M.J. Kane's Blog, page 18
July 20, 2014
Writers…to be successful, you must take ACTION!
Ask an author who has seen any amount of success in their work and they will tell you writing is not for the faint of heart. It takes passion, dedication, and an immense desire to be successful. It takes time that you never get back, thousands of unpaid hours, and self-discipline to stay focused while others around you have fun.
A dream means nothing if the proper steps to reach it are not taken. Short cuts can lead to failure. Impatience and refusal to learn the art of writing will lead to a product (your book) that gets readers talking…and not in a good way. Anyone wishing to jump into the world of publishing ─ be it self-publishing or seeking publisher ─ needs to know exactly what they are getting into. Becoming a successful writer is about more than putting and idea on paper, publishing it on Amazon, and expecting to make a ton of money. Regardless of how great the story, if the execution is poor, no amount of money spent on advertising will get you good reviews. In order to receive the type of feedback you desire, you MUST TAKE ACTION!
Since 2010, I have shared information learned during my writing journey on this blog. (Check out the top featured articles here.) For the past year, I’ve hosted a writers group at Barnes and Noble where I share those writing tips with aspiring authors. Every time I post on Facebook and Twitter about upcoming meetings, I receive comments or messages from authors who live out of town and wished they could participate. For that reason, I’ve decided to create this YouTube series.
So grab a pen, sit back, and yet your learn on!
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
MJ
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July 17, 2014
#NewRelease- Crisis of Serenity of Denise Moncrief
Romantic Suspense
Tess Copeland lives a quiet life in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Thanks to the government’s witness protection program, she enjoys the freedom of never having to glance over her shoulder to see if someone is following her. Life has become safe, serene…and boring. Her heart longs for something more than just existing…until a ghost from her past shatters her serenity.
Once upon a time, Tess was caught between the FBI and the men the feds were trying to take down. Jake Coleman is the U.S. Marshal who extracted her from the jam she was in with the FBI, a man she could have fallen for…hard…if she had let herself. It’s been a year since she last saw Jake, and in all the months that have passed, he’s never tried to find her. The longer he keeps his distance, the more she wonders why his absence hurts so much.
When a stranger comes to town searching for her, all of Tess’ old fears are resurrected. Asking Jake for help with her current crisis might lure him into a dangerous trap involving murder, kidnapping, and revenge. When Jake and Tess come face-to-face with the past, they will have to use all their wits to survive.
CRISIS OF SERENITY
serenity-n.-the state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled
Chapter One
It was seven a.m. and Sadie’s Pancake Kitchen had just hit its peak occupancy. Morning rush was prime time, but the pace never slowed from the time the restaurant opened to the time the last customer waddled out the door at night. Sadie’s served breakfast all day, every day.
As soon as I walked in the door around six, Wendy, the hostess, didn’t waste any time assigning me a section on the top floor. She did it on purpose because I had once complained about the trip up and down the stairs. When I worked the top, I had to climb those stinking stairs fifteen jillion times a shift. The owner, whose name was Helen, not Sadie, kept telling us she was going to install an upstairs kitchen or a food service elevator. Yeah, right. Wendy told me to suck it up and do my job, as if she were my boss. I called her Princess behind her back one day and the rest of the wait staff picked up the nickname. The nasty wench obviously held a grudge.
After I cleaned the coffee maker and set a fresh pot to brew, I wrapped my apron around my waist and stuck a pencil behind my ear. Once I entered the dining room, routine set in. What do you want to drink? What will you have today? Can I refresh your coffee? Is there anything else I can get you? Slap the check on the table.
I’d never been a waitress before, but I found I wasn’t half bad at waiting tables. Sadie’s wasn’t the best job I’d ever had, at least not since the feds decided my life would be so much better if I was placed in their questionable witness protection program, but the steady paycheck served my purpose. The waitressing gig kept my wallet fed. No extras. Just subsistence. That’s all I asked. All I needed. Anything more might bring unwanted attention to my existence. After all, the FBI wanted certain individuals to think I had disappeared from the face of the planet so the bad guys would stop searching for me. Because I had dared to testify against Bennie the Goon in federal court, something that didn’t ensure a long life, I had to cooperate with the feds. I liked living and I liked living on the outside. I don’t do well in prison.
Life in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, had settled into a comfortable pattern. Get up at five. Take my niece to daycare. Bum a ride to work. Roll silverware. Brew coffee. Clean teapots. Wait tables until my shift was over at three. Catch the trolley. Pick up my niece from daycare. Go home. Feed the kid. Stuff a few bites of food into my mouth. Soak my feet. Put Joyce to bed. Watch TV. Pass out. Rinse and repeat.
Some of the patrons at Sadie’s were tourists, but quite a few locals breakfasted there several times a week, some every morning. After a few months, faces, and then names had blended into my daily grind. The monotony of the ordinary promised me safety and few surprises. For the first time in years, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder every second and wondering who was stalking me. The sameness of my days appealed to me, better than the life I’d led after I escaped from the Illinois corrections system and the Fugitive Task Force began looking for me. There was never a dull moment as a fugitive. By the time I came out of hiding, the FBI had taken an interest in my case and coerced me into rolling on Bennie. That’s when the feds immersed me in the witness protection system.
I sighed, set Jim Owens’ cup in front of him, and poured coffee from the fresh pot I’d just made. He smiled at me, revealing a perfectly straight set of ultra-white teeth. He had one of those symmetrical faces that cameras love. Why was the guy a cop instead of a movie star? For the first time since I met him, I smiled back. Just because I felt like it.
After a year of living—no, more like hiding out—in Gatlinburg, my stomach had stopped churning every time a member of law enforcement spoke to me. Sadie’s was a popular cop hangout early in the morning. If I had known, I would have taken the job at the souvenir store down the street, despite the fact the owner of that fine establishment couldn’t keep his eyes off my assets. Where his eyes roamed, his hands were likely to soon follow. I didn’t need that grief.
