Samantha March's Blog, page 14
December 9, 2013
CLP Blog Tours Interview and Excerpt: Miss Kane’s Christmas by Caroline Mickelson
**Interview**
When did you know writing was for you?
I started writing as a child and don’t remember a time when I wasn’t telling stories. I will say that I have a renewed joy in writing now that the industry has changed so that writers have more options and ways to bring their stories to readers.
How would you describe your books?
I write both mysteries and romance. The mysteries are very cozy, no graphic violence or gory details in my made up world! My romances I would call romantic comedies or humorous romance. I like to read upbeat, fun romance with happy endings so that’s what I tend to write.
Why was Miss Kane’s Christmas a book you wanted to write?
I love Christmas novellas and I love chick lit, so it seemed an ideal project to me. I’ve just written and released another Christmas novella titled ‘Mrs. Saint Nick’ featuring Carol’s brother Nick Claus. The plan is to have another one out for next Christmas as well.
What is one Christmas tradition you have to keep?
Driving around with my children to look at Christmas lights. My father used to take my sisters, brother and I out driving around in different neighborhoods so we could admire the decorations. My father passed away when I was a teenager and I still miss him very much. I love being able to share with my four children the same tradition my father shared with us.
What is the hardest part of the writing process for you?
Sitting down to write. Isn’t that ironic? I love it once I’m settled in and working away but everyday it’s a struggle to talk myself into doing it.
What are your favorite genres to read?
I like to read mysteries and chick lit. I’m a huge Agatha Christie fan. I just finished reading two great chick lit titles I enjoyed and highly recommend. The first is Vacationista by Tara Simone and the other is Zoey & The Moment of Zen by Cat Lavoie. I hope both Tara and Cat are hard at work on their next books.
What do you want readers to take away from your story?
I want them to enjoy their time spent reading. Even though I love my life, I read to escape. I’m grateful to every author who tells me a story that takes me away. I hope my books can do the same for my readers.
How important do you think social media is for authors these days?
I think it’s an important part of every author’s life. Finding new readers is the goal, right? I just think it always needs to come after writing otherwise it can become a slippery slope into procrastination.
What would be your advice to aspiring writers?
Write, read and network with other writers – in that order!
Thank you, Samantha. Very happy holidays to you and your blog readers.
**Excerpt**
“Listen, kids, we need to get this straight right now. There is no Santa Claus.”
Carol cringed. Ben’s voice was entirely too loud and far too adamant. This wasn’t either the time or place. She shook her head, desperately trying to signal him to be quiet but he ignored her.
“Santa Claus is a lie,” he went on. “It’s nothing more than a story parents make up to control their children’s behavior for one month out of every year. In fact-”
His next words were drowned out by the sound of crying children. And angry parents. Voices were raised, nasty looks were aplenty and Carol was sure that the woman behind them wanted to physically harm Ben but instead she settled for hissing at him, “I hope there’s a coal mine in your stocking, you Grinch.”
Carol’s heart sank. This was a disaster. And it was at least half her fault. She should have known he wasn’t ready for a visit yet.
“Elf coming through, excuse me, elf coming through,” a voice called as families stepped to the side to make room for one of Santa’s helpers. “Pardon me, please.”
As the voice grew nearer, Carol’s heart leapt. It was Jolly.
“It seems there’s a situation here,” Jolly said once she stood before them. The elf gave no indication she recognized Carol. “Anything I can help with?”
Carol waved her hand in Ben’s direction. “We have a non-believer here.”
It didn’t escape her notice that Ben had the good grace to flush but he, wisely she thought, remained silent.
Jolly looked up at Ben and made a tsking sound. “We can’t have that. I think you’d better come with me.”
“Where?” Ben asked.
“Wherever Santa wants you to go,” Carol said.
“Now, that’s just enough, Carol.” Ben’s voice grew louder. “You have to stop this Christmas nonsense. The children find you enchanting. I see why, but this fixation on Santa is just going overboard. It’s too much. It’s all going to end in misery for everyone.”
“If you don’t stop grousing then yes, I agree, you’re going to make us all miserable,” Carol said. She turned her back on him, focusing her attention on the shrinking line in front of them. She was only four families away from seeing her father. That was enough to keep her tears of frustration at bay. Ben Hanson was too much. She couldn’t take any more of this. And she wasn’t too proud to beg her father to let her go back to the North Pole with him. She couldn’t do any good here.
She steadfastly refused to turn around despite the fact that Ben was now quarrelling with the woman in line behind them. She felt Patrick slip his hand in hers and squeeze it gently. She squeezed it back. Patrick tugged on her arm. She bent down.
“Do you want to leave, sweetie?” she asked. Ben’s boorish behavior was so unfair to the children.
“No, I want to see Santa. But I need to tell you something.”
“I’m listening, Patrick.”
“Daddy has trouble being happy. Please don’t be mad at him.”
Carol stared down at the boy. His wide eyes begged her to understand. She nodded. “I’ll try not to be mad with your father, Patrick. I promise.” She blew out a long breath. This was a promise she needed to keep. Her father was right. Patrick was right. Ben needed her help. “We’ll all help your father learn to love Christmas.”
Author Bio:
Caroline Mickelson loves her family and loves to write. She also loves a good adventure, among her favorites thus far were attending graduate school in a Scottish castle, riding a camel around the Pyramids in Giza, and taking a best-in-a-lifetime road trip to Graceland. Caroline lives in the American southwest with her husband and their four children, affectionately known as The Miracles.
Connect with Caroline!
Website: www.carolinemickelson.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/CarolineM67
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorcarolinemickelson
Buy the Book!
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Miss-Kanes-Christmas-Romantic-Comedy-ebook/dp/B009SU0NVO/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1384270852&sr=8-2&keywords=caroline+mickelson
B & N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/miss-kanes-christmas-caroline-mickelson/1117004957?ean=2940148746034
Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/miss-kane-s-christmas
December 4, 2013
CLP Blog Tours Interview and Excerpt: The Bitches of Brooklyn by Rosemary Harris
**Interview**
When did you know writing was for you?
I really never set out to become a writer – but a mummified body was found near my home in Connecticut and the details in the newspaper were sketchy. I did a little snooping and thought what I learned would make a fun story – so I wrote one. That was four books ago!
How would you describe your books?
To date, all of my books are light in tone but at their heart touch on issues like friendship, marriage, trust and loyalty and they all have a bit of a mystery in them. Some more than others. A reader described my latest book, The Bitches of Brooklyn as a cross between Pretty Little Liars and Sex and in The City. I’ve never seen the first but I took it as a compliment.
And despite the frisky title – bitchiness is in the eye of the beholder – the characters are good friends who simply go through the ups and downs that most women do.
Why was The Bitches of Brooklyn a book you wanted to write?
