Becky Lower's Blog, page 11
November 30, 2019
Final Freebie Day
My publisher, Prairie Rose, has made the first books in these seven series, free for a limited time, as we celebrated Black Friday weekend. Today marks the final day these books will be free. Go to the following website to learn more about each of these great books:
http://prairierosepublications.com/black-friday-book-giveaway/
When this giveaway began a few days ago, I made it my mission to get The Reluctant Debutante to number one on the list of Victorian Historical Romance. As of this writing, I'm sitting at number thirteen. Since I don't want to perpetuate the myth that thirteen is an unlucky number, I need you to add this book to your kindle reading list, if you don't already have a copy. This is the final day that I can try to get to the top of the list, for at least an hour.
And, while you're at it, take a look at the other offerings from Prairie Rose and help yourself. You just might find a new favorite author.
I hope your Thanksgiving was filled with fun, food, and family and that you're now ready for December. And that you'll now help yourself to a gift or two from Prairie Rose. If you're a fan of western romance, we've got you covered.
November 23, 2019
Taking Time to Give Thanks
In a combination of Thanksgiving blessings and Christmas gift giving, I decided to part with a piece of property I had in Virginia. I'd held it for over ten years and finally decided I wasn't going to ever build a house on it, so it was time to get rid of it. I contacted a realtor and she agreed to represent me, but told me it might take as much as eighteen months to sell. Much to the surprise of both of us, it was under contract within two weeks.
So, what did I do with the profit? I bought myself a Christmas gift. If I could find one of those big red bows you see in commercials, I'd have it tied to the top of this car. My new to me Jeep!
My old Jeep had been purchased as a used vehicle, and I drove it for thirteen years. I owned my car longer than I held onto any of my assorted houses. The Ohio winters had been very hard on the old boy, and the parts underneath had begun to rust together. It was past time to upgrade. On the final day of having the car in my possession, I took it through the car wash, had a final meal in the car, and got misty when I thanked it for a final time. We'd been through a lot together.
So now, I'll learn what all the buttons are for in the new vehicle, and become as familiar with it as I was with the old one. As long as it's a Jeep, I'm comfortable. My brother was the one to remind me that, when I was contemplating my first car way back when, I told my mother I wanted a Jeep and she persuaded me to buy something else, saying that Jeeps were for boys. So now I have purchased two of those "boy" cars. My brother is proud of me for finally realizing my dream. My mother would probably shake her head at my folly and tell me that's one of the reasons I never could find anyone to marry. I do miss my mother but maybe it was because of her I learned how to be a strong, independent woman, much like my heroines.
What about you? Are you planning to buy something nice for yourself this Christmas season?
If you need a gift idea, here's one. My novella, An Unconventional Courtship is free right now. Grab a copy for you and your loved ones. https://claims.prolificworks.com/free/wPvUwkuJ
And check out the Chase Family Book Club here: https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=cfrg%20book%20club&epa=SEARCH_BOX
So, what did I do with the profit? I bought myself a Christmas gift. If I could find one of those big red bows you see in commercials, I'd have it tied to the top of this car. My new to me Jeep!
My old Jeep had been purchased as a used vehicle, and I drove it for thirteen years. I owned my car longer than I held onto any of my assorted houses. The Ohio winters had been very hard on the old boy, and the parts underneath had begun to rust together. It was past time to upgrade. On the final day of having the car in my possession, I took it through the car wash, had a final meal in the car, and got misty when I thanked it for a final time. We'd been through a lot together.
So now, I'll learn what all the buttons are for in the new vehicle, and become as familiar with it as I was with the old one. As long as it's a Jeep, I'm comfortable. My brother was the one to remind me that, when I was contemplating my first car way back when, I told my mother I wanted a Jeep and she persuaded me to buy something else, saying that Jeeps were for boys. So now I have purchased two of those "boy" cars. My brother is proud of me for finally realizing my dream. My mother would probably shake her head at my folly and tell me that's one of the reasons I never could find anyone to marry. I do miss my mother but maybe it was because of her I learned how to be a strong, independent woman, much like my heroines.
What about you? Are you planning to buy something nice for yourself this Christmas season?