The ticket booth position my handler had obtained for me at Zombiemania when I first arrived in Gatlinburg went away when the attraction went out of business. After that, I found employment on my own. I figured I could do a better job hunt than the federal agent that couldn’t care less if I survived or not.
So I was settled in Tennessee, at least for a while. I gulped down my distrust every single day and served Gatlinburg’s finest their breakfast, even though I had certainly had my fill of cops. This particular patrol officer seemed nice, but I swore I’d never trust a cop again. Ever.
“Thanks.” Jim flashed his gorgeous smile. “How are you today, Tess?” His eyes gleamed with expectation.
“Good. You want the usual?” I asked him the same question every Friday at seven a.m. He always sat at his favorite table. The one that offered the best view of Parkway. Jim was predictable. I liked that in a man. My ex-boyfriend Trevor was anything but.
“Hmmm. Let’s see… Yeah.” His order never varied. Four buttermilk pancakes. Four crispy pieces of bacon. Two eggs—over easy.
A shiver of dread snaked along my backbone. My head snapped up and I peered through the window. A thin ribbon of sidewalk separated the two-story-high plate glass from the roadway. The clink of silverware and restaurant grade china clattered against the background noise of cars stopping and starting. I wiped my bangs from my eyes and studied the flow of traffic on the street below. Two lines crept bumper-to-bumper in view of the restaurant, a small percentage of cars making it through the green light in one cycle. Stoplight #6 was always busy. A patrol unit had stopped at the signal. The officer turned his head my way. Our eyes met and held, and then my heart skipped a few beats. What was he doing here in Gatlinburg? I thought I had left him behind in Colorado.
Nothing on earth could have dragged me away from his stare. Life as I knew it had changed, and my monotonous existence didn’t feel so safe anymore. The uncontrollable urge to escape overtook me…again. I had always been good at running.
“I was thinking…” Jim’s voice drifted in and out of my consciousness.
“Huh?”
“Tess, are you all right? You went pale all of a sudden.”
“I’m okay.” I turned my attention back to him. “I’ll put your order in.”
I left before he could hint that he wanted to take me out. He was predictable about that as well. Today wasn’t a good day. There might never be a good time—not with a ghost from my past invading my newly acquired contentment.
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About the Author:
Denise is a Southern girl. She has lived in Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a wonderful husband and two incredible children, who not only endure her writing moods, but also encourage her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and scrapbooking.
Accounting is a skill she learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit. She wrote he first story when she was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She’s been writing off and on ever since, and with more than a few full-length manuscripts already completed, she has no desire to slow down.
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
MJ
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July 16, 2014
Inspiration Comes to Life!!!!
Inspiration for my stories come from my personal experiences, from those around me, or ‘what if’ scenarios that run wild in my imagination. With the reality of life, love, and relationships being the focus of my stories, I like to step outside the box of what may be considered ‘normal’ jobs, putting my characters in situations many of us may not think about. For instance, the female leads in past novels have been a veterinarian (Ebony Campbell, A Heart Not Easily Broken), a fashion consultant (Yasmine Phillips, Jaded), and a Head Costume Designer (Kaitlyn Rodgers, Lonely Heart). But when it came to the female to grace the pages of the next Butterfly Memoirs novel, Nobody’s Business But My Own (Book Four), I was stumped…until I saw the perfect candidate while sitting at a red light.
One day last year, while on the way to pick my daughter up from school, I was in traffic, windows down, contemplating the next scene of Lonely Heart to be written once I reached my destination. My attention was diverted by a fire truck as it turned in front of me. Having grown up around a fire station as a kid ( my father was a fire Chief before he died) I’ve climbed on fire trucks, hung around the station, even slid down the pole a few times (fire pole that is! Lol). Never in my life did I imagine becoming a fire fighter. I imagined being the dispatcher in the office. Well, after my father died, hanging around fire stations became a thing of the past.
But on this day, the memories from my childhood were dusted off and my imagination sparked once again…
Behind the wheel of the truck sat a white woman. Call me crazy, or maybe I’ve been in the house and glued to my laptop a little too long, but this was the FIRST time I’d seen a woman driving a fire truck, much less wearing the uniform. Before I knew it, I was grinning from ear to ear. Unfortunately, my grin was quickly deflated by two men sitting in vehicles next to me. As I said, my windows were rolled down…so where theirs. And what happened next had me seriously pissed off.
One of the men looked at the other and said:
‘Was that a woman driving that truck?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘When did women start working at fire stations? That’s not a job for women.’
*Insert angry glare here*
It took everything in me not to shout, ‘So, if you were stuck in your burning house and the fire fighter coming to rescue you was a woman, would you say, ‘no thanks, I’ll wait on the male fire fighter????’
I decided right then and there that the next female in my novel would be a fire fighter.
Researching the subject of female fire fighters and the ups and downs of the job has been very interesting. The number of African-American women on the job has also been inspiring. Then of course there are TV shows now featuring women with that profession (The last season of Chicago Fire had a past character who was a female fire fighter, and one who has just earned the position in the next season). So imagine my amazement and pride when I logged onto Facebook and saw this wonderful picture of Danae Mines, who has not only been a fire fighter for 11 years, she’s also the FIRST FEMALE FIREFIGHTER to grace the cover of the FDNY Fireman’s Calendar for 2015! (Watch the news report here!)
Image via nydailynews.com.
YOU GO GIRL!!!
The Muse and I are about to be on a roll! Thanks Danae, for becoming a role model for young women everywhere!
