Liz Crowe's Blog, page 18

My Muse Can Kick Your Muse's A**

A lot is made of we authors and our "muses."

The whole thing traces back to Greek mythology, poetry and literature. The "muses" are the goddesses of the inspiration of literature,science and the arts. They were considered the source of the knowledge, related orally for centuries in the ancient culture that was contained in poetic lyrics and myths.

Of course the "best" muses in recent representational history are in the Disney movie "Hercules." Damn me if I couldn't get those gals to hang around and sing me to inspiration. 



Amidst all the author blabbering and yammering about "my craft" this and "my process" that, we bring up "the muse" a lot. Sometimes as an excuse to sit and stare at a blank screen or yell at a couple of recalcitrant characters. Other times we force ourselves to get the hell off social networks with a "Muse is Calling," tra-lah load of nonsensical crap.

Because honestly, the "muse" is nothing more than that little voice deep in our own imaginations that bring out the stories we spew into the maw of the already overtaxed, oversexed, overstimulated, over-book-boyfriended reading public.  

But, it does help sometimes to give The Muse physical form. Since we do use him/her/it an awful lot to force ourselves into either real or imagined bouts of creativity.

As I lurched into my life as "published author" my own little voice of imagination took form....as a tall, handsome, bossy, moody, at times insufferable ... hot...guy. As I live most of life working to further the cause of craft beer (and my own brewery's in particular) his name developed quite naturally into "Hans." And he seemed most obviously to appear wearing....lederhosen and bearing quality German beer.

Well...you know....it is MY imagination after all.

Hans...bless his soul....he has become pretty pushy with his "ideas," and his "story lines," and his annoying "plot concepts."  He is especially fond of pushing these things down my throat when I'm TRYING to MARKET and PROMOTE books he's already yanked out of my subconscious. Like right now. If you are a Liz follower you know that I'm working on the upcoming release promotional tsunami for Good Faith. And God help me if Hans (bless him) has poured no less than 3 story lines into my skull before standing back and tapping his toe, impatiently, unhappily, with his lovely full lips pressed into a thin, annoyed line.
Hans...pondering how he will torture me with "new stories" as I attempt to promote "existing ones."



And recently, as I develop (or better yet try to control) my "craft" it is pretty clear to me that Hans is but one half of the Liz Muse. He's the male side (duh). The loud, aggressive, story-pusher, who gets tempered by the inner, hidden English Lit major, the teacher my parents always thought I would be. SHE is something else altogether, I've found. And together, they make me stop in the middle of a busy grocery store aisle, abandon a cartful of badly needed groceries and jump into my car to speed home at ten p.m. to unknot that plot tangle I've been noodling for the last forty eight hours.
Hans likes to play football...and ponder story lines.....



For those of you who've read it, that is exactly how I figured out how to end Paradise Hops.

I'm lucky, of course, that Hans and His Female Counterpart have taken actual physical shape for me as I head into my Giant, In-Your-Face Release Weekend Party and Whatnot for Good Faith Here in Ann Arbor.  
Hans gearing up for a long day in his suit trying to get my attention....



I have been informed that They will grace us with Their presences at my party in the Gulo Room of the Wolverine State Brewing Company on Friday, Nov. 15 at 7 p.m.-ish. 
Hans is pretty handy when he's not forcing plots down my throat.




I can't make any promises about Their collective attitudes. I have warned you about how They get...when I'm in full promotion mode vs. full Pay-Attention To Us NOW Liz mode. 

But one thing is guaranteed. They are MY Muses, so they will have a great time!

Does your muse take shape? If so, what does he/she look like?  I'd love to hear about him/her. But don't try and convince me that Hans is not The Total Shit, 'cause he is.
When Hans is not being annoyed with me over my inability to keep up with his plot bunnies, he models in his underwear. It keeps him busy...



I am pretty fond of this guy...and I'll show you HERself soon as well.

Happy Writing.
Liz
in case you are in the area, I would LOVE to see you at the Tap Room on Friday 11/15 or at Barnes & Noble on 11/16 (4 p.m.)  With KUDOS to my very fav cover model, Scott Nova....

A Glass of...Ann Arbor's Finest With a New Author Across the Beer Bar with Liz

Tragedy has made Keaira wise beyond her twenty years. Forced to work for the General, a commanding man who blackmailed his way into her life, she was ordered to study self-defense and master knife throwing. In the hidden
community of Shifters, falcons are considered weak, a fact which may ultimately save her life. To escape his cruelty, she will need to call upon her quick-witted falcon side, but the General has other plans – ones which involve his only son, Carson.

When unexpected feelings form between Keaira and Carson, the General quickly moves his pieces into place, launching his quest to take over the world. If she wants to survive, Keaira must stay one step ahead in the General’s deadly game and discover his weaknesses. Even if it means
risking her life and the lives of those she cares about most.

