dead and always someone you know whacks you. No exceptions.
“Why you?”
Gent scratched a thumbnail across the top of a stick match, then lit his newly rolled cigarette. “Sal respects me. I do what he says, keep my nose clean, ya know? Then he gives me more to do, trusts me.”
“You his man? He own you?”
Gent shrugged. “No one owns me. I’m just there.”
Frankie nodded. “Does he know your name?”
Gent turned his back. “I ain’t here to talk about me. I got work to do, then we take the train back to New York. That’s all there is.”
The ambivalence in Gent’s voice made him, like always, harder to figure. “So you’re here to kill McGregor?”
“Last thing before we leave. Gotta have a looksee at the books first. Get a feel for the operation.”
Frankie laughed. “What would you know about the books?”
Gent took two steps, then grabbed Frankie’s tie. “Five years is a long time. Even a dumb mook like me can learn shit in five years.”
Frankie calmly stared into Gent’s dead eyes. “I don’t doubt that, but last I heard, you’d racked up dozens of kills. When did he make you a book man?”
Gent pulled Frankie closer. “I know some shit. Learned to figure when Sal gave me the wire service to manage. Insteada breakin’ heads, I hung around and learned, top to bottom. Then I broke heads.” Gent released Frankie with a shove.
Frankie straightened his tie. “Big step. Your own operation.”
“Makes Sal a load and he likes that. I showed him he could trust me, so he figured I’d know what’s what out here.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll have my man Nickels show you the books.”
“That or I take ’em. Either way.”
Fury rose up at Gent’s indifferent shrug.
“You changed, Frankie. You talk better, and look at your kippy digs. Just like fuckin’ Gable’s, for Chris sake. People notice ya. I see ya in the papers. Sal says drawin’ attention to yourself is bad for business.”
“Sal doesn’t understand how different living out here is. I can’t sound like a street hood from the Kitchen and chinwag with the bigwigs. To get things done, they have to respect me. I can’t talk all that goombah shit. Gotta live high, like they do. Meet ’em on their level.”
Gent shook his head. “Sal don’t like it. Thought you settled down. You don’t follow orders.”
“Fuck that! He doesn’t think killing a cop will draw attention? McGregor’s big news. Someone ices him and who knows what might happen.”
“Sal wants McGregor gone, and you lost your chance.”
“Why do I want to call attention to myself by offing the guy? That’s not good business sense.”
“There never was a cop Sally couldn’t buy.”
“Not that one. Sal doesn’t know what it’s like out here. You muscle in, but with finesse. I convinced the studios that turnin’ over thousands a month is their idea. Finesse.”
Gent stood loose and dandy while he smoked his cigarette. “Nah, I think maybe you wanna be in them movin’ pitchas.”
“You don’t know shit about my life. You’re still the same old Gent, listening to everyone’s bullshit. Maybe the organization needs some young blood at the top.”
“Sal’s had a guy out here, and he knows how you do things.”
Tired of the verbal hammering, Frankie flopped onto the sofa. “Yeah? Who is it?”
“Dunno. Word is, only Sal knows.” Gent sat down beside him. “The guy followed McGregor to Redondo Beach the same time you were s’posed to plug him. Seems McGregor spent that weekend there with a guy.”
“If he’s got someone tailing McGregor, why don’t he bump him off?”
Gent shrugged. “Not his job. Strictly hands off. Sal’s orders. He says you’re soft on the cop. That you ain’t changed any like that. McGregor was at Suede. You rump him, Frankie boy?” Gent brushed Frankie’s shoulder with an open palm. “Maybe the fuck didn’t go so well and you pissed him off? That why he’s after you?”
The silence stretched taut between them. The insult went sideways as Frankie assessed the mention of the club. “What does Sal know about Suede?”
Gent leaned forward. “Enough. Knows you have Hollywood drinkin’ your booze and movie stars and swank politicos fuckin’ each other in the fancy rooms. You have muckity-mucks in your pocket, but can’t get one cop to play ball. Sal wants his cut, is all. He don’t care if you deal cock or pussy, it’s alla same to him, but he figures you owe him for settin’ ya up so nice.”
Frankie slammed his fist on the coffee table. “He ain’t a part of that. I financed it myself. You tell him that, hear?”
Gent dragged deeply on his cigarette. “I’d like to hear you tell him that.” Gent wagged a brow. “After you killed Marino, Sal figured you’d lay low and build the organization, quiet-like. Wasn’t protection enough for ya? You made good scratch with that. Why’d you have to go and muck around with them that makes movies?”
“Sal knows too much. Is it someone in my crew?”
“Could be,” Gent said with a shrug. “But you’ll never know. Point is, Sal only trusts to a point, an’ you way over. When you set up shop someplace and don’t invite him along, he takes offense. Ain’t polite not to invite family.” Gent’s gaze never left Frankie’s. “You live or die because of him.”
Family. Frankie hadn’t thought of his in years. Hadn’t wanted to. “With Suede set up like it is, Sal figures you haven’t reformed. He’s pullin’ you in.”
Frankie huffed. “And he sends you to do it, does he?”
“He thinks I’ve changed. Dat I don’t care about dat anymore. Difference between me and you? You never learned there’s a time and place for everythin’. By openin’ a setup like Suede, you rub it in his face. He got the message, and so will you.”
“What, you don’t like cock anymore?”
Gent licked his lips. “Never said that, but I learned to hide it. After what happened with you, I figured it all out. I stay alive ’cause I keep it to myself and a few parties who don’t dare talk. It’s best. Never know who you can trust.”
“Come on. I know you. You can’t live without it. What good does it do to act like you can?”

