Jennifer Wilck's Blog, page 51

I Forgot

My kids are home from camp. They came home Sunday. I spent Saturday stressing. Anyone who knows me will not be surprised by that statement. Anyone who doesn’t know me and actually believes last week’s postwas real, will be confused.
Shouldn’t I have been looking forward to their return? Of course I was!
Shouldn’t I have taken advantage of the last 24-hours of alone time with my husband? Of course I did!
Shouldn’t I have been happy they didn’t get eaten by bears? Of course I was!
Shouldn’t I have relaxed those last few hours before they arrived? Of course...yeah, not so much.
See, I forgot my kids.
No, I didn’t forget them anywhere. But I did forget who they were and what they were like. Obviously, my goal to relax and unwind was very successful.
I forgot:
They don’t clean. I spent the day straightening up the house, knowing that when they came home, their gross camp stuff would be everywhere. Part of me thought that if they walked into a clean house, they would be inspired to put things away right away. Yeah, I’m laughing right along with you.They are self-sufficient. I’ve been able to get a lot of writing and editing done while they were gone, because I had time to myself. I didn’t think I’d have time to do anything (other than laundry, which apparently makes them scarce when I start it) once they came home. They’re teenagers. Once the non-stop camp talk pauses, they go off to SnapChat, text, watch TV and all other electronic things they’ve been unable to do the past month.They are exhausted. We have a lot of things to do in the next eight weeks and I assumed we’d start as soon as they walked in the house. Oh yeah, they’ve been at camp for a month, are sleep deprived and sick. They’re not doing much of anything. I might be ready to tackle my to-do list; they’re not.They’re my kids. No matter how nervous I was for fantasy world (or, as my husband likes to say, 1998) to end and the real world to start, they are my kids and we have our own rhythm that we automatically slip into as soon as we’re together. It’s not always good, it’s not always bad. But it’s ours. And I wouldn’t change it for anything.