Now…if anyone knows how to get in contact with her, PLEASE send her my way! I’ve got questions!!!! :)
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
MJ
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July 3, 2014
Meet M.J. Kane and get your Butterfly Memoir Novel Signed!
I’m happy to announce my first Meet & Greet of 2014 will be held July 30th!
Join me Wednesday evening as I share my favorite passages from the Butterfly Memoirs Series novels and what inspired me to write the the series. Want to know more about the characters, the series, and what happens next? Get your questions together, grab your paperbacks (or ereaders!) and join in the fun!
Writing Elements with author M.J. Kane
Come out to listen to local author M.J. Kane as she reads excerpts from her books, The Butterfly Memoirs. Learn what it takes to become a writer and how to get published!
*Book sale and signing to follow!*
July 30, 2014, 6:00-8:00 PM
Clayton County Library: Headquarters Branch
865 Battle Creek Road
Jonesboro, GA 30236
(770) 473-3850
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
MJ
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#NewRelease- The Porcelain Child by Jessica Dall
Congratulations to fellow 5 Prince Publishing author Jessica Dall as she celebrates the release of the second novel in The Broken Line Series!
Alternative History, Historical Romance
With less than a decade of stable rule behind them, Lord Protector Richard Seymour has passed away leaving the country once again in turmoil. With her connection to the old regimes, seemingly on all sides thanks to her mother, Adela, Mary might find herself pulled into the heat of battle whether she wants it or not.
Book 2 of The Broken Line Series, The Porcelain Child picks up with the next generation thrown into the mix.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
The porcelain a little chipped, Mary still recognized the woman in the miniature. There were enough pictures of her around, after all. Mary supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to find it amongst the small box they had sent her of Richard Seymour’s affects—even as the parliamentarian he was. Queen Adela wasn’t a symbol of monarchy, after all. Even after everything, she was still the romantic heroine.
And Mary supposed it likewise wasn’t surprising the surviving Seymours had sent it to her. Mary hadn’t received much from Richard Seymour’s estate—she hadn’t expected to—but it seemed to be the logical conclusion for someone going through Richard’s things to send a picture of Adela Tilden to her daughter. Mary couldn’t imagine the remaining Seymours would have much love for Queen Adela themselves.
It was likely they would send it to Aberfirth or use it for target practice.
Touching the gold filigree around the little portrait, Mary finally set it down. Of all the portraits Mary had seen, this one didn’t look the least familiar. Adela couldn’t have been much more than fifteen in it. A rare portrait from before her short reign as queen, when she had been baron’s daughter living so far north she was barely on the map. Still, looking down and off to the side, as if the viewer were below her interest, the picture still seemed bizarrely fitting—as though she already considered herself the viewer’s better, far before she had the right to.
The door opened, then slammed shut. William rested back against it, breathing heavily.
Mary frowned, attempting to recover from her thoughts. “What…?”
Motioning for her silence, William winced as someone knocked. He looked at her, mouthed, Help me.
Giving him a suspicious looked, Mary moved forward all the same, letting him hide behind the dark wood as she pulled the door open.
Mr. Johnson, red-faced and soaking wet, looked up at her, puffing. “Where is he?”
Mary blinked, could feel William tense through the door. “Who?”
“Him,” the tutor seethed. “Lord Kedington. I heard him come this way.”
“He must have gone further down the hall, then.” Mary glanced out the door as though looking where William might have gone. “I haven’t seen him.”
Mr. Johnson didn’t move, hands clenched. A head shorter than her and red as a beet, he still somehow remained intimidating. Even while dripping on the hardwood.
Mary looked at him, unmoving, daring him to call her a liar.
Mr. Johnson didn’t answer.
“If you’re wanting to catch him, sir, you should likely keep looking,” Mary finished.
Another tense breath, and Mr. Johnson bowed shallowly at the waist, stalking off as his wet shoes squeaked after him.
Waiting a moment, Mary finally shut the door, looking at the smiling man still pressed against the wall. She crossed her arms. “Aren’t you getting a little old for these pranks, Will?”
“It wasn’t meant to be a prank.” The smile grew. “Just a happy coincidence.”
Mary sat at her desk, shaking her head. “I doubt Mr. Johnson will believe you.”
William shrugged, seeming less than bothered as he moved to the box on the bed. “This the Seymour stuff they sent you?”
Mary looked at it silently, allowing William to change the topic.
Peering over the side, William pursed his lips slightly. “Not much, is it?”
“More than I was expecting, honestly,” Mary answered. “You know what the rest of the Seymours think of me.”
William just nodded, poking through the few things left in the box. “Should I assume you aren’t planning on going to the funeral?”
Mary frowned, watching him closely at the change of tone. He hadn’t asked what he’d meant. She shook her head. “If my mother can’t be bothered to come back from abroad at all in light of recent events, I see no reason why I should make the effort go to Carby.”
“He’s your father.”
Mary snorted.
“And who knows,” William continued over her justified skepticism. “It might be exciting. Getting out of Aberfirth for a bit? Seeing Carby?”
“I really can’t think of a place I’d rather not see, Will,” Mary droned, picking up the miniature before he could argue. She tossed it to him. “He had that apparently.”
William caught it easily, eyebrows rising as he looked at it. “Very nice.”
Mary frowned deeply. “Could you please refrain from salivating over my mother while I’m still in the room?”
“I wasn’t salivating.” He smiled, tossing it back to her before he sat. “It’s just a nice picture. One of her queen portraits?”
“Not one I recognize at least.” Mary set it down without looking. “Do you find it strange that he had it?”
“Well.” William took a moment, shrugged. “Your mother is a beautiful woman.”
Mary made a face, standing to pick up the box.
William caught her wrist. “Don’t give me that look, May.”
She just flicked her eyes over him, pulling herself free before she moved the box to the ground. A well placed kick and it slid out of sight.