Gent shook his head. “Keeps my fuckin’ head on my shoulders, that’s what. Look, Sal’s pissed and he wants to deal with you. Nothin’ to do wit’ me. I clean up, then I bring you in.”
If you enjoyed this excerpt, you can purchase Tarnished Souls: Frankie and Gent
Schedule for Tarnished Souls: Frankie and Gent Blog Tour
November 14 –The Rainbow StudioNovember 18 –Brita AddamsNovember 19 –Sid LoveNovember 20 –Joyfully JayNovember 21 –You Gotta ReadNovember 25 –Jacob FloresNovember 26 –The Novel ApproachDecember 3 - J.P. BarnabyDecember 4 - Lynley Wayne December 5 –Michael Ruptured
You might enjoy the first book in the Tarnished Series, Rainbow Awards Finalist, Tarnished Gold. Here is the blurb: 
In 1915, starstruck Jack Abadie strikes out for the gilded streets of the most sinful town in the country— Hollywood. With him, he takes a secret that his country hometown would never understand.

After years of hard work and a chance invitation to a gay gentlemen's club, Jack is discovered. Soon, his talent, matinee idol good looks, and affable personality propel him to the height of stardom. But fame breeds distrust.

Meeting Wyatt Maitland turns Jack’s life upside down. He wants to be worthy of his good fortune, but old demons haunt him. Only through Wyatt's strength can Jack face that which keeps him from being the man he wants to be. Love without trust is empty.

As the 1920s roar, scandals rock the movie industry. Public tolerance of Hollywood's decadence has reached its limit. Under pressure to clean up its act, Jack’s studio issues an ultimatum. Either forsake the man he loves and remain a box office darling, or follow his heart and let his shining star fade to tarnished gold.
You can purchase Tarnished Gold at Dreamspinner Press

For Whom The Books Toll: Tarnished Souls Frankie and Gent by Brita Addams R...

For Whom The Books Toll: Tarnished Souls Frankie and Gent by Brita Addams R...: Title: Tarnished Souls Frankie and Gent Author: Brita Addams Publisher: Dreamspinner Press Genre: GLBT/Historical Publicat...

My oldest daughter reaches a milestone birthday today, an...