With war on the horizon, sides are being drawn. Deadly secrets must be exposed. Time is running out for Keaira and all of mankind.
And an excerpt:
The house was quiet. Keaira figured everyone was still sleeping. She went outside and put her things in the Mustang’s trunk. She returned to the house but hesitated going back inside. Instead, she sat on the top step of the porch and looked out toward the Great Salt Lake. The early morning sun made the water shimmer. She scanned the valley from north to south, taking in the mountain range on the western horizon. Nothing had changed. As she breathed in the fresh air, Keaira closed her eyes to bring Shane’s face to the forefront of her mind. She missed him. She felt like she had not taken advantage of their time together. Instead of having moments like this, where they could enjoy the view and just being in each other’s company, she’d had to have her hands all over him. Not that she regretted at all what they had shared. She only wished she had more special, quiet moments with him to remember. She truly felt precious, shared time had been stolen from the two of them.The screen door slammed shut, startling her. Keaira quickly turned toward the culprit as she stood. If being surprised by the noise hadn’t pushed all air from her lungs, seeing the guy standing in front of her would have. Holy shit. He gave her a soft, friendly grin. “Sorry I scared you.” He gestured at the door and then extended his hand to her. “I’m Carson. I guess I’m the lucky one who gets to show you to your apartment.” Keaira stared at him. She felt like she was staring at a ghost. His brown hair was cut shorter than Shane wore his. This young man was taller, but they could have very easily been brothers. She slowly emerged from her shock and closed her mouth when she realized it had fallen open. She ran her tongue across her dry lips as she took Carson’s hand. He moved it up and down.  “Keaira,” she managed to spit out.“Nice to meet you.”She held onto his hand a bit longer than necessary. His face grew serious. “You all right?”Keaira’s breath left her in a ragged sigh. She tilted her head up and looked him in the eye. Damn it, even his eyes are the same color. This has to be some cruel trick.  She looked away from his face, scanning his body. His t-shirt hugged his chest and arms. He wore carpenter-style jeans that were trim at the waist but baggy around his legs and his sneakers. Her hand dropped to her side. “Sorry, you remind me of someone.” She was surprised at how firm her voice was considering her heart had jumped into her throat. Carson moved past her and sat down on the step she had just left. He crossed his arms and rested them on his knees.“It’s nice out here this morning.” Keaira sat down next to him, tucking her arms between her knees. “You have an amazing view.”“Just wait until you see your view.” He looked over at her and grinned. Keaira’s chest constricted. She managed to return what she hoped was a smile. “Whenever you’re ready, we can go,” Carson said.“I’ll drive separately and lead the way, if that’s all right? I just didn’t want you to have to leave your car or bring me back.”“That sounds like a plan to me.” Her chest was still tight, but she was managing to enjoy the cute boy sitting next to her without shocking her system a second time. Maybe it was an instant attraction or maybe it was because her body had just gone numb. “Is that your Mustang?” He pointed to the street.“Rental. I’ll be looking for something more permanent after I get settled into my new job.” Carson nodded, and they sat there enjoying the birds chirping for a few minutes. It wasn’t as awkward as it probably should have been. In fact, it was rather peaceful. Realizing she shouldn’t get too comfortable with the General’s son, Keaira broke the silence and stood, ready to go. “Shall we?”Carson stood as well and then turned toward the house. “Let me just grab my keys and we’ll get going.” He disappeared into the house. Before she could start sorting out her feelings he returned. She walked with him to the garage door which was slightly cracked open. He pressed a button on his keychain. The garage door rose the rest of the way. Even though there were three cars parked inside, she only saw the Nova. “Wow, don’t tell me that’s your car?”Carson touched the back panel and said, with a touch of pride, “It’s a hand-me-down.”“And you actually drive it?”Keaira circled to the passenger side, admiring the subtle changes in the dark-blue color as it hugged the curves of the frame. Unlike most racing stripes that ran parallel down the center of the car, Carson’s Nova had two lines horizontal on the hood and another pair on the trunk running from quarter panel to quarter panel. “1969 fastback?” She couldn’t keep her hands off the body of the car. She was in awe that he would have a ride like this. Somehow she pictured Carson in a more sensible car.Carson rested his elbows on the trunk as he watched her admire his Nova. “I’m impressed,” he said.Keaira smiled. “Did you keep the original 375 under the hood?” She looked up at Carson. He had an amused look on his face.“Nope. Swapped it for a 572 hemi.”Keaira chuckled. “No shit. How about I drive this and you take the Mustang?”Carson laughed. “I don’t think so. I might not get her back. How do you know cars so well?”Keaira shrugged.“I don’t know. I just like cars. Fast ones. They are more loyal than most boys.” All boys, except my boy, really. She felt her smile fade as Shane’s face ghosted in the paint of the Nova and she stepped back.Carson circled the car to stand next to her. “I’ll tell you what. After we drop off your car I’ll let you take her out for a ride.”“You’re incredibly trusting to let a stranger take your car for a joyride alone.” Keaira glanced at Carson before turning back to the Nova.“Oh no. I’m going with you. Besides, it’s not like I don’t know where you live.” Carson chuckled, and they both started walking to the front of the garage.“I guess I can live with that. I’ll follow you out.”Carson winked before turning his back and climbing into his car. He started to pull out of the driveway.Keaira shouted at him.“Take it easy on the throttle. I haven’t driven in this city for a while. I’ll get lost.”He gave her a thumbs up as he idled at the bottom of the driveway. Keaira smiled to herself and realized she was starting a crush on the son of the devil. Oh well. She shrugged as she climbed behind the wheel of the Mustang. Keaira knew Carson was holding the matches. And she couldn’t resist playing with fire.
SO THE CONTEST IS:LEAVE A COMMENT FOR ANGELA (OR ME, WHATEVER) AND SHE WILL AWARD A FREE COPY OF STOLEN TIME TO ONE LUCKY COMMENTER ON MONDAY OCT. 28. SUCKING UP TO LIZ IS ALWAYS ENCOURAGED. JUST SAYING.
 Find Angela here: Website/Blog / Facebook Fan Page / Twitter / Goodreads




Stolen Time Buy Links:

Amazon / Amazon U.K.  / Smashwords 


Ok....who's next?If you think you've  got what it takes to have a beer or 6 with Liz, hit her up on facebook and request your Across the Beer Bar Session....

 

Mainly Because It IS All About Me

In the name of all that is painfully obvious, lots of articles, blog posts and what not have been dedicated to the the concept that time spent on social networks makes one narcissistic.

Well. Duh.

Seriously, you are on there posting photos of your amazing kids, your beautiful engagement ring, your delicious dinner, your vacation, your redecorated kitchen, your book, your song, your dog, your funny saying, your mom, your dad, your team, your junk, your...your...your....

When you spend as much time on the 'nets as I do, using them (so I claim) as a promotional tool for both my books and my beer biz, you get a little numb to your own navel gazing.

Until that moment when you run across someone else who is doing it so egregiously it's cringe worthy even to you, Queen of the Egregious Self Promotional Tactic Disguised as Eager Newsflash or Other Seeming Innocuous Post.

Yeah. I got a dose of it this week and it has set me back on my heels a bit I won't kid you.

I try to temper my own near-constant need to remind you that I have BOOKS! LOTS AND LOTS OF REALLY GREAT BOOKS! BETTER BOOKS THAT THAT DRECK YOU'VE  BEEN READING! Oh...and I have amazing BEER! BEER IN STORES! BEER IN THE BEER BAR! MORE BEER COMING OUT DAILY! BETTER BEER THAN THAT VILE CRAP YOU'VE BEEN CONSUMING!

I take the advice of folks I consider experts in this arena and intersperse my reminders of books and beer with funny little bon mots of my day, my movie-watching habits and my general (at times crappy) attitude.

The facebooks and twitters of the world have set a lot folks on fire with hate as well. Having been on the receiving end of a flame campaign on twitter and a still utterly bizarre to me misunderstanding about "defriending" on facebook I can tell you that many days I long for the simplicity of the passed note ("Do you like me? Yes. No. Check one") and the to-do list that has more "do" on it that "talk about it."

I'm in Fired Up Promotional Mode right now, admitedly because I do have a new book coming out and it's a Big Deal to me as it is my first cross over from the realm of romance (where I got pigeon-holed a bit to the dismay of many romance readers who disagree with said categorization of my books).  Good Faith is a long novel that ends a successful series. It is mainstream fiction, with a touch of "New Adult" however you wish to think about that Hot Topic.

It requires a lot of online yammering about ME, MY BOOKS, MY CRAFT, and MY OVERALL FABULOUSNESS. So forgive me in advance. However, I am getting to a point in the process of promotion where I am sick of the desperate smell of my own begging.

It's a necessary evil, as we all know--those of us in the Brave New World of Trying to Be The Next Hugh Howey/E.L.James breakout. But the odds are NOT, as they say, in our favor. So we keep at it.

I don't mind it most days.

But my Muse (Hans, the ever-eager) is doing his little dance of lack of attention in the corner so I'm giving my damn ego a rest, and going to hunker down with Him a few days and come up with something new to shove into the maw of Yet More Books To Read.

Why not? It's the part I like the most, once I get past the glaring-at-the-muse-leave-me-alone-no-one-is-gonna-sell-this-shit-we-create-but-me stage.

So I stand, hovering between the writing cave (which needs a good clean-out as it's littered with wine bottles and candy bar wrappers from the Good Faith marathon this last spring, yuck, Hans. Jesus, do you have no pride?) and the Promotional Threshold, a foot in each place, wishing you a Very Happy Tuesday.
Liz

Oh, by the way I'm throwing this party...you know, for myself....next month.

Across the Beer Bar with Wendy Burke

Welcome to my beer bar Wendy!
what can I pour for you to start?