A Day in the Life of a Crazy Camp Mom

5:43 am: Wakes up with heart pounding from nightmare of child being eaten by bears. Tries to wake husband—he grunts. Scours news reports and social media. Doesn’t see anything about bears eating children, but does see reports of traffic pileups and some weird picture of Paula Deen.
6:15 am: Checks camp website for blogs about area wildlife and photos of child. Finds 67 pictures of fireworks (black sky, fuzzy multi-colored blobs, no people). Asks now-awake husband about likelihood of bears eating children. He pants out, “Go to sleep” as he exercises.
6:35 am: Scours website looking for information about how early she can call camp to ask about bears. “Not before 9,” mumbles husband as he shaves.
7:15 am: Gets distracted by friends during dog walk. Halfway through 3.5 mile walk, is reminded that child will be going on 30 mile hike with bunk. Dictates reminders into phone—check for bears, make sure counselors will enforce buddy system and bug spray.
8:30 am: Returns home sweaty. Is camper getting dehydrated? Adds to note. Makes breakfast. What is camper eating? Wonders if they will help campers all get even amounts of cereal, because it’s not fair if someone hogs all the Wheaties.
9:00 am: Races out of shower, with shampoo still in hair to call camp. Asks Camp Mom about bears, hike, buddy system, bug spray and breakfast. Not sure why Camp Mom sounded confused—these are perfectly normal questions, aren’t they?
9:42 am: Finishes dressing and wonders what child is wearing. Checks for photos, but none are posted.
10:02 am: While doing errands, wonders if child was woken up this morning. Wouldn’t want child to miss out on the fun. Calls camp from car and asks Camp Mom to check to see if child was left accidentally in bunk. Camp Mom says the entire bunk has already woken up, cleaned the cabin, eaten breakfast and are almost finished swimming, so not to worry, child is up.
11:23 am: Returns from grocery shopping and realizes she has no idea if swimming ended or if her child drowned. Runs to computer and finds a few pictures posted. None of her child. Several of best friend’s. Calls best friend. Best friend laughs. Puts groceries away while deciding whether or not to call Camp Mom.
12:31 pm: Finishes lunch while continuously refreshing camp photo page. Still no pics of child. Calls Camp Mom. Camp Mom isn’t available. Waits for call-back.
1:43 pm: Receives call from Camp Mom and is reassured child has not drowned. Asks for Camp Mom’s cell phone so she can get her questions asked right away and so that Camp Mom doesn’t have to interrupt her own activities. Is refused. Considers calling Camp Director.
2:30 pm: Checks camp photos again. Nothing new posted. Calls camp to complain about photographer.
3:47 pm: Checks camp photos again. Several photos of child, including one with child and Camp Mom, child holding sign “Hi Mom!” Calls Camp Mom to tell her that’s not her child’s shirt and ask why.
4:12 pm: After researching all potential diseases one can get from sharing clothing, writes letter to child asking her not to share her clothes. Asks why child has not written in two days and when she does write, why she doesn’t answer any questions.
5:30 pm: Starts cooking dinner. Checks camp Facebook page and sees menu posted. “Yellow Meal.” What is that and why is it yellow? Calls Camp Mom and leaves message.
6:13 pm: Camp Mom calls back and assures her that the Yellow Meal is a camp favorite and it’s not served all the time. Ask Camp Mom if the corn in the yellow meal is on the cob or not, because child’s teeth get sore eating off the cob (braces and all). Camp Mom must have dropped phone, because there is a dial tone. Must be because camp is located in the middle of nowhere.
7:30 pm: Checks camp photos again and sees pictures of large group of smiling kids. Child is on the end. Why is child on the end? Husband distracts her and she can’t call Camp Mom.
8:02 pm: No longer distracted and wondering what is going on at camp, calls Camp Mom again. Told Camp Mom is busy with evening activities and will call later. Later? Who is going to tuck in my child for bed???
9:30 pm: Camp Mom calls. Child’s braces are fine—it was loose corn. Child is happy and was standing next to best friend, who happened to be at the end of the group of kids. Kids are not going to bed yet.
10:27 pm: Checks photos one last time and tells husband she wants to call Camp Mom to find out when kids are going to bed. Child needs sleep for such a busy day. Husband hides all phones.

The Hike

Previously posted on Believing is Seeing, July 5, 2014
My husband is trying to kill me. Oh, I’m sorry, did I say that out loud? I meant to say, my husband and I went on a hike today. We always try to do fun things together when our kids are away at camp, and killing me, I mean, going on a hike, is one of his favorite things to do.

We found a local trail that had several hiking options and settled on a 1,000 mile 8-mile hike. He looked at the map and noticed that some of the trail seemed a bit boring looking, and a bit close to the road (read flat) and decided to add in a loop that was more interesting looking (read hilly).
So, we packed up our water, food, dog and set off. It started out as a beautiful day—a nice breeze, lots of shade and very flat terrain. It was beautiful. But then we kept walking, and walking and walking. A log crossed our path and the dog jumped over it. We came to another log and she decided it was time to go back and tried to turn around. Ha!
Finally, we got to mile 1.8. Really? That’s it? We found a nature conservancy and took our first break, ate a little lunch and if you were me, sat in the shade while my husband wandered around a bit. Then we continued. The next part of the hike was actually along a road. It was flat and easy and we passed this huge estate, at which point my husband pointed ahead and told me the trail was up there.
The “trail” was an animal path. It was not meant for humans. It was barely meant for dogs. It was the kind of trail that if we’d come across an animal, we’d be in the wrong for infringing on their spot. But my husband thought this was the interesting part, so we continued. Up hill. Continuously.
I’ll admit, I complained a little. Really not a lot—I was trying to save my breath. But it was hot, my hiking boots were hurting, and I thought I was going to die in the woods without anyone being able to find my body. Finally, after what seemed like three days, but was probably about an hour, we returned to the part of the path near the nature conservancy.
I really wanted to wait there and send my husband for the car to come and get me. I really, really wanted to do that. But there was no place to lie down, other than the grass, and I didn’t want bugs crawling into my ears (in case you haven’t figured it out by now, I am not an outdoor person). So I walked back with my husband to our car.