He watched her carefully. Took his time before speaking. “They’ve asked me to go.”
She looked back up, a low level of panic starting deep in her chest though she wasn’t sure why. “They who? Go where?”
“Who, parliament,” he said, running a hand through his short blond hair. “Where, the funeral.”
Mary pulled her eyebrows together. “Why? You’re no one important.”
He laughed. “Thanks, May.”
“It’s hardly a bad thing.” Mary pressed her lips tightly together.
He took her hand, swinging to face her. “I’d like you to come with me.”
“To Carby?”
He nodded, his blue eyes drilling into her.
Her grey ones looked back. “Are you feverish?”
The smile returned. “Carby can’t really be as bad as you think, May.”
“I can’t get within thirty miles of the place without someone trying to draw me into a royalist plot. I would think especially now.” Mary glanced at the window, the rolling green hills of Aberfirth seeming to be a false shield from everything else waiting out there. “Anyway, I haven’t gotten marching orders from my mother yet. If she thought there were any benefit in me going she would have already ordered me there. This is Adela Tilden we’re talking about.”
William nodded, glancing out the window himself as if checking she didn’t see anything before he looked back at her. “When was the last time you heard from her?”
Mary shook her head. “Years? What has there been for her to write about?”
“I would think there’s plenty lately.”
“She’s probably still figuring out her next move. His death was recent enough.” Mary sighed, brushed it away. “I don’t have her mind. Don’t ask me to try to understand her actions.”
“I still think you would have made a great queen, May.” William smiled.
Mary’s stomach clenched, her face turning deadly serious. “Don’t even joke like that.”
William’s eyes stayed on her, but he didn’t argue. Fair and tall as he was, Mary had to admit William had grown into a handsome man from the gangly ten year old that had shown up to stay eight years ago. She froze, the nature of the thought registering, making heat rise to her cheeks.
“You are beautiful, you know that, May?” his voice cut in before she could recover.
Mary’s body tensed, the odd sense he had read her mind too jarring.
“Don’t look so shocked.” He rested back on his hands, easy smile unsettlingly handsome now that she thought about it. “You are your mother’s daughter, after all.”
“And I would give anything that I weren’t.” She rubbed the side of her face quickly, dropping her eyes.
His eyes stayed on her another moment before he stood, holding her chin.
She looked up, breath catching in her throat as he held her eyes.
“You still have this house, May. You still have your life. I don’t think you have weathered everything too poorly, all things considered. Many lost much more.”
There was enough to set her head right again. Mary’s jaw locked as she pulled back. “Thank you, Will, but I hardly need you to remind me.”
He touched her hair gently, pushing a dark auburn strand behind her ear. “Please come, May? You can’t spend your entire life afraid out here.”
Mary shook her head. “You shouldn’t go at all, Will. Not now.”
William looked at her another moment, finally sighed. “I have to. Anyway, you’re Mary Seymour. I imagine people would leave you alone at Richard Seymour’s funeral.”
“Not when they believe I’d be Mary Claybourne had the old king not lost his head.”
“Seymour claimed you as legitimate,” William argued.
“Words.” Mary slipped away from him, sitting on the bed. “Oaths and proclamations and edicts. They’re all just words. People hold them cheap these days.”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.” William turned to face her.
Mary looked down at her hands, back up. “Do they know who will be the new lord protector?”
William cocked an eyebrow but let her change the topic. “I think they’re still discussing it.”
“So there’s no one in charge?”
“Well, parliament is.” William laughed. “They won’t allow the country to enter a state of anarchy just because one man died.”
“We’ll see,” Mary mumbled.
He shook his head, good natured as ever. “No one wants another war, May.”
“Every royalist who lost the last one does,” she returned, face serious.
“We aren’t going to war.”
“Are you certain of that?” She held his eyes.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Would you like to place a bet?”
Her frown only deepened. “This isn’t funny, Will.”
William sat next to her, placing an arm around her shoulder before he kissed her forehead. “You’re always so serious, May.”
“Life is serious.” She didn’t look at him.
“It can also be fun,” he said.
“So you always think,” she said, knot still tight in the pit of her stomach.
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About Jessica Dall
Jessica Dall finished her first novel at age 15 and been writing ever since. She is the author of such novels as Grey Areas and The Bleeding Crowd, the Broken Line Series, and a number of short stories which have appeared in both literary magazines and anthologies. When not writing, she works as a freelance editor and creative writing teacher in Washington, DC.
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
MJ
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July 1, 2014
A Heart Not Easily Broken is coming to Audible!!!
I am happy to announce the first book of The Butterfly Memoirs Series will soon be available on Audible, Amazon, and iTunes!
The beauty of audio books is being able to take your favorite novel with you wherever you go. When I don’t have time to read, I’m always listening to a book in my car or while I clean the house. Since A Heart Not Easily Broken was published in 2012, I’ve had readers ask me when it would be available as an audio book. Well, now I have an answer! We’re aiming for mid- September 2014!
After several rounds of auditions, I am pleased to announce that Quiana Goodrum, a very talented narrator/producer, has been signed to bring the story of Ebony Campbell and Brian Young to life! For those of you who have read the novel, it will be a new way to get to know the characters through their voices. For those of you who are busy and don’t have time to sit down and read, you now have the option to listen on your daily commute!
I’ll keep you guys updated with the progress of the project and share a sample when I can. Stay tuned!
Click cover for learn more about the characters!
Ebony is a smart, sexy, career-oriented black woman who wants nothing more than a summer fling with a man who challenges her mind and body. What she doesn’t expect is a blond haired, blue-eyed bass player – who won’t take “no” for an answer- to accept the challenge.