---Well since this is your bar and you're the expert, I'll take whatever recommendations you may have. Might you have something 'fuzzy' -wheatish, not too hoppy but on hefeweisse side?
It's not wheat beer season any more so you are out of luck on that but I have a nice crisp Pilsner you will like.

Ok, so...I'm flattered to note that you included my glorious locale here (sweeps arm around) and myself in your latest release. What made you want to do that?
---You're a fellow Decadent Publishing author and when you started talking about your establishment in Ann Arbor, heck, the Toledo-area (my home base) is barely 40 minutes away. A character in an earlier 1NightStand, (John, Grace's brother from THE ONE HE CHOSE) was a football player, and is a law instructor at U of M...so I wanted something 'townie' in the story.  Your place 'fit.' I'm honored you allowed it, thank you!

Ok, I'll let the fact that you are from That State To The South pass....now...tell us a little about this book.
---  FOR ME is what women DON'T do, they DON'T do things for themselves very often. Many times they're just busy--with life, and sometimes think they're unworthy of special attention or treating themselves. And, once someone is a bit older, it often doesn't matter IF they do something for themselves. FOR ME is also about 'those women,' you know, the ones who may have shopped in the 'chubby' section as a kid, the ones who --in their eyes---NO amount of photoshopping would whittle them down to an 'acceptable' size of maybe 10. It's about being WHO you are and not caring who people THINK you are!

Whoops! Empty glass...what can I get for you next?
---Easy there, I'm a fast drunk, even if I'm a Cheesehead. I brought something for you (yanks six pack cooler off floor) -- try one. New Glarus Brewing SPOTTED COW. I had to 'import' it...not sold around here. Lemme know what you think.
Sweetheart, it is a well-documented fact that New Glarus is one of my go-to craft breweries. I know them well and I thank you for bringing this beer along---now put it away before I lose my liquor license.

What new books are you working on (that include me and my bar? kidding...no, really.)
---Well, my dear friend and fellow-Decadent Publishing author, Deanna Wadsworth wants to do something 'jointly' again...you see, FOR ME is the last of six 1NightStand stories we've written with overlapping characters. Now she wants to swipe PAUL from my story WISE MEN SAY, which will of course, 'force' me to nab someone from whatever she's writing and go one from there!  BUT---I have dozens of partially finished stories in my laptop...


I understand you are a big fan of writing novellas or short stories. Do you have a longer project on your horizon?
--Funny you should ask about a longer story...when I started writing again, seriously, my first finished work was probably 200,000 words plus! WAAAY too long.  That will be my winter project, to pare that down and scrub it well. It's also set partially in Michigan, as it's a baseball story centered around a fictitious catcher for the Detroit Tigers. (Two bar scenes -- one at Hockeytown in downtown Motown and the other a made up place in Algoma, Wisconsin...sorry E.T.) Short stories, the 1NightStand variety, just seemed to come easily for me.

And you work with another author, using overlapping characters within your stories. Why is that?
---It just 'happened.' Well, it actually happened over a few beers and hot wings in a corner booth at a sports bar with other patrons giving us the evil eye for being so exuberant ---then again, maybe it was when Deanna Wadsworth stood up, pointed at me and bellowed, 'You should TOTALLY kill the priest!' We've had fun 'stealing' from one another. If I have a secondary character in a story which she wants, she has to adhere to how I originally backgrounded that person and go from there. Likewise with whatever character I've taken from her stories. It's interesting to see what happens -- one of us plants the seed, the other has to nurture its growth.

Ok, nightcap time! what's your poison
---Hmm...I would love a Frangelico. I'm so boring! Unless you have some Glenmorangie sitting around which needs attention! I could use a burger --  or is Zingerman's open at this time of night?
sigh....I only serve what I make so....nothing but beer. Here, have a bourbon barrel aged Imperial Dark.  And Zingerman's is always open for me.
Cheers!

wendyburke1994@bex.net
whateverwendy.blogspot.com
@wendyburke1994 (Twitter)
Wendy Burke author (FB)


Liz's Review of For Me:

Ok, first off let's just establish that I do love hooking people up. And in this book, apparently, I put that to good use by encouraging the main female character Abby Lewis to quit all her moaning and just go have a damn One Night Stand.

If you are a fan of this clever, successful series from Decadent Publishing you know what THAT means!

If not, this short novella would be a great intro to it. The concept of two people who seem "perfect" from the outside, all up in their own heads about their imperfections who are just flat out lonely is the perfect set up for this concept. "The mysterious Madam Eve" has a knack for asking the right questions and connecting the right people to be sure.

What I also loved (besides being IN the book and being a cool-ass, beer bar owning chick) is the Charlevoix setting.

Abby feels fat. Casey feels used. She has needs. He can meet them. They have a very hot encounter then, it would appear, that's the end of that, leaving us all hot, bothered and pissed off with her in the empty resort room. But don't give up!

I give "For Me" a "Five Lager Rating" for story composition, characterization and heat.
 Well Done Wendy!

Here is where you can buy For Me:
Decadent:  http://tinyurl.com/mvqwvnj
ARE: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-forme-1280159-149.html
Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/mk2gkmz
B & N: http://tinyurl.com/mupoa45

For Every Series There Is...The End

Good Faith. The final novel of the best selling Stewart Realty series.
A stand alone, mainstream novel.
RELEASE DATE: NOVEMBER 14, 2013 (print and ebook)



BLURB:Strong personalities—volatile marriages—stressful careers—conflicting goals—difficult children.
Contemporary challenges facing close-knit families form the crucible that forges a new generation.
Brandis, Gabriel, Blair and Lillian emerge from the entanglement of their parents’ longstanding emotional connections, but one’s star will burn brighter – and hotter – than the others.
With a personality that consumes everyone and everything in its path, Brandis Gordon struggles to maintain control as he ricochets between wild success and miserable failure. His life proves how even the strongest relationships can be strangled by the ties that bind.
Brandis and Gabe Frietag are as close as any brothers, bound by both loyalty and fierce rivalry. The strength of their ultimate alliance is tested time and again by Brandis’ choices.
Companions from birth, Blair Frietag and Lillian Robinson share loner tendencies, but come to rely on each other through adolescence. As they mature, both are forced to confront their feelings for the men they knew as boys.
Somewhere between the tangle of good memories and bad, independence and addiction, optimism and despair, the intertwined destinies of the new generation finally collide, leaving some stronger, others broken, but none unscathed.
As a chronicle of three families navigating the minefields of teen years into the turbulence of young adulthood, Good Faith holds up a literary mirror to contemporary life with joys and temptations unflinchingly reflected. Its fresh, real-life voice portrays the sheer volatility of human nature, complete with the hopes, dreams, and unexpected setbacks of marriage, parenthood and “coming of age.”


Three families—Gordon, Frietag, and Robinson—share complex connections previously established in the best-selling Stewart Realty series. This stand-alone, final novel explores the characters coping with mature marriages and challenging, adolescent children. Through shared experiences, their inherent strengths and fragilities as individuals and as couples are revealed forming the basis of relationships for the next generation.

Brandis Robert Gordon emerges as the golden boy from the crowd of children that have grown up together, the apple of his family’s eye, the kid the other kids follow — even when he heads over a cliff.  He is being raised by fiercely focused parents who are determined to succeed at everything they do, even if it means unconscious neglect of their children’s emotional needs. Brandis’ star shines bright, blinding family and friends to his inner weaknesses until it’s too late.