My oldest daughter reaches a milestone birthday today, and isn’t terribly happy about it. Her name is Kim, but we’ve called her many things over the years – Bowlin’ Jeans, Kimbo, our angel, Sissy, and one of the best things that ever happened in our lives. 
She was a happy child, silly, always ready to sing and dance for us. “Let’s put on a show,” she’d tell her Daddy and they’d come up with the silliest little shows to entertain me and Kim’s brother and later, her sister.
Kim is our middle child, four and a half years younger than her brother and ten years older than her baby sister. Growing up, she was a little mama, always caring and considerate. She loved to bake with me and do home repairs with her Daddy, my husband, who adopted Kim at the age of 8. She kept her father's last name as a middle name. Always a people please, that one. 

She couldn’t keep her room cleaned up if her life depended on it, but looking back, she was so doggone cute in her sloppiness.
From the time she learned to read, Kim has played our Santa Claus. She’s worn the same Santa hat (See below) for more years than she’d rather remember. She loves Christmas, I guess that’s hereditary—my mom did, and so do I.

The only Christmas she ever missed was the one right after she joined the army. On Christmas Eve, she called, and played Bing Crosby's rendition of "I'll Be Home for Christmas," for us, followed by, "Next year."
Kim in the Army.As a teenager, she did her best to alienate us—moodiness, feigned anger, laziness. In the scheme of life, none of it means anything now, but then, I truly thought she was out to drive me nuts. My little girl changed, something I never thought would happen.  Our of high school, she joined the Army. During boot camp, she developed bone spurs and ended up discharged before boot camp ended. 
At nineteen, she moved two and half hours away. The move broke my heart. Her brother had already married, and then she had done exactly what I did to my mother, at the same age—grew up and wanted to start a life of her own. The nerve, huh?
After a relationship with a guy we didn’t like, Kim called us one night. “ I’ve met my Clint (her dad’s name.)”
Mike is a jewel, and sixteen years later, they are the happiest married couple I know, save her Daddy and me. I've loved him from the first time I 
The night we met Michael. I collected porcelain dolls during
my  country decorating phase.
Don't judge!met him, and that has not changed. He treats our daughter like a queen—he works hard, says the right things, and more, he does things for Kim that make her feel valued, like her dad does for me.
Their wedding was a small affair, at Mike’s father’s house. Kim, her step-mom, and I, spent some time alone, as we got her ready for her wedding. Kim was nervous, and when she gets nervous, she chatters. Her chatter quotient ranked off the charts that day, and what a wonderful time we had, reminiscing, laughing about those silly little entertainments, and how fast the years had passed. Bittersweet for me, as I watched the wonderful young woman I’d raised, ready herself for marriage.
Kim and Michael, May 2, 1999
I made her flowers.She and Mike had already given us our grandson, born three months earlier. In typical Kim fashion, she refused to get married early in her pregnancy, because she wanted to be sure that Mike wanted her and not just because of the baby. Miraculously, Sebastian, who never slept, literally, slept all day, allowing her parents to enjoy their wedding day.
She called me when she found out she was pregnant, and that is a call I will never forget. In the middle of our conversation, someone knocked on her door. “Hold on, Mama. Mike’s here.” She put down the phone, and this is what I heard on the other end.
“Mike, I’m pregnant, and if you can’t accept that, you can leave right now.”
There was a pause, some foot shuffling. “Listen, babe. I’m not going anywhere.”
I think there was a great deal of kissing that went on, but I hung up, and she didn't called me back for a couple of days.
January 28, 1999, the first time Grammie (me) held Sebastian.
That's Kim in the bed. Yes, I was crying. He was as
beautiful as his mama.On January 27, 1999, I witnessed a miracle—the birth of our grandson, Sebastian Chance. Michael always liked The NeverEnding Story, and the character, Bastian. Chance, because they considered this beautiful baby their big chance in life.
When Sebastian entered the world, his Daddy and Mama cried. Kim wanted Michael to hold his son first, because, “I’ve held him for nine months.”
After we took tons of pictures, the nurse took the baby, and Mike, his eyes filled with tears, lay down on the bed next to Kim (we were in one of those nice birthing rooms,) and repeats many times, “Thank you.”
Kim held him and cried. When she looked over at me, she smiled. “I’m so happy.”
Kim and Sebastian, age 4 daysToday, she is Sadie, Sadie, grown up lady. She home schools Sebastian, is home alone ever other week, as Mike works on an offshore oil rig. Just recently, she informed us that she intends to go to school. She wants to be an RN. I chuckled and asked her if she’d be able to withstand the rigors, “At your age.” She laughed, and said she hoped so.
Our girl is a Starbucks enthusiast, must have her half-caf, mocha choka, (and addition mumbo jumbo I could never replicate) every day, though today, when I talked to her, I thought she’d gotten her fix, but she said no, she was just high on life.
She is a beautiful, compassionate woman, and I for one, am proud to be her mom. Or Woman as she calls me. On occasion, I get a Mama. But one thing I can always count on, is the love that comes from her.

