Victoria Adams's Blog, page 3

A simple solution to communication problems between people #motivation

Simply -- listen to understand.
Put your ego aside and use your ears.

One last look at Dancing in Circles on MFRW's Book Hooks #MFRWAuthor #MFRWhooks,

I am slowly closing down my blog. This will be the last scene from my contemporary NA romance - Dancing in Circles - Book 1 of Circles Trilogy. It's a bit long - but it's the last one and I doubt anyone even reads this.
Scene Set- Robert and Julie have become friends, but he is inexplicably missing.



As Julie drove to dance class, she wondered where Robert disappeared to. He hadn't been to class since his argument with Francine last week. She pulled off the off-ramp and turned onto Tenth Street when she spotted a person entering a fast food restaurant wearing a Shoresmen jacket. Pulling a quick u-turn, she parked and entered the restaurant. From his short, slim build and light hair, Julie guessed it was Robert's best friend, Paul. He sat at a booth, munching on a hamburger and french fries.She slipped into a seat across from him. "Hi. Remember me? I'm Robert's friend, Julie. Do you know where he is? He hasn't been to—"Paul nodded and swallowed. "Let me finish. I'll take ya." He wolfed the last two bites of his meal, grabbed his drink and directed her to his car. It was an older model, customized in a deep royal blue interior with a bride's garter hung on the rear-view mirror. He unlocked the door. "Follow me."Julie hesitated."It's ok." Paul held the door. "I may be Bob's best friend, but he'd still cut me down in a second if I hurt ya."Julie followed as he drove to North Shore and parked next to him near an old tenement. He led her up a flight of dark, worn, wooden stairs. Her nose wrinkled at the obnoxious odours in the hall. Her fight or flight reflex kicked in – flight taking charge. She fought her fears and held her ground. He opened an apartment door and motioned to her to enter. Julie looked into Paul's face for any sign this was a trap. Seeing nothing to scare her into leaving, she entered the room.It was lack-luster and furnished with cheap imitations of good quality furniture. Robert slept on a worn couch. His Shoresmen jacket lay in a heap onto the floor. A bruise covered part of his left cheek. Both the cut on his swollen lower lip and above his right eyebrow were raw.Paul tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. "I think his ribs are bruised.""What happened?""Mike.""His brother did this to him?" Julie looked back at Robert and shuddered."Yea, Lauren spit out some trash talk crap about him. Bob's great in a fight. He's tough, cunning and unbeatable. 'Cept for Mike. When they was kids, Mike beat on him all the time. Bob, he won't fight back when Mike hits him, so he loses every time." Paul shook him. "Bob, wake up. Ya got company."Robert opened his eyes. They weren't the same sensual ones, which melted her heart the first time he looked at her. Instead, these eyes reflected pain.She knelt beside him. "Hi."He said nothing. She read in his eyes, she was the last person he wanted to see. She gave him a soft kiss on an undamaged part of his lips. "Don't talk. Let's go. I'll take you to my place."Robert tried to argue, but a wave of pain stopped him."You're sick and injured. Let me take you home.""No." His voice was hoarse and breathless.She stood. "Either you come willingly, or I'll drag you down those stairs myself.""I don't want your pity, and I don't need your sympathy." His eyes darkened with anger.Too infuriated to listen to his words, Julie stammered, "My pity…my symp—" She fought to control her temper. "Is that what you think this is? Then you're stupider than I thought. This is simply concern from one friend to another. At least that's what I thought we were. If any of your brains are still unscrambled, use them. Let's go."





Dancing in Circles. One born into privilege and a charmed life surrounded by love and family. The other born to a life of violence on the streets as the solemn gang leader of the notorious Shoresmen. A young, idealistic co-ed, Julie, meets a jaded, cold gang member, Robert, and cracks his icy shell, allowing the warmth of her love to awaken his soul.
Buy link - Dancing in Circles -  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009PFNPMG

What people are saying  5 Stars - I loved the cover, as well as the story. I liked the school setting, and the description in the beginning of Julie and her friends. Julie is the dreamer, searching for a happy ending. I also liked Robert, who is a "bad boy" gang leader, "from the wrong side of the tracks," etc. One of Julie's relatives says he has a heart of gold, and he does. He's smart and practical and I think he's great.






What’s up and coming on Victoria’s Pages of Romance9- Blog Available10-Blog Available11- Author Spotlight – Kimberly Kincaid – Crossing Hearts12- Blog Available13- Author Spotlight – Daryl Devore – What Happens in Bangkok14- Author Spotlight – Me – it's valentines15- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 16 – Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts17 - Blog Available18 - Author Spotlight – Code Redhead – Proceeds to Children's Cancer Research19-author spotlight - RE Hargrave - Sugar & Spice 20- Author Spotlight – Denise Deegan – Through the Barricades21- Author Spotlight –22- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 23- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 24- Blog Available25 – Author Spotlight – Suz deMello – Rakes in Tartan26 – Blog Available27 – Author Spotlight – Nicky Wells – Dead Hope28 - Author Spotlight –
If you see an available spot and would like to post on that day - leave a comment with your email and I'll get back to you ASAP.