Good Faith is, at its core, the story of this young man’s all-consuming struggles with success and failure. It is also a saga of his personal odyssey—his ultimate quest for normalcy, when everything around him seems destined to thwart that goal.

The intertwining relationships amongst Brandis, his best friend Gabe Frietag, Gabe’s younger sister, Blair, and her friend, Lillian Robinson, bracketed by the equally compelling lives of their parents and siblings, form the framework of this complex novel.

By the time Brandis fully grasps what Blair, the girl he’s known his whole life, means to him, he has embarked on a life journey plagued by multiple addictions. Recruited to play Division I football as a freshman starting quarterback, after years of dedicated effort towards that very goal, he attempts to focus and be the man his parents and girlfriend expect him to be. But his personal demons already have a firm grip on him, and his downward spiral threatens to drag everyone he loves into the vortex with him.

Blair Frietag has never considered herself strong or independent—she’s just “Gabe’s nerdy sister” and “Lillian Grace’s best friend.” But she is harboring a life-long obsession with Brandis Gordon. When he finally comes to her, she accepts everything about him—the good and the bad—nearly destroying herself in the process. Because Brandis’ love is conditional and anchored in dependence, she must accept or reject her role as enabler. By the time she acknowledges the fact that her desire to help him overpowers her inability to do so, it’s nearly too late. 

After being told that the man he considers his father is actually not, Gabriel Frietag’s final years of high school devolve into angry confusion. The fact that he has started to question his sexuality only compounds his misery and frustration. The love/hate relationship with Brandis, which began while the boys were small, is sorely tested by Brandis’ increasingly bad choices and is finally severed, thanks to what Gabe considers Brandis’ unhealthy dependence on Blair. In an uncharacteristic move, Gabe rejects everything he knows and loves, and accepts a scholarship to play soccer for a college on the West Coast, hoping he can break from the painful confines of his childhood home. But his connection to Lillian Grace Robinson, another instrument in their life-long quartet of friendship, remains seemingly unbreakable.

Lillian is Blair’s companion from birth. A shy girl at first, “Lilly-G” seems destined to live forever in Blair’s shadow. But as she observes her friend’s descent into emotional turmoil with Brandis, Lillian comes to terms with her powerful feelings for Gabe. This realization of her own inner strength molds her into the touchstone everyone reaches for: their anchor in the storm, the friend they are all lucky to have, while remaining the one who will forever hold Gabe’s heart in her hands — no matter how far he goes seeking escape. 

The Gordon, Frietag and Robinson ties are born of circumstance, necessity and emotion. Yet the choices of the second generation seem destined to destroy all they have built together. When the shocking loss of one of their strongest members comes at the precise moment when healing seems within reach, it threatens their tenuously rebuilt bonds. The tragedy forces everyone to open their eyes to the fickleness of fate and to rely on each other once more.

Good Faith holds up a literary mirror to contemporary life with all its temptations, joys, and sorrows. The plot’s twists and turns are designed to reflect the volatility of human nature, with all its hopes, dreams, and unexpected setbacks.

More than just another coming-of-age tale, this compelling new novel from best-selling author Liz Crowe is told with sympathy, humor and a real-life voice that will not easily be forgotten.



A never before seen excerpt:
From Good Faith, by Liz Crowe
All Rights Reserved
Tri-Destiny Publishing
______________________________________________________


Blair dropped back on the bed and shut her eyes forcing herself to recall happier moments, better times. “You’re so laid back,” her father used to say to her when she still paid attention. “So relaxed.” He would smile as she worked alongside him in their kitchen. While the restaurant irritated her, she used to adore cooking with him, just to the two of them, and baking made her the happiest. “I wish I were more like you.” He’d flick flour from his fingers at her making her giggle and flush with happiness at his attention.Later, he would accuse her of being “detached” and not willing to have any kind of confrontation even to defend herself. But who cared what he thought? She rolled to her side, picking up her phone as it buzzed with a text.Hey loser, Brandis had sent. She frowned at the tingle that shot down her spine. She deleted it, determined to ignore him. About ten minutes later, he sent another one. You there?She sighed and opened her laptop, thinking she’d do some English homework. Her cat jumped into her lap, its usual spot whenever she sat at the desk. The long Saturday stretched out in front of her, endless, boring, and useless. Typically she didn’t mind being alone, treasured her privacy and the time to read or take long walks. But the last few months had been different, frustrating beyond belief as she couldn’t seem to settle or relax, to enjoy herself like she used to.Stupid adults. Stupid fathers and their stupid marriage-busting assistants. Stupid mothers and their mealy mouthed blindness to the whole thing. The phone kept buzzing with messages. And she kept ignoring it, something in her holding back, preserving herself from the sucking vortex of Brandis Gordon. She didn’t like texting him. It made her feel awkward, forcing conversation via a few tapped out words on the phone.Finally, the phone rang. She sighed and answered it. “What?” she said, her hands shaking with the effort not to launch into a conversation with him. Flirting simply did not come naturally to her. She had no idea how to handle herself around boys, much less the huge, giant, hulking presence of Brandis—football quarterback, high school super stud, and one-time friend. Other than to settle herself with memories of him, of them, as kids, when things were simple.His seeming addiction to their strange, late night conversations had confused and thrilled her in equal measure. And she missed them. A lot.“You are one hard girl to get hold of,” he said, softly.“What do you want, Brandis?”“I thought we were gonna stay friends. I mean, we talked about it, after….”She winced, wishing she had her brother’s willpower when it came to Brandis’ all-encompassing, some would say, suffocating, personality. “He’s a goddamned drain, an energy suck, a…shithead,” Gabe had said to her, a few days after their huge fight. He’d been sporting a black eye and a split lip from the altercation. A terrible, embarrassing moment for everyone concerned—one that signaled the end of her childhood, best she could tell.“Why? What did he say to you?” Blair had begged her brother to tell her. They were close, and she had no qualms asking him. But he’d pressed his lips together, and threatened her with all sorts of dire, brother-inflicted consequences if she even talked to the guy again. So, she never knew.Brandis had been on the phone to her within hours, pleading with her to intervene for him, to talk to Gabe, to get him on the phone. She’d enjoyed that moment—when Brandis needed something from her. But it faded, as did his efforts to try to make up with her brother. She’d heard a lot about him lately—drinking, smoking pot, hard partying on every level while still remaining quarterback, and in top, nearly model-perfect physical shape. And of course, all the girls, many of them older, who flocked to him.“Blair?” he asked, interrupting her aggravation at the thought of all the females he must have screwed. She knew about the “college girls weekend.” Gabe and Brandis had laughed and joked about it enough in front of her. It made her nauseated with jealous fury and headache-y with embarrassment at her own virginal self.“What?” she said again, getting up to pace. “Why do you keep trying to talk to me? We have…nothing in common anymore. You have plenty of girls to talk to. Leave me alone.” She slid down the wall next to her door, her knees weak, like they always got, at the sound of his deep, rumbly voice.He’d been a fixture in her life, on vacations, at holidays, camping and fishing in the summer with their dads, going to baseball and football games, just…her friend. The kid with the funny laugh, shock of jet-black hair, and snapping blue eyes who attracted trouble and deflected it with equal equanimity. She had no idea when she’d become aware of him as a compelling member of the opposite sex.He’d changed almost overnight, developing a sarcastic streak, a bit of meanness with his endless practical jokes one of which ended with his own sister’s broken wrist. During those strange years, she would catch him staring at her, his eyes dark, puzzled, confused. And when she’d smile and try to draw him out of it he’d blush, run or bike away, usually yelling something about “stupid girls.” And almost always with her brother Gabe in his wake. Anger lit her brain. “Seriously, Brandis, what do you want from me?”“I want to be your friend still. That’s all. I…miss you guys.”“Well then I guess you shouldn’t have said whatever you said that day.” She looked up at the ceiling, willing him not to give up, to stay on the line.“I know,” he said, then got quiet. “How is he,” he asked after about thirty seconds.“Fine. Busy, working at The Local, playing soccer, hanging with Lillian.”“Wow, Lilly-G?”“Yeah, I guess.” Blair stretched out on her soft rug, propped her feet on the wall, and settled into the conversation. “My mom’s been going out on dates. It’s stupid.”“Well, your dad did….”“I know, I know.”She heard a shuffling sound as if Brandis were getting comfortable on his end. “And you? How many boyfriends for you now, Miss B?”“Please.” She blushed. “Boys don’t notice me. I’m a sophomore. I don’t play sports or do anything cool really.”“You play a mean game of Scrabble. I miss that. And I have yet to find a Euchre partner as good as you.”She bit down on the urge to invite him over, to eat popcorn, watch a movie cuddled up on the couch like they used to do. But she knew things were altered. Now that “Brandis, the super stud,” had emerged he would never be “Brandis, Blair and Gabe’s friend” ever again.“It’s a good thing you aren’t dating,” he declared out of the blue, making her blush again. “That way I don’t have to beat up any punks, you know, who think they can get anywhere with you.”“And what makes you think my dating anyone means anything else is happening, hmm?”“My sweet and innocent Blair, boys want one thing on a date. And it is not the concept of a good movie or a nice meal. Don’t ever forget that.” His voice lowered a bit, making her shiver.“I guess you would know, eh stud?”“I, um…I don’t know. Sometimes I wish….” He trailed off.“What? That you could walk around town without bumping into some girl you’d ‘dated’? That you didn’t have so many pissed off ex-girlfriends floating around? That you would occasionally go a weekend without getting drunk and screwing your way through a party?”The silence spilled into her ear like smoke. “Sorry,” she muttered, meaning it.“No, it’s okay. I won’t deny it.” A bit of a swagger had snuck into his voice. “Popularity is my middle name.”“I thought it was Robert. You know, after my dad? Same as Gabe’s?”“Oh, right. Got me there. Listen, Blair, I gotta go. I just…wanted to hear your voice.”Aggravation gripped her and held tight. “Why, Brandis? I don’t party. I don’t know how to kiss boys or…anything else. I’m a bookworm, a geek, a science nerd. I like to be by myself, and I don’t run in a pack of popular girls. Hardly worth your time I’d say.” Her face flushed, and she had to put her feet back on the floor to keep her knees from knocking together.“Guess that’s why I love you,” he said with a voice so soft she thought he might be talking to himself. “Spare me,” she scoffed, suddenly needing to be off the phone. Something about him felt suffocating and needy. While she figured herself for a caretaker, a conflict avoider, someone who liked keeping things simple but wanted the people around her to be happy, suddenly she sensed danger in letting Brandis worm his way any farther into her heart. “Bye.” She hung up, quickly and sat for nearly an hour clutching her phone and calming her racing pulse.____________________________________________________________________________________________________________