Happy birthday, my wonderful girl. My life is richer with you in it. 
Below are some pictures from my wonderful daughter's life. Of the thousands, these are some of my favorites.
Kim, Sebastian, and Mike at our house, Christmas, 2005
Sebastian swiped his Mama's hat.


Kim, at the head of the table, with me, her daddy, brother Chris,
and her grandma, my mom. Kim baking with my mother

Kim on her wedding day. Though she loved her bouquet,
I got carried awaywhen I made it for her. It was HUGE. Kim's imitation of Mae West. She knocked us out with it. Now when
we ask her to do it, Sebastian cringes. Embarrassment goes full circle.
Kim was 4. I kept this pic on my fridge throughout
Kim's childhood,
until after she graduated.. I just love it.

One of Kim's jobs was as a police dispatcher.
We went to visit her at the sheriff's office and her dad
took this picture of us. 
Kim and Mike. She doesn't look any different today than she did then. Sebastian August, 2013 age 14
Sebastian July 2013 age 14  Four generations. That's me on the left front, next to Kim and Chris'
paternal grandmother. Irene was one of the most wonderful women
I've ever known. We remained close, even after her son and I divorced.

My oldest daughter reaches a milestone ...

My oldest daughter reaches a milestone birthday
today, and isn’t terribly happy about it. Her name is Kim, but we’ve called her
many things over the years – Bowlin’ Jeans, Kimbo, our angel, Sissy, and one of
the best things that ever happened in our lives. 




She was a happy child, silly, always ready to sing
and dance for us. “Let’s put on a show,” she’d tell her Daddy and they’d come
up with the silliest little shows to entertain me and Kim’s brother and later,
her sister.




Kim is our middle child, four and a half years
younger than her brother and ten years older than her baby sister. Growing up,
she was a little mama, always caring and considerate. She loved to bake with me
and do home repairs with her Daddy, my husband, who adopted Kim at the age of 8. She kept her father's last name as a middle name. Always a people please, that one. 






She couldn’t keep her room cleaned up if her life
depended on it, but looking back, she was so doggone cute in her sloppiness.




From the time she learned to read, Kim has played
our Santa Claus. 


She’s worn the same Santa hat (See below) for
more years than she’d rather remember. She loves Christmas, I guess that’s hereditary—my
mom did, and so do I.





The only Christmas she ever missed was the one right after she joined the army. On Christmas Eve, she called, and played Bing Crosby's rendition of "I'll Be Home for Christmas," for us, followed by, "Next year."





Kim in the Army.


As a teenager, she did her best to alienate us—moodiness, feigned anger, laziness. In the scheme of life, none of it
means anything now, but then, I truly thought she was out to drive me nuts. My
little girl changed, something I never thought would happen.  Our of high school, she joined the Army. During boot camp, she developed bone spurs and ended up discharged before boot camp ended. 




At nineteen, she moved two and half hours away. The
move broke my heart. Her brother had already married, and then she had done
exactly what I did to my mother, at the same age—grew up and wanted to start a
life of her own. The nerve, huh?




After a relationship with a guy we didn’t like, Kim
called us one night. 

“ I’ve met my Clint
(her dad’s name.)”




Mike is a jewel, and sixteen years later, they are
the happiest married couple I know, save her Daddy and me. I've loved him from the
first time I 




The night we met Michael. I collected porcelain dolls during

my  country decorating phase.

