V.L. Locey's Blog, page 112
June 12, 2013
Misty Harvey Pays a Visit!
Howdy gang! Today I`m thrilled to have a lovely author stopping in to visit. It`s all yours, Misty!
*~*~*
Left open to my own devices for this blog I took time to come up with a creative, yet entertaining way to promote my new release, Soul Reaper. After careful consideration I thought why not interview the Hubby Man.
Did he write the book? Well no, but he has stuck by my side through all my crazy writer stages. Besides it’ll be fun to see what those around us go through when we decide to write a novel. So let’s begin.
Okay, Hubby Man, how did you know I was getting ready to start Soul Reaper?
That is an easy enough place to begin. I came home from work one day and the couch sat in the middle of the floor. All the picture frames had been removed off the exposed wall, there were note cards everywhere, and your cat was tangled up in the yarn.
Does it annoy you when I use the wall to map out books?
Nah, I love rearranging the house, said no man ever. The note cards on the wall are comparable to the ex-cop in the movies that gets obsessed with that 1 case that got away...hehehe.
You know you do. Now next question. What did you think of the plot when I told you about it?
The plot or you?
Both.
The story intrigued me, but it had major holes, and gaps. There would be plenty of places to improve it. To which I did the nice thing and pointed them out to you. You know always helping you improve, Baby. *Just a side note for all you significant others, unless you like sleeping on the couch, Do Not do that unless specifically asked*. As for you? You are one twisted and crazy person.
Haha, I’m not that bad.
Right.
What was it like living with me while I wrote Soul Reaper?
Seriously? Do I have to answer this?
Yup.
Ever tried to take a game system from your kid? Yeah, it was like that, but with the added bonus of camping. A lot. On the couch.
How about the editing stages? Anything in particular you remember?
A lot of tears.
Yes, I got seriously frustrated and cried tons.
No, mine. The couch isn’t so comfortable and especially not when your cat has a mind to fluff my kidneys all night. One day I’ll learn not to open my mouth.
Aw, he loves you.
Sure, that is what it means. I just love you so much, let me give you acupuncture all night.
What did you think of the final version of Soul Reaper?
Best book I ever read *gives a cheesy grin*. No really, you’ll have to read it for yourself. It is creepy, and the twists keep you on edge.
Anything else you’d like to include?
Please don’t make me sleep on the couch. I didn’t include your random acts of charades when you can’t think of a word and want me to help you, or the fact you pull weird faces when you are really invested in a piece you are writing.
Yeah. Thanks for not including those *rolls eyes*.
I know, I’m sleeping on the couch. Before I gather my bedding out of the room, one last thing, it really is a good book. Check it out.
Here is one of our favorite excerpts.
Eva found the medical section and went over their files. They all talked about the same things. The same problems led them to where they were. They would hear voices – see things that nobody else saw – and eventually it would drive them mad. Eva shivered at the thought. She experienced every one of those things. Her thoughts turned back to her father. Like each of these victims, nobody believed Eva either. Would her father eventually have her exorcised or committed?
The thought terrified her. At least now, she could try to get away, if she were committed there would be no hope. Her blood ran cold. It would be lights out Eva. She heard a tapping on wood behind her. Eva spun around leaving the microfilm machine on. She followed the tapping noise.
Her body froze on one end of bookshelves. There on the other was the ghost boy. Eva couldn’t believe she was seeing him. This wasn’t her house. Now he’d taken to following her around? The fear he’d instilled in her at home wasn’t enough?
“Did you find what you were looking for?” the voice came out of nowhere and everywhere. The odd thing being the boy’s lips never moved. He just kept tapping on the end of the bookshelf.
“Go away,” Eva screamed, “you won’t get me too.” Her hands fisted at her sides.
“You’re already weakening,” the voice came again. Richard’s arms stretched in front of him. The microfilms began unraveling onto the ground. Entire rolls flew off the shelves.
Eva ducked as a large film roll that nearly hit her head. She snatched up her book bag. Her feet slid on the film. It tangled around her feet, threatening to pull her back to the boy.
“Help,” Eva screamed. She prayed this time to be caught. Her hands clawed at the wood stairs. She peered back seeing the boy standing behind her. It fueled Eva to fight harder. For each step she made it up, she was drug back down two of them. Her adrenaline pumped.
“Join us, Eva. We have been waiting so long for someone like you.” A voice came from her right ear. There peering between the steps were red eyes. The ears were mere scars on the sides of his head. Twisted lumps of flesh among all that gray skin. He reached from between the stairs to grab her. Eva released the stair just as his ice-cold hand brushed hers. She fell onto the stone floor with a thump. It caused the air to rush out of her lungs.
“You’re already halfway there, Eva. It would be so easy to just let go.” A girl was slithering over the stone toward her. Scars lined her face. Her legs were nothing more than dead weight. The white of her nightgown caught on rough edge of the stone.
“Come with us,” they all chanted.
The boy stepped forward this time. She felt their hands grabbing a hold of her arms. Richard pinned her legs. “It is time.” His eyes slid into black abyss. Fire burned within the depths of them. Eva felt her own body growing colder. The closer the boy drew to her, the colder it got. She sucked in a deep breath. The air smelled of decayed corpses, sulfur, and death.