And....ready? the COVER

3....
2..
1




Join me in this journey. A sense of humor, a grain of salt, and an understanding that I write about real stuff that happens to real people is required.

Good Faith. Releasing November 14, 2013.

And you will want to print this out for details about the Stewart Realty Farewell Weekend in Ann Arbor...

And now....the contest!



a Rafflecopter giveaway


And the other blogs you can visit that are featuring a DIFFERENT EXCERPT!

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I Have a Cover to Reveal...And You are Invited to the Party!

The Stewart Realty Series.

It began with the first book I ever wrote (Floor Time), made its way through many revisions, rejections, re-writings and yet more rejections (and more revisions). It morphed from 1 Giant Novel, into 3 shorter ones, then, it grew from there.

There are 8 books in the series including a FREE prequel novella I wrote to thank my many fans.

And it is coming to an end, this November.

Now, before you pull your pitchfork out of your closet and come at me, Kathy Bates-style, let me assure you that there is already a side series (The Black Jack Gentlemen) and I swear on a stack of New York Time Best Seller lists there WILL be more novellas about a few characters that are still compelling me.

However, this is, ostensibly, the end of the Stewart Line.

I went in a new direction with this one, and wrote a 220,000 word novel with all sorts of things baked into it--mature marriages between complex people, kids who grew up together falling in and out of love, and make good and bad decisions, with a hard nugget of truth in it that no matter how good a parent you think you are or that you try really hard to be, sometimes that is not enough to salvage your family.


It is one part "new adult" in its "coming of age" themes. Another part contemporary fiction, and many (many) parts the work of my heart.

And the time has ALMOST come to reveal a few things about it.






Join me in this journey. A sense of humor, a grain of salt, and an understanding that I write what happens to real people is required.

Good Faith. Releasing November 14, 2013.

Book signing at Barnes & Noble Ann Arbor Saturday, Nov. 16.

Party with Live Stewart Realty Trivia and some killer prizes PLUS a Special Visit From Himself, Hans, Liz's Hot Muse at the Gulo Room at my beer bar in Ann Arbor, Friday Nov. 15 at 7 p.m. with plenty of after parties later. There is a discount code for a nearby hotel if you require it.
This has been a GREAT series. Let's see it out with a GREAT weekend together!


But you gotta wait until October 15 for that amazing cover, the blurb, synopsis and excerpts!


For now I invite you to join me on a party blog hop!

Join in using the "linky list" just enter your blog URL.




 I'll get an email notifying me that you signed up, then, on October 14 you will receive:
the Official Blurb and Synopsis (your choice to use one or both)
an Official Short Excerpt
The Rafflecopter Code
The linky list Code so your followers can hop along....

YOU ARE WELCOME TO CRAFT YOUR POST ON 10/15 HOWEVER YOU LIKE, just as long as you include the elements we provide. If you are a fan of the series, tell your readers/followers in a creative way. Include YOUR dream cast of the premium cable series. Tell us what's on your Stewart Realty playlist. Share your favorite quotes, characters or scenes. Get creative! Show off! Anything you like, just include my www.brewingpassion.com link and the blurb (or both) and/or the excerpt. And that Rafflecopter thing!!
If you are NOT a fan (yet) then .... get on board! But you are welcome to join this hop as well. 

The contest lasts ONLY 72 hours so you can leave the post up until Oct. 17 if you like, or not.


On THIS (Brewing Passion) blog October 15-17 I will have:
The Cover
A Slightly Longer Excerpt
(and a repeat of both blurb and synopsis) so within the body of your post that day please be sure and include www.brewingpassion.com to direct your followers my way!

(and yeah, you CAN enter too!)
Here is what the rafflecopter will look like.....



a Rafflecopter giveaway

Timing is Everything

I love this phrase.

It has served me so well in nearly every one of my professional endeavors.

As a rookie public relations pro I learned when was the best time to promote an event to the media (and this was pre-internet days, mind you, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, computer disks were the size of LPs and you had to send PRINT PRESS RELEASES!) It still mattered...the timing thing.