Clair Brett's Dealing with the Viscount #regency #historical #romance

[image error] DEALING WITH THE VISCOUNTImproper Wives for Proper Lords (Book 1)by Clair BrettGenre: Regency Historical Romance
Does she dare gamble on the one man who wants her to go all in, or risk losing her most important hand yet?

After making a wager of marriage to settle her father’s gambling debts, Ella Bowen-Thorn Renwick escaped the husband she foolishly began to fall for and disappeared into the Scottish countryside carrying a secret. Four years later, and the owner of her own bakery, she is still not free of the demands of men when a violent and anonymous blackmailer threatens her, her livelihood… and her daughter. And then, there is him…

Viscount Renwick still mourns the wife he began to love before her untimely death-- that is, until he discovers her alive and well living in Scotland. Now, Devon’s face to face with the wife he thought he’d buried and the daughter he never knew existed. He’d like nothing more than to welcome Ella back into his arms, but mysterious and troubling incidents and a history with an unloving father have Ella trusting no one.

Now he’ll do anything, even make a wager he isn’t sure he can win, to reclaim what he lost.

But, if Renwick convinces his wife he’s the husband she always dreamed of and the father their daughter deserves, will the scandalous secret the blackmailer is holding threaten their future together once more?

“You like being a baker?” He asked with genuine curiosity and surprise.

"Well, the hours are atrocious, but do I like making my own way? The answer is yes. I make the decisions and there is no one to tell me what I am doing is wrong. It is a good feeling."

"You know, it is possible to depend on someone and not be frightened they would ridicule you."

She turned then and looked up at him. Was he saying he would never ridicule her? "I think it is human nature for a man to always question a woman's decision.” They had made their way to the folly which she hadn't realized was overgrown with vines affording its occupants with complete privacy. He was calculating, she would give him that.

"Two people can have differing views on a topic without ridicule. I have seen it." He helped her sit on the bench, then propped his booted foot on the seat next to her and rested his arm on his raised knee leaning down to face her. "If the two people see each other as equals it can work. Just like two business partners."

"Do you truly feel that marriage is a business venture?” She asked all innocent. She gave him her best card face hoping not to give away the importance of his answer. He studied her face. She knew he guessed his answer couldn't be so simple as a yes, or no. After several moments he attempted to answer.

"Well, I think that anytime two individuals are joined in a common goal, that yes they must treat each other as a partner. I daresay the benefits far outweigh most business ventures. Unfortunately, I can't answer past that, because I have never spent much time considering what a marriage would entail, until now. I am terribly out of my element here. You lived in a home with both parents for some time what say you?” He had answered her question in such a way that he didn't answer it at all. Blast! Birds chirped as they jumped among the vines of their haven. The air seemed heavy and warm. More like a summer day than spring. He waited. She knew she couldn't answer him using her own parents, because she would never want what they had. She would not accept anything but a love match. Instead she spoke of the one example she had. The baker and his wife who took her in when she needed it most.

"I do know something of how a true marriage can work. It was not a Ton marriage. The two people were a team as you said. They worked together every day listening to each other, but it was more than that. You couldn't see it or even explain it, but it was how they looked at each other. How they spoke to one another even when they were disagreeing. I think it was very rare, and possibly unattainable.” He shifted and turned to walk to the other side of the gazebo leaving a cool breeze in his wake, making her shiver.

"You are talking of a love match?" he asked with his back turned to her. She couldn't read anything in his words.

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Dragon keeper and historical romance author, Clair Brett lives in NH with her hard working husband, and two teenaged daughters. Her office staff during the day consists of Cinta, a black cat and the matriarch of the fur babies, Mojo, a yellow kitten who spends his day holding Clair down in her seat to get her word count in, a boxer/beagle mix puppy named Willow, who sleeps next to her chair to make it hard to do an Oreo run without doing a pee run as well, a hermit crab who keeps to himself, and a bearded dragon, who is kind of upper management.

A former middle and high school English teacher, Clair has had a lifetime love affair with reading. Once she read Pride and Prejudice as an extra read in high school, she was hooked. Clair began pursuit of publication when she was a new mother in need of a hobby. Her oldest daughter will be graduating in 2017, so you do the math. Clair is a firm believer that a reader finds a piece of who they are or learns something about the world with every book they read. She wants her readers to be empowered and to have a refreshed belief in the goodness of people and the power of love after reading her work.