Come take a wild ride with Eva and her friends. One where up is down, down is up. Left is right, and right is left. A ride where nightmares, and reality collide.
The only way to survive…remain sane in a world driven to see you fail.
Links for author Misty Harvey:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/misty.harvey1?ref=tn_tnmn
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Elaurana
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5756898.Misty_Harvey
You can purchase your copy today for $.99
Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Soul-Reaper-ebook/dp/B00CLE1JD0/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1370531752&sr=1-3&keywords=soul+reaper
Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Soul-Reaper-Misty-Harvey/dp/1484820614/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1370531752&sr=1-3
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/soul-...
I've always felt a certain draw to the night, and the creatures that live there. So writing about these beings has always been easy for me. That isn't to say there isn't always a certain level of mysticism in each experience. I've lived with the characters of my books, heard their tales, experienced their up and downs with them.
Now I share it all with you, my readers. Come join me in a walk in the moonlight. Let us experience a new way of life that occurs after sunset.
*~*~*
Left open to my own devices for this blog I took time to come up with a creative, yet entertaining way to promote my new release, Soul Reaper. After careful consideration I thought why not interview the Hubby Man.
Did he write the book? Well no, but he has stuck by my side through all my crazy writer stages. Besides it’ll be fun to see what those around us go through when we decide to write a novel. So let’s begin.
Okay, Hubby Man, how did you know I was getting ready to start Soul Reaper?
That is an easy enough place to begin. I came home from work one day and the couch sat in the middle of the floor. All the picture frames had been removed off the exposed wall, there were note cards everywhere, and your cat was tangled up in the yarn.
Does it annoy you when I use the wall to map out books?
Nah, I love rearranging the house, said no man ever. The note cards on the wall are comparable to the ex-cop in the movies that gets obsessed with that 1 case that got away...hehehe.
You know you do. Now next question. What did you think of the plot when I told you about it?
The plot or you?
Both.
The story intrigued me, but it had major holes, and gaps. There would be plenty of places to improve it. To which I did the nice thing and pointed them out to you. You know always helping you improve, Baby. *Just a side note for all you significant others, unless you like sleeping on the couch, Do Not do that unless specifically asked*. As for you? You are one twisted and crazy person.
Haha, I’m not that bad.
Right.
What was it like living with me while I wrote Soul Reaper?
Seriously? Do I have to answer this?
Yup.
Ever tried to take a game system from your kid? Yeah, it was like that, but with the added bonus of camping. A lot. On the couch.
How about the editing stages? Anything in particular you remember?
A lot of tears.
Yes, I got seriously frustrated and cried tons.
No, mine. The couch isn’t so comfortable and especially not when your cat has a mind to fluff my kidneys all night. One day I’ll learn not to open my mouth.
Aw, he loves you.
Sure, that is what it means. I just love you so much, let me give you acupuncture all night.
What did you think of the final version of Soul Reaper?
Best book I ever read *gives a cheesy grin*. No really, you’ll have to read it for yourself. It is creepy, and the twists keep you on edge.
Anything else you’d like to include?
Please don’t make me sleep on the couch. I didn’t include your random acts of charades when you can’t think of a word and want me to help you, or the fact you pull weird faces when you are really invested in a piece you are writing.
Yeah. Thanks for not including those *rolls eyes*.
I know, I’m sleeping on the couch. Before I gather my bedding out of the room, one last thing, it really is a good book. Check it out.
Here is one of our favorite excerpts.
Eva found the medical section and went over their files. They all talked about the same things. The same problems led them to where they were. They would hear voices – see things that nobody else saw – and eventually it would drive them mad. Eva shivered at the thought. She experienced every one of those things. Her thoughts turned back to her father. Like each of these victims, nobody believed Eva either. Would her father eventually have her exorcised or committed?
The thought terrified her. At least now, she could try to get away, if she were committed there would be no hope. Her blood ran cold. It would be lights out Eva. She heard a tapping on wood behind her. Eva spun around leaving the microfilm machine on. She followed the tapping noise.
Her body froze on one end of bookshelves. There on the other was the ghost boy. Eva couldn’t believe she was seeing him. This wasn’t her house. Now he’d taken to following her around? The fear he’d instilled in her at home wasn’t enough?
“Did you find what you were looking for?” the voice came out of nowhere and everywhere. The odd thing being the boy’s lips never moved. He just kept tapping on the end of the bookshelf.
“Go away,” Eva screamed, “you won’t get me too.” Her hands fisted at her sides.
“You’re already weakening,” the voice came again. Richard’s arms stretched in front of him. The microfilms began unraveling onto the ground. Entire rolls flew off the shelves.
Eva ducked as a large film roll that nearly hit her head. She snatched up her book bag. Her feet slid on the film. It tangled around her feet, threatening to pull her back to the boy.
“Help,” Eva screamed. She prayed this time to be caught. Her hands clawed at the wood stairs. She peered back seeing the boy standing behind her. It fueled Eva to fight harder. For each step she made it up, she was drug back down two of them. Her adrenaline pumped.