My next best example of how much this phrase really means was in my career as real estate agent. Nearly a decade spent in the service of humans stressed to the max as they bought or sold what, for most of them, would be their biggest investment ever, taught me that to be in the right place at the correct moment was crucial. And it was no accident. You had to know where the buyers would be (i.e. at a fresh open house in a desired neighborhood). Or the sellers (same, or online, poking around in sites that are woefully out of date). And then, get your ass there, in front of them, armed with your knowledge about the market that they were seeking.

When I walked away from that and into the beer business, becoming part owner of a craft microbrewery and taking over marketing and sales for it, I learned yet more lessons about retail timing--that is to say, finding current and potential craft beer drinkers meant finding where they gather, and putting the beer in front of them (for free at first, at various fund raising events and other such places) until they got it and would then come to the beer bar you opened.

In writing/publishing it still holds true. You may have submitted the next Lord of the Flies or Valley of the Dolls to your target list of agents and publishers but unless that right person is sitting at the right desk, looking at their email at the right time, you can just call it "rejection day" yet again.

One of my heroes in the publishing world is Hugh Howey. He's the dude who wrote a serialized SF/spec fic novel called "Wool", put it on his blog at first, then self pubbed it and the Big Dogs came running at him in a huge, yowelling pack from the Big Apple. He smiled, signed up with one of them, I forget which, but said, "Oh and by the way I'm keeping my e-book rights, thanks." They blinked and he won.

Because honestly in the best of all possible worlds, that is how it works for an indie author. All the work spent seeking your readers, trying to position yourself in the right place, right time for the right set of reader/reviewer/influencers (which is a full time job in and of itself I assure you) and BAM, you are a "New York Author," hardback covers, deep pocketed ad campaigns and all BUT....those early iterations, those babies you wrote and nurtured and promoted are still yours--no sharing of revenue. Thanks.

He has always been the guy who knew the meaning of that timing phrase, in my opinion. But rest assured, it is no accident, or simple matter of star alignment. It's been said publishing a book (much less 20 or so, as I have done) is a marathon, not a sprint. I get that. And so I keep turning to guys like Mr. Howey for street-level advice. How to best use the tools at my (not deep pocketed) disposal to capture that right time right place moment for myself? His main point: reader engagement--and not just by yammering ABOUT your books 24/7. Engage them as a human being, while letting them know you are a human being who would like to make a living from your books, write a great book, then write another and another NEVER LOSING SIGHT of your reader base.

Because timing may be everything, but more you understand that you control the clock, the better off you are.

Click here to check out his words. I do a lot of these things but some I don't and plan to, including that dreaded agent search. And for the record, I heard the "focus on the next book" advice before, from many a struggling author. It's the best advice out there. Keep writing. Keep getting better at your writing. That is, as they say, Job 1. Don't get distracted by the rest of all the nonsense.


Click here for his killer blog. (Get ready--this is one of those GOD I HATE HIM...no, I love him and what he does moments, trust me)

Carry on, don't give up and remember, you are ONLY as good an author as your next hard edit proves.

cheers
Liz

SHUT OUT, book 3 of the Black Jack Gentlemen released this week!
Buy it here and here.
And follow me around if you like, I love to talk craft beer, sports and books!
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Shut Out? Shut Up!

It is almost time for the 3rd book in the Black Jack Gentlemen series to release!

Yep, SHUT OUT will join MAN ON and RED CARD on September 12, 2013.

Each of these books is set in the soccer world--the fictional expansion soccer team based in Detroit.

Here is a taste (but don't stop with the excerpt because at the end there is a chance for you to win a FREE AUDIO BOOK Plus a set of signed Black Jack books ---> all 3 of them in the e-reader format of your choice OR in print!)

So first, I'm gonna hook ya on the series:




A city and a sport with something to prove—Meet the men who take that challenge.The Black Jack Gentlemen—Detroit’s expansion soccer team. They play hard. And live harder.
The Black Jack GentlemenThe newest series by Liz Crowe
Book 1:  Man On (Available now)Book 2:  Red Card (Available now)  Book 3:  Shut Out (September 12,  2013)
And Coming Soon… Book 4:  Set PieceBook 5:  Hat Trick 

SHUT OUT:
A submissive once, a submissive forever?
A man on the run from the only life he’s ever known, Brody Vaughn is poised to accept the Black Jack Gentleman’s newly vacant goalkeeper’s position. It’s a desperate move, but one he must take to regain his emotional equilibrium. Reeling from his Mistress’s rejection and on the ragged edge of a total breakdown, he arrives in Detroit. Numb with thinly veiled grief, he walks into the club’s front office completely unaware that an encounter with true destiny awaits him.
Sophie Harrison has seen it all--as Domme, sub, and victim. Now that her complicated circumstances have landed her as legal counsel for the expansion Black Jacks team, she holds herself aloof in body and spirit. Nothing and no one gets past her fiercely guarded walls. Until the day she looks up to greet the new goalie standing in her doorway, his raw combination of vulnerability and strength making her breathless.
Two people, horribly scarred by the excesses of the BDSM lifestyle and hiding from their true selves, meet across a desk over a simple contract. All bets are off.