Goodreads ✯ Twitter ✯ Facebook ✯ Amazon ✯ Website ✯ Pinterest



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What’s up and coming on Victoria’s Pages of Romance8- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 9- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 10- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 11- Author Spotlight – Kimberly Kincaid – Crossing Hearts12- Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday13- Author Spotlight – Daryl Devore – What Happens in Bangkok14- Author Spotlight – Me – it's valentines15- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 16 – OtherWords  #ThursThoughts 17 - Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 18 - Author Spotlight – Code Redhead – Proceeds to Children's Cancer Research19- author spotlight - RE Hargrave - Sugar & Spice 20- Author Spotlight – Denise Deegan – Through the Barricades21- Author Spotlight –22- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 23- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 24- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 25 – Author Spotlight – Suz deMello – Rakes in Tartan26 – Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday27 – Author Spotlight – Nicky Wells – Dead Hope28 - Author Spotlight –
If you see an available spot and would like to post on that day - leave a comment with your email and I'll get back to you ASAP.

Thriller - Her Brother's Keeper by J.J. DiBenedetto #thriller

HER BROTHER'S KEEPERThe Jane Barnaby Adventures, book 3
by J.J. DiBenedetto
Genre:Thriller/Suspense

Jane Barnaby has planned the perfect Christmas vacation. Her father and his fiancé are joining her in Spain at her archaeological dig. They’ll see her work, meet her mentor, and they’ll all enjoy a few days of sunny Mediterranean beaches in the dead of winter.

But it all falls apart when Jane’s annoying (younger?) brother tags along and lands in jail for a crime he didn’t commit.

To clear her brother’s name, all Jane has to do is chase a wily female con-artist across Europe, catch her, and confront the woman and her accomplices. Oh, and outwit an ex-KGB agent and his personal goon squad along the way.



God, I wish you were here. Not just because I miss you, although obviously I do. And not just because this is yet another Christmas we’re not spending together, which is kind of ridiculous when you think about it. We’ve been dating for three years now, and we still haven’t spent a major holiday together. That’s just not right.

The biggest reason I wish you were here is that, if you were, I wouldn’t be where I am right now. Which is on a plane headed to Vienna.

I’m sure you’re asking yourself right now, “Why, Barnaby? What are you doing flying to Austria?”

Well, I’m flying there to try and find a Russian woman possibly named Natasha who seduced my brother, drugged his drink and left him behind as a patsy for the police to find while she stole jewelry from a princess. Aren’t you glad you asked?

If you were here, you would have been with us at the hotel, and you would have warned my brother away from Natasha. By the way, I refuse to believe that’s her actual name. Does she have a partner named Boris, too?

Does she fight a moose and a squirrel every week?



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FINDERS KEEPERS - 99 cents
It should have been a simple job. All archaeology student Jane Barnaby had to do was pick up a box her professor needed and deliver it to him at his dig site, along with his new car. Yes, his office was in Oxfordshire, and his dig site was in Spain, a trip of 1,400 miles across three countries and two bodies of water. Still, it should have been simple.

And it was, until Jane discovered she picked up the wrong box by mistake. Not the one with boring pottery samples, but instead the one with priceless ancient Egyptian artifacts. The one that a team of international art thieves is after.

Now she’s chasing – and being chased by – the thieves. And she’s picked up a pair of passengers who claim they can help her outwit them, get her professor’s pottery back and return the artifacts to their rightful owner. If only she could figure out which one of them is working with the thieves and which one she can trust in this high-stakes game of finders keepers.

LOSERS WEEPERS - 99 cents
Jane Barnaby had everything going her way: a prestigious internship at the Museum of Natural History, a fantastic Upper West Side sublet apartment, and helping plan her newly-engaged college friend's wedding.

Until a casual lunch with her friend’s fiancé set off alarm bells, and sent her digging into the rabbit hole that is his past.

When that rabbit hole leads Jane and her on-again, off-again boyfriend to the English countryside, uncovering secrets dating back to World War 2, searching for priceless art treasures looted by the Nazis, and fighting off the thieves who will kill to get those treasures for themselves, will they discover the truth, or lose their lives?



J.J. (James) Dibenedetto's fans would swear he's got a sixth sense when it comes to seeing into the minds of others and often wonder if his stories could possibly be fiction. He enjoys suspending disbelief with suspenseful paranormal tales that are a perfect blend of reality meets fantasy.

His popular Dream Series continues to delight readers with each and every exciting installment.

Born in Yonkers, New York, he currently resides in Arlington Virginia with his beautiful wife and a cat he is sure has taken full advantage of its nine lives. When it comes to the cat, he often wonders, but then again it might just be his imagination.

Amazon ✯ FaceBook ✯ Twitter ✯ Goodreads ✯ Website


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What’s up and coming on Victoria’s Pages of Romance7- Author Spotlight – Clair Brett – Dealing with the Viscount8- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 9- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 10- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 11- Author Spotlight – Kimberly Kincaid – Crossing Hearts12- Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday13- Author Spotlight – Daryl Devore – What Happens in Bangkok14- Author Spotlight – Me – it's valentines15- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 16 – OtherWords  #ThursThoughts 17 - Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 18 - Author Spotlight – Code Redhead – Proceeds to Children's Cancer Research19- author spotlight - RE Hargrave - Sugar & Spice 20- Author Spotlight – Denise Deegan – Through the Barricades21- Author Spotlight –22- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 23- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 24- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 25 – Author Spotlight – Suz deMello – Rakes in Tartan26 – Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday27 – Author Spotlight – Nicky Wells – Dead Hope28 - Author Spotlight –
If you see an available spot and would like to post on that day - leave a comment with your email and I'll get back to you ASAP.