“Join us, Eva. We have been waiting so long for someone like you.” A voice came from her right ear. There peering between the steps were red eyes. The ears were mere scars on the sides of his head. Twisted lumps of flesh among all that gray skin. He reached from between the stairs to grab her. Eva released the stair just as his ice-cold hand brushed hers. She fell onto the stone floor with a thump. It caused the air to rush out of her lungs.
“You’re already halfway there, Eva. It would be so easy to just let go.” A girl was slithering over the stone toward her. Scars lined her face. Her legs were nothing more than dead weight. The white of her nightgown caught on rough edge of the stone.
“Come with us,” they all chanted.
The boy stepped forward this time. She felt their hands grabbing a hold of her arms. Richard pinned her legs. “It is time.” His eyes slid into black abyss. Fire burned within the depths of them. Eva felt her own body growing colder. The closer the boy drew to her, the colder it got. She sucked in a deep breath. The air smelled of decayed corpses, sulfur, and death.
Come take a wild ride with Eva and her friends. One where up is down, down is up. Left is right, and right is left. A ride where nightmares, and reality collide.
The only way to survive…remain sane in a world driven to see you fail.
Links for author Misty Harvey:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/misty.harvey1?ref=tn_tnmn
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Elaurana
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5756898.Misty_Harvey
You can purchase your copy today for $.99
Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Soul-Reaper-ebook/dp/B00CLE1JD0/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1370531752&sr=1-3&keywords=soul+reaper
Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Soul-Reaper-Misty-Harvey/dp/1484820614/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1370531752&sr=1-3
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/soul-...
I've always felt a certain draw to the night, and the creatures that live there. So writing about these beings has always been easy for me. That isn't to say there isn't always a certain level of mysticism in each experience. I've lived with the characters of my books, heard their tales, experienced their up and downs with them.
Now I share it all with you, my readers. Come join me in a walk in the moonlight. Let us experience a new way of life that occurs after sunset.
June 10, 2013
Tuesday Tales - Shoe
Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F sports romance, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.
In today`s excerpt, Viviana discovers her secret has come out.
This week our word prompt is ‘Shoe’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
The farm house rose up to greet me like an old friend. Exiting my Honda I could feel the coolness the old oaks and pines afforded. My heart was thumping twice its normal rate as I took a moment to straighten my hair and smooth down my sun dress. Once I was presentable, I flounced up onto the front step, my eyes locking onto Alain`s as he sat on the swing with three dogs stretched out on well-used floorboards. I glanced down at Daisy slumbering at his side on the swing. Her eyes were open, and her tail was wiggling. None of the dogs had greeted me with their usual enthusiasm. Something was off.
I faltered for a second at the cold gaze he settled upon me. I worked up a smile, still resolute in my plans to tell him just how much he had come to mean to-
“I had a very interesting phone call from one of your fellow employees,” Alain said, his words so icy the fine hairs on my neck stood up. I wet my freshly lipsticked lips. He sat there, arms stretched across the back of the swing, staring at me. I reached up to scratch my cheek. A fat carpenter bee bumped along the porch. “Are you planning to ask which one?” he finally inquired. I shook my head dully. I had a damned good idea who had stabbed me in the back. He rolled a lip then threw my iPad at me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his face. I worked at making words but they wouldn`t form. The tablet bounced off my thigh, hit my shoe, and then landed beside a resting dog.
“I know this looks bad, but I can explain,” finally rolled out and even I grimaced at how terribly lame that was. Alain, he exploded upward from the swing. I stepped back instinctively although I knew Alain was not the sort of man that would hit a woman. Perhaps I just needed to step away from the cloud of rolling anger and agony that was moving with him. He lifted a finger and pointed it at my face.
“I don`t want to hear one word of denial come from such lying lips.”
That warm loverly feeling I had carried with me as I drove out here? It withered and died.
“It was Bert that called, wasn`t it?” I asked weakly. Alain threw up his hands then slammed into the house. None of the dogs moved. I stepped over them, my fingers balled tightly into fists at my side. I jumped when a duffel bag hit the wall beside the front door where I filled the jambs.
“What does it matter?!” he snarled. He was right, it didn`t matter, not really. But I wanted to know who to run over with my car when I got the chance.
“It matters to me.”
“Why, what does you care?! At least this Bert person was good enough to tell me what you are, what you do for a living! Each word from you - it was a lie. You are no paralegal, you are a reporter come to my bed to lure me into telling you things. Pute a cinq cennes!” he snarled. I drew back as if slapped even though I hadn`t a clue what he had called me. It didn`t need the translation; I could tell by the vehemence it was something terrible. “Get out. Take your things and leave. Do not come back.”
“I love you,” I said as I plotted to kill Bert Anderson. It was so weak and so meaningless in the onslaught of his pain and ire but I had to say it. He gaped at me.
“Get away from my house,” Alain said his voice so thick and deep it was as if another person had taken over his soul. “Go away and do not ever come near me again. You do not know love if it would spit in your eye! Go!” he rushed at where I seemed to be frozen. I began to cry. The duffel bag being thrust into my chest pushed me back a step. I clutched the stupid Wildcats bag as if it were a flotation device, which was apropos since I was drowning in a mire of my own doing. “You are free now to print your story. Go home and write about what a stupid ass I am. Tell them all how I said I loved you while you laughed!”