Two things converged. One was the serendipitous viewing of Hollywood classic, A Letter to Three Wives, and the other was an actual all-girls’ weekend where one of my closest pals didn’t show up. In the movie, the missing woman has run off with someone’s husband. Happily that’s not what my friend did, but it did get me thinking. How well do we really know our old friends? Particularly if we haven’t seen them for a while, or only see them infrequently? Are we still as close as we once were…?
What is the hardest part of the writing process for you?
I’d say promotion! In this day and age, with fewer and fewer bookstores and so many books being released, connecting with readers is the most difficult part of the job. I’ve driven all over the country to meet readers, librarians, booksellers, garden and women’s groups. I’ve spoken at mystery events and county fairs, AAUW meetings and church groups. While I LOVE to do that (just invite me!) and I’ve met some awesome people it does take time away from writing. That’s one reason I’m delighted to be on a blog tour for this book.
What are your favorite genres to read?
I read anything that strikes my fancy. I believe the most interesting books defy categorization. A well-written book is a well-written book. And there is so much crossover. Just finished The Wrong Girl by Hank Phillippi Ryan and started As Husbands Go by Susan Isaacs.
What do you want readers to take away from your story?
I hope readers of The Bitches of Brooklyn will feel as if they’ve met five fun, interesting women – not without their problems or flaws – who are making their way through life and hit a bump in the road. And they make it through with humor, affection – some bitchiness – and a fair amount of wine and baked goods.
How important do you think social media is for authors these days?
I’m still trying to figure that out. It goes without saying that authors need to have a social presence – a website is the least of it. Facebook, Twitter, etc. – people should do what they can based on the amount of time they can HAPPILY commit to. I have facebook fan (http://www.facebook.com/RosemaryHarriswriter) and profile pages, a group blog (www.jungleredwriters.com) and a rather moribund twitter account (@rosemaryharris1)
What would be your advice to aspiring writers?
I was extremely lucky to have published the first book I ever wrote. It is unusual. It’s hard work. Re-writing is key. I don’t know any writer for whom the words just flow. I re-wrote the first 50 pages of my first book, Pushing Up Daisies at least a dozen times. And you know what – if I had to do it all over again could, I’d probably make some tiny changes. The more you write and read other people’s books, the more you learn.
And not everyone will like your book (hey, there are books on the bestseller list that I wasn’t crazy about) but that’s okay. Different strokes.
**Excerpt**
Chapter One
As deliveries went, this one was somewhere between a balloon telegram and a bulletproof vest wrapped around a dead fish. Most gift baskets arrived with cards bearing congratulations or condolences. Rarely were they sent with the simple two-line message Jane Monaghan stared at, then read, in disbelief, a second time.
A skinny delivery boy hovered in the doorway, the screen door flapping and creaking as he shifted his weight. Jane fumbled in her handbag for a tip. Why did she never have singles when she needed them? As she poked through the tissues, keys and various black electronics cases in her voluminous bag, the boy peered inside the house, curious about the women renting the old Beninger place. He remembered the first year they came. His mother had warned him to keep his distance and his father had slipped him a sly wink that he’d been too young to interpret.
They weren’t bad looking, neither young nor old, that gray area between youth and invisibility. Still good for a nooner, he fantasized, using an expression he’d heard his uncle Billy use, if he could cut one from the herd. Especially the small, dark-haired one sprawled on the loveseat near the fireplace. She had a nubby throw tossed over one leg but the other was exposed – tan, taut and barely covered by denim cutoffs. Still pretty hot, even if she looked old enough to have been his babysitter – and after all, what boy hadn’t had that fantasy?
The hot one and the boy made eye contact. Having been on the receiving end of similar looks for close to twenty years – longer than he’d been alive – it took Tina Ruggiero all of thirty seconds to read his mind.
“Come back in a few years, sonny. You’re not entirely hopeless but, let’s wait until that acne clears up.”
The boy’s naughty daydream evaporated, his face reddened and he reverted to bumbling, pimply errand boy. His eyes grew watery. He even seemed shorter, if that was possible. Jane abandoned her search for singles, shoved a five in his direction and kicked the storm door shut.
“A day without a verbal castration is like a day without sunshine?”
“Come on,” Tina said. “He deserved it – gawking like that. Half the people in this town think we’re practicing witchcraft and the other half think we’re gay. Not that I don’t think you’re all cute. I just wanted to set the record straight.”
Jane wasn’t sure the exchange wouldn’t have the opposite effect, convincing him she was a witch, only he’d spell it with a “b.” Which was fitting since that’s what they’d been dubbed a long time ago when they were teens, The Bitches of Brooklyn. Were they really? Depended who you asked.
“A new wrinkle has been added to our weekend,” Jane said.
“Oh no please, not another one. I already have a new wrinkle, that’s why I cut bangs.”
“I wondered what the new hairstyle was about.”
Jane carried the oversized basket to the wooden dining table where Clare Didrikson and Rachel Weiner, two of her closest friends, sat with their morning coffees.
The table and chairs were like all the furniture in the rented house – ancient wood or wicker upon which thousands of summer memories had been made, or brand new, from the discount store, because who would buy good furniture for a house through which total strangers traipsed for three months out of every year? Or suffered from too much sun and too much damp. Jane pulled out a chair and read the card aloud to the group.
“It’s a joke,” Tina said. She flung off the blanket and hopped over on her one good ankle to join them. “Just like her to bail at the last minute and then pull a stunt like this. She’s probably laughing her ass off somewhere, ordering the next fruit basket with the next cryptic message. Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes! Go to the hayfield, there’ll be a volcanic rock that has no earthly business in a Maine hayfield. She’s always so melodramatic. Can’t she just admit something better came up?”
It was not the first time their missing friend had cancelled at the last minute even though the dates were fixed well in advance. The four were always understanding but there was always a trace of resentment, too. As if the others were expected to understand that the fifth woman’s time was more valuable than theirs.
The four women settled around the table in the weather-beaten Cape Cod bungalow they’d rented every summer for the last six years. They met for the same late summer weekend when husbands and partners were otherwise engaged, either of their own accord or dispatched so the women wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving four men, one daughter, one veterinary practice, and two businesses for much girl talk and more alcohol in an ocean beach setting far removed from their Brooklyn beginnings.
Initially, they had played “remember when” and speculated on what had happened to still-missing friends from the old neighborhood. That first year Rachel brought her laptop and their old high school yearbook, and between drinks and steamers they Googled and giggled over former boyfriends and teachers, most of whom had lost their hair, gotten heavy, or somehow morphed into ordinary mortals instead of the brooding geniuses and bohemian heartthrobs they’d once seemed. After that, it was agreed – no laptops at The Weekend.