A motivational quote from the Bard himself #motivational

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He was more than a great writer- he was a wise man.

oh - by the way - Happy Groundhog Day.

How has being a writer changed your experience as a reader? #IWSG

Link Back to IWSG
Insecure Writer's Support Group created by Alex J. Cavanaugh
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!

Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer's Support Group day. We share our thoughts - talk about our doubts and fears. Or we can offer a word of encouragement to others. 
Co-hosts for this month are:
Misha Gericke
LK Hill
Juneta Key
Joylene Buter


Question for this month - How has being a writer changed your experience as a reader?

I read less than I used to - for pleasure that is. Now I grab an old favourite and snuggle down with it when I'm tired of writing or edits or promotion. People are always asking, "Have you read Xs latest?" 
I'm always replying, "No." 
Then I get that "what?????" look.
I've found if I'm in edit mode then I can't enjoy what I'm reading as I'm checking for errors - deepest apologies Agatha Christie.
I've also noticed I'm much more critical of a TV show or movie if I've spent all day critiquing someone's chapter/book or going through edits on my work.
I never used to notice "plot holes" etc when I read or watched TV.
When I do spot the "errors" in a book, do I toss it across the room and wail how the errors ripped me from the story and therefore ruined my life?!?!
No. I snort then accept we are all human and therefore fallible and move on. 
And now back to that annoying rewrite that is taking me forever.
Hmmm....wonder what I've got that I haven't read lately?




What’s up and coming on Victoria’s Pages of Romance2- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 3- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 4- Blog Available5 - Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday6- Author Spotlight – J.J. Dibenedetto – Her Brother's Keeper7- Author Spotlight – Clair Brett – Dealing with the Viscount8- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 9- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 10- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 11- Author Spotlight – Kimberly Kincaid – Crossing Hearts12- Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday13- Author Spotlight – Daryl Devore – What Happens in Bangkok14- Author Spotlight – Me – it's valentines15- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 16 – OtherWords  #ThursThoughts 17 - Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 18 - Author Spotlight – Code Redhead – Proceeds to Children's Cancer Research19- author spotlight - RE Hargrave - Sugar & Spice 20- Author Spotlight – Denise Deegan – Through the Barricades21- Author Spotlight –22- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 23- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 24- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 25 – Author Spotlight – Suz deMello – Rakes in Tartan26 – Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday27 – Author Spotlight – Nicky Wells – Dead Hope28 - Author Spotlight –
If you see an available spot and would like to post on that day - leave a comment with your email and I'll get back to you ASAP.

A little Luck, A Lot of Fate - Linn B Halton's latest #choclit #romance

A LITTLE LUCK, A LOT OF FATE BY LINN B HALTON

Genre: Romance/contemporary women’sRelease Date: 23 October 2016Publisher: Choc Lit UK
When destiny calls, you need to pick up …
On the surface, Kristi Danielson has it all. She’s lifestyle coach to the rich and famous, has a bestselling book to her name and is described by her fans as “the veritable Queen of how to lead a fulfilling life”.

But the harsh truth is that Kristi has never practiced what she preaches. Her home life is a mess, her relationship with artist boyfriend, Tom, not much better – and now she has to redeem herself before all is lost.
At her wit’s end, Kristi is driven to seek out the help of Patrick Blakeslee, a tarot card reader and psychic medium, in an attempt to make sense of the mounting panic she’s feeling.

But Patrick’s visits have an unexpected effect on Kristi, leaving her with more questions than answers – and a life-changing decision to make. BUY LINK http://smarturl.it/ALittleLuckALotFate