When Ebony’s attempt at a brief fling turns into more, despite negative reactions from friends and family, she finds juggling love, family, and career are nothing compared to the ultimate betrayal she endures. Now her dreams spiral into lies and secrets that threaten her future and her best friend’s trust.
Amazon USA Amazon Stores Outside of U.S. Barnes & Noble iTunes Smashwords Kobo
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
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June 24, 2014
Have you written a book? Are you trying to decide how to get it published? This class is for you!
For the second year in a row, I am holding a class to assist local writers seeking to have their work published. Searching for the right publisher in this fast changing industry, or deciding whether or not to self-publish can be overwhelming. there’s a lot of information to learn. Hope to see you there!
Elements of Publishing: Author Series with author M.J. Kane
Join me as I share tips on how to get your manuscript published and negotiate a book contract with a publisher.
WHEN: June 25, 2014, 2:00-3:30 PM
WHERE: Clayton County Library: Jonesboro Branch
124 Smith Street
Jonesboro, GA 30236
(770) 478-7120
Cost: FREE!!!!!
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
MJ
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June 19, 2014
The Party’s Over Here, Ya’ll!!! :)
Have you checked out The Romance Reviews Sizzling Summer Party?
Contest, giveaways, and games are what’s on the menu, and today, Lonely Heart is one of the featured games! Stop by for your chance to win an eBook copy of book three of The Butterfly Memoirs Series today!
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
MJ
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#NewRelease! Till You Come Back to Me by Chicki Brown
Check out this new release by Chicki Brown! It’s book 2 of The Stafford Brothers Series!
Contemporary Romance
Atlanta plastic surgeon Charles Stafford is giving up his successful practice to volunteer his services in Nigeria with a medical organization. Even though he’s excited about this major career move, he has no idea how much his life is about to change.
Nurse Adanna Okoro is one of the six medical professionals working at a small village hospital thirty minutes outside of Lagos, Nigeria. She loves her job and is devoted to the people she serves. When the hospital is notified that it has been chosen to host a team of foreign doctors, Adanna meets the man she has always dreamed of.
Excerpt:
The family room of Charles’ parents’ Atlanta home buzzed with anticipation. The family had all been together a few weeks ago to celebrate Christmas. This time, he had called them all together for a meeting without giving them an inkling of why, but he knew they would all show up out of mere curiosity.
When he arrived, Cydney, his brother Jesse’s wife was the first to greet him as she discreetly nursed their newborn in an easy chair in the corner. “Hey, brother-in-law! You have us all on pins and needles here. We’re just waiting for Nick. He went to Cherilyn’s church this morning.” She propped the little pink bundle on her shoulder and patted her back.
“They’re still seeing each other?” Charles asked. “I’m impressed. Okay. That’ll give me time to log on to my laptop.”
“Are you giving a symposium, Dr. Stafford?” she asked with a giggle.
He gave her the side eye. “No, Cyd. I’m Skyping Marc and Greg, so they can be here with us.”
Ramona, who was married to his brother Vic, raised her perfectly-shaped eyebrows. “Wow, this must be serious.”
“Charles!” His mother, Lillian, came around the corner from the kitchen before he could answer. “I thought I heard your voice. “Do you mind telling your mother what this is all about?”
He kissed her cheek. “I want to talk to everyone at the same time, Mama. As soon as Nick gets here, I’ll get Marc and Greg on the computer. Where is everybody?”
“In the kitchen making sandwiches. If Daddy and your brothers don’t eat the second we get out of church, they think they’ll die. I sent the kids downstairs to watch a movie.”
Charles set his laptop on the cocktail table in front of the sofa, plugged it in and hit the power button. “Since Nick’s not here yet, I’m going to make a sandwich.” He left the women in the family room.
“What’s this all about, Charles?” his father, Victor Sr., asked when he entered the kitchen. “Why was it necessary to call the whole family together?”
“Did you guys leave any meat? I could use a sandwich before we get started,” he answered, scanning the counter and momentarily disregarding the older man’s interrogation. “Nick’ll be here in a few.”
His older brothers, Vic and Jesse shared a puzzled glance. Vic slid the bread, mustard, and mayonnaise in Charles’ direction. They watched him in silence as he slathered the bread with mayonnaise, and slapped together a combination of ham, turkey, and cheese.
“I have to set up this conference call on my laptop.” He poured a glass of apple juice. “If Nick isn’t here by the time I’m done, I’ll just start without him.”
The three doctors stared at him and nodded. “Who the hell is he conferencing?” Charles heard Jesse say as he left the room.
Thankfully, his baby brother walked in the door as he headed toward the computer. “It’s about time, man,” Charles grasped Nick’s hand, and they bumped shoulders.
“I had to take Cherilyn home. What’s up, man? Why the appearance summons?”
“You’ll know in a few minutes. Do you know how to do a Skype call?”
“Sure. Don’t you?”
“Yes, but I’ve never made a conference call.”
“And we’re conferencing with?”
“Marc and Greg.”
Nick’s cerulean gaze rested on his. “This must be major. Give me the numbers, and I’ll do it. Are they expecting the call?”
“I told them between two-thirty and three o’clock.”
Nick, the family cyber-wizard, positioned himself in front of the computer. “They’ll be on the line in five minutes.”
“Okay. Let me get the rest of the family from the kitchen.” Charles crossed the room and peered into the kitchen. “We’re almost ready. Come on.” His father bolted into the living room as though he couldn’t wait another minute to find out what this whole production was about. He took a seat next to his wife.
“Hey, Marc. It’s Nick. I’m arranging this call for Charles. Can you see me?”
“Uh huh, is everybody there?”
“Present and accounted for.”
“Hey, people!” Marc called from the screen. “Gianne is here with me. Say hi, baby.” Marc’s fiancée leaned in, waved and was met with a chorus of hellos.