I didn’t die. And when we got back to the car, he drove to an ice cream store and bought me Death by Chocolate. J

Summertime!

It’s that time again, that time when my kids are away at sleep away camp for a month and everyone wants to know what I’m doing with all of my “free time.”
“Are you going away?”: No, I’m not. Aside from the fact that I’m still not comfortable traveling when my kids are gone—they might escape camp and get eaten by bears, you know—we really look forward to not having plans, or at least too many plans, while they’re gone. The entire rest of the year is filled with their activities, our activities and it’s nice to have a break from all of the coordination required to make our lives run smoothly. Besides, when I travel without them, I spend most of my time thinking how much they’d enjoy wherever we are, so I’d rather wait and travel with them.
“You must have tons of time to write!”: You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But really, I have so many projects that I’ve got to work on while they’re gone, I don’t see a whole lot of writing getting done. Certainly not as much as I’d like, although probably more than when they’re around.
“Is the house really quiet?”: No more so than usual, when they’re at school. The quiet lasts a few hours longer, but I like quiet. It lets me think and recharge. Too much noise gets me crazy.
So, what am I doing? In between checking the camp website for photos (refresh, refresh, REFRESH!) and staring at the mailbox waiting for letters, I get to tackle my to-do list:
Fundraising: I’m helping to run a fundraiser for my temple in November, and there is a lot of administrative work that needs to be completed this summer. So most mornings, I’m at my computer creating catchy titles and writing descriptions for items we’re auctioning off. It’s writing, in a sense...
Cleaning: My husband finds meaning in just about everything. Therefore, we have a lot of stuff and our basement storage area is filled. I mentioned a few months ago that I had seen some houses that looked pretty and started daydreaming about moving. He turned a sickly shade of green, and suddenly we started cleaning out the basement. Which was great, until we stopped. You know that point in cleaning where everything is pulled out and it looks like a tornado hit? Yeah, that’s my basement.  So now we’re spending some time going through everything and trying to clean out. Hey, at least we’re together...
Cooking: I know, when the kids are away, we’re supposed to treat ourselves to dinner. And we do. But I really like cooking when half of the intended recipients don’t go, “Ew, what’s that? I’m not eating it.” So summer is my chance to try out new recipes or make old favorites that only my husband and I like. It’s fun when it’s my choice!
Writing: Yes, I am actually writing. I’m trying to make time each afternoon to get at least a few pages written or edited. I’ve got a manuscript out to one of my critique partners and I’m waiting to get her suggestions back. And my next story idea is currently percolating way back in my brain. As soon as it solidifies, I’ll work on that too.
Fun: Of course I have lots of fun planned with friends—lunches, BBQs, days of shopping. My schedule, my time!

Here’s hoping you get to enjoy your summer too, however you choose to spend it.