EXCERPT I’m the middle child, sandwiched between my eldest brother, Luke, and the baby of the family, Drew. My mother had three brothers and so, as the only two daughters in two generations, we were always in the minority. That rather tends to shape the way you look at things and there are only two ways it can go. Either you are the one whose voice is seldom heard above the sea of testosterone around you, or you make yours the loudest voice of them all. You become the organiser; the one who leads – in short, my brothers accepted that I was in charge. Maybe it was because I had inherited the bossy gene, if such a thing exists. But, from a tender age, what I lacked in practical knowledge, I made up for with sheer common sense and the dubious ability to be believable.I say dubious, because I learnt that I had the power to organise and control what went on around me. I was a natural. What surprised me was the fact that people around me loved being told what to do. They sought my advice, opening up to me and looking for guidance at every step of the way. As a teenager I felt I had a heady power and it gave me a sense of confidence. At the time I didn’t understand that it was something to be treated with respect and a healthy dose of reality. People simply lapped-up what I told them and that, I suppose, was the blessing that has become a curse. When people are unsure about what to do next they look around for someone strong to advise them. In their desperation they are grateful and comforted and the person delivering the advice? Well, it’s addictive and each little success elevates you in their eyes, as well as in your own.The truth is that I am supremely confident when it comes to organising other people’s lives. I’m extremely proud of the fact that I can inspire others and encourage them to develop their full potential. When it comes to my own life, it’s held together with the emotional equivalent of string and Blu-tack. Simply put, I’m a fraud.Money and fame go hand-in-hand and there isn’t a chat show worth mentioning that hasn’t featured me at some point in the last few years. My name constantly crops up around the world and even in countries like the US, Japan, and Sweden, it’s instantly recognisable. Grab Life and Run With It is in its fourth season in the UK and I’ve just signed a contract for a further six episodes. My fan club is full of hopeful people, eager to share each of their milestones on Twitter, as they follow my celebrated Twelve Steps to Finding YOU plan.To the world it appears I have all of the trappings of success. The harsh reality is that I spend my time trying to cover the tracks of a life that has no balance. All I have is my work – there is nothing else.
ABOUT LINN B HALTON
Bristol-born Linn B Halton lives on the edge of the small market town of Cinderford, in the Forest of Dean, in the UK. "I'm a hopeless romantic, self-confessed chocaholic, and lover of strong coffee. For me, life is about family, friends, writing ... and house renovation! Oh, and the occasional glass of White Grenache..."An Amazon UK Top 100 best-selling author with A Cottage in the Country in November 2015, Under The Stars also became a best-seller in November 2016. Linn's novels have been short-listed in the UK's Festival of Romance and the eFestival of Words Book Awards. Linn won the 2013 UK Festival of Romance: Innovation in Romantic Fiction award.Linn writes chick lit, women's contemporary fiction and psychic romance for Choc Lit, Harper Impulse and Endeavour Press.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LinnBHaltonAuthor/Twitter: https://twitter.com/LinnBHaltonGoodreads Author Page: http://ow.ly/pv6N306918gWebsite: http://linnbhalton.co.uk/ Pinterest: https://uk.pinterest.com/linnbhalton/
CONTEST – OPEN INTERNATIONALLY – No Purchase necessary Three signed copies of A Little Sugar, A Lot of Love paperbacks.


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What’s up and coming in February on Victoria’s Pages of Romance1- Insecure Writer Support Group - #IWSG2- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 3- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 4- Blog Available5 - Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday6- Author Spotlight – J.J. Dibenedetto – Her Brother's Keeper7- Author Spotlight – Clair Brett – Dealing with the Viscount8- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 9- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 10- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 11- Author Spotlight – Kimberly Kincaid – Crossing Hearts12- Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday13- Author Spotlight – Daryl Devore – What Happens in Bangkok14- Author Spotlight – Me – it's valentines15- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 16 – OtherWords  #ThursThoughts 17 - Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 18 - Author Spotlight – Code Redhead – Proceeds to Children's Cancer Research19- author spotlight - RE Hargrave - Sugar & Spice 20- Author Spotlight – Denise Deegan – Through the Barricades21- Author Spotlight –22- Book Hooks #MFRWhooks #MFRWAuthor 23- Thursday  Thoughts  - #ThursThoughts 24- Friday Snippets  #FridaySnippets 25 – Author Spotlight – Suz deMello – Rakes in Tartan26 – Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday27 – Author Spotlight – Nicky Wells – Dead Hope28 - Author Spotlight –
If you see an available spot and would like to post on that day - leave a comment with your email and I'll get back to you ASAP.

Death of a Sculptor in Hue, Shape and Color by M.C.V. Egan #women'sfiction

DEATH OF A SCULPTOR in Hue, Shape, and Colorby M.C.V. Egan
Genre:Women's suburban fiction

Color-coded love stories and revealing female anatomies lead to the puzzling death of world-renowned sculptor, Bruce Jones.

In life, the artist loved women, almost as much as women loved him. Adored for his art, colorful personality, and sexual prowess, Bruce is mourned by the world. The multifaceted perspectives of his four ex-wives, the current wife, his new love interest, and their children narrate this pulse-pounding tale.

Loose ends are tied up by the insights of Sylvia, his son Aaron’s wife and a trusted keeper of secrets; Scott, the private investigator and family friend; Nonna, the quintessential grandmother everyone loves but to whom few are truly related; and Detective Jim Miller who will not rest until he discovers Bruce Jones’ murderer.

Mary: Wife No. 1

Thunder, lightning and rain, that was what we had at our wedding. However, on the day of his funeral, the Florida heat and humidity made my face shiny with perspiration. My hair looked like a dark Brillo pad. My children requested I attend the funeral of my first husband. Bruce Jones, the world-renowned sculptor.