“I never laughed!” I shouted, the duffel a lumpy chest plate that emboldened me, I guess. “I never laughed! I would never do that to you.”
It was his sneer that did me in. My heart broke into so many tiny bits it would never be whole.
“You would do that and worse, Viviana. You did worse!” his accent becoming heavier with each word. “You sleep with me for months and writed down every word I ever told you for pillow talking!” the man spun from me and cleared a lamp from an end table. I began to tremble wildly.
“I did not. There is not one thing in that article about what you and I did in bed!”
Alain had stopped trashing his house. Now he stood staring at the broken glass and lop-sided lampshade at his feet. His head was down, his shoulders collapsed.
“I do love you, Alain.”
“Go away Viviana, please. You have gotten enough juicy tidbits for the paper. Go and leave me alone. I do not wish to hear your voice again,” he said with a motion of his hand in my general direction. I wanted to stay and argue, to make him see that, yes, I had started this under false pretenses, but that things had changed as we had fallen in love. I took a step. The floorboard screamed. His body tightened up.
I turned and left, tripping over dogs in my haste.
Copyright ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!
In today`s excerpt, Viviana discovers her secret has come out.
This week our word prompt is ‘Shoe’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
The farm house rose up to greet me like an old friend. Exiting my Honda I could feel the coolness the old oaks and pines afforded. My heart was thumping twice its normal rate as I took a moment to straighten my hair and smooth down my sun dress. Once I was presentable, I flounced up onto the front step, my eyes locking onto Alain`s as he sat on the swing with three dogs stretched out on well-used floorboards. I glanced down at Daisy slumbering at his side on the swing. Her eyes were open, and her tail was wiggling. None of the dogs had greeted me with their usual enthusiasm. Something was off.
I faltered for a second at the cold gaze he settled upon me. I worked up a smile, still resolute in my plans to tell him just how much he had come to mean to-
“I had a very interesting phone call from one of your fellow employees,” Alain said, his words so icy the fine hairs on my neck stood up. I wet my freshly lipsticked lips. He sat there, arms stretched across the back of the swing, staring at me. I reached up to scratch my cheek. A fat carpenter bee bumped along the porch. “Are you planning to ask which one?” he finally inquired. I shook my head dully. I had a damned good idea who had stabbed me in the back. He rolled a lip then threw my iPad at me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his face. I worked at making words but they wouldn`t form. The tablet bounced off my thigh, hit my shoe, and then landed beside a resting dog.
“I know this looks bad, but I can explain,” finally rolled out and even I grimaced at how terribly lame that was. Alain, he exploded upward from the swing. I stepped back instinctively although I knew Alain was not the sort of man that would hit a woman. Perhaps I just needed to step away from the cloud of rolling anger and agony that was moving with him. He lifted a finger and pointed it at my face.
“I don`t want to hear one word of denial come from such lying lips.”
That warm loverly feeling I had carried with me as I drove out here? It withered and died.
“It was Bert that called, wasn`t it?” I asked weakly. Alain threw up his hands then slammed into the house. None of the dogs moved. I stepped over them, my fingers balled tightly into fists at my side. I jumped when a duffel bag hit the wall beside the front door where I filled the jambs.
“What does it matter?!” he snarled. He was right, it didn`t matter, not really. But I wanted to know who to run over with my car when I got the chance.
“It matters to me.”
“Why, what does you care?! At least this Bert person was good enough to tell me what you are, what you do for a living! Each word from you - it was a lie. You are no paralegal, you are a reporter come to my bed to lure me into telling you things. Pute a cinq cennes!” he snarled. I drew back as if slapped even though I hadn`t a clue what he had called me. It didn`t need the translation; I could tell by the vehemence it was something terrible. “Get out. Take your things and leave. Do not come back.”
“I love you,” I said as I plotted to kill Bert Anderson. It was so weak and so meaningless in the onslaught of his pain and ire but I had to say it. He gaped at me.
“Get away from my house,” Alain said his voice so thick and deep it was as if another person had taken over his soul. “Go away and do not ever come near me again. You do not know love if it would spit in your eye! Go!” he rushed at where I seemed to be frozen. I began to cry. The duffel bag being thrust into my chest pushed me back a step. I clutched the stupid Wildcats bag as if it were a flotation device, which was apropos since I was drowning in a mire of my own doing. “You are free now to print your story. Go home and write about what a stupid ass I am. Tell them all how I said I loved you while you laughed!”
“I never laughed!” I shouted, the duffel a lumpy chest plate that emboldened me, I guess. “I never laughed! I would never do that to you.”
It was his sneer that did me in. My heart broke into so many tiny bits it would never be whole.
“You would do that and worse, Viviana. You did worse!” his accent becoming heavier with each word. “You sleep with me for months and writed down every word I ever told you for pillow talking!” the man spun from me and cleared a lamp from an end table. I began to tremble wildly.
“I did not. There is not one thing in that article about what you and I did in bed!”