Pavlov's Dog

My dog is on a hunger strike.
We live in NJ and for the past week, it has rained. Every day, ranging from some moisture to world-ending thunder and lightning. Normally, my friends and I walk more than three miles a day each weekday morning, but only in good weather. I don’t walk in the rain (or snow or cold or heat or…). The dog is afraid of water and doesn’t like walking in the rain either. However, apparently, she missed her friends.
We walk with two other dogs. Dogs that are more than three times her size, but sufficiently cowed by her that they let her lead the way, suffer through her random attempts to attack them and generally, let her do whatever she wants. In return, when other dogs, garbage trucks or landscapers scare them, she steps in front and growls to protect them. I guess it’s a fair trade if you’re a dog.
Some days she’s happy to see them and runs up to them. Other days she actually turns her head to the side and walks right past them. For some reason, the other two dogs don’t hold that against her either. Must be nice.
Anyway, we haven’t walked in a week and in dog years, that’s apparently forever. My husband opened the front door to let my daughter outside to go the bus and Midnight ran out and wouldn’t come back inside. She ran between the door and the driveway, making her point clear. The only way he could get her back inside was to run down the driveway and chase her back into the house—wish I’d been there to see that.
I was in the shower before an early morning doctor’s appointment, so I wasn’t walking her this morning. As punishment, she decided not to eat.
Now, she’s not a food-motivated dog. Sure, she likes her treats when she returns from being outside, and will try to go outside more often to get a few more, but if we don’t give them to her, she still goes outside and she eventually gives up on the treats. When we first adopted her, she responded much quicker to praise and pets than she ever did to food. And when we send her to stay with my parents while we go away, she spends the first two to three days not eating. She doesn’t eat off the floor unless we tell her she can and if you leave food unattended, it will still be there when you remember it again, unless my kids (or dad) are around.
So food is not the be all and end all for her. However, she knows it’s important to us and I think she might be Jewish. She comes running over every time we sing the Shabbat or holiday prayers, jumps up and likes us to hold her front paws as we sing. A bit weird, I know, but somehow, very cute. And if we assume that she’s Jewish, she also knows the power of food for the rest of us. I come from a family that will forgive you anything, as long as you provide enough food. Run short, and they’ll sit shiva, never mentioning your name again. Thus, my reasoning for making enough food for an army.
Midnight has obviously picked up on this. She knows that if I see her not eating, I’ll change my behavior for her so that she won’t starve.

I just came back from walking the dog. Apparently, I need to change her name from Midnight to Pavlov. Off to find a human-sized bell.

I Miss Her

There’s a picture in my head, a scene that plays over and over again. It’s my chance to get back at him, to not only win the battle, but win the war. He loses his cool; I keep mine. His weapons are no match for mine, my words are more powerful than his sharpest swords. My tongue is more accurate than his scattered attempts to dominate me.
I win.
But she’s there too, and the emotion that I hide from him bubbles to the surface. I can’t help her and myself at the same time. I can’t force her to choose sides and I won’t allow myself to unmask my true feelings for him in front of her.
I send her away.
He tore us apart once before. Our once entwined lives are on two separate paths. Our children know nothing of each other. The stories we tell don’t resonate because there is no shared history. 
Without history, how is there a future? Where are the building blocks that support us, enrich us? Perhaps one day we can build new connections, retell old stories, introduce our children. But not now and not for a long time.

I wait. And I miss her.

The Writer's Post Blog Hop

I'm hosting this week's The Writer's Post Blog Hop! The Writer's Post is a Facebook group. You can check it out here. It's a group where writers get together and post examples of their work. They're a great group of talented people.

This week is my turn to create a blog hop. A blog hop is where everyone writes about the same topic and you hop from one blog to the next to read different people's take on the topic.

Today is a gorgeous day. I was just driving through Pennsylvania and the blue sky, white clouds and green farmland took my breath away. It made me want to stop my car, lay in the fields and watch the clouds roll by. Most of my weekends have been filled with a ton of errands, and most of those errands require a lot of driving. I'm looking forward to a more relaxed summer where I can just kick back and relax.

Therefore, this blog hop is going to be about summer. What do you like about it? What does it make you think of? How does it inspire you? What do you remember about summers during your childhood? You can take this anywhere you want, so have fun with it!

To see what others are writing on this topic, click here.

Father's Day? Really?

As I’m sitting at my computer this morning scanning the news and waiting for window washers to arrive, I came across an image on the local CBS website. At first, the only thing I noticed was “Father’s Day,” since in the back of my mind I’m trying to make sure my kids get their Father’s Day projects done in time to celebrate with the family.

The next time I see the image, I notice the hip, but assume I must be mistaken. After all, it’s something for Father’s Day and as I scroll through sites, it’s very easy for multiple images to blend together.
Finally, I stop to take a look at the image. This is what I see.