Don't judge!

met him, and that has not changed. He treats our daughter like a
queen—he works hard, says the right things, and more, he does things for Kim
that make her feel valued, like her dad does for me.




Their wedding was a small affair, at Mike’s father’s
house. Kim, her step-mom, and I, spent some time alone, as we got her ready for
her wedding. Kim was nervous, and when she gets nervous, she chatters. Her chatter
quotient ranked off the charts that day, and what a wonderful time we had, reminiscing,
laughing about those silly little entertainments, and how fast the years had
passed. Bittersweet for me, as I watched the wonderful young woman I’d raised,
ready herself for marriage.





Kim and Michael, May 2, 1999

I made her flowers.


She and Mike had already given us our grandson, born
three months earlier. In typical Kim fashion, she refused to get married early
in her pregnancy, because she wanted to be sure that Mike wanted her and not
just because of the baby. Miraculously, Sebastian, who never slept, literally, slept all day, allowing her parents to enjoy their wedding day.




She called me when she found out she was pregnant,
and that is a call I will never forget. In the middle of our conversation, someone
knocked on her door. “Hold on, Mama. Mike’s here.” She put down the phone, and
this is what I heard on the other end.




“Mike, I’m pregnant, and if you can’t accept that,
you can leave right now.”




There was a pause, some foot shuffling. “Listen,
babe. I’m not going anywhere.”




I think there was a great deal of kissing that went
on, but I hung up, and she didn't called me back for a couple of days.





January 28, 1999, the first time Grammie (me) held Sebastian.

That's Kim in the bed. Yes, I was crying. He was as

beautiful as his mama.


On January 27, 1999, I witnessed a miracle—the birth
of our grandson, Sebastian Chance. Michael always liked The NeverEnding Story, and
the character, Bastian. Chance, because they considered this beautiful baby
their big chance in life.




When Sebastian entered the world, his Daddy and Mama
cried. Kim wanted Michael to hold his son first, because, “I’ve held him for
nine months.”




After we took tons of pictures, the nurse took the
baby, and Mike, his eyes filled with tears, lay down on the bed next to Kim (we
were in one of those nice birthing rooms,) and repeats many times, “Thank you.”




Kim held him and cried. When she looked over at me,
she smiled. “I’m so happy.”





Kim and Sebastian, age 4 days


Today, she is Sadie, Sadie, grown up lady. She home
schools Sebastian, is home alone ever other week, as Mike works on an offshore
oil rig. Just recently, she informed us that she intends to go to school. She
wants to be an RN. I chuckled and asked her if she’d be able to withstand the
rigors, “At your age.” She laughed, and said she hoped so.




Our girl is a Starbucks enthusiast, must have her
half-caf, mocha choka, (and addition mumbo jumbo I could never replicate) every
day, though today, when I talked to her, I thought she’d gotten her fix, but
she said no, she was just high on life.




She is a beautiful, compassionate woman, and I for
one, am proud to be her mom. Or Woman as she calls me. On occasion, I get a
Mama. But one thing I can always count on, is the love that comes from her.






Happy birthday, my wonderful girl. My life is richer
with you in it. 




Below are some pictures from my wonderful daughter's life. Of the thousands, these are some of my favorites.





Kim, Sebastian, and Mike at our house, Christmas, 2005






Sebastian swiped his Mama's hat.

















Kim, at the head of the table, with me, her daddy, brother Chris,

and her grandma, my mom.



Kim baking with my mother











Kim on her wedding day. Though she loved her bouquet,

I got carried awaywhen I made it for her. It was HUGE.



Kim's imitation of Mae West. She knocked us out with it. Now when

we ask her to do it, Sebastian cringes. Embarrassment goes full circle.







Kim was 4. I kept this pic on my fridge throughout

Kim's childhood,

until after she graduated.. I just love it.






One of Kim's jobs was as a police dispatcher.

We went to visit her at the sheriff's office and her dad

took this picture of us. 





Kim and Mike. She doesn't look any different today than she did then.