But it wasn’t all about the old days. The five women had forged new friendships. What felt better than familiar but new – the safety net of people who knew your background and your history, but, because of the time spent apart, brought the freshness of anecdotes and stories you hadn’t heard a hundred times before. And they’d helped each other professionally, with contacts and as trustworthy soundingboards.
Clare reached over to read the card for herself, looking for…what? Some explanation hidden between the lines? Some tone or nuance conveyed in the elegant script of an anonymous clerk in a gift shop? She chewed on her lower lip but said nothing.
Jane tugged on the purple ribbon at the top of the basket, untying the bow and noisily releasing the twisted cellophane. She flattened the ribbon and wound it around four fingers as if saving it for some future use, which wasn’t likely since they’d all be home in a few days. A hidden staple pierced one slim, unmanicured index finger and she sucked on it while poking through the basket with her undamaged hand.
“At least she sprang for the good stuff.” Jane held up a red foil-covered brick. “Real cheese, not cheese product.”
“And candy,” Rachel said. “Just what we need.”
Tina and Jane plundered the basket, Jane moving through the items and inspecting ingredients. “Cream crackers, no partially hydrogenated anything so far.” Jane was co-owner of a small bakery called Sweet Dreams and paid attention to such things. Tina wasn’t so picky. Two grunts and an arched eyebrow told her the others were less appreciative of their missing friend’s nutritional considerations. “Belgian chocolates. Scottish cookies,” Jane said, still sucking on her punctured finger.
“Please don’t get blood on anything,” Tina said. “If there are shortbread cookies, I’ve got dibs. I don’t care if they have lard in them but I draw the line at bodily fluids.”
Despite Rachel’s protestations, the chocolate would disappear first. No chance to melt or develop that mysterious white stuff around the edges. Then the cheese, the crackers and the fruit, one step up from artificial and typically chosen not for taste but for their ability to retain an unblemished appearance despite being shipped thousands of miles. All the food would go, even the boring sucking candies, and all that would remain was a tasteful brown basket, some purple ribbon and the note -
Apologies for the short notice but I won’t be making our little reunion this year. I’ve run off with one of your men.
Author Bio:
Rosemary Harris has been a bookstore manager, a video producer and a public television exec. Her debut novel, the Agatha and Anthony-nominated, Pushing Up Daisies , was followed by The Big Dirt Nap , Dead Head andSlugfest, all titles in her Dirty Business mystery series. She is past president of Mystery Writers of America’s NY Chapter and Sisters in Crime’s New England Chapter. Like some of the characters in The Bitches of Brooklyn she was born in Brooklyn but now lives in New York City and Fairfield County, Connecticut.
To learn more about Rosemary and all of her books visit her atwww.rosemaryharris.com and Like her on facebook atwww.facebook.com/RosemaryHarriswriter
Trade paperback and ebook available at Amazon and bn.com now!
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00E3XMPN0
http://tinyurl.com/kydqs39
December 3, 2013
The Green Ticket Turns One!
My second (virtual) child has turned one! Right before Christmas last year, I was giving myself a wonderful gift in publishing my second title, 14 months after the first. It was such a great feeling because after publishing Destined to Fail, the questions were constantly asked: “When’s the next book coming? Are you writing a second book? How much longer until we can read something from you again?” So. Much. Pressure. I learned a lot about publishing in general from the first book, and it was much smoother the second time around – I had formatters and my cover designer lined up well in advance, I had a marketing plan in place, and I now had readers who actually wanted to read my next book. Quite amazing. So a year has passed and I’ve been so thankful for all the reviews, tweets, emails, and comments on The Green Ticket. I’m happy to be celebrating this occasion on your blog, and the support you and so many others have given me not only with this book, but my first, my upcoming third, and Chick Lit Plus and Marching Ink in general is so incredible. Thank you!
About the Book
College junior Alex Abrams scores her dream job at the ripe age of twenty – manager to a successful salon and spa. Thrilled to finally have a real adult job, Alex enthusiastically jumps into the world of schedules, conference calls, and getting a massage when interviewing prospective employees. What she doesn’t expect are the very grown-up issues that comes with a demanding boss. Kevin Dohlman quickly becomes Alex’s worse nightmare – covering up his affairs, dealing with his enormous ego, and trying to protect her female staff from him becomes a full-time job in its own right. Alex has also befriended Kevin’s wife and co-owner, Dani, and is trying to keep Kevin’s secrets hidden from her. The situation only worsens when Kevin starts paying Alex off to make sure she keeps her insider knowledge to herself.
While struggling to keep her wits and stay happy with her new grown-up job, Alex is juggling college courses, a new love interest, and keeping up with her close group of girlfriends. When her roommate and best friend Lila gets offered an opportunity to move to Los Angeles and sign with an agent, Alex realizes her life truly is changing, and everyone around her – including herself –– is growing up. Knowing she is faced with some hard decisions ahead, Alex struggles with keeping her job at Blissful. But does she really want to throw away what she dreamed of as a career – or will the secret-keeping for Kevin become too much to handle? The Green Ticket is a story about morals versus money, and how one young woman navigates the shaky line between the two.
About the Author
Samantha March is an author, editor, publisher, blogger, and all around book lover. She runs the popular book/women’s lifestyle blog ChickLitPlus, which keeps her bookshelf stocked with the latest reads and up to date on all things health, fitness, fashion, and celebrity related. In 2011 she launched her independent publishing company Marching Ink and has two published novels – Destined to Fail and The Green Ticket. When she isn’t reading, writing, or blogging, you can find her cheering for the Green Bay Packers.
Connect with Samantha!
Buy the Book!
November 27, 2013
CLP Blog Tours Interview and Excerpt: Casey’s Quest by Tamara Lee Dorris
**Interview**
Can you describe Casey’s Quest in a tweet (140 words or less)?
“Discovering her adoption at age 4, Casey sets out to learn who her mom was…suspense…drama…deceit”
Why was Casey’s Quest a book you wanted to write?
I actually wanted to write a book that would make a good movie so my actress daughter could star in it. It’s my daughter on the cover.
What are you currently reading?
A Course in Miracles
The Shed
The Green Ticket (your book!)
(also re-reading The Great Gatsby for style and form)
Do you experience writers block? Any tips on overcoming it?
No….more like writer’s run on…I get very cranky if I’m not producing words on paper.
Where do you complete most of your writing? Any certain time of day that you prefer?
I have a nice big office with a huge screen monitor, and yet, I find myself with lap top at the kitchen table. It’s more sunny and less work-like in the kitchen. I like to write mid-mornings for a few hours and then edit in early mornings.
Are you currently working on another novel?
YES. I am working on a novel as well as a non-fiction (kind of) satire of sorts.
**Excerpt**
CHAPTER ONE
Casey wasn’t sure what to wear to the funeral.