Seriously?
Okay, I get that it’s an ad for a casino. I get that it’s targeting men. But why is it so stereotypical?
Sure, I know there are men who like that and I’m not judging. I’m not even going to focus on the objectification of women, or the sexualization of women as depicted in the ad. What really struck me was how unfair this ad is to men.
There have been so many articles this past year regarding why fathers get a bad rap, and how they are automatically thought of as less than mothers when it comes to raising children. Obviously, the creators of the ads either haven’t read those articles or don’t care. They assume that since fathers are men, and “men like sexy women,” this ad works for Father’s Day.

While the “hot chick” might catch their eye, the fathers I know value their time with their families and use Father’s Day as a chance to spend more time playing with their kids and honoring their dads. While attracted to a variety of types of women, I think they’d find the stereotyping offensive and inappropriate for the holiday. Although several of them like to gamble, not one of them would think of going there rather than spending time with their family. And while each one of them is attracted to women and has their own views on what’s sexy or not, they all, every single one of them, think their wives, the mothers of their children, are sexy BECAUSE THEY MADE THEM FATHERS.

Spoilers

I hate spoilers. I want to know that you got me a birthday present, but I don’t want to know what it is. I don’t want to know what happens on a TV show I watch and I always think the anticipation is part of the fun.
I confess that I do read the last page of books (unless they’re mysteries) because I want to make sure the ending is satisfying before I read the book, and I check the dessert menu prior to ordering my meal so that I know whether or not to leave enough room.
But everything else, don’t tell me.
I’m really good at keeping secrets too. But I completely screwed up this week. SPOILER ALERT!!!My daughter watches Dancing With the Stars, but went to bed before the finale. I really wanted to know who won, so I watched the last five minutes to see. In the morning, she asked me if I knew who won and I said I did. It was no big deal; I’ve known who won each episode before she has, and I’ve waited for her to find out before discussing it with her. But this time, since it was the finale, we were both worried someone at school would spoil the ending, so I helped her plan how to avoid spoilers.
When she came home, she told me it worked and that she was excited to watch it after her homework was done. We were in the car and she was discussing the show and I was keeping my mouth shut. Then, she asked a question. Her question was what would happen next season. Apparently, the previous winners, who have all been singers, have appeared on subsequent seasons singing a song. She asked the question because she knew none of the finalists were singers. Without even thinking, I said, “Well, maybe she can do an ice dance.”
And just like that, I spoiled it for her. I felt a thousand times worse than she did. She actually thought it was funny, and even more so when she saw how upset I was. I couldn’t believe I’d done it!
But then she said something that put a completely different spin on things. She said, “I get to tell this story at dinner.” She was more excited about sharing the story than she was disappointed that she’d had the ending spoiled for her.
With four people in our family who have busy and various schedules, family dinners are a challenge. But my husband and I have made having dinner together a priority, and we try to sit down altogether at least four or five times a week. Family dinners are filled with conversation—not always the most appropriate conversations—but conversation, nonetheless. There are no devices at the table, unless they enhance what we are discussing. We don’t answer the phone—if it’s important, the caller will leave a message. It is our time to be together as a family and we don’t let anything interfere with it, if we can help it.
Both of our girls are huge talkers, and family dinners often become a chance to see who has more to say. It’s in this vein that my daughter jumped at the chance to have a story to tell.
Although I felt really badly about spoiling the ending, it made me happy to realize that she likes these dinners that I’ve tried so hard to establish. Even if it means I have to listen to stories multiple times, or hear for the bagillionth time about camp, or listen to them argue over who gets to talk first, I’m glad that getting that chance to be together is important to her.
Although next time I provide fodder for the dinner table, I hope it won’t be about how I spoiled the ending. Sigh.