If you need a gift idea, here's one. My novella, An Unconventional Courtship is free right now. Grab a copy for you and your loved ones. https://claims.prolificworks.com/free/wPvUwkuJ
And check out the Chase Family Book Club here: https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=cfrg%20book%20club&epa=SEARCH_BOX
November 16, 2019
Getting Ready for the Holidays
If you've been following my blog for any amount of time, you know that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I attribute this phenomenon to the fact I come from a large family and there never seemed to be enough food to go around–except at Thanksgiving, when everyone got to eat until their bellies were full. The turkey, all juicy and golden brown, and all the trimmings, was eagerly anticipated each November.
Over the years, my many siblings have spread out, as my mother used to say, from sea to shining sea. So each year, we have carried on the Thanksgiving tradition any time of year when three or more of us have been together. Sometimes, it caused funny looks in the grocery store, such as when we tried to buy fresh cranberries and turkeys in July. But, for the most part, we had our celebrations whenever we could get together.
Alas, this year will be different. At no time during this year were there three of us together, except for one weekend when we had more important plans. So, I'll be alone this year for the holiday. I certainly don't want to prepare a big bird for myself. I'm still eating turkey soup from the last time. I'm thinking of ordering a pre-cooked meal for two from the local grocery and buy a little pumpkin pie or pumpkin roll. It will be more than enough to fill my belly and put me in the mood for all those Hallmark Christmas movies to come next month.
And, in celebration of the season, I'm giving away my novella, An Unconventional Courtship, to one and all. Be sure to visit Lauren Royal's facebook page on November 24 for freebies galore, and snap up a copy of my book now. I know it's a few weeks early, but Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. That's how we Lowers roll.
https://claims.prolificworks.com/free...
Over the years, my many siblings have spread out, as my mother used to say, from sea to shining sea. So each year, we have carried on the Thanksgiving tradition any time of year when three or more of us have been together. Sometimes, it caused funny looks in the grocery store, such as when we tried to buy fresh cranberries and turkeys in July. But, for the most part, we had our celebrations whenever we could get together.
Alas, this year will be different. At no time during this year were there three of us together, except for one weekend when we had more important plans. So, I'll be alone this year for the holiday. I certainly don't want to prepare a big bird for myself. I'm still eating turkey soup from the last time. I'm thinking of ordering a pre-cooked meal for two from the local grocery and buy a little pumpkin pie or pumpkin roll. It will be more than enough to fill my belly and put me in the mood for all those Hallmark Christmas movies to come next month.
And, in celebration of the season, I'm giving away my novella, An Unconventional Courtship, to one and all. Be sure to visit Lauren Royal's facebook page on November 24 for freebies galore, and snap up a copy of my book now. I know it's a few weeks early, but Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. That's how we Lowers roll.
https://claims.prolificworks.com/free...
November 9, 2019
Pausing to Admire
I recently had the opportunity to visit my niece, her husband, and their two delightful children. I watched as the parents tag-teamed the care of the kids and wondered how in the world you could do this if you were a single parent. But I know it's done every day, across the country and the world. In my own family, my sister and brother have both had to be single parents and raise their offspring. My admiration of their achievements keeps growing, especially after spending a day with my niece's enthusiastic kids.
Likewise, I admire the thousands of romance authors who not only have burgeoning artistic careers, but raise children, care for their significant others, keep the house going, have full-time jobs, and hold an office with their local RWA chapter. How do they do it? Was I ever so motivated?
The past few years have been at a slower pace for me. After having deadlines for years, and putting out two or three books a year, I've had time to take a step back, figure out what makes me happy, and write what I want to. I'm pleased that my next book will be coming out next year, that my second book in the series is close to the finale, and that my publisher has faith in my work. With all the recent emphasis from the national organization on diversity and making certain not to offend anyone, the playing field has tilted dramatically. It will shift back to a more normal stance in a couple years as we all embrace each other's uniqueness, but right now, publishers are being very careful. Thankfully, there are still publishers who can recognize a good read when they see one. I admire that, too.
And, in honor of Veteran's Day, I admire anyone who has served in our country's military and salute you. Thank you for your service.