The Colonel had a heart attack and dropped dead in the shower last Sunday afternoon. It was raining. Casey only moved out a couple of months earlier and was ecstatic about her new found freedom. The call came, “You better come, honey.” And in that moment, Casey knew something was very wrong with the Colonel. Her mom went in to put fresh towels on the counter when she found him lying there, naked, with the water pounding on his face.
They didn’t have friends, really, so Casey wasn’t sure if there would be a lot of people at the service, or only a few. A plain black dress, her mom said, is what your father would expect. And so it was. What the Colonel expected from Casey was what Casey learned to give him, and even now, he was expecting her to wear a plain black dress.
Casey considered moving back home—it might be different without him there—but in her heart of hearts, she really didn’t want to. Hadn’t her mom been suffocating enough when the Colonel was alive? And, since there wasn’t any other family, she couldn’t just abandon Sacramento and leave her mom behind. So in her mind, she compromised. She would stay in her apartment and call home a lot. But now, at first, her mom would need her.
Breaking away from home at age 21 was a feat in itself. Gonna bust out of these barracks, she’d say each time she stashed a new paycheck in the bank. Her mom begged her to stay home, and the Colonel bribed her. Live here and go to Sac State, he’d say…GI loan kiddo. You can even quit that sandwich-making job and I’ll give you an allowance. But Casey had other ideas. So she saved her money and found a studio apartment close to home. Her mom played the guilt card while the Colonel wore a disappointed scowl and his dress greens. Casey lobbied that the apartment she found was right around the corner. This seemed to appease them.
And then he died.
The funeral was held at Mount Vernon, a mecca for honoring dead military men. There were a few men in dress blues, but she didn’t recognize them. Did they come with the funeral package? The neatly folded American Flag did.
“Mom, are you okay?” Casey whispered as her mother’s swollen eyes continued to produce a steady stream of tears. The preacher at the podium was talking about how Colonel Anderson had been an outstanding role model and made significant contributions to his country. Did this nice preacher with the silver hair even know what he was talking about? The preacher looked at her mom’s limp form and endless sobbing, he asked if the daughter would like to say a few words. Casey nodded no, that the daughter had nothing to add.
“Come on, Mom, let’s get you home.”
“I just can’t believe he’s gone. Oh, honey, this must be so hard on you, too.”
Casey held her mother up and escorted her to the car, opening the passenger side of her mother’s car so she could take them both back home.
“I think you need some rest, Mom.”
“You’ll stay with me?”
“Yes, Mom, I’ll stay tonight. I just have to feed Pumpkin in the morning.”
“Think about coming home. Moving back in. Think about the money you could save now that you have that new job.”
“Let’s get you home, Mom. A little food in your tummy.”
“We should have had a get together afterwards like other people do.”
Casey wanted to roll her eyes. Who would come? They moved all the time over the years which hadn’t allowed time for many friendships to develop for any of them, and really, it seemed like her parents were pretty anti-social anyway. Maybe her own lack of popularity was by default?
“We’ll just have our own get together, Mom. Just me and you.”
Casey wasn’t intimidated by her mom. If anything, annoyed with her at times. Always expecting Casey to keep her company, wanting her to miss out on normal high school things so she didn’t have to be alone. The Colonel had been the enforcer. He was the one who would nix the homecoming dances or slumber parties, but as she got older, it seemed quite possibly it was because he didn’t want to hear his wife moan and groan about being alone.
Stepping into the house with everything perfectly in place, his absence was obvious. His office door was closed as normal. When he was inside, sitting at his big, imposing desk, Casey would have to knock before she entered. When he was gone, or working out of town, the door was kept locked.
“Mom, do you mind if I take home a few of his books?” Was it too soon to ask this?
“Oh sure, honey, I’m sure he’d want you to have them. You and he, reading all the time.”
And she cleaning things that had been cleaned four minutes earlier. Casey finished her last bite of frozen pizza. Should have let it cook a few more minutes.
“I think I want to lie down,” her mom said, staring absent-mindedly at the wooden table.
“I think that’s a good idea. Let me help you upstairs.”
“I want to sleep on the couch again. One more night.”
“Mom, you’ve slept on that coach four nights now, Come on…you’re going to have to sleep in your own bed sooner or later.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
Helping her mother to the couch, she covered her with the big yellow blanket she’d brought down from the hall closet.
“Okay, you sleep tight. I’m going upstairs.”
“I love you, Casey. You are a good girl. The Colonel loved you too.”
“I know he did, Mom.”
Casey started up to her old bedroom. The daybed that replaced the one she took when she moved out was stiff. She looked forward to sleeping in her own bed, her own apartment. It had been four nights and her back was as stiff as the mattress felt. Walking past her parents’ room was the big, inviting king-sized bed. No reason to let that go to waste. But then, maybe it was some kind of violation to sleep under the covers? She grabbed the comforter from the day bed and flopped on to the big bed, falling fast asleep.
She awoke to the sunlight dancing across the covers and the sound of pots and pans downstairs. She’s cleaning. This is how she’s going to deal with it, she’s going to clean. Casey rubbed her eyes and sat up. Cleaning was her mother’s drug. If something was wrong or bothered her, there would be soap, or pine cleaner or soft blue powder from a can that would scrub toilets and sinks and counters. A clean-aholic. Did they have 12-steps programs for that? The Colonel and her mother never really fought. They might have closed-door discussions sometimes, but really, the only time Jan Anderson was upset, usually had to do with Casey upsetting her, and then, there would be hell to pay with the Colonel, and lots of clean counters. Things may not be perfect, but by God they would shine.
Fumbling from her parents’ bathroom, she flushed the toilet and caught site of the shower. Her mother had already cleaned it. Casey knew this because on the way home from the emergency room where her father was declared officially dead, her mother made her stop at the grocery store for tile cleaner.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I really need it.”
“Mom, why do you need tile cleaner?”
“I just do. I need it now.”
And so, like the good daughter she was programmed to be, Casey stopped at the store, leaving her shocked and mourning mother inside the car to go inside with her own state of shock to buy tile cleaner.
Later that same night, while Casey was trying to sort out the reality that her father was dead, she heard her mother upstairs scrubbing the shower. She cleaned it until it shone like a piece of art. That shower that he died in might never get used again. It may only be baths for Mom from here on out.
She checked herself in the mirror. Tired. The clanging of pots and pans traveled up the stairway. What had she found to clean in that already-sparkling kitchen? Then, there is was. The key chain. The sacred key chain that the Colonel carried in the front left pocket of his always pressed pants. The key to his office. Sacred key. Sacred office. She grabbed it like she had just found a silver dollar on the sidewalk. Quick and clean. It was hers.