Please Welcome Denisea Kampe

Hi! My name is Denisea Kampe and I’m a recovering pen name user. (It’s okay to laugh at this point!)
When I first approached Jennifer about hosting me for my little release blast party, I asked if there was anything she’d like me to blog about for her and brought up the subject of who I was, who I became, and who I am now. We first met working through a small press in Wyoming a couple of years ago and I introduced myself as Lila Munro. That was pen name. I’ve always been Denisea, but when I first aspired to publish a few years ago, I was asked what pen name I’d be using and without much thought, I came up with Lila Munro on the fly and so it was who I became. It wasn’t until a bit later Jennifer actually found out what my real name is and not long after that I was faced with several decisions about my career at once.
I’ve written as long as I can remember, and when I wasn’t writing I was making stories up. I loved books long before I could spell and I can’t remember a time I didn’t know I’d be published someday. There was even a point during my college days I was a journalism major. Just think, I could have been anchoring the evening news somewhere, but news wasn’t my bag and after many years of trying to figure out what was through writing and shredding, writing and shredding, I figured out romance was. And that’s where I started out, in contemporary adult romance. Then things took a turn and before I could say, “That’s all from Denisea Kampe this evening, tune in tomorrow for highlights…” Lila Munro decided she’d bend to a trend and go from contemporary to erotic. Then from erotic to something just shy of erotica.
The problem was, even though I was pretty darn good at it, I became quite discontent because I knew in my heart it that genre wasn’t really where I belonged. I’ll leave my blog address with my links and if you’d like to know more about why I was so discontent, please come by for a much lengthier talk on that. But for here, we’ll go with my heart was quite discontent. And while I was trying to ignore the feeling in my heart which was giving me such problems, my nieces started wondering what their aunty was writing—they’re eleven and thirteen. Uh, yeah, when faced with the stark reality what you already know you’re not happy writing is out there and your precious nieces could find it, let me tell you, it’s just shy of sickening really. Then the final blow…
My best friend came clean, I found out she was also unhappy writing erotic/erotica, and she went a full 360 and landed in the inspirational scene.
Gee…how much more guilt does one person need before they give?
I guess about that much because it was around that point I decided enough was enough and my entire career shifted left. I took down all my erotic/erotica titles and started cleaning up my website and getting rid of several social outlets that weren’t doing me a bit of good and were in fact making things much harder for me. But it still didn’t seem like enough. I knew the only way to hold myself accountable and be true to me was to BE ME.
What was left of my once long list of back titles amounted to six stories. My editor and publisher’s graphic arts department worked their butts off making all the necessary changes and I am forever grateful for that. I’m now Denisea Kampe, Contemporary Romance Writer and I have six back titles that reflect that and the most exciting thing has happened.
My first title to come out solely under my real name just debuted!
I’ll leave you with a bit of an excerpt below and where you can find For His Country. For now, I’d like to thank each of you for spending part of your day with me, and thank you Jennifer for hosting me and letting me tell my story.
Have a realmantic day!