“Hold on, so I can get Greg.” Nick did his thing, and the last of his five brothers appeared on the screen from his Manhattan apartment. “We’re all in the family room.” He moved aside and let Charles take his place in front of the laptop.
“I obviously have an announcement to make, but first I want to say that I’ve been considering this decision for a couple of years.” He met Vic’s gaze, and his brother smiled. “And I discussed it with Marc when he was here a few months ago.” He paused, cleared his throat and met his father’s gaze. “I’ve put my practice up for sale, and I’m moving to Las Vegas to work with Marc for half of the year.” A collective gasp traveled around the room, but Charles was determined to finish. “The other half of the year I’ll be working with Doctors Without Borders performing reconstructive surgery in a small village hospital in Nigeria. As soon as the legal details are finalized with the real estate agent and the legal guys, I’ll be leaving.”
His mother grabbed his father’s hand. Cyd and Ramona put their heads together and whispered. An uneasy silence lingered until Greg spoke from the computer screen. “That’s fantastic, man! It takes a lot of guts to make a move like that.”
“I agree,” Marc chimed in. “If that’s where your heart is, go for it.”
“Did you talk him into this, Marcus?” his father challenged, clearly shocked by the news.
“Daddy. Daddy!” Charles raised his voice. “This was my decision. When I asked Marc if I could stay with him, he asked me how I planned to make any money during the half of the year I’d be in the States. At that point, I wasn’t sure, so he made me an offer.”
“Dammit, Charles! You’re a Board-certified plastic surgeon,” the older man blustered. I already have one son whose life goal is to be a gym rat.” He leapt from his seat and headed for the bar in the corner where he poured himself two fingers of Scotch and took a long sip.
Undeterred, Charles continued. “Doctors Without Borders is a highly respected organization, and if I’m ever going to do this, it has to be now while I’m single with no kids. If I divest most of my hard assets, I can have a nice cushion. After all, nobody needs a Benz or a wardrobe of designer suits to operate in a remote third-world hospital.”
“I think it’s wonderful, Charles,” Cydney said, bouncing the sleeping baby across her lap.
Ramona just rolled her eyes. Pro-bono work of any kind ran contrary to her DNA.
His mother spoke up. “Victor, I think you’re losing sight of the real point here. We raised the boys to give back, didn’t we?”
“He doesn’t need to sell his practice and move to Las Vegas in order to give back,” his father insisted. “You can stay here in Atlanta and volunteer wherever you want, Charles. I know of colleagues who donate their time to DWB, but they only do short tours.”
“I thought about that, Daddy, but I don’t want to go that route. I’m sick and tired of catering to people’s narcissism. I want to help people, I mean, really help. If I have to enlarge any more lips, butts, or boobs, I’ll lose my mind.”
His father slammed his glass on the table. “Boy, what is wrong with you? Those lips, butts, and boobs paid off that $200,000 student loan debt!”
Charles stood his ground. “Right. So my time doing vanity surgery has served its purpose. This isn’t up for discussion. It looks as though I have a qualified buyer for my practice, and once the deal is finalized, I’ll be moving to Vegas.”
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About the Author:
Shades of Romance Magazine 2011 Author of the Year, Chicki Brown has published six novels and one novella, all of which have made different Kindle bestseller lists.
A voracious reader since she was a child, Chicki grew up in New Jersey reading everything she could get her hands on. Now she concentrates on romance, women’s fiction and suspense.
Mother of two and grandmother of five, Brown was born and raised in New Jersey and now calls suburban Atlanta, Georgia home.
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
MJ
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June 12, 2014
#NewRelease- The Letter Drawer by Sarah Galloway
Fiction/Christian/Romance
True love never dies, but is it enough to heal a broken faith?
Claire and Evan met when they were children. They grew up together and fell in love. When Evan became a soldier, he and Claire held onto their love, remaining faithful to one another through every deployment. As the years passed, it seemed that life had given them everything they ever wanted … until tragedy struck.
Evan, left in the wake of tragedies, is now forced to decide what is most precious to him. Will love heal him or will devastation destroy his faith? Can Evan’s family show him the way? Can love truly set him free?
Excerpt:
They had been so young, so very young. She remembered walking to the school bus, alone and scared. Her first day of first grade and then there he was, a young boy in a dress shirt and slacks, a lunch box in his hand and a blue and red backpack on his back. Tall and quiet, the boy’s eyes did not meet hers. His dark brown hair was well cropped above his big brown eyes. She saw him and lost some of her fear. Walking up next to him, she stood silently as they waited for the bus.
That was the beginning of it. From that moment on, they were never far from one another. She chose a seat next to him in class and she always picked the seat next to him on the bus ride home. They sat in silence at first, both looking straight ahead with their hands folded neatly in their lap.
Later, when she could finally stand the silence no more, she glanced over at him. “My name is Claire, what’s yours?”
The boy’s voice was quiet. “Evan.”
“Evan,” she repeated softly. “Okay.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Okay what?”
“Okay, I like your name Evan. You can be my friend.”
Evan looked at her, a small, confused smile playing at the corner of his lips.
Time went on. They played, built forts, explored the forest behind their neighborhood, and laughed. They grew up together. They became best friends, and that did not change.
Middle school approached and Evan became an awkward, lanky boy while Claire was a dark-haired, green-eyed beauty. She didn’t seem to care. All of the sudden, the boys noticed Claire, but still, she stayed by Evan.
“Hey Claire,” they would say. “Want to come hang out with us after school?”
“No thanks,” replied Claire.
“Why not?”
“I’m studying with Evan.”
Despite the whispering, whining, and complaining that came from the other boys, Claire never wavered. When she left school, she always walked to the bus with Evan. She rode with him, laughed, and told jokes with him, even when the others snickered or sneered.