Almost trotting down the staircase, Casey peeked into the kitchen to see her mother had effectively removed the entire contents of the cupboards. Pots and pans, glass lasagna dishes, cookie sheets…all of them, crowded and stacked on the counter, while her mother, on hands and knees, was wiping down the shelves. Casey shook her head in disbelief. They hadn’t even lived in the house more than a few years, and this was at least the third time her mom had cleaned them. There was the time when Casey got her car, and then, when she announced she was moving out. The last one hadn’t been but a few months ago so how the contact paper the spaghetti pot sat on could be dirty already was a mystery.
Turning back, she approached the closed door. She fit the key in the lock and was instantly filled with a sense of excitement which made her almost ashamed. It was her dad; no reason to feel guilty for wanting to go through his things. After all, someone will have to help her mom. She turned the key and softly opened the door. She knew this room well. It was, in fact, the same room that had been in all the other houses, all the other states. Every time they were transferred, the movers were shown this room and paid to pack it up and set it up exactly the same at the new home, wherever it might be.
Sitting at his desk, she stroked the fine wooden desktop and cool black leather chair. Maybe she would move home. Maybe she would sit in this office and feel important. She could look at all the books and pick up the phone and talk about classified military secrets. She reached for the first drawer on the left that contained a dozen or so files. Casey pulled a folder out. Home owner’s insurance, car insurance….she shuffled through the boring papers. Replacing the folder, she shut the drawer. Opening the next one, she found more of the same kind of boring papers…mostly military paperwork. Retirement, pension plan…stuff like that. When she went to whip open the final drawer, her hand pulled back. It was locked. She yanked it a few times to be sure.
Swiveling to the left and right several times, staring at that drawer, she considered the contents. Maybe money? Secret papers that talked about all the missions and projects he never told them about? She was letting all the mysteries books she read over the years get to her, and then the guilt for being so curious. But he was gone. The drawer was still there. Her mother was deep in mourning and scrubbing sponges and well, there was something inside that drawer that was plenty important enough that he wanted it under lock and key. She took a paperclip from the perfectly clean small bowl that housed them. Unbending it, she toyed with the lock. She was no locksmith. Wait…maybe the key to the drawer was on the same keychain that the key to the office was on…there was that little tiny key attached.
Grasping for the keychain she’d tossed carelessly on the corner of the desk when she first walked in, she stretched the ache out of her back; it felt much better having slept on a real bed. She slid the small key into the lock. Bingo. She slowly tugged the drawer open. Inside, she was disappointed; only one folder. One folder? All his banking and military work in unlocked drawers, and here, this big, almost empty drawer that was locked had only one folder?
She pulled the folder out and reclined back in the big chair, stopping first to listen. She wanted to make sure her mother was still busying herself with mindless cleaning before she started sneaking around looking at things unintended for her eyes.
The folder was old, but only slightly worn. She could tell, but she wasn’t sure how. She opened it up. There were three pages that seemed to be his will. She didn’t care much. Her mom would be well-cared for, and with that, she knew her mom would make sure Casey was well-cared for too. She scanned the pages with little interest. Yada, yada, yada….Last Will and Testament…yada, yada, yada…My wife….yada, yada. She started to stuff the pages back in the folder so she could lock up the door and go check on her mother. And that’s when she saw the paper that would change her life forever.
Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LS4wS0_vTPg
Author Bio:
Tamara Lee Dorris has been a life-long fan of personal and spiritual development, and has written several books that fall under the category of “self-help.” Casey’s Quest explores various aspects of spiritual development, brain science & the paranormal. Tamara She is also an adjunct professor, radio host, and long time real estate professional.
Connect with Tamara!
Website: www.tamaradorris.com
Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTamaraDorris
Goodreads author page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3349580.Tamara_Lee_Dorris
Twitter: @tamaradorris
Buy the Book!
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Caseys-Quest-Tamara-Dorris-ebook/dp/B00EE83696/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382654171&sr=8-1&keywords=casey%27s+quest
November 26, 2013
CLP Blog Tours Interview and Excerpt: Zoey & The Moment of Zen by Cat Lavoie
**Interview**
Can you describe Zoey & The Moment of Zen in a tweet (140 characters or less)?
Sent to a tropical resort against her will to get over an ex-boyfriend, Zoey comes back home with a new husband & a lot of explaining to do. 140 characters exactly!
Why was Zoey & The Moment of Zen a book you wanted to write?
I wanted to write this story because I’ve been where Zoey’s been—literally. I went to Mexico after a bad break-up to get away from everything. I got the idea for this book when I ended up in the hospital with food poisoning. Even though I was working on my debut novel at the time, I knew I was eventually going to write a story about a woman sent to Mexico by her friends and family to get over a broken heart. Of course, Zoey ended up having much more interesting tropical adventures!
What are you currently reading?
I’m reading (and loving!) Thirty-Two Going on Spinster by Becky Monson.
Do you experience writers block? Any tips on overcoming it?
All the time! When I really want to write but all I can do is stare at a blank page, I try to step away from the computer and get some fresh air or do some chores. And, sometimes, inspiration will strike when my mind is focused on something else. (Love when that happens!)
Where do you complete most of your writing? Any certain time of day that you prefer?
Most of my writing is done either during my lunch breaks at work or in the evenings. Even when I have the entire day to myself, I tend to wait until the end of the day to sit down at my desk and work. That’s when I’m most productive.
Are you currently working on another novel?
Yes, I’ve started working on my third novel. Even though I’m still in the outlining stage, I’m very excited about this new project about a woman going through a quarter-life crisis. There’s an evil co-worker and a hot chef, so I’ve been having a lot of fun with it!
**Excerpt**
Dar doesn’t talk to me for the entire drive home. Every time I try to say something or even start to apologize again, she turns up the radio or ignores me and talks to Dex.
I sit back and stare out the window as the unfamiliar buildings whizz by. What have I done? Dar and Dex are my best friends and I used them to get to Braden. This would never have happened if I had my own car. But I think that how I got to the restaurant is beside the point. The question is why. Why do I do this to myself?
“I still love him,” I say, and my words seem to linger in the silent car. Dex looks at me through the rear-view mirror for a few seconds but Dar doesn’t move.
“I wish you’d just let him go,” she finally says, her voice slightly softer than it was in the restaurant. “I wish you’d stop holding on to something that died a long time ago.”
I nod and close my eyes. Sometimes I wish that too—but part of me is convinced Braden will come back and we can start over. I’m sure Dar would say it’s the crazy and delusional part. I’d prefer to think it’s the hopeless romantic in me. But tonight the emphasis is on hopeless.
“Do you want to come up for a minute?” I ask when Dex parks the car in front of my building.
“No thanks,” Dar says. “I just want to head home.”
Watching her sitting there with her arms folded across her chest, I know Dar is really angry with me. One of the perks of inheriting a coffee shop from my parents is a pantry overflowing with different varieties of coffee. She never leaves my apartment without a week’s worth of caffeine.