Alain had stopped trashing his house. Now he stood staring at the broken glass and lop-sided lampshade at his feet. His head was down, his shoulders collapsed.
“I do love you, Alain.”
“Go away Viviana, please. You have gotten enough juicy tidbits for the paper. Go and leave me alone. I do not wish to hear your voice again,” he said with a motion of his hand in my general direction. I wanted to stay and argue, to make him see that, yes, I had started this under false pretenses, but that things had changed as we had fallen in love. I took a step. The floorboard screamed. His body tightened up.
I turned and left, tripping over dogs in my haste.
Copyright ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!
June 7, 2013
Wind in White Birch - Issue # 23
It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch.
I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.
Storytime Trysts
June 5, 2013
My First Romance
Sometimes I get asked what was it that made me want to write romance novels. I don`t think I have any one reply to that query, as there are lots of things about romance books that spur me to write and read them. The character development, the humor, the angst, the climaxes (Take that one as you will *wink-nudge*) and the knowledge that despite what I saw on the news today, an HEA (Happily Ever After)awaits me at the end of the book.
Recently I was having a discussion with my fellow writers over at Storytime Trysts, and the topic of our first romance novels came up. It took me zero seconds to remember mine, and what an impact it had on me. The book is titled Nakoa`s Woman and is written by Gayle Rogers. It was first released in 1972 and has been rereleased a few times. I haven`t read it for over thirty years but I plan to reread it soon. This is the cover I remember-
And this is the newer cover-
It`s the story of a beautiful white girl who is captured by the Black Foot warrior, Nakoa. The book then goes on to show us their stormy relationship as she struggles to understand her growing love for her captor, while he fights against the customs of his people. It`s a powerful, realistic Native American historical romance that will have you in tears more than once.
Now if I do the math, I was around twelve when I first read this book. I`m not sure how I got my hands on it, but I suspect I stole it from my mother`s room. However it came into my hands it has remained in my mind and heart for all those years. This was the book that really opened up my eyes to many aspects of romance novels. Probably some I shouldn`t have been eyeballing at that age, I suspect. It sucked me into the power of a love between a man and woman, it showed me that love fortifies you when life seems unbearable, and it instilled a passion in my heart for the genre that has yet to be extinguished.
If I`m writing about zombie hunters, gods and goatherders, hockey stars, or single mothers falling for Seneca guides, the trials of our lovers as they fight to hold onto that love is what keeps me coming back again and again. The heartache and ecstasy of love never grows old, at least for me.
So tell me, what was your first book in your favorite genre? What about it created that lifelong spark for you to read or write about it?
June 3, 2013
Tuesday Tales - Train
Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F sports romance, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.
In today`s excerpt, Viviana spends some time with her two eccentric aunts after the old gals put their motorcycle in a ditch.
This week our word prompt is ‘Train’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
I stalked back to my car, dug out my cell and called my mechanic, Greg. I was guaranteed the tow truck would arrive within thirty minutes. So, now I just had to sit with the two disgruntled oldsters until their ride was back on the road.
“Let`s go sit in the shade under that oak tree,” I offered, bringing a slightly warm bottle of raspberry flavored spring water with me. I got the old gals situated and rehydrated and then sat myself down between them. Both the women had rosy cheeks and sweat-beaded brows. “So, aside from Goldfinger, what`s up with you two?”
“The newspaper boy threw the paper into the rain gutter yesterday,” Aunt Patty told me, her back stiff yet. I nodded. That was a recurring problem. I`d have to call Brad in circulation and complain again. I took the bottle of water, gulped a few mouthfuls and then handed it to Patty, who was now up on her knees with her back to her sister and me. I read the back of her t-shirt and nearly died.
“Aunt Patty! What the hell kind of shirt is that for you to wear?!” I looked up and down the road in mortification. Patty sat down roughly after getting Jasper the one-eyed beaver situated in a clump of tall weeds.
“I fixed it,” she harrumphed and snapped the bottle from my hand.”I wrote ‘don`t’!”
“Yes, but simply writing ‘Don`t’ in pen over the ‘Eat a beaver to save a tree’ message isn`t really making things any better!” No wonder those teenagers had gotten such a hoot as they drove past. Dear God above. “Do you even know what that means?”
“Of course I do, Viviana! I`m not a nincompoop! It means some terrible people out there want folks to eat beaver! Imagine such a thing,” she mumbled and drank greedily. A knot appeared between my eyebrows that would be there for days I feared. “So how goes things with you and that good-looking coach?”
The sudden shift in conversation shouldn`t have stunned me. They do it all the time. Yet this time I had to inhale deeply and ponder before replying. Somewhere in the distance a train whistle blew.
“Things are actually going very well,” I said, finding a grasshopper leaping into the middle of Plantation Road quite fascinating. I tucked my dress over my knees as they rested against my breasts. “I think I may be . . . well, there are complications,” I added as the impending deadline for my article hovered in front of me. “I really like him, Alain that is,” I explained and looked at both of my aunts. They bobbed their heads in understanding. “I mean I really like him. I think I might have fallen for him. But there`s this damned article I`m supposed to write. A real in-depth expose sort of thing that will make me a common name when the story breaks,” I paused to inhale and watch the grasshopper make another leap down the white line.