Official Excerpt-SHUT OUT:
Sophie kept her chair turned from the office door, unwilling to even acknowledge the next soccer player awaiting her wise words. Sweaty and exhausted, she had a bitch of an afternoon low caffeine headache. And talking these over-paid, over-sexed, full of themselves prima donnas through their final contracts and benefits packages. However, as head of legal for the team in its third year, she had a new crop of new players to orient—ten to be exact. And had managed to do so for the last week. But if one more of them waltzed in here reeking of sweat and eyeballing her as if she were the last crumb on the cookie tray, their flirty high beams blazing, as if she would ever be interested in any of their little boy bullshit... so help her. For the thousandth time, she questioned her sanity, taking on this utter crapshoot of a project. Oh, right. She shut her eyes a moment, closing off the memories. Shutting down her natural reaction to pore over them, poke at them, rip off the scab that had more or less healed over them in an attempt to start over."Hey," a deep, syrupy-sounding voice intoned, sending a strange tremor straight down her spine. "Um, am I in the right place?" It hit her ears as: “’m ah in the raht playce?”She swiveled around and shoved her glasses up her nose to get a good look at the next one standing in her doorway. Her gaze slid from his jet-black hair, along the strong lines of his stubbled jaw, across his t-shirt clad shoulders. The Black Jack Gentlemen wore grey when they practiced, in uniforms provided by a famous shoe company she didn’t recognize with a company logo emblazoned across the back. And said shirt clung to his sculptured torso in a way that really ought to be outlawed. All the while, Mr. Southern Accent stood stock still, as if used to being so frankly appraised.A drop of sweat formed at her temple. He cleared his throat so she jerked her gaze back up to a set of the darkest eyes she had ever encountered. He smiled—a sweet, lopsided thing that imprinted itself on her retinas in a wholly annoying way. She tried not to swallow her own tongue.  "Hey… uh… I'm Brody. Brody Vaughn." He ran a hand through his hair and she sensed his nervousness as if there were a neon sign over his head. Adorable. Her radar pinged like mad. But she forced it to shut the hell up. She had no business thinking about these…these kids in any way other than purely professional. So far they had all been the exact same breed of cocky asshole, alternating eye-fucking her and extreme boredom in response to her monotonous drone of legal-ese. Sexy Southern Accent—Brody, she muttered under her breath—put his hand out, as if to shake hers. His face reddened charmingly when she raised an eyebrow at his outstretched palm—the same one he’d just dragged through his sweat soaked hairShe smiled, rising slowly to her feet, needing to be at his eye level. His eyes widened as he dropped, as if boneless, into the chair opposite hers without a word. Sophie took a long, calming breath, forcing her brain to focus in ways she had learned, practiced, utilized for years in her time as a professional Dominatrix—a woman who took money in exchange for bringing pain and raw, rough sex to the men who requested her services. As she shut the door, keeping her back to the boy...  to… Brody… her pulse kept racing, and her heart continued its disconcerting rhythm, no matter what tricks she employed—which pissed her off. And that finally, calmed her enough to face him.“Hello Mr. Vaughn, I’m Sophie Harrison, legal counsel for the Black Jack Gentlemen. I’ll be explaining the terms of the contract you or your agent negotiated with our organization.” She kept talking, using words she’d said a hundred times already. But her own voice echoed around in her head. She purposely kept her eyes on the paper in front of her, glasses sliding down her nose. Ignoring the raw, visceral reaction her finely tuned body and brain were having to the man across from her—Brody, a twenty-five year old man, she saw on his employee fact sheet. No, he is a boy, and you do not play with boys, not anymore. She compressed her lips together, pretending to find a non-existent problem with the stack of legal documents pertaining to his agreement. To his credit, he stayed silent and very, very still, in a way that intrigued her. Finally, she met his eyes once more and blinked—then frowned. “So, another goalkeeper?” she said, fully aware how it would needle the average, ego-driven high-level athlete. A glimpse at his salary indicated his golden child status. The keeper that the club had managed to sign, thanks to the aggressive recruiting activity by their new assistant coach. She tried out a casual smirk but discarded it. And the way he just sat, glaring at her as if memorizing her, or hoping to intimidate her brought a hot flush to her cheeks. God damn it. She straightened her back, sucked in her gut and forced her thoughts to her next real workout—the kind she preferred, that involved tight leather, her favorite bull whip, and a willing submissive. “You okay there… Miz Harrison?” His voice slithered around in her brain, nestling in nice and low, gripping the base of her skull in a way that made her want to jump up and run out of the room. Asshole. She glared at him.“Of course. I’m fine.” She shoved her glasses back up nose and slapped the contracts down in front of him, probably a little too hard, but fuck it. She needed Mr. Brody Vaughn the hell out of her office. She tried to keep her face neutral, not snarl or growl or snap the poor kid’s head off. He shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and glanced down at the papers she had pinned under her manicured hand. Which gave her a well-needed rush of control over the situation. Her spine tingled in a familiar way but she channeled it—the distinct, loose, fluid feeling of impending need that she recognized. “Now, let’s go through this…” She brought her focus back to the contracts. His hand covered hers. Surprised, she flinched, and a strange, embarrassing sound emerged from her throat.“I think you need a drink of water. You seem a little… done in,” he claimed, his deep drawl coating her brain like the sweetest honey infused bourbon. She snatched her water bottle, gulped some, set the thing down and took a breath. Within thirty minutes she had laid out the terms of the contract, including his non-disclosure and good-behavior clauses, the health insurance guarantees, all of it. He had asked few questions, his voice soft, musical and soothing in a way that somehow had the opposite effect on her nerves. She gritted her teeth against the urge to stand up, lock the door and yank the kid’s sweaty clothes off. Jesus, help me. Get him out of here. He stood quickly, startling her. “Well, if that’s it.” He leaned back, studying her. She got to her feet, unwilling to let him stand above her for some reason, and noted how his chocolate brown eyes darkened at the sight of her facing him. “Yes. That will definitely be it.” She lifted her chin and willed her damn knees to stop shaking. She would have little reason to ever see him again, unless he landed in trouble and she had to handle a public relations problem on his behalf. His physical presence, not that different than all the others who’d paraded through here in the last few days, compelled her in ways she refused to acknowledge. At nearly six foot eight, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long, strong legs....he cleared his throats. She blinked, and the traitorous flush crept up her neck to her face again. His angular features at that moment were set, and bored, and slightly amused at her obvious discomfort. She narrowed her eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Her pulse fluttered as she put a hand to her throat.As if reading her mind, Brody Vaughn lifted his chin slightly, and she got a good long look at it—the inky black chain imprinted on his neck. A dark circular pattern of interlocking, heavy loops encircled the flesh at his throat. He smiled again, slow moving, like his drawl, and he touched it, once, then turned, giving her a breath taking rear view that included the sight of the chain continuing around the back of his neck. The man wore a collar, a permanent one, inked right on his skin. But the vibes he threw her proclaimed one thing loud and clear—the person who’d bestowed the collar no longer had a say about him at all. Her mind swooped, whirled, and doubled back on itself, picturing him—Brody the man—at her knees, bound, and waiting her command. She shivered and jumped when her assistant appeared at the door. He’d left. Trailing his mysterious aura of vulnerability and strength behind him.


Now....*rubbing hand together* Who wants to win??
I need a comment WITH an email address on this blog post. I want to know if you know what "Shut Out" means. It's a phrase used in soccer and other sports.  It's not a tough question BUT you have to answer it in order to be entered to win:
1st prize: a set of Black Jacks books YOUR CHOICE ebook or print. If you choose ebook it is an immediate delivery. if you choose print it will be a few weeks.2nd prize:  a code to use to get a FREE AUDIBLE.COM COPY OF FLOOR TIME! This is just the beginning of the amazing Stewart Realty series that started it all, including the Black Jacks! And it is beautifully narrated by Traci Odom, who will be voicing the rest of the series as well.

Hang out with the Black Jacks on Facebook!Hang out with Liz on Facebook!Follow Liz on Twitter!Follow the Black Jacks on Twitter!
Jump onto our amazing fictional soccer bandwagon! You will love the Black Jacks, I promise!

WINNERS WILL BE CHOSEN AT RANDOM ON SEPTEMBER 15, 2013.
Love yaLiz   

Ode to the Second Child

IN KEEPING WITH MY WRITER-LY TENDENCIES TO TRANSFORM EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCES INTO SOMETHING I CAN RELATE TO....here it is. Separation Anxiety Part 2: 

Dear Numero Dos,

Within a few days of declaring myself "ready" for another baby, I had you.

The curse/blessing of the overly fertile perhaps.

Regardless, you were welcomed...and your strength of character proved itself over and over (and over) again.

You were "Luke" or "Grace" no matter what.

You made a few false entrances, a few embarrassing "Ok, you are not in labor, please go home now's" here in the Deuce.

Your brother was not so sure about you, or your purpose in his life, but he declared himself prepared for big-brotherhood.

And a few days after Christmas 1994, you joined us, in the wee hours of the morning, which was a bit of a hint as to your night-owl tendencies.

It was a rocky start for us both. But we got through it all. And you got me through more BS than I care to admit, calming when it was uncalmable, soothing when it was unsoothable, from Ann Arbor, to Japan, to Kansas, to Turkey to England and now, circling back to Your Home Town--A-squared. We asked so much of you--go to Japanese school! Get used to Kansas! Go to International School in Turkey while Mom has a Nervous Breakdown Kinda! Now, wear a Uniform and Get Over it In England! You did. All of it.