“Just promise me something,” Dar says as I exit the car. “No more checking his voicemail. Please.”
“Okay.”
She nods and looks away, staring at the opposite side of the street.
“Dar will come around,” Dex says, walking me to my door. “Just give her some time.”
“I’m sorry about tonight.”
I can read the awkwardness all over Dex’s face. He used to be Braden’s best friend but they’ve barely spoken since Dar decided they were going to be loyal to me. I hate the fact that he’s stuck in the middle because of me.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, slapping me on the shoulder and giving me a tight smile.
I walk up the stairs and unlock my door. “Hey, Mocha,” I say, as my four-year old tabby leaps from the table and lands at my feet, purring and wrapping herself around my leg. I know she’s only happy to see me because I’m going to fill up her bowl with food but still, it’s nice to know that not everyone feels the need to run away from me.
There’s a framed picture of me and Braden in the living room—it’s the first thing you see when walk into the apartment. It was taken three years ago at a Christmas party. While Braden is flawless in his crisp white shirt, I look like a sea creature. My makeup is smudged and my hair is matted down. I’d dyed it jet black in a moment of temporary insanity a few months earlier and—by the time this picture was taken—my red roots were clearly showing. I can tell by the smug smirk on my face and by the way I’m clutching Braden’s arm that I’ve had too many fruity pink cocktails. I look away in disgust. Why haven’t I ripped this picture to shreds?
If Dar had her way, I’d throw away every single thing that reminds me of Braden. Burning this entire place to the ground would be the only way to erase everything. Because it isn’t only pictures that remind me of Braden—it’s the dent he made in the kitchen wall when we were moving the fridge and it’s the coffee mug collection we started together that grew so large we had to put half of it in storage. We’d laugh every time one of us bought a new one—the tackier the better—because we only ever used the same one. I still drink from my London Calling mug even though it’s chipped. His blue J’aime Paris one is on the counter and I swear Dar would send it smashing to the ground if I had my back turned long enough. But I never do.
Author Bio:
Cat Lavoie lives in Montreal, Canada with her tempestuous cat, Abbie. Her debut novel,Breaking the Rules, was published in August 2012 by Marching Ink. If Cat isn’t reading or writing, she’s most likely watching too much TV or daydreaming about her next trip to London.
To find out more about Cat and her books, please visitwww.CatLavoie.com
Connect with Cat!
Website: http://www.CatLavoie.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Catenabi
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CatLavoieAuthor
Buy the Book!
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Amazon
Marching Ink
November 18, 2013
CLP Blog Tours Novel Spotlight: Tiara Trouble by Lane Buckman
See my 5 star review on Chick Lit Plus!
What happens when Dynasty meets Honey BooBoo, they have a baby, and that baby is raised by Charlie’s Angels? You get TIARA TROUBLE, a bedazzled cozy mystery full of gritty glitz.
One foreign policy question five years ago sent Destinee Faith Miller’s dreams of being Miss American Universe up in flames and landed her back in her hometown of Phenix City, Alabama, with her tail between her legs. But like the mythological bird that her hometown is misspelled after, she rose from the ashes to create Destinee’s Dolls, a thriving pageant consulting business knee-deep in pink, prints and tulle.
A death at the local level of a national event lands her the job of pageant emcee, and Destinee dares to dream of bigger things—maybe even a reality TV show! But when judges start dropping like flies, she has her hands full keeping herself alive long enough to see those dreams come true. Contending with catfights, car bombs, and the camouflage-colored funeral of a redneck’s dream, Destinee gets a little help from her friends, family, and a pit bull named Clarabelle.
**Everyone who leaves a comment on the tour page will be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Anyone who purchases their copy of Tiara Trouble before November 18 and sends their receipt to Samantha (at) ChickLitPlus (dot) com, will get five bonus entries.**
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Author Bio:
Lane Buckman is a former beauty queen from Phenix City, Alabama. Growing up, she wanted to be Miss America, a criminal lawyer, a super model, the President, a Bond girl, a brain surgeon, a journalist, a back-up singer for Duran Duran, and a college professor of Medieval Literature. In order to fulfill those dreams, she became a writer. She lives in Texas with her family, and enjoys every miserably hot second of it.
Connect with Lane!
www.lanebuckman.com
www.facebook.com/lanebuckmanauthor
www.twitter.com/lanelese
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18430826-tiara-trouble?from_search=true
Buy the Book!
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/TROUBLE-Destine-Miller-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00EWSB3GG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382403186&sr=8-1&keywords=tiara+trouble
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tiara-trouble-lane-buckman/1116793010?ean=9781939816160
November 14, 2013
Book 3 Update – Almost Cover Time!
I haven’t done a book update for a while – what a busy time I’ve been having. Getting married (that old thing?) publishing for Cat Lavoie via Marching Ink (if you haven’t read Zoey & The Moment of Zen yet, you should!), gearing up to publish for Laura Chapman in December, and traveling to Canada for BookBuzz Toronto – my schedule has been a little full! But no, my book hasn’t been abandoned and lost in the shuffle. I finished up my final proofing last month, will be handing it off to the formatter is about two weeks, and my cover designer starts December 2. I’m looking around February or so to publish, and I’m just so excited to get this one out there! I’ve said before that it’s very different from my first two books, more mature and a bit suspenseful, but the feedback I received from my incredible beta readers just has me so anxious! I was really nervous to step outside of my “writer box” and push myself to try something new, and I’m thrilled with the end result. I’m 
literally counting the days until my cover design will start – even though I have no clue yet what I want on the cover! The fabulous Scarlett Rugers will be working with me though, so I know between the two of us we’ll come up with something amazing. Hopefully I’ll share something before then but if not – you’ll know what my next post will be about! 
PS – I’m sharing here a photo from BookBuzz Toronto, which I mentioned above. I’m hoping to get a post written up shortly about the experience, which was incredible. I can’t wait to do it again!
November 11, 2013
Cover Reveal: Hard Hats and Doormats by Laura Chapman
Synopsis
Lexi Burke has always been a stickler for following rules and procedures. As a human resources manager for a leading Gulf Coast chemical company, it’s her job to make sure everyone else falls in line, too.
But after losing out on a big promotion––because her boss sees her as too much of a yes-woman––Lexi adopts a new policy of following her heart instead of the fine print. And her heart knows what it wants: Jason Beaumont, a workplace crush who is off limits based on her previous protocol.
While navigating a new romance and interoffice politics, Lexi must find the confidence to stand on her own or face a lifetime of following someone else’s orders.
Who says nice girls have to finish last?
To celebrate the cover reveal for her debut novel, author Laura Chapman is sharing behind-the-scenes tidbits about the making of Hard Hats and Doormats with her “Hard Hat Confessions.” Visit http://change-the-word.blogspot.com/2013/11/hardhatsanddoormatscover.html to read the confessions.