“The story is about Alain though, and at first it seemed easy. Just flirt and have fun and maybe get a good roll then when I had enough dirt, turn it over to Frank. But now . . . now it`s not simple at all,” I hugged my thighs closer to my chest.
“What happens if you tell this Frank to shove the article up his poop-chute?” Aunt Penny asked in a horrible British accent.
“I lose my job, my condo, my car, and probably my fish. I am just meeting my monthly bills.” I stared at the grasshopper so blithely hopping along in life with nary a care in the world. “If I don`t do this I will lose all credibility and will never be able to find another job at any other paper. Frank will make sure of that. He can be a vindictive prick when he wants to be.”
“If you love Alain, why don`t you just marry him?” Aunt Patty asked, dribbling water into Jasper`s closed mouth. I turned from that spectacle to find my green grasshopper cleaning his antenna mid-road.
“Because I`m an independent woman. I`m not marrying a man just to keep a roof over my head,” I stated firmly.
“But Viviana, honey, that job won` t keep you warm at night.” Aunt Penny told me then began humming ‘God Save the Queen.’
“She`s right. I think you know what you need to do,” Aunt Patty`s gnarled hand came to rest on my shoulder. I smiled at the grasshopper as she rubbed in tiny circles just as she had done when I was a kid and came home with a conundrum. “Honesty is always the best policy. Just go tell your boss you can`t turn traitor to the man you love.”
Amazing how the “batty” ones could sometimes see with so much clarity. The arrival of a bright green tow truck sent the gals into a suspicion fest that wouldn`t end for at least a week. Violet and I would be getting calls about GM and Ford trying to infiltrate the engine of the Indian with all their advanced computer shit. The phone calls from old women with conspiracy theories would be okay though. Once I got back to Alain`s farm house things would be super.
I`d confess that I had tumbled hopelessly in love with him, we`d make love all afternoon and night, and then tomorrow morning I`d walk into Frank`s office and tell him that I could not in good conscious submit my article to him or the paper. I`d get fired, yes, but I`d be taking a moral stand. And besides, I would have Alain at my side, proudly holding my hand.
As I waved goodbye to the tow truck and my aunts forty-five minutes later, I was on top of the world. It had become a skippity-doo-da sort of day! I glanced down at the white line for that grasshopper. Hell, maybe he`d sing me a song about taking the right road or wishing on a star like his famous cricket family member had. I found the poor bastard flattened right on the white line. Guess they`ll be no song from him today.
Copyright ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week for more from Viviana and Alain!
In today`s excerpt, Viviana spends some time with her two eccentric aunts after the old gals put their motorcycle in a ditch.
This week our word prompt is ‘Train’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
I stalked back to my car, dug out my cell and called my mechanic, Greg. I was guaranteed the tow truck would arrive within thirty minutes. So, now I just had to sit with the two disgruntled oldsters until their ride was back on the road.
“Let`s go sit in the shade under that oak tree,” I offered, bringing a slightly warm bottle of raspberry flavored spring water with me. I got the old gals situated and rehydrated and then sat myself down between them. Both the women had rosy cheeks and sweat-beaded brows. “So, aside from Goldfinger, what`s up with you two?”
“The newspaper boy threw the paper into the rain gutter yesterday,” Aunt Patty told me, her back stiff yet. I nodded. That was a recurring problem. I`d have to call Brad in circulation and complain again. I took the bottle of water, gulped a few mouthfuls and then handed it to Patty, who was now up on her knees with her back to her sister and me. I read the back of her t-shirt and nearly died.
“Aunt Patty! What the hell kind of shirt is that for you to wear?!” I looked up and down the road in mortification. Patty sat down roughly after getting Jasper the one-eyed beaver situated in a clump of tall weeds.
“I fixed it,” she harrumphed and snapped the bottle from my hand.”I wrote ‘don`t’!”
“Yes, but simply writing ‘Don`t’ in pen over the ‘Eat a beaver to save a tree’ message isn`t really making things any better!” No wonder those teenagers had gotten such a hoot as they drove past. Dear God above. “Do you even know what that means?”
“Of course I do, Viviana! I`m not a nincompoop! It means some terrible people out there want folks to eat beaver! Imagine such a thing,” she mumbled and drank greedily. A knot appeared between my eyebrows that would be there for days I feared. “So how goes things with you and that good-looking coach?”
The sudden shift in conversation shouldn`t have stunned me. They do it all the time. Yet this time I had to inhale deeply and ponder before replying. Somewhere in the distance a train whistle blew.
“Things are actually going very well,” I said, finding a grasshopper leaping into the middle of Plantation Road quite fascinating. I tucked my dress over my knees as they rested against my breasts. “I think I may be . . . well, there are complications,” I added as the impending deadline for my article hovered in front of me. “I really like him, Alain that is,” I explained and looked at both of my aunts. They bobbed their heads in understanding. “I mean I really like him. I think I might have fallen for him. But there`s this damned article I`m supposed to write. A real in-depth expose sort of thing that will make me a common name when the story breaks,” I paused to inhale and watch the grasshopper make another leap down the white line.