Likewise, I admire the thousands of romance authors who not only have burgeoning artistic careers, but raise children, care for their significant others, keep the house going, have full-time jobs, and hold an office with their local RWA chapter. How do they do it? Was I ever so motivated?
The past few years have been at a slower pace for me. After having deadlines for years, and putting out two or three books a year, I've had time to take a step back, figure out what makes me happy, and write what I want to. I'm pleased that my next book will be coming out next year, that my second book in the series is close to the finale, and that my publisher has faith in my work. With all the recent emphasis from the national organization on diversity and making certain not to offend anyone, the playing field has tilted dramatically. It will shift back to a more normal stance in a couple years as we all embrace each other's uniqueness, but right now, publishers are being very careful. Thankfully, there are still publishers who can recognize a good read when they see one. I admire that, too.
And, in honor of Veteran's Day, I admire anyone who has served in our country's military and salute you. Thank you for your service.
November 2, 2019
Daylight Savings Time
Daylight Savings Time came into existence in the United States during the first World War in 1918 as a way to conserve energy and for the farmers to use as much daylight as possible to keep the crops growing. The idea was discontinued after seven months. During the second World War, however, the current model of Daylight Savings Time was signed into law by Roosevelt, and the format is still in use today. Today, 70 different countries have some form of daylight savings time, so it's not unique to the US.
The idea was not new when it was first executed in the US. In fact, Ben Franklin, back in 1784, wrote a letter to the editor of a Parisian newspaper, suggesting candle usage could be conserved if people would go to bed earlier and get up earlier. But Franklin meant it as a joke. It's a pity people didn't take it as such.
Turning back the clocks plays havoc with one's internal clock, much like jet lag. It usually takes about a week for my body to get used to it. Even though I don't have a job where I have to clock in anymore, my internal clock wakes me at 7 each morning when it needs coffee, and I'm ready to hit the sack by 11pm. We'll see how long it takes me this fall to get used to it.
What will I do with the extra hour today? Will I work on my manuscript, which I've been neglecting in favor of spending quality time with my sisters? Will I start planning a launch for my first new book in two years? Or will I roll over and get an extra hour of sleep? Inquiring minds want to know. Especially mine. In the meanwhile, here's a bit of an introduction to Libby, from my WIP:
The proprietor gave her a sideways look when she appeared in the lobby.“I’d like a room, please.” Libby gave him one of her solemn smiles.“You’re alone?” Libby nodded. “Yes. I’d like to arrange for long-term accommodations.” The glint in the man’s eyes when she mentioned a long-term arrangement made her almost certain she would clear this hurdle. “Your name, please.” He held out a quill pen for her to sign the guest book. She took special care to put a Mrs before her new name. The man spun the book around and peered at her signature. “Mrs. Wexford, eh? Will Mr. Wexford be joining you anytime soon?” Libby manufactured a tear, which she made a show of brushing away. “I’m afraid Mr. Wexford just passed.” He mumbled an apology, handed her a key and took her money for the first week’s rent. Libby placed her fingers on her fluttering stomach. She’d told the truth, sort of. Mr. Wexford had recently passed.
She thought she’d have a bigger battle on her hands, but evidently, widows were aplenty in Boston. The scuffle with Britain had been simmering for some years and was about to turn into a full-blown war. Just the kind of distraction she needed. If all the men in Boston were consumed by the Revolution against Britain, she could live here peacefully.
The idea was not new when it was first executed in the US. In fact, Ben Franklin, back in 1784, wrote a letter to the editor of a Parisian newspaper, suggesting candle usage could be conserved if people would go to bed earlier and get up earlier. But Franklin meant it as a joke. It's a pity people didn't take it as such.
Turning back the clocks plays havoc with one's internal clock, much like jet lag. It usually takes about a week for my body to get used to it. Even though I don't have a job where I have to clock in anymore, my internal clock wakes me at 7 each morning when it needs coffee, and I'm ready to hit the sack by 11pm. We'll see how long it takes me this fall to get used to it.