Denisea Kampe


Twenty-seven years, more than a dozen deployments, five kids…and one missing wife.
After twenty-seven years of marriage and service to his country, Gavin McIntyre returns from what he hopes will be his last deployment before either reaching the highest attainable enlisted rank in the Marine Corps or retiring. But what he returns to leaves him flat aback with a busted mast and broken rudder. His wife is a no show for the homecoming. Using the ages old adage of improvise, adapt, and overcome, he makes his way home only to discover, she hasn’t simply forgotten to pick him up from the bus, she’s gone. In her wake, Gavin finds his home set up boot camp style and twenty dollars in the cookie jar, but any evidence he’s ever had a wife or five children with her is deplete.
Pregnant at sixteen and married to a marine in a less than romantic ceremony courtesy of the local Justice, Raylyn McIntyre has spent almost three decades playing the dutiful patriotic wife, catering to the whims of the military. She’s lost track of how many places she’s lived, how many deployments she’s endured, and how many tears she’s shed. But most of all, she’s lost track of herself. With a husband who’s so wrapped up in saving the world he can’t see he’s losing his family, Ray resorts to the one tactic he might understand…a full frontal attack with extreme prejudice, which proves to get Gavin’s waning attention.
Nothing good ever comes easy, though, and just when her choice of battle plan seems to be working, tragedy befalls their family. As Ray and Gavin struggle to find center, they also struggle with the notion that forgiveness of self is often the only path to forgiveness of another, and that path is not only bumpy but filled with pitfalls.
Excerpt:
“Meatloaf? Dear God,” Ray mumbled, buckling up.No wonder Gavin looked at her like she’d sprouted an additional head. Meatloaf. Good grief. If she’d have been herself this morning instead of some woman she hadn’t recognized since the first of the year, she’d have skipped the meatloaf, had the curtains hemmed by noon, and would have had one of Gavin’s favorite meals ready and waiting at five o’clock on the dot with a card, a box of cigars, and a bottle of wine. And all the cookies and cards and candies would have been mailed days ago.But Ray wasn’t herself. Hell, she wasn’t even the woman she was almost a year ago when she went on a tirade and decided enough was enough and she had to find herself. Who she’d become since the rift between her and Gavin had widened was an empty shell of middle-aged flesh who couldn’t remember what she’d gone to the grocery for without two detailed lists in case she lost one in the process of getting to the store.“Forget about the damn meatloaf,” Gavin said, merging into traffic and heading for the front gate. “Forget about the meatloaf, the pizza, the movie, the cookies and the damn cards. Forget about my cigars. Tonight we’re taking care of us. Period. We, I, should have been doing that more often all along. My fault…”“So this has everything to do with making yourself feel better? Not me?” Ray accused, happy for the reprieve of wallowing in her own guilt and even happier to be able to poke at someone else’s. “To ease your own guilt because you’ve missed so many special occasions? You think one nice dinner out is supposed to fix years of forgetfulness?”“If it makes you feel better to yell at me, go ahead,” Gavin said. “It beats the dead silence that’s hung over us ever since the first of the year. My fault? You bet your sweet ass, woman, but I’m not going to sit and stew in the guilt I could lay on myself. I’m going to fix it. And you’re going to stop feeling guilty, too. We deserve a life and damn it, we’re going to start living it.”“You think it’s that easy?” Ray shot at him. “You think we can just decide one day okay, let’s just forget the last twenty-seven years and pow, everything is just hunky-dory?”“No, I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, but it could be easier if you’d let it.”“Now I’m the one being difficult?” Ray huffed and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Let me tell you, mister, you’re the one who’s been difficult.”“Yes, I know that,” Gavin agreed.“Oh, that’s great,” Ray snipped, steam building. “Now you think to take the wind out of my sails by being agreeable and stealing my reasons for being angry? Stop agreeing with me, it makes it difficult for me to stay pissed off!”
Purchase Links:
Amazon       
Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/deniseakampe
ARe:  http://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=author&qString=denisea+kampe&searchBy=author&qString=denisea+kampe
Born and raised in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains, Denisea Kampe was spinning tales before she could even spell and once her sixth grade creative writing teacher encouraged her by leaving a most prophetic comment on one of her assignments, the wheels of destiny were set in motion. But those wheels would need greased again and again as her writing would take a back seat to life and her jobs of mom and wife many times over before she’d finally see her dream of becoming a published writer come to fruition in 2010. Denisea is a military wife who’s traveled the world over. She’s lived in four states and Okinawa Japan and held more drivers’ licenses than she can count. Her nest is empty save one furry and quite mischievous Siberian Husky and one spoiled rotten Rat Terrier mix. Denisea takes much of her inspiration for her heroes from the marines she’s lived around since marrying her very own fairy tale prince in dusty cammies. Coining the term realmantica, she strives to produce quality romance in a realistic setting. Her genre of choice is contemporary romance and when she’s not writing, she enjoys reading everything she can get her hands on, trips to the museum, taking field research trips, crafting, and sewing. Her works include One Tear, The Executive Officer’s Wife, Private Pirouette, and the Slower Lower series. Denisea loves to hear from her readers and can be found at deniseakampe.blogspot.com  
WEBSITE      FACEBOOKhttp://deniseakampe.blogspot.comhttps://www.facebook.com/DeniseaKampeRomanceAuthor
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