The parking lot was already packed with an unexpected variety of cars. I then realized that it was not peak season. The South Florida snowbirds are attached to their cars and they migrate with them back and forth each year.

I noticed a police car and a uniformed man by the entrance. Even for Bruce a bit much; however, since 9/11 security has been tight everywhere.

The valet attendant opened my rental car door. “Welcome ma’am. Your daughter is waiting for you.”

“Thank you. Please make sure you keep the car in the shade. August Florida heat and sun are not my friends.” I pulled a five-dollar bill from my purse to tip him, but he shook his head and mumbled, “No, thank you.” After all It was Palm Beach. I probably should have pulled out a twenty.

I was surprised that the building looked like an actual church, at least from the outside. The church had a long name. It was Universal something or other; apparently, a place of worship with neither affiliation nor strictures. Bruce’s life had, after all, been too outré to pretend he followed any conventional religious norm.

“Thanks for coming, mom.” Clair’s voice shouldn’t have surprised me, but I stood still, focused on carefully dabbing my shiny nose. I clicked the compact shut, smiled and answered, “Anything for you and Aaron sweetheart.” She nodded as she guided me where to sit. It was toward the back of the church; the ex-wives’ pew.

“Please mom, don’t look at me that way. This funeral is a time for forgiveness and closure.”

Clair always found a way to get me to do whatever she wanted. The last thing I wanted was to be in the company of the women sitting there. I touched my frizzy hair, regretting my rejection of the keratin treatment.

Wife number two, Leslie, was the first to say hello. “Mary, you look lovely. It’s been years.”

“It has, thankfully,” I replied. The other two simply nodded, and I nodded back. Leslie, the one Bruce left me for, handed me a packet of tissues and winked. Forcing a smile, I took them. The idea that she assumed I planned to cry had not crossed my mind. I pulled the compact out of my purse again to check my makeup; it looked fine. Through the mirror I saw the reflection of the fifth and last Mrs. Bruce Jones, the widow. She was standing waiting for the ushers. I shook my head in disbelief. There next to Brooke was the coffin. The ushers waited with the coffin for the minister’s signal. It had images of Bruce’s artwork. Digital photography makes it possible to decorate anything in living color. Some of the images were blocked from my view by the ushers, but not mine. There I was paraded as a nude sketch. Each one of Bruce’s loves had a color and mine was pink. It was kitsch…even worse, it was downright tasteless.

Bruce had a type. We all had brown hair, and pretty faces with full lips and straight noses. The eye color varied as did our size and build. His type was limited to our physiognomy. I clicked the compact shut, and the other ex-wives faced me, startled by the sound. I shrugged with a coy apologetic smile. Look at the five of us; he had a type.

Bruce’s love also had a shelf life. He took the seven-year-itch need to scratch very literally. Some marriages were shorter, because sometimes the divorces got complicated and his new loves always overlapped with the old. Public or private, his relationships always lasted seven years.

I was nineteen when I first walked into his classroom. He was tall and muscular. I felt a tingle at the base of my neck when I saw his back, as if somehow I already knew. When he turned to face me, I was gone and completely in love. I fell in love with Bruce and the sculpture next to him all at once. I soon learned he made love in a way no other man did─not that I was very experienced then─Bruce traced every inch of my body with every part of his. At twenty-four, he already made a good living from his sculptures, but teaching remained his passion. As he grew older and wealthier, he taught short workshops in different parts of the world. His last one had been just a few months before his untimely death. He was after all, only sixty-two.

It was clear by the careful shape of his sculptures that he knew the shape of my legs, ankles, feet, and every other part of my body. His sculpture venues varied, his talent knew no boundaries. Bruce loved and sculpted as instinctively as the rest of us breathe. Whoever inherited the rights to his art would be wise to market his sketches as limited edition lithographs. Bruce liked to keep those private, but he always added color to the sketches in a way that made them works of art unto themselves. Bruce was as gifted with hue and color as he was with shapes. Those were the sketches that someone had the poor taste to use for the coffin. As the ushers moved around I heard the reactions of the other ex-wives, a blend of gasps and giggles. We recognized all the shapes and colors.

Focused on raising our children, I had not noticed when the sculptures started to change. That was when Leslie entered the picture. Bruce may not have planned to divorce me, or at least for years I tried to believe that, but then Leslie got pregnant.

Our marriage, his first as well, was the longest marriage, it lasted ten years. Three of those, Bruce had spent loving Leslie, but playing house with me. His marriage to Leslie was far shorter. I could tell by the sculptures he had loved her for seven years. We all met him through his art in one way or another. Wife number three, Petra, worked in an art gallery. Although not an artist she was very involved with his work. I derived great pleasure from the public scandal when he hurt Leslie that way, leaving her for a mere merchant. By then Bruce had a name, an art, and a face that was recognized everywhere. Leslie had ended my marriage, so curiosity as to who had ended hers interrupted my life for a time. Hers was the only one of Bruce’s love stories I followed carefully, aside from my own.