What will I do with the extra hour today? Will I work on my manuscript, which I've been neglecting in favor of spending quality time with my sisters? Will I start planning a launch for my first new book in two years? Or will I roll over and get an extra hour of sleep? Inquiring minds want to know. Especially mine. In the meanwhile, here's a bit of an introduction to Libby, from my WIP:
The proprietor gave her a sideways look when she appeared in the lobby.“I’d like a room, please.” Libby gave him one of her solemn smiles.“You’re alone?” Libby nodded. “Yes. I’d like to arrange for long-term accommodations.” The glint in the man’s eyes when she mentioned a long-term arrangement made her almost certain she would clear this hurdle. “Your name, please.” He held out a quill pen for her to sign the guest book. She took special care to put a Mrs before her new name. The man spun the book around and peered at her signature. “Mrs. Wexford, eh? Will Mr. Wexford be joining you anytime soon?” Libby manufactured a tear, which she made a show of brushing away. “I’m afraid Mr. Wexford just passed.” He mumbled an apology, handed her a key and took her money for the first week’s rent. Libby placed her fingers on her fluttering stomach. She’d told the truth, sort of. Mr. Wexford had recently passed.
She thought she’d have a bigger battle on her hands, but evidently, widows were aplenty in Boston. The scuffle with Britain had been simmering for some years and was about to turn into a full-blown war. Just the kind of distraction she needed. If all the men in Boston were consumed by the Revolution against Britain, she could live here peacefully.
October 26, 2019
Time To Chill
I've been living in North Carolina for a year and a half now, and hadn't been able yet to get to the coast. Until now, anyway. My sister is visiting me from Phoenix and we decided to go see my niece's new home in Wilmington, and by so doing, I got to stick my toes in the Atlantic Ocean at Carolina Beach.
The water was cold, and my pant legs got wet, but I had a huge smile on my face as my great-niece and I waded in and tried to dodge the waves.
It was also wonderful to see my other sister, too. We've turned into three old ladies, but we Golden Girls are taking it in stride. (With the great-niece and nephew.)
Sometimes it's nice to step away from the computer for a couple days and just chill.
The water was cold, and my pant legs got wet, but I had a huge smile on my face as my great-niece and I waded in and tried to dodge the waves.
It was also wonderful to see my other sister, too. We've turned into three old ladies, but we Golden Girls are taking it in stride. (With the great-niece and nephew.)
Sometimes it's nice to step away from the computer for a couple days and just chill.
October 19, 2019
Starting Over?
In April, 2018, Crimson Romance went out of business. It was shortly after I moved to North Carolina when the bottom fell out of my publishing career. I was in the middle of a Regency series, had two of the books written and one published. I signed with an agent who suggested I write the third one in the series so she could try to salvage the series. The Regency period and I never seemed a good fit, though, and I found myself creating feisty secondary characters instead. I hired an author coach to help me right my ship and lost the agent.
I ended up taking the feisty secondary characters out of the strict Regency regulations in England, and plopped them into America at the beginning of the Revolutionary War. It seemed to have worked. The first book in my new Revolutionary War series was a finalist in a recent contest, and I've just received a contract for the book, to be published early next year.
All this reflection has made me realize my roots are in America, not England.
If you look at this past year and a half one way, I've wasted a lot of time and my loyal fans are losing patience with me. But on the other hand, I've found where my strengths are. I can't wait to begin promoting a new book, and launching a branding campaign for myself. Or rebranding, as it were.
I'm pretty excited to see what comes next.
I ended up taking the feisty secondary characters out of the strict Regency regulations in England, and plopped them into America at the beginning of the Revolutionary War. It seemed to have worked. The first book in my new Revolutionary War series was a finalist in a recent contest, and I've just received a contract for the book, to be published early next year.
All this reflection has made me realize my roots are in America, not England.
If you look at this past year and a half one way, I've wasted a lot of time and my loyal fans are losing patience with me. But on the other hand, I've found where my strengths are. I can't wait to begin promoting a new book, and launching a branding campaign for myself. Or rebranding, as it were.
I'm pretty excited to see what comes next.
October 12, 2019
Time For A Change?
For years now, I've had a tire cover on my Jeep that is easily identifiable. My hippie smiley-face that proclaims "Only In A Jeep" has been my calling card.
It's helped me locate my car in large parking decks, it's made a lot of folks smile, it's enabled people to track my whereabouts. While I really enjoy having the hippie dude on my car's rear, it has made me realize how easily identifiable I am.