One day, as they rode next to each other, Claire realized that what she felt for Evan was more than just friendship. She reached over and took his strong, masculine hand, clasping it in her own much smaller one. He looked up at her, waiting for something.
Wondering what was on her mind, he interrupted the silence. “Claire?”
“Yes, Evan?”
Brown eyes sparkled back at her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Evan.”
The gaze lasted a moment longer. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Evan.”
He left his hand sandwiched between hers. “Alright then.”
When the bus came to a stop, Claire stood and waited for Evan to stand beside her and they walked off together, as they always did.
Standing there on the sidewalk, Claire silently stared at Evan, not moving.
Evan was clearly confused. “Ummm, did you want to come over and study?”
“Not really.”
Absently, he scratched the top of his head. “Alright then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“No.” She halted him with her hand on his shoulder. “Come with me.”
Pausing for a moment, he gave her an inquiring look. “Where are we going?”
She clasped his hand in hers. “Just come.”
They were seventeen and when she took his hand this time, it was because she loved him. She led him into the forest and back through trees they hadn’t been under in years. They walked through the thick underbrush and finally came to a clearing. He looked at it and smiled. A couple of old, beat-up pieces of plywood leaned together were held there by nails creating a sanctuary fashioned by children. Various odd blankets and pieces of bark and wood that were tattered and faded and barely recognizable lay underneath them.
Confused, he glanced from her to their favorite childhood place. “Claire, this is our old fort.”
She pulled him toward it. “Yes.”
“I had forgotten about this place.”
The light breeze rushed through her hair. “Do you remember when we built it?”
Nostalgia was obvious on his features. “Of course I do! Oh gosh, how old were we, nine, ten maybe?”
“We were in third grade. It was fun. Come and sit with me under it now, will you?”
As she pulled him forward, he laughed. “Okay Claire.”
On their hands and knees, the dusty ground was cool and soft as they crawled into the tattered old fort. When they were sitting under it, there was barely enough room for both of them and Evan’s body was cramped against Claire’s so that they would fit.
Claire smiled at Evan and touched his forehead, brushing a lock of fallen hair away from his eyes.
A serious expression fell across his face. “Claire, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Evan’s eyes trailed off to the horizon. “Why do you still stay with me?”
“What do you mean?”
He shifted his gaze back to her. “I mean, you’re … well, you’re beautiful Claire. All those guys want to be with you, the good looking ones, the ones all the girls want to be with, and you still always hang out with me.”
“Well,” said Claire blushing. “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What is?”
Unblinking eyes stared back at her as she spoke. “Evan, I think I’m in love with you.”
A friendly bear hug enveloped her. “I love you too, Claire.”
“No, you don’t understand. Not like a friend, not like we are best friends. I think I have fallen in love with you.”
He looked at her, as though he was barely registering what she was saying. She looked back into his dark brown eyes. Still, he said nothing. Finally, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. It was a soft and tender kiss, yet it was warm and inviting, too. And it was perfect, like they had done it all of their lives.
The words fell out of her mouth in a whisper. “Evan, I mean it. I love you.”
His voice was soft and tender. “Oh Claire, I love you too.”
Now he put his arms around her and she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body. They stayed that way, he held her and she curled up within his arms, finally able to relax now that she knew that he loved her too.
That had been twenty years ago.
Claire thought back on the memory and smiled. Twenty years. Has it really been that long? Twenty years since she realized that she truly did love Evan. It seems like only yesterday.
She closed her eyes and pictured him as he looked now. Sharp jaw, strong features, tall and lean and handsome. Evan was the kind of guy that women looked at twice when he walked by, although he didn’t realize it. Those soft, gentle brown eyes that she loved and adored still made her feel weak and he still had the shock of deep brown hair that he had to trim constantly because it grew so quickly.
He had been such a scrawny kid that nobody understood why she went for him when she could have any boy in the school, had she wanted them. They simply didn’t understand love. She had belonged to Evan from the first time she saw him. She had always been his.
Evan had taken more convincing. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Claire, because he did. It was more that he was terrified of her. He was scared to death that she would realize how amazing she was and that she would go fleeting off into the arms of one of the rough looking muscled guys that were always hitting on her. Eventually though, he realized that she only saw him and he began to feel safe with her. In time he learned that they truly did belong together and that she would never leave him. He didn’t quite understand why, but he knew it to be true all the same.
Claire closed her eyes and pictured Evan next to her. She could almost feel his breath on her skin. But it was too soon, he wouldn’t be home for another five months. Sighing, she forced herself up to make breakfast.
Claire pulled the contents from her cupboard to make pancakes and began mixing the batter. As she was holding the bowl under one arm and whisking with the other, she heard Eve’s soft footsteps on the linoleum. The quiet, dainty sound of Eve’s feet were soon overshadowed by Connor’s much louder thuds.
Her two children came into the kitchen, both still half-asleep. Seventeen-year-old Connor was in sweatpants and a t-shirt, while thirteen-year-old Eve stood in a long night shirt and knit sleep pants.
Claire greeted them warmly. “Good morning kids.”
“Mmmph,” groaned Connor.
Eve yawned. “Morning.”
“Oh come on now you two, it’s a beautiful day, just look outside.”
They both looked out the window, indifference on their faces.
Jackson, the family pet, came meandering into the kitchen when he heard the kids. The huge, black Great Dane pressed himself against Connor.
“Oooph.” The air rushed out of Connor. “Jackson, it’s too early.”
The dog quite happily moseyed away to Eve who patted him lightly on the head. Then he walked to Claire and sat down next to her. She leaned playfully on him while she waited for the pancake in the skillet to be ready to flip, he didn’t budge.
Connor got out the milk and poured himself a glass. “Do you want some Eve? Mom?”