Aside from relishing in Leslie’s pain, his personal life did not pique my interest. I knew my children were always respected and old enough to voice concern if anyone mistreated them. I could not remember if it was the third or fourth wife who was the only one of us who did not have children with Bruce.

Chopin’s somber Marche Funèbre snapped me back to the moment. The elaborate coffin encasing Bruce’s body had been placed on a movable catafalque. The catafalque with squeaky wheels carried Bruce’s body in a guided procession down the aisle. He was always a large man and had managed to become larger as he aged. His appetite for food and drink superseded all his other appetites.

Leslie whispered in my ear, “She doesn’t look sad.”

Glancing over at the person in question, I nodded in agreement. The widow could not be described as grieving. Grief is, of course, different in all of us. The body language of grief, though, is universal; the defeated, slumped shoulders, head bowed, tears flowing. Leslie was right. The widow was crying, but they almost looked like tears of relief.

A montage of Bruce’s works on a screen at the side of the altar shaped in a semicircle created the focal point. The aisle inclined and my pew toward the back provided a good vantage point. The incline was slight, but pronounced enough to give those of us in the back a full view. The ushers seemed to be holding back the coffin so it would not speed down the aisle. The wheels continued to squeak. Bruce would have hated this. The minister or priestess─I am not sure what title this universal church gave them,─had a very unpleasant voice and thus was difficult to listen to. No voice, even a pleasant one, could compete with Bruce’s art. For all the rotten things I would be happy to tell you about Bruce Jones, his art was not something anyone could criticize. Even the most prestigious critics raved about his talent and his work.

The slides were in chronological order. The memory and pain from the sting of betrayal flooded me as it had twenty-eight years earlier. I could see Leslie through the corner of my eye and the blush that betrayed her shame.

As wife number two, she had been party to betrayal because she too had been betrayed. I know Leslie grew to love my children very much. I guess she saw me as an extension of that love in some ways. I felt terrible. I had been so curt.

My hand reached to her shoulder in a gesture of solidarity and forgiveness when the images on the screen segued to show the shape of ex-wife number three. My heart ached for Leslie because we had similar builds, and many would not have been able to distinguish when Bruce transitioned from sculpting my body to sculpting hers.

Ex-wife number three, Petra─a very tall woman, with long slender limbs─had a body that blatantly displayed the transition from Leslie to her replacement. The unquestionable change in shape left no doubt Bruce’s affections had shifted again. Leslie, pregnant with her second child at the time, lost the baby to grief, a loss I also knew well.

At that point, I did need the tissues Leslie had given me, but I was shedding tears for her, not for Bruce. I miscarried a child with my second husband. I understood her pain and sense of loss. Mine, too, was the last child, the child I never had.

Bruce never sculpted pregnant women. Consequently, wife number three, the one who had never been pregnant had seven years that boasted more sculptures than the rest of us. At the seven-year mark, Bruce’s transition into a new love story, a new model. Petra’s telltale sobs showed her grasp of Bruce’s tell. After all, loving Bruce was a gamble. The change of model in the sculpture showed his change of heart. Petra was from a foreign country, I never paid much attention where. My kids interacted with her, and she welcomed them with kindness. In tandem, Leslie and I passed her the tissues.

Petra took both tissues we offered and her lips moved in a quiet whisper; the words were obviously meant for Leslie, though I could discern they were, “I am sorry”

My daughter, Clair, had always lived up to the dual meanings of her name; clear and famous. Clair could see things with great clarity, and she could convey them as such. I could only assume that she knew the ex-wives belonged together, ‘for closure and forgiveness’ as she had said.

Clair’s modeling career had started in her teens at her insistence; she was not pushed nor did anyone suggest she should model. She knew she was very attractive, and she knew she could convey her beauty and charm to an audience, a photographer, a camera.

Her modeling spun into acting. She was as natural on a screen as on a stage. It came to her with ease, though she was happy to take classes and learn. My Aaron is also successful, but he is a behind-the-scenes sort of person. I took great pride in knowing that I had always been a good mother. I had known how to allow my children to forge their own paths.

Not everything in my life succeeded, but I was a success at being a mother. I recognized Bruce’s love shelf life because I had one of my own, with a trail of the remains of ended marriages or relationships. Mine perhaps more impressive than Bruce’s.

I guess Bruce might have been the love of my life. But now in my mid-fifties, I questioned whether a spouse or companion had any viable use? I loved art, my passion, and although my work is not as popular or renowned as Bruce’s, I have achieved a certain level of success.





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M.C.V. Egan is the pen name chosen by Maria Catalina Vergara Egan. Catalina was born in Mexico City, Mexico in 1959, the sixth of eight children, in a traditional Catholic family. From a very young age, she became obsessed with the story of her maternal grandfather, Cesar Agustin Castillo--mostly the story of how he died.