My neighbor recently asked "Didn't I just see your car at Harris Teeter?" She could have surmised my whereabouts by the bags of groceries I just had unloaded, but she went to pains to tell me it was because of my tire cover. "There's not another one like it in all of Pinehurst." My dog, Mary, was being groomed last month, and the woman at the desk told me, after seeing my car in the parking lot, that she delivers my newspaper to me twice a week. I can't even get away with a late afternoon visit to the grocery or a morning at the groomer without being unmasked, it seems.
My dear Jeep, loyal as it has been, is about at the end of the road. I'm trading it in, hopefully sometime this week, for a newer used car, which will undoubtedly be another Jeep. But I'll remove the tire cover before I affect the trade, since it's been my trademark and I don't want it or me to be associated with the new owner. Alas, the newer Jeep models no longer have an outside spare tire, so I don't know what I'll do with my hippie, but it's not a good idea to transfer it with the car. What if the person robs a bank? Would the police come to my house, since I'm the smiley-faced hippie dude owner? The possibilities are endless.
I'm going to take some pointers on how I developed that brand, since I'll be coming out with my first new book in a couple of years soon. But this time I'll welcome the recognition. Stay tuned.
It's helped me locate my car in large parking decks, it's made a lot of folks smile, it's enabled people to track my whereabouts. While I really enjoy having the hippie dude on my car's rear, it has made me realize how easily identifiable I am.
My neighbor recently asked "Didn't I just see your car at Harris Teeter?" She could have surmised my whereabouts by the bags of groceries I just had unloaded, but she went to pains to tell me it was because of my tire cover. "There's not another one like it in all of Pinehurst." My dog, Mary, was being groomed last month, and the woman at the desk told me, after seeing my car in the parking lot, that she delivers my newspaper to me twice a week. I can't even get away with a late afternoon visit to the grocery or a morning at the groomer without being unmasked, it seems.
My dear Jeep, loyal as it has been, is about at the end of the road. I'm trading it in, hopefully sometime this week, for a newer used car, which will undoubtedly be another Jeep. But I'll remove the tire cover before I affect the trade, since it's been my trademark and I don't want it or me to be associated with the new owner. Alas, the newer Jeep models no longer have an outside spare tire, so I don't know what I'll do with my hippie, but it's not a good idea to transfer it with the car. What if the person robs a bank? Would the police come to my house, since I'm the smiley-faced hippie dude owner? The possibilities are endless.
I'm going to take some pointers on how I developed that brand, since I'll be coming out with my first new book in a couple of years soon. But this time I'll welcome the recognition. Stay tuned.
October 5, 2019
Time To Curl Up
The temperature in North Carolina shifted from summer to fall this past week. And, it's about time. I've always loved autumn. That's probably why I surround myself with trees every place I've lived, just so I can enjoy the spectacle of color in the fall. In my part of the state, there are vast forests of pine, which smells good, but doesn't put on the show of color that I prefer. For that, you need to go to the mountains.
So, I'm planning a trip. My sister from Phoenix is coming to visit, and we're going to explore my state, from the coast line to the mountains and a few places in between.
We'll feel the ocean breeze on our cheeks, breathe in the salt air, visit my niece and my baby sister, and then head to the hills for the display of color. We'll be able to curl up with a good book in front of a roaring fire, maybe see some deer or black bears. Can't wait. I'll get to spend valuable time with my sisters, and get to tour parts of the state I haven't yet seen. Maybe I'll even get inspired to have my next book take place in the mountains of North Carolina. If Nora Roberts can do it, so can I.
So, I'm planning a trip. My sister from Phoenix is coming to visit, and we're going to explore my state, from the coast line to the mountains and a few places in between.
We'll feel the ocean breeze on our cheeks, breathe in the salt air, visit my niece and my baby sister, and then head to the hills for the display of color. We'll be able to curl up with a good book in front of a roaring fire, maybe see some deer or black bears. Can't wait. I'll get to spend valuable time with my sisters, and get to tour parts of the state I haven't yet seen. Maybe I'll even get inspired to have my next book take place in the mountains of North Carolina. If Nora Roberts can do it, so can I.