“Yeah,” yawned Eve as she took her place at the table, wiping sleep from her eyes.
Claire flipped a pancake in the skillet. “No thank you honey.”
Connor poured a second glass and walked it to Eve who took it, thanked him and sipped at it as she tried to will herself awake. Claire finished cooking breakfast and put some on the plates, handing them to the kids. She watched as Connor carefully poured syrup onto each pancake and then handed the bottle to his sister. Eve cut up her pancakes with a fork first, and then lathered syrup all over the small fragments.
Eve handed the bottle to her Mom. Claire put a tiny dollop of syrup on her single pancake and then spread it across in a thin, even layer. She smiled as she watched the kids eat. Slowly, they began to wake up.
Connor finished first, his voice still hazy. “I’m gonna shower.”
“Okay,” said Claire.
Connor left and Eve sat at the table with her daughter.
There was silence before Eve finally spoke. “Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“I miss Dad.”
Claire sighed. “So do I. Five more months and he’ll be home.”
Eve’s face drooped. “It’s still so long.”
Claire’s heart ached as she looked across the table at her daughter. “I know honey. I miss him too. Soon, soon he will be home.”
Eve looked up at her mother with solemn eyes. “Can he stay this time?”
Patting her daughter’s hand, she spoke. “I hope so honey.”
“Me too.”
Eve’s young face flushed and Claire could tell she was holding back tears. Claire opened her arms and Eve walked to her mother and hugged her. Claire held her daughter and silently thanked God that, unlike most thirteen year olds, Eve still let her comfort her this way. She stroked Eve’s dark brown hair until she finally let go.
Her daughter’s eyes looked moist, but she no longer looked as though she would begin to cry. “Are you okay honey?”
“Yeah, it’s just one of those days I guess. I’m gonna get ready.”
She watched Eve disappear down the hallway to her room. Alone in the kitchen, Claire began picking up plates and putting them in the sink. She heard the shower stop and a few minutes later, Connor emerged looking much more like the bright, chipper boy that he was. He takes after his father so much. He was tall and lean, just like Evan, and he had those same deep brown eyes. Claire smiled at him and he returned the grin.
As she finished rinsing the dishes, she looked over at him. “Connor?”
He slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Would you mind dropping Eve off at school this morning? I am going to write your father a letter.”
His free arm wrapped around her shoulder and hugged her. “Sure Mom.”
“Thanks honey.”
“You’re welcome.”
He was such a good boy. They were both good kids. She was so thankful for them. “C’mon Eve,” Connor called from the kitchen. “Five minutes.”
Eve’s voice trailed in from her bedroom. “Okay, I’ll be there.”
Just in time, Eve appeared with her book bag slung over her shoulder and Connor walked with her to the door. Eve looked as though she were a little less sad and Claire felt relieved.
Claire lifted her hand to wave goodbye to her children. “Have a good day guys.”
“We will Mom,” replied Eve. “Love you.”
“Love you,” chimed Connor.
Her heart swelled with joy. “I love you both, too.” Her children were so good to her. She watched out the window as they climbed into Connor’s old but reliable car, laughing about something. Then she returned to the nook.
As they pulled away, Claire sat in the warm light that shone through the window onto the breakfast table. The glossy surface was cool against her wrists, but the sun was warm on her back. She brushed her hair back with her hands, feeling the soft curls run through her fingers. Retrieving a piece of paper from the little drawer hidden under the surface of the table, Claire began to write.
My Dearest Evan…
Claire wrote the letter, telling him everything that was in her heart. She read it over. When she was satisfied that she had said everything that she needed to say, she signed it:
Your wife,
Claire
She placed a red lipstick kiss at the corner of it by her name. She slipped the letter into an envelope and addressed it to the APO address where the Army would receive the mail before dispensing it to the soldiers.
She closed her eyes for a moment, holding the letter in her hand and feeling the sun on her back. In that moment, she felt at peace. Her white, gauzy nightgown flowed softly in the ruffle of the breeze coming in through the window. It brushed against her thigh and then floated away as quickly as a whisper. Her hair fluttered against her face and she closed her eyes, embracing the wind. As she opened her eyes and rose, she felt the sun’s rays leave her back. Placing the letter on the edge of the kitchen counter, she walked to the bedroom. As she slipped into a pair of jeans, she retrieved a lemon yellow blouse that was well fitted to her figure. She could almost hear Evan telling her how beautiful she was and how he could get lost in her eyes forever. Moving back to the kitchen, she paused to pick up her car keys. She glanced at the letter before deciding she would place it in the outgoing mail in the afternoon. When she climbed into her car, a soft smile rested gently on her lips.
That was the last time Claire’s family ever saw her alive.
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About the Author:
Sarah Galloway is an Army wife and a mother to four wonderful children. She began writing as a child and continued her love of writing throughout her life. Sarah wrote The Letter Drawer while her husband was deployed in Afghanistan in 2012. She and her husband are residents of Colorado Springs, CO, but are currently stationed in beautiful Monterey, CA.
Sarah and her husband are both avid readers and enjoy a library of books that they keep along the length of their wall in their home office. One of her favorite past times is curling up with a good book while her Great Dane snores at her feet.
Sarah is also a Registered Nurse and spent many sleepless nights working in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit in Colorado Springs. She is very humbled by the tiny miracles that she saw during her years there and she loves all of the babies and families that she had the opportunity to care for. Sarah is continuing her education to become a Family Nurse Practitioner and plans to graduate at the end of 2014. Sarah’s passions include writing, healing people, and providing comfort to those who need it most.
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Thank you for stopping by! I love to make new friends. Got questions or comments? Leave a comment, or connect with me online! If you’ve enjoyed this post, sign up for the monthly newsletter and follow this blog!
MJ
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