Laura Chapman found a way to mix her love of romance and humor as a women’s fiction author and blogger. A 2008 graduate of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, Laura studied journalism, English and history. She traveled across the United States as a writer/photographer before settling into a career in communications. She also maintains Change the Word, a blog devoted to promoting women’s fiction and documenting her experiences as a writer. Born and raised in Nebraska – in a city, not on a farm – she is a devoted fan of football, British period drama, writing in bars and her cats, Jane and Bingley. Hard Hats and Doormats is her debut novel.
Connect with Laura
Website (http://www.laurachapmanbooks.com/)
Blog (http://change-the-word.blogspot.com/)
Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/laurachapman...)
October 31, 2013
CLP Blog Tours Spotlight: The Three Month Plan by Kimberley Patterson
**Excerpt**
Chapter One – Kelly
The boardwalk wasn’t as crowded today, but it was still early, and the fog hadn’t yet cleared even though it was afternoon. San Diego fell victim to June gloom every year, and it always seemed to wait until summer had officially started. The patio on the Breakwater Café was the perfect place to sit and people watch and crush on the surplus of college students. It was an eclectic mix of teenagers and twenty-somethings flecked with small families here and there, not to mention this was the only restaurant in the area that had a man-made wave machine. When the sand was empty and the weather still cold, this was a popular hangout. It had only been two weeks since I graduated from high school and I was convinced now that it was summer I’d have more options for a boyfriend.
“I just don’t get it,” I complained. “Sara Jennings has a great guy and she is awful.”
“You just have to be patient, Kel. It’s not like you haven’t had your share of dates,” my friend Michelle assured me, “Besides, you’re only eighteen.”
Michelle was right. It wasn’t for the lack of trying; it just seemed all the wrong guys clung to me like lint on velvet. I went through all of the stereotypes: the jock focused only on his next score; the quiet boy that couldn’t open up; I even dated a nerd that spoke in sexual innuendos. I was ready for a real boyfriend, somebody I could be serious with.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Michelle said, pointing in the direction I was staring. “Him?”
“What?” I smiled, taking another sip from my soda.
“No offense, but you do know he’s totally out of your league,” Michelle replied. I just ignored her and kept staring in his direction, admiring his short, dark hair. His eyes had a piercing blue quality that reminded me of the blue in the ocean. His casual demeanor showed in his flip flops, grey t-shirt and black and grey board shorts that hung low on his hips as he prepared to start the wave machine.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, meeting Michelle’s gaze. “But, I bet he’d be interested if he knew my awesomely charming personality.” I grinned.
“Is that a challenge?” Michelle snickered. “You wanna make a bet?”
I just laughed and shook my head. “Um, no,” I said flatly. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“It’s not like you have anything to lose,” Michelle teased. “You don’t start your yoga training for another three months anyways.”
I replied wistfully, “But he doesn’t even know I exist.” I looked toward him as he continued to ready the machine and talk to the crowd that had gathered. He yelled for the people to form a line – his voice deep, sexy and made me flush at the sound of it.
“That is what it looks like, isn’t it?” Michelle said dryly, looking in the same direction as me.
“Besides,” I explained, “he probably has a ton of girls throwing themselves at him.” I sighed and looked down to my lap disappointed at my own lack of confidence.
“You can always ask Brian to introduce you.” Michelle grinned at me.
I felt the heat really fan my cheeks. “Nooo, I’d be way too embarrassed.”
Michelle looked at the guy again and said, “C’mon Kel, do you see how hot he is?” She lifted one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Three months,” Michelle said, looking back towards me, smiling softly.
“Three months for what?” I asked, meeting her gaze.
“The bet. You have that much time to get him to date you,” Michelle replied smugly. “You can call it the three month plan.”
“You’re serious about that?” I laughed, but was cut short when I realized Michelle was serious. My expression quickly faded to a dull stare.
“I wish you could see your expression right now.” Michelle chuckled.
I paused at the silence, contemplating the challenge as I gazed in his direction. He was smiling to his latest customer who had entered the restaurant and climbed in line for the machine. Michelle had a point. I planned on making this a summer to remember. I wasn’t enrolled in college this fall since I had decided to take a year off before starting. And the yoga teacher training program didn’t begin until four months from now. “You know,” I replied with a newfound confidence, “I think that’s perfect.”
Michelle’s mouth fell open in surprise that all her prodding worked. “So in three months you will have landed him is what you are saying?” Michelle asked in disbelief.
“Yeah. One way or another,” I laughed. “I’m gonna’ do, wear, and say everything that I would imagine a guy like that would want me to do.”
Michelle grinned. “You’re crazy. A guy like that is gonna’ want you wearing nothing.”
“Very funny, Michelle.” I playfully slapped her hands from across the table. “But since you were so instrumental in creating this bet, I am going to need your help.”
“I was just kidding,” Michelle laughed. “Why am I getting dragged into this? You should ask Brian to help you.”
“Well, you certainly encouraged it,” I responded and looked at the guy again. “But you’re right, how else am I going to get into his head, without some guy’s input?”
“I’m sure his head isn’t the only place you want to get in to,” Michelle smiled. “Virginity is overrated anyways.”
My face flushed, “You’re a bad influence, and you know that, right? I’m not going to sleep with him.” I must admit my mind did have a tendency to drift to such things. I’d never allowed the guys I’ve dated get very far with me, but watching him had me fantasizing of pressing against his lean body.
“Of course. But you still love me anyways.” She grinned.
“Yes, yes I do. But that may change after this whole three month plan is over.” I cocked my head to the side sarcastically.
“Well, you had better get started then,” Michelle said. “And your first step might be getting rid of what looks like competition.” She lifted her head and looked behind me.
I turned my head slowly to see him casually talking with what looked to be a supermodel. She twirled her naturally curly long blonde hair around her perfectly manicured pink nails, while batting her lashes up at him. Her low cut, cleavage revealing top left little to the imagination as she pressed her chest against his. She was thin, leggy, and annoying already even though I had never met her. “Uhm,” Brian cleared his throat, startling me. “Do you want any more drinks?” He arched his eyebrow at me, and I realized I had been scowling. I swear he was meant to be a spy the way he seemed to sneak up on us. Brian was my oldest friend, and before we were friends I had a huge crush on him. He never knew, and I was too afraid to tell him and ruin our friendship. Now he was more like a brother to me, although a much cuter brother than I imagined I’d have. Brian worked here part time as a server. It was yet another reason we came here. He always gave us a great discount.
“Brian, thank God you’re here,” Michelle hurriedly said, “Do you know who that guy is over there talking to that girl?”
“Who, the new guy?” Brian replied, motioning the direction of the hot guy as Michelle nodded. “Oh, that’s Jake; he just started two weeks ago.”
Michelle looked at me and smiled.