September 28, 2019
Getting Here
Long ago, I lived in Texas. Those who were born and raised there were in one class of folks. Those who migrated there as adults got to wear a popular t-shirt proclaiming even though they weren't born there, they got there as soon as they could.
I thought about that shirt (which I never bought or subscribed to its notion) this week when I read an editorial talking about the same subject, but instead of Texas, they were relating it to North Carolina. Now, that's a notion I can get behind. Since moving here 1-1/2 years ago, I've settled in. I have nice neighbors, I've found work I can do from home, I joined a gym, and my new Revolutionary War series has me waking up each morning raring to go.
The first one in the series, A British Heiress in America, basically wrote itself. The second one's taking a bit longer, since my hero took a while to get his act together. But with a name like Hawk, what else could you expect? Here's a snippet from the second book, A British Courtesan in America:
The streets were bustling with people, all busy with their lives. Libby melted into the throng and wandered from one street to the next. Her next hurdle was to find employment. She glanced at the various shops and tried to picture herself working in one of them, but nothing so far captured her fancy. The street noise was deafening and the cobbles uneven, so she shifted her gaze to the street and lurched to a stop as the heel of her expensive brocaded silk shoe wedged between two cobbles. In her haste to explore her new city, she’d forgotten to change out of her favorite pair of shoes, the final gift from Atticus. She leaned over to dislodge the shoe, or take it off. Shouts, and then, thundering hooves, finally resonated. Libby glanced up in time to see a horse barreling right at her, but she was unable to move to safety. A scream formed in her throat as her gaze was pinned on the runaway animal. She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. What a pity, to die on her first day of freedom. Then, the breath got knocked out of her as hands grabbed her and yanked her out of the way. She landed hard on the cobblestones, with an equally hard body on top of her. She fought for air as the man rolled off her, helping her to a sitting position, while Boston bustled around her. When she finally was able to breathe again, she opened her eyes and stared at the person who had saved her life. Dark skin, a shock of black hair that stood straight up from his scalp, broad shoulders, and brown eyes that narrowed as she perused him. If she hadn’t had the wind knocked out of her already, this man’s appearance would have stolen it. She’d never seen anyone remotely resembling him. And he still held onto her hand. She put her feet under her and he helped her rise. When she tried to put weight on her left foot, her ankle screamed in pain and she winced. “Have you been injured?” The exotic stranger asked in a voice that had a French lilt to it. “It’s my ankle. I twisted it, evidently. And lost my shoe.” Libby glanced around, searching for her missing footwear. The man scoured the area where she had been and pulled what was left of the shoe from the cobbles. He handed it to her. “Hope you weren’t too fond of them. Mighty fancy footwear for the wild streets of Boston.”
She stifled the moan, and blinked rapidly, not letting the tears fall. “Thank you, kind sir. Now, if you can direct me to my hotel, I’ll let you get back to work.” She took a step forward, but latched onto the man’s arm for support as she cried out in pain. “You aren’t going anywhere in that condition, mon amie. I can take care of you.” He picked her up in his brawny arms and carried her through the streets. “I can take care of myself, sir. Please put me down.” She struggled, which made him grip her tighter. “Not until I take care of your ankle. The longer it’s left unattended, the greater the swelling.” He glanced down at her and smiled slightly. “It’s the least I can do. That horse escaped from my stables.” Libby settled into his arms. “Well, in that case…” She took a moment to study him. “I’m sensing a French accent, but something else, too. What is your nationality?”
“Oui, half French. The other half is Passamaquoddy Indian.”
And, when I get a spare morsel of time, I'm already thinking of the third book, tentatively titled A British Spinster in America. All my heroines are transplanted from England to the United States at the very moment in time when the states did become united. The Revolutionary War is a battle I can get behind, unlike the Civil War, in which so many died so a few could continue their plantation way of life. I keep my Civil War leanings to myself, since I am technically a Southerner now. But North Carolina is a good place to grow things. Like my office plant. It was a gift when I moved into my new place, and has taken off, spreading its leaves towards the heavens. What only a year ago was a little philodendron of some kind has grown into a plant worthy of Little Shop of Horrors. I can hear it calling out "Feed Me!" each time I come near with a watering can.