“The story is about Alain though, and at first it seemed easy. Just flirt and have fun and maybe get a good roll then when I had enough dirt, turn it over to Frank. But now . . . now it`s not simple at all,” I hugged my thighs closer to my chest.
“What happens if you tell this Frank to shove the article up his poop-chute?” Aunt Penny asked in a horrible British accent.
“I lose my job, my condo, my car, and probably my fish. I am just meeting my monthly bills.” I stared at the grasshopper so blithely hopping along in life with nary a care in the world. “If I don`t do this I will lose all credibility and will never be able to find another job at any other paper. Frank will make sure of that. He can be a vindictive prick when he wants to be.”
“If you love Alain, why don`t you just marry him?” Aunt Patty asked, dribbling water into Jasper`s closed mouth. I turned from that spectacle to find my green grasshopper cleaning his antenna mid-road.
“Because I`m an independent woman. I`m not marrying a man just to keep a roof over my head,” I stated firmly.
“But Viviana, honey, that job won` t keep you warm at night.” Aunt Penny told me then began humming ‘God Save the Queen.’
“She`s right. I think you know what you need to do,” Aunt Patty`s gnarled hand came to rest on my shoulder. I smiled at the grasshopper as she rubbed in tiny circles just as she had done when I was a kid and came home with a conundrum. “Honesty is always the best policy. Just go tell your boss you can`t turn traitor to the man you love.”
Amazing how the “batty” ones could sometimes see with so much clarity. The arrival of a bright green tow truck sent the gals into a suspicion fest that wouldn`t end for at least a week. Violet and I would be getting calls about GM and Ford trying to infiltrate the engine of the Indian with all their advanced computer shit. The phone calls from old women with conspiracy theories would be okay though. Once I got back to Alain`s farm house things would be super.
I`d confess that I had tumbled hopelessly in love with him, we`d make love all afternoon and night, and then tomorrow morning I`d walk into Frank`s office and tell him that I could not in good conscious submit my article to him or the paper. I`d get fired, yes, but I`d be taking a moral stand. And besides, I would have Alain at my side, proudly holding my hand.
As I waved goodbye to the tow truck and my aunts forty-five minutes later, I was on top of the world. It had become a skippity-doo-da sort of day! I glanced down at the white line for that grasshopper. Hell, maybe he`d sing me a song about taking the right road or wishing on a star like his famous cricket family member had. I found the poor bastard flattened right on the white line. Guess they`ll be no song from him today.
Copyright ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week for more from Viviana and Alain!
May 31, 2013
Wind in White Birch - Issue # 22
It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch.
I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.
Storytime Trysts
Today I Visit Cathy Brockman
Paul, Gordon, and I hit the road and take the zombie goodness and M/M spice over to Cathy Brockman`s blog. The stars of my newly released zom-rom-com are chatting up a storm and would love to have you drop in and say howdy! Just ignore the undead they left laying outside the front door.
Cathy Brockman-Author of Hot Romance
May 29, 2013
The Unseen Graduate
There are times of the year that seem to make the memories stronger, don`t you think?
Christmas is one of those times. As is Thanksgiving. And, of course, Mother`s Day. Those three days seem to stir up the warm recollections of my mother with more ease than other days. As spring fights to hold on while summer battles to take control this year, I find myself pondering upon the yearly rights of junior and senior prom and high school graduation.
I`m not sure how many of my readers are aware of this, and I don`t make a habit of announcing it, but eighteen years ago Mister and I lost our first child, a son, to stillbirth. Of course, I have healed as well as a mother can ever heal from the loss of a child. We were blessed a year later with the arrival of a beautiful baby girl who has become our life, but as the date that our son would have graduated high school grows closer, I can`t help but wonder what John would have become.
Would he be going off to college as his sister plans to do when she graduates next year? Maybe he would skip higher education and enter the work force. Would he have graduated at the top of his class? Or would he have been an average student? Would dad`s love of power mechanics overridden mom`s love of English? Would he have tossed his mortarboard in the air? Would he have stayed out late at his friend’s parties and made us worry?
Would he have gone to prom with a girl he was wild about? What color would his tie and boutonnière been? Would they have slow danced? Would he have thrown silly looks at his younger sister as she enjoyed her junior prom at the same time and location? Would he have married this special girl someday?
So many questions that will never be answered and so many dreams that will never be fulfilled . . .
It is sad and always bittersweet. For those who are struggling with the fresh loss of a baby know that time does help. It does not erase the loss of that child. Nothing ever will. As you can see even eighteen years later, you`ll be lost in daydreams of what could have been. Know though, that the agony does subside.
For all those who have an unseen graduate in their hearts, know that you are not alone.
May 27, 2013
Tuesday Tales - Library
Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F sports romance, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.
In today`s excerpt, Alain and Viviana are spending some time at the rink with the kids.
This week our word prompt is ‘Library’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Clara tapped my shoulder. I looked up from skate lacing.
“Are you and Coach Lessard boyfriend and girlfriend?”
The entire group of scouts, and my sister, were waiting on tenterhooks for my reply.