And today, eighteen and a shade over one half years later, I strapped a mattress to the top of your beater Volvo, loaded your and my cars with your stuff and enough groceries to feed you for a month, and moved you. Just a few miles to the east of us, but to what feels like such a major step away, you might as well be in a far away state.

You are so much like me, it terrifies and delights me in equal measure.  And here, is my ultimate admiration comment: Someday, I'd like to write your story.

Your quiet strength I admire. Your amazing resilience in the face of physical difficulty I treasure. Your ability to disarm familiar tensions I covet. Your quiet confidence in yourself I envy, yet it makes me cheer you on even more. Your stubbornness frustrates the shit out of me and yet your need to be apart, separate, and alone I want for myself.

Grace, you exemplify your name in every way, for so many.

You are my hero. Although... that whole "Hey! We're having a party tonight and you're invited...you too (little sister, helping her lug crap up the steps to the apartment) and You Too! (to mom, sweaty, sans makeup and aggravated)" thing....I am totally jealous of and hope that the really cute one who kept trying to give us beers might prove a satisfactory diversion to you in the coming days and months.

Go forth and be who you are meant to be.
 Prove him wrong.  He'll be happy you did it.

Mom

RED CARD Foul?

Nope, just book 2 of the Black Jack Gentlemen series!

Check it out!



Red Card (Black Jack Gentlemen:  Book Two) Free will makes us human.Choice makes us individuals.Love makes us unique.
Metin Sevim has it all. At the pinnacle of international soccer playing success, he has managed to craft a perfect world for himself along the way.
When fate strips him of free will and the ability to choose his own path, he retreats from everyone and everything, destroying his hard-won career in the process.
Dragged back from the brink by his desperate family, Metin reluctantly agrees to coach the Black Jack Gentlemen Detroit soccer team but remains debilitated by memories and loss. When a surprising friendship emerges, it renews his passion for life, providing much needed solace… and extreme complications.
A saga of family dynamics and gender politics that cuts across cultures and circumstance, Red Card illustrates the human capacity for forgiveness through the life of one man as he attempts to rebuild his shattered existence.


Official Excerpt-RED CARD:
Metin studied the attractive woman sitting across from him at the huge kitchen island. Musing that she probably would just as soon pour him a lovely glass of cyanide as sit and drink red wine with him, he smiled, trying not to overreact to her unsubtle hostility. “So,” she said, sipping and staring at him. “How is Graciella?” He forced an ever-wider smile. “Fine, I am assuming. She is on a photo shoot in Italy for a month. I haven’t talked to her in…a while.” He lifted the glass to his lips, not breaking eye contact.Melanie Matthews Miller could be a model herself. Something he was sure she’d heard plenty of times. Her dark brown hair was thick, curly, barely contained by a headband. Dark eyes shone in her angular, handsome face. He noticed that her hand shook when she put her glass on the granite surface. Unable to resist, he reached for it. She yanked it back as if he’d touched a lit match to her flesh. “Your mother must have been a stunning woman.” He said, softly, as if to a cornered, frightened animal.“Yeah. She was,” Mel polished off her first glass. Metin poured her some more. “Spare me the lecture. I’m not an alcoholic.”He looked up, shocked. “I wouldn’t think of calling you that.”“Sure you would. I see it in your eyes.”“The only thing in my eyes right now is terror.”She scoffed, left the newly refilled glass on the counter and propped her chin on her hands. The defeated slump of her shoulders made the natural caretaker in him want to soothe. But he knew better than to comfort her, at least at that moment. He took another drink of his wine, and the silence took on a life of its own. Clearing his throat, he put his glass down, deciding if anyone could take him being straightforward, it was this woman.“I love your sister,” he said. Mel just stared at him, her face betraying nothing. “No you don’t. You’re just a collector of women. And Alicia is something new and exotic to you. Get over yourself.” Her hard voice fit her. It was as if she had sharp edges he would wound himself on if he were not careful. Her face was nearly perfect—high cheekbones, large expressive eyes. In a different situation, she would be his type. “I won’t let you hurt her, soccer boy. We clear on that?”He nodded, believing silence was the better part of valor at the moment. “Tell me about him,” he finally said, unable to stop himself. “This man. Your… husband. Who hurt you and made you into this….”“Bitch?” Her laughter hurt his ears. “No, that is not what—”“Yes, it was. It’s okay. I’m getting use to it now. Scott was the guy who swept me off my feet, knocked me up, installed me in a house while he went to work at the bank. I caught him fucking his secretary one day, right in that very house, when I was supposed to be volunteering at Zach’s school.” She gripped her glass, gazing into the middle distance. “I left. Came home to my father’s house with my son. Told him we were through. And started going out, to clubs, bars… you name it. I was a total slut. As I’m sure you will confirm, being the traditionalist that you are. Men can stick their dicks in however many women they want and they are super studs. I go out a few nights, let a few strange men do that to me, and I’m a whore.”He gulped, forcing away that very reaction, reminding himself that this woman’s life was absolutely none of his business. She glared at him, holding the stem of her wine glass in a death grip. “And then, bam, I was pregnant again. And Scott said he’d take me back, wanted me back, needed me back. Blah blah. Whatever.” “Oh, um, Tanner is not…”“No, Metin. I don’t know who Tanner’s father is. How about that for your traditional principals? Shocked enough by me yet?” Her eyes darkened. He sat up straighter his ire rising at her seeming need to prove how bad she was for some reason. “I don’t shock that easily.”“Sure you do.” She got up to pace. Her wild, curly hair kept escaping from the headband and haloed her flushed face. In an instant, he saw what appeal she did hold, when she was not being so bitter.He glanced around. The giant house was freezing, empty, positively cavernous. He couldn’t fathom it. His family was huge, loud, and annoying, but that was a whole hell of a lot better than this empty, echoing space filled with nothing but unhappy people.“Mom!” An older boy stomped into the kitchen from the laundry room, slamming the garage door behind him. “I thought you were… oh, hello there.”Metin stood and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m….”“I know who you are. My mom and aunt have been doing nothing but argue about you lately.”“Oh, well.” Metin ran a hand through his hair, watching the boy’s body language around his mother. “Sorry, I guess.”“Nah, it’s cool. They don’t need much excuse to fight.” He dropped his soccer bag to the floor of the kitchen. Metin fought his inner neat freak. His mother never tolerated his soccer kit anywhere but out in their garage. And a cuff to the head was all it took for him to remember it. He and his three brothers had all played, which made for a pretty smelly garage. “Mom, where’s dinner.”“Order out,” she said, her voice low and distant.  “Whatever, I’m going out anyway.”Metin stared as they did their non-communication dance for a few more minutes then got up before the urge to smack the smartass kid upside the head got too strong. “Sorry, Metin.” Mel’s voice was soft. “We’re hardly the exemplary family. I have no business being mad at you for judging us.”“I am not judging…. Oh, thank god,” he said when Alicia strode in, her gorgeous face dusted with makeup, amazing curves draped in a silky black dress. “You are beautiful.”“Thanks.” She blushed, which he loved. “You guys getting along okay? Zach, are you being your usual teenager jerkish self?”“Sure thing, Auntie.” The kid grabbed a few cookies from the jar and walked out without another word to his own mother. Metin shook his head. “Okay, stud. Let’s go to dinner. Or whatever.” She shot a worried glance at her sister, but the other woman kept her back to them. By the time Metin realized Melanie shoulders shook from crying, Alicia was pulling him out of the room.

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