So I guess it's time I bought a shirt. One that says "I may not have been born here, but I got here as soon as I could." North Carolina is feeling like home.
I thought about that shirt (which I never bought or subscribed to its notion) this week when I read an editorial talking about the same subject, but instead of Texas, they were relating it to North Carolina. Now, that's a notion I can get behind. Since moving here 1-1/2 years ago, I've settled in. I have nice neighbors, I've found work I can do from home, I joined a gym, and my new Revolutionary War series has me waking up each morning raring to go.
The first one in the series, A British Heiress in America, basically wrote itself. The second one's taking a bit longer, since my hero took a while to get his act together. But with a name like Hawk, what else could you expect? Here's a snippet from the second book, A British Courtesan in America:
The streets were bustling with people, all busy with their lives. Libby melted into the throng and wandered from one street to the next. Her next hurdle was to find employment. She glanced at the various shops and tried to picture herself working in one of them, but nothing so far captured her fancy. The street noise was deafening and the cobbles uneven, so she shifted her gaze to the street and lurched to a stop as the heel of her expensive brocaded silk shoe wedged between two cobbles. In her haste to explore her new city, she’d forgotten to change out of her favorite pair of shoes, the final gift from Atticus. She leaned over to dislodge the shoe, or take it off. Shouts, and then, thundering hooves, finally resonated. Libby glanced up in time to see a horse barreling right at her, but she was unable to move to safety. A scream formed in her throat as her gaze was pinned on the runaway animal. She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. What a pity, to die on her first day of freedom. Then, the breath got knocked out of her as hands grabbed her and yanked her out of the way. She landed hard on the cobblestones, with an equally hard body on top of her. She fought for air as the man rolled off her, helping her to a sitting position, while Boston bustled around her. When she finally was able to breathe again, she opened her eyes and stared at the person who had saved her life. Dark skin, a shock of black hair that stood straight up from his scalp, broad shoulders, and brown eyes that narrowed as she perused him. If she hadn’t had the wind knocked out of her already, this man’s appearance would have stolen it. She’d never seen anyone remotely resembling him. And he still held onto her hand. She put her feet under her and he helped her rise. When she tried to put weight on her left foot, her ankle screamed in pain and she winced. “Have you been injured?” The exotic stranger asked in a voice that had a French lilt to it. “It’s my ankle. I twisted it, evidently. And lost my shoe.” Libby glanced around, searching for her missing footwear. The man scoured the area where she had been and pulled what was left of the shoe from the cobbles. He handed it to her. “Hope you weren’t too fond of them. Mighty fancy footwear for the wild streets of Boston.”
She stifled the moan, and blinked rapidly, not letting the tears fall. “Thank you, kind sir. Now, if you can direct me to my hotel, I’ll let you get back to work.” She took a step forward, but latched onto the man’s arm for support as she cried out in pain. “You aren’t going anywhere in that condition, mon amie. I can take care of you.” He picked her up in his brawny arms and carried her through the streets. “I can take care of myself, sir. Please put me down.” She struggled, which made him grip her tighter. “Not until I take care of your ankle. The longer it’s left unattended, the greater the swelling.” He glanced down at her and smiled slightly. “It’s the least I can do. That horse escaped from my stables.” Libby settled into his arms. “Well, in that case…” She took a moment to study him. “I’m sensing a French accent, but something else, too. What is your nationality?”
“Oui, half French. The other half is Passamaquoddy Indian.”
And, when I get a spare morsel of time, I'm already thinking of the third book, tentatively titled A British Spinster in America. All my heroines are transplanted from England to the United States at the very moment in time when the states did become united. The Revolutionary War is a battle I can get behind, unlike the Civil War, in which so many died so a few could continue their plantation way of life. I keep my Civil War leanings to myself, since I am technically a Southerner now. But North Carolina is a good place to grow things. Like my office plant. It was a gift when I moved into my new place, and has taken off, spreading its leaves towards the heavens. What only a year ago was a little philodendron of some kind has grown into a plant worthy of Little Shop of Horrors. I can hear it calling out "Feed Me!" each time I come near with a watering can.
So I guess it's time I bought a shirt. One that says "I may not have been born here, but I got here as soon as I could." North Carolina is feeling like home.