“Jake,” I mouthed, a slight smile turning up my lip on one side.
Brian just laughed, “Sorry, girls. You might wanna’ get in line for that one. You see that blonde girl he’s talking to? That’s his girlfriend.” He nodded toward the Amazon girl. “And you see all those other girls in line. Well, let’s just say they aren’t in line for the machine.”
Crap. This isn’t going to work. I mumbled under my breath.
**Everyone who leaves a comment on the tour page will be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Anyone who purchases their copy of The Three Month Plan before November 11 and sends their receipt to Samantha (at) ChickLitPlus (dot) com, will get five bonus entries.**
Author Bio:
Horses were one of my first loves, and writing soon followed. As a child, I spent hours writing poems, and short stories (about horses). My parents realized that I was horse-obsessed and decided to buy me one after taking riding lessons for two years. I think they hoped that all of the hard work, and hours spent mucking stalls would help me give up this expensive hobby. They were wrong. Writing is still a passion of mine, although now I primarily write fiction. My first novel, Red Rock, was published in 2010, and big surprise, there are horses in it. My second novel, The Three Month Plan was released August 2013.
Other Loves: My family, yoga, skincare and makeup, sushi, and raising money for pediatric cancer. I have two rescue dogs and would have more if there weren’t zoning restrictions. I’m always trying something new, as I tend to get bored very easily. Thankfully, my love of driving around with the gas light on fuels some excitement. I love novels with happy endings, and am a hopeful romantic. My latest obsession is browsing Netflix, and I can name all 50 states in alphabetical order in under 30 seconds. Do I feel a wager coming on?
To read more about Kimberley or to purchase her books please visit the following links:
http://kimberleypatterson.wordpress.com
http://kimberleyskincare.wordpress.com
October 25, 2013
CLP Blog Tours Interview and Excerpt: Secrets of a Spiritual Guru by Tamara Lee Dorris
**Interview**
When did you know writing was for you?
Ever since I was a small child I enjoyed telling stories. At age 11 I discovered John Boy Walton and wanted to be just like him.
How would you describe your books?
All of my books have an underlying theme of spiritual development, although I tend to hide it in story.
Why was Secrets of a Spiritual Guru a book you wanted to write?
I wanted to write something that would make people laugh and relate (the spiritual development theme is still there, though).
What is the hardest part of the writing process for you?
Ending stories. I love the entire process, but I sometimes am challenged with how to stop the story.
What are your favorite genres to read?
Spiritual and personal development, chick lit, and drama
What do you want readers to take away from your story?
Self love. Lofty, I know.
How important do you think social media is for authors these days?
Super. Having author blog tours is the most brilliant thing I’ve ever heard of. I remember pre-social media days, sitting at a Border’s waiting for people to show up for my book signings. Bleck! Social media is key to an author’s success.
What would be your advice to aspiring writers?
Don’t give up your day job. Just kidding. If your HAVE to write, then you have a message that needs to be shared. Write when you can and never give up.
**Excerpt**
In two days I will be closing the biggest deal in two years. And in two months, I will have a birthday. I am ecstatic about the first one and suicidal about the second. A little about me: Previously, I spent eleven years in the retail industry, mostly squandering my paychecks on the employee discount. I like cute clothes. Eventually, though, I decided to get my real estate license. Five minutes later, the market crashed.
I am one of the lucky ones, though, because for one thing I live with my boyfriend, Ron, who has been around for several years now. OK, four years, eight months, and two days. How do I know this definite time frame? Because my mother reminds me weekly when we chat. I am certain she keeps a little calendar next to the phone entitled, How Long Since Melissa and Ron Have Been Dating Without Getting Married and Giving Me a Grandchild. And it’s not really a weekly chat as much as it is a guilt call, as in, if I don’t call her at least once a week she makes me feel even more guilty than she does about the fact I’ve not yet produced offspring for her viewing pleasure.
Now, about Ron: He’s a nice guy, really, and pretty cute, too. He’s nice in the sit-on-the-couch-with-a-beer-yelling-at-the-television-screen-when-his-team-is-losing kind of way. Oh, and he has become a bit of an Internet fiend lately. Always on the damn computer. Ron is the one who convinced me to get my real estate license. He said, “You’ve been selling clothes for years; I bet you’d be great at houses.” While Ron had the ability to see the big picture, I found it difficult to imagine that selling houses would be anything at all like working in the Women’s Fine Fashion Department of Haddock’s. After all, it isn’t like you can stand outside the dressing room while someone tries on a house. And customers get so agitated when they try to return a cardigan; what happens when it’s a condo?
Ron reminded me that with my own condo paid off (thanks to my father’s life insurance policy), and him covering the rest of our expenses (which is precisely how I donated so much of each paycheck to my special clothing and wine account) that living on commission would be a breeze, I would spend less on clothes (I knew he’d been snooping in my closet), and that when I did sell a house, it would be big money. So, I took the required classes online, passed the state exam, and suddenly found dozens of brokers pursuing me. OK, there were actually only two, but they both wanted me really badly. I choose Cal State Realty. Mostly because it’s close to my condo, and the broker reminds me of Sean Connery (without the accent).
My mother, of course, had a coronary over me giving up such a “promising” career as assistant department manager of such a “fine establishment” where she got to enjoy my employee discounts almost as much as I did.
“Oh, honey, I think it’s fine you got your real estate license, but you can’t be serious about quitting Haddock’s. There’s this cute little handbag I saw in the window last week—”
“Yes, Mom,” I say, cutting her off, but knowing exactly which handbag she’s referring to. “I’ve got enough saved, and of course I have Ron…” my words trail off as I consider what shoes I could wear with that damn purse.
“But I just read that the housing market is crashing. Things are going to get really bad.”
“I know, but really, I need a change, and I already have a deal in escrow. Do you realize the commission will be like four paychecks?”
My mother sits silent on the other end.
“Well, that was pretty easy,” she finally says, referring to the fact that I only took this nice couple out one time, wrote an offer that day, and did most of the paperwork in an hour or two.
“I know! Just imagine if I am not dead-dog tired from being on my feet all day, hanging up clothes and smiling at rude women.” And staying up drinking wine and eating ice cream from the container.
Author Bio:
Tamara Lee Dorris has been a life-long fan of personal and spiritual development, and has written several books that fall under the category of “self-help.” She wrote Secrets of a Spiritual Guru as a way of poking fun at how easy it is to become an online expert. Her other novels revolve around contemporary issues and spiritual enlightenment. Tamara is also an adjunct professor, radio host, and long time real estate professional who has gone crazy selling houses, loves yoga, drinks wine and is still as addicted as ever to personal development. She lives in Northern California with a bunch of annoying animals and her husband. She has four kids that she likes a lot and a mother that drives her nuts.
Learn more at tamaradorris.com.
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