She spent her childhood in Mexico. When her father became an employee of The World Bank in Washington D.C. in the early 1970s, she moved with her entire family to the United States. Catalina was already fluent in English, as she had spent one school year in the town of Pineville, Louisiana with her grandparents. There she won the English award, despite being the only one who had English as a second language in her class. In the D.C. suburbs she attended various private Catholic schools and graduated from Winston Churchill High School in Potomac, Maryland in 1977.

She attended Montgomery Community College, where she changed majors every semester. She also studied in Lyons, France, at the Catholic University for two years. In 1981, due to an impulsive young marriage to a Viking (the Swedish kind, not the football player kind), Catalina moved to Sweden where she resided for five years and taught at a language school for Swedish, Danish, and Finnish businesspeople. She then returned to the USA, where she has lived ever since. She is fluent in Spanish, English, French and Swedish.

Maria Catalina Vergara Egan is married and has one son who, together with their five-pound Chihuahua, makes her feel like a full-time mother. Although she would not call herself an astrologer she has taken many classes and taught a few beginner classes in the subject M.C.V. Egan's new series DEFINING WAYS uses Astrology and other Metaphysical tools.

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The Bridge of Deaths ✯ 4covert2overt A Day In The Spotlight ✯ Is History The Agreed Upon Lie? ✯ Defining Ways



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What’s up and coming on Victoria’s Pages of Romance31 - Author Spotlight – Linn B Halton - A Little Luck, A Lot of Fate

This Friday on Friday Snippets an introduction to J'dol. #romance #FridaySnippets

For the next few weeks, I'll be posting snippets from my - trying to get it rewritten - contemporary time traveller romance - Sunrise.



J'dol yawned and stretched as the relentless rain pounded on the roof of his makeshift camp. He rubbed his face. The palms of his hands scraped against his unshaven stubble. Tossing the damp blanket aside, he rose from the night camp he'd made near the lake. The morning was dull. The clouds thick and heavy, releasing their watery cargo. To the east, the clouds darkened. The threat of a violent storm loomed.Deciding a morning wash in the lake was useless, he ran his fingers through his hair, collected it in the back and using his leather thong tied it tight. He scooted up the nearby tree and grabbed his backpack from a small branch. Jumping down, he stroked his hand across the symbol of the white peacock.  His sister had embroidered the symbol onto his pack as a charm to protect him. In some ancient cultures, the peacock was the symbol for the God of War. The whiteness of this bird, defined him as what he was – a warrior and an outcast.He reached inside and pulled out the last of yesterday's dinner; fish and berries. He settled back under his makeshift tent, pulling as far back inside as he could to avoid being dripped on. While he ate his meagre breakfast, J'dol daydreamed about being back in Orondonto at his sister's lodge, chugging a large mug of ale and munching on fresh honey cakes. He would play crazy dog with the children, slipping his socks over his ears and bounding after them yapping and barking until he snagged one and tickled them until they shouted that J'dol was the best uncle ever!His nieces and nephews would have grown so since he went out on patrol six months ago. The eastern border was safe. His captain felt the defences were secure enough to allow his best warrior a brief leave. Wiping his hands on his damp leggings, J'dol stood, rolled up his blanket and slipped his sword into his scabbard then hoisted his backpack over his shoulder. Keeping the shoreline to his left, he slipped in among trees and used them a cover as he headed for home. Rain pelted his face and dribbled down his neck. He sighed. He'd a hard half day's march ahead of him, but the thought of the cozy bed in the hayloft and a full stomach kept him putting one foot in front of the other.The dullness of the day was ripped in two as the storm announced its arrival. Within moments the thunder rumbled. It echoed through the forest.Peal after peal of thunder filled the air. J'dol stopped and tilted his head. No lightning? Just thunder. He stepped out of the trees and glanced toward the western edge of the lake. A bright illumination made him turn his head and squeeze his eyes shut. That wasn't lightning. It was as if the sun had fallen from the sky and landed on Orondonto. The blast hit him in the chest. He stumbled back. It wasn't thunder. Fear gripped him. Had the defences been broken on the western border?




What’s up and coming on Victoria’s Pages of Romance28 – My Sexy Saturday #MySexySaturday29 – Blog Available30 – Author Spotlight – M.C.V. Eagan - Death of A Sculptor in Hue, Shape and Color31 - Author Spotlight – Linn B Halton - A Little Luck, A Lot of Fate

If you see an available spot and would like to post on that day - leave a comment with your email and I'll get back to you ASAP.

A chance to step away from the errors of the past. #mythoughts

On Thursdays I open my blog - to myself. My thoughts. My ramblings. My whatever.
On the final Thursday of the month I am going to post a motivational saying. Some words to rumble in the back of your mind.


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It is almost the start of a new year.
A new beginning.
A chance to step away from the errors of the past.
Look to the new year as a step through a doorway.
Out of the darkness.
Into the sunlight.
Onward.
Your future awaits.