“Coach Lessard and I are just friends,” I said, neatly avoiding the issue.
“Friends with benefits,” Violet murmured then left to find that notebook. Clara wasn`t buying it either it seemed, for she folded her arms and cocked one dark eyebrow at me.
“I`m friends with Boris Kieron and he never kisses my neck. I think you and Coach Lessard are make-out buddies.”
“Where did you ever hear that term?” I asked in shock.
“On that new teen Nick show about the girl who works in the library,” she announced, spun around and ran into a group of giggling girls who were all staring at me and tittering into their hands. I made a mental note to ask Violet what kind of shows they were playing on Nickelodeon nowadays.
Watching the tiny kids on ice was amusing as all hell. They hung onto every word Alain and Bruno passed along, trying their best to emulate the moves their hero was showing them. I glanced at my girls in their Busy Bee uniforms with black joggers and turtlenecks for added warmth. They were quite behind the toddlers in the basics. I hoped Alain could get them up to snuff in time for their first practice game against the boys.
The Mighty Mites skated off after thirty minutes, which appeared to be the length of their attention spans. Alain skated over to Bruno, looking beyond tasty in plain jeans and one of his Wildcat jerseys. He wore no padding just his skates and that damned disarming smile. The girls were fidgety. I stood up and made my way to the gate, my skates feeling heavier than they had just last night. Alain glanced up and waved at me.
“Okay girls,” I opened the gate onto the ice, “Let`s show them what Busy Bee Scouts can do with a puck!” I cheered. Violet clapped. The other moms in the stands sat on their hands. A few of the older boys guffawed as my girls stumble-bumbled onto the ice. Most went down instantly, their spindly legs splaying out like Bambi when he tried to cross that frozen pond. Sticks went flying and spinning across the glassy surface. “And that`s lesson number one of how to fall down without hurting yourself!” I announced brightly, hauling a thin young black girl with braces on her teeth back to her skates. Alain and Bruno assisted getting the girls back up. I could hear the barely veiled guffaws from the spectators.
“That is how we all started out,” Alain told the girls who looked close to tears as they hung onto the boards in humiliation. “There is not a player here,” his baritone carrying through the rink, “that has not fallen on his backside. As I told your Coach Land, it is how we learn to get up. Now, let`s practice learning to skate forward.”
Copyright ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week for more from Viviana and Alain!
In today`s excerpt, Alain and Viviana are spending some time at the rink with the kids.
This week our word prompt is ‘Library’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Clara tapped my shoulder. I looked up from skate lacing.
“Are you and Coach Lessard boyfriend and girlfriend?”
The entire group of scouts, and my sister, were waiting on tenterhooks for my reply.
“Coach Lessard and I are just friends,” I said, neatly avoiding the issue.
“Friends with benefits,” Violet murmured then left to find that notebook. Clara wasn`t buying it either it seemed, for she folded her arms and cocked one dark eyebrow at me.
“I`m friends with Boris Kieron and he never kisses my neck. I think you and Coach Lessard are make-out buddies.”
“Where did you ever hear that term?” I asked in shock.
“On that new teen Nick show about the girl who works in the library,” she announced, spun around and ran into a group of giggling girls who were all staring at me and tittering into their hands. I made a mental note to ask Violet what kind of shows they were playing on Nickelodeon nowadays.
Watching the tiny kids on ice was amusing as all hell. They hung onto every word Alain and Bruno passed along, trying their best to emulate the moves their hero was showing them. I glanced at my girls in their Busy Bee uniforms with black joggers and turtlenecks for added warmth. They were quite behind the toddlers in the basics. I hoped Alain could get them up to snuff in time for their first practice game against the boys.
The Mighty Mites skated off after thirty minutes, which appeared to be the length of their attention spans. Alain skated over to Bruno, looking beyond tasty in plain jeans and one of his Wildcat jerseys. He wore no padding just his skates and that damned disarming smile. The girls were fidgety. I stood up and made my way to the gate, my skates feeling heavier than they had just last night. Alain glanced up and waved at me.
“Okay girls,” I opened the gate onto the ice, “Let`s show them what Busy Bee Scouts can do with a puck!” I cheered. Violet clapped. The other moms in the stands sat on their hands. A few of the older boys guffawed as my girls stumble-bumbled onto the ice. Most went down instantly, their spindly legs splaying out like Bambi when he tried to cross that frozen pond. Sticks went flying and spinning across the glassy surface. “And that`s lesson number one of how to fall down without hurting yourself!” I announced brightly, hauling a thin young black girl with braces on her teeth back to her skates. Alain and Bruno assisted getting the girls back up. I could hear the barely veiled guffaws from the spectators.
“That is how we all started out,” Alain told the girls who looked close to tears as they hung onto the boards in humiliation. “There is not a player here,” his baritone carrying through the rink, “that has not fallen on his backside. As I told your Coach Land, it is how we learn to get up. Now, let`s practice learning to skate forward.”
Copyright ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week for more from Viviana and Alain!
May 26, 2013
In Memory of the Men and Women Who Have Served
May their sacrifice never be forgotten.
Happy Memorial Day