Sebastian August, 2013 age 14





Sebastian July 2013 age 14


 

Four generations. That's me on the left front, next to Kim and Chris'

paternal grandmother. Irene was one of the most wonderful women

I've ever known. We remained close, even after her son and I divorced.

Getting ready for GRL

Today is one of the those days that will have me rejoicing when it's over. Started early this morning with getting ready for the day, then off to have my nails done. Nice chat with the woman at the salon, she's a reader, so you can guess what we talked about.





Home again and had to go run errands in town, met with our oldest daughter and our grandson, who has a great deal of fun lording his considerable height over all us "shrimps." He's 14, all legs, and handsome as can be. No bias here, just accurate reporting.



Then a stop at Cracker Barrel for their chicken friend chicken, my favorite, along with their baby carrots, cole slaw, and today, steak fries. Full to the brim.



Once we arrived home, I got to the dastardly task of packing for GRL. I am a t-shirt and jeans girl at home (and many days, pajama,) so planning for each day of the con takes some work. What am I doing, what do I want to look like while doing it.



You see, my mother's words live in my head. She was quite the dresser, nothing fancy mind, but appropriate for every occasion. Despite comfort, one looks nice when in social situations. Thankfully, I know how to shop for comfort, so no constricting clothes for the long days.



There are a few hiccups in my path - namely the passive voice workshop Deanna Wadsworth and I are conducting on Wednesday, and then the Author Spotlight on Saturday, just before the booksigning. I love meeting readers, but without knowing what to expect (I plan everything,) I get nervous.





From GRL 2011, in New Orleans. Me and my friend, Damon Suede. One of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet.





Me and Bryl Tyne, who has, due to some serious work commitments, had to put his writing career on hold. This was at the booksigning in New Orleans, 2011

I am looking forward to the Dinner with the Authors on Friday. It's there where I can really chat with readers.



I'll not attend the masquerade party, I'm not much of a partier. I don't drink more than a glass or two of wine, and even then, it's been forever since I've had even that. Besides, while my husband is coming with me, we're staying in another hotel and he won't be attending any of the events. Therefore, I want to spend time with him too.







I love these guys so much! Jacob Flores and his husband, Bruce Tharp. I took this in Albuquerue in 2012.



I am looking forward to seeing everyone, old friends and new. Readers are wonderfully enthusiastic and such a pleasure to talk with and get to know. I wish them all a wonderful con, with the hope they get to meet all their favorite authors.



See you all in Atlanta.

Tarnished Souls: Frankie and Gent available for preorder

As I am getting reading for GRL, Dreamspinner notified me that Tarnished Souls: Frankie and Gent is now available for preorder. This is a 26k novella, and one I'm very proud of.



Here is the link, for those interested. Please know, this isn't a romance. But if you like 1930s gangsters, give it a try.



Preorder at Dreamspinner.

Tarnished Gold is Rainbow Awards Finalist

This morning, Elisa Rolle at the Rainbow Awards announced the finalists, and I am more than honored to have Tarnished Gold in the running in the Historical Romance category.



There are many extremely talented authors who have also earned the ranking, and I am thrilled to be a part of such a distinguished group.



The winners are announced on December 8, and you can bet I will be anxiously awaiting that day.



With GayRomLit only two weeks away, I am busy getting all my swag organized. Today I received my 6' banner, all mounted in its stand. It is BIG. LOL



I'm looking forward to seeing friends and meeting new ones in Atlanta. GRL is always great fun. I'm giving away some nice swag and giving away postcards for a free download of Tarnished Souls: Frankie and Gent, when it's released on November 19. The card will also entitle GRL attendees 30% off the purchase of Tarnished Gold.



This week I joined BookLikes. I haven't decided if I'm leaving Goodreads or not, but the added exposure at BL is an added bonus. Goodreads has taken on the feel of an armed camp, even for people who don't get involved in the drama over reviews.



I have my own feelings about what's going on over there, but they are mine. I can only act on it and I have.



Please follow me at Booklikes and I'll follow you as well. 



I hope to see you at GRL.



Hugs